The Christmas when Santa came too early

It was Christmas Eve in about 1947 or 1948 when Gordon and Lois with the four children who ranged in age from 1 to 10 were living in Dickson's Corners. We children were all young enough to share in the excitement of the imminent arrival of Santa Claus. We had finished supper. Gordon had walked over to sweep the school and Lois had already put the baby into his crib, bathed me and put me into my pyjamas. The girls were in the bathtub ( I suspect in the big tin tub which which was placed on the floor and filled with water from the cistern in the heavy cast-iron wood stove.) Suddenly there was the sound of bells and a heavy pounding on our front door. This was terrifying and exciting and very unusual, all at the same time. No one ever came to our front door. In fact it couldn't be opened. To get to it you had to go into the living room, past the potbellied coal stove and down a narrow, cold, and dark corridor past the bags of sugar, and the piles of school supplies that were stored in the passage. We children listened as Lois hurried to the door and called: "who there?" The response was indistinguishable but the sound of bells definitely became louder. Then we could her our mother calling: "Santa, the children aren't in bed yet. You had better go down to the Dicksons and then come back here." (The Dicksons were our closest neighbours. We could see their house down the hill, past the stream and near the highway.) Lois continued: "The children will be in bed by the time you get back." And she was so right! I remember racing across the living room to my bedroom, pulling the covers over my head, and willing myself to sleep because only with sleep could I get myself into the wonderful excitement of the next day.