Dickens on the Strand

If you enjoy All-Things-Victorian AND All-Things-Christmas, you would really enjoy Galveston Island’s annual Dickens on the Strand event. For more on this festive Christmas celebration, check out the Galveston Historical Foundation’s site. I’ve been to the island during this fun event (dressed in Victorian costume, no less) and had a fabulous time! Such a fabulous time, in fact, that I decided to add Dickens on the Strand to my novel, Picture Perfect. Check out the event through the eyes of Hannah McDermott, the story’s heroine:

I had always enjoyed the Strand, but never so much as during the Dickens event. Costumed vendors peddled their wares—many of them tantalizing my taste buds with their delicious scents. From rolling carts and street stalls they called out to us, begging us to have a sample of this or that. I had a little of this and a lot of that. Talk about a feast for the eyes and the stomach! Sweets in abundance. Candy-covered apples. Caramel pecan apples on a stick. Yum.

Yum, right?!

To make matters even more exciting, Hollywood superstar serves as the Grand Marshall in the Dickens parade! This gets Hannah’s all riled up!

“Well, what I’m about to tell you may come as a shock. And you have to keep it to yourself, okay? Brock will kill me if this gets leaked.”

            “B-brock? Brock Benson?” I couldn’t help the words. They just slipped out.

            “Yes.” She grinned and put a finger to her lips. “But we really have to keep this quiet, okay? My family doesn’t know. Yet. They’ll flip when they find out. They love Brock.”

            “You asked me to come over because of something to do with Brock?” Drew looked confused. “Something to do with his wedding photos?”

            “No. Nothing like that.” Her smile now lit her face. “He’s been asked to be the Grand Marshall for the Christmas parade at Dickens on the Strand.”

            “No way.” My breath caught in my throat. “Are you serious?” At once I felt the room spinning. Brock Benson, my favorite actor in the history of movies, was coming back to Galveston Island?

            “Yes.” She nodded. “His wife is from Texas, you know.”

            “No, I didn’t.”

            “Yeah, Erin’s from Austin,” Drew said.

“Her grandfather lives here on the island, though, and he’s a big-wig with the Dickens project,” Bella added. “So, of course, he thought Brock would be the perfect choice.”

            “Wow.”

            Bella glanced Drew’s way. “And that’s where you come in. Because you’ve worked with Brock before, he felt you would be the perfect candidate to capture some shots of him leading the parade.” 

When it comes time for the Dickens event, Hannah can’t help herself. She’s like a giddy schoolgirl! 

At two o’clock we paused to enjoy the Victorian Bed Races down Mechanic Street, cheering on the participants and laughing when the teams dressed in the Ghost of Christmas Pas attire took the prize. When that ended we headed to the main stage near the middle of the Strand, where I heard angelic voices ringing out in perfect three-part harmony.

Drew gave my hand a squeeze and smiled. “We’re right on time.” He waved at Brock and Erin, who stood near the stage, surrounded by paparazzi, of course. As we approached, Brock managed to convince the reporters to hightail it. He then gestured to the Splendora sisters and smiled.

When the show ended, we took to the street again. I kept a watchful eye on the time, knowing we had to be back at Club Wed at six for the rehearsal. Oh, but I didn’t want this to end. We now tagged along behind the Rossi’s and Brock and Erin, as they browsed the shops. The paparazzi trailed us all the way.

I nibbled on the tasty delight as Her Majesty, Queen Victoria paraded by, surrounded by her guard of Beefeaters. Okay, so it wasn’t the real Queen Victoria, just someone dressed up to look like her. Still, as she made her way by in a fabulous horse-drawn carriage, as she greeted us, her royal subjects, I almost felt I was in the presence of royalty. Then again, I pretty much was. With Brock and Erin close by, they garnered even more attention from the people surrounding us than the Queen, herself.

We passed the street musicians and paused—well, my father paused, anyway—when we reached the bagpipers. This, of course, led him to a rollicking good story, complete with thick brogue, about my Grandpa Aengus. Mama and Corinne were too busy looking at the Victoria-themed crafts and jewelry to pay him much mind, though. I did my best to smile and encourage him as the story poured out. If I wanted to pass on these tall tales to my children, I needed to pay attention.