Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1948)

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Jlohdciv wish rfPeace on (Jariti. ffreer of (Woman of 1% 0,cn” eer ffrom oJcottish pines for (Christina* trees to (California palms . . . (ji *1 tabes an enchanting journey into some yesteryear Qjulettdes O me, Christmas Days should be as individualized and distinctive as one’s friends, each possessing a special brand of enchantment. I can’t recall any single December twenty-fifth that looms up, high as an Alp, above all others. As a matter of holiday fact, all my Christmases have been bright. They have had an amazing series of backgrounds. There have been my Scottish holidays, all set in snow and haggis. There were my London Yuletides, very posh as Londoners say, or very swank as we say in America, and now my Beverly Hills Christmases. As a child I never knew, until just a few days before, whether I should have a rollicking Christmas in Scotland with my Greer cousins (Greer being no more than an Irish contraction of the good Scottish name of MacGregor) or would be worldly in London with the Garson group. The uncle who housed us in Glasgow was a doctor and dearly beloved by all his patients, who used to bring him wonderful holiday gifts — bottles of wine, hothouse fruits and delicious candies. His house was sturdy gray granite and you could practically MERRY CHRISTMAS