While entering the dying days of this strange year I have been reflecting and reminiscing. Generally, when I write a blog I do it in one day; however, this one has taken three weeks and has become quite long! I suggest you get a cup of tea and put your feet up…
Work has been exhausting and I have been tutoring a lot after school so sadly writing has taken a back seat. As I have a lot of trouble sleeping and tend to lie awake, either thinking about everything I’ve ever done wrong in my life or worrying, I’m trying to train my brain to think about positive things and map out plans for the next piece I am going to write. Sometimes I’m completely engrossed in a chapter of my new novel but in the early hours of this morning, as Christmas is just around the corner, I’ve been working on this new blog, thinking about past Christmases and remembering happier times.
At school, in one of the GCSE classes I am in, we are reading A Christmas Carol. This is perhaps the fifth year I have studied it, so it is becoming a tradition in itself. My favourite stave is the one when the Ghost of Christmas Past takes Scrooge back to his old school and to a party held by his generous employer, Fezziwig, and his wife. They are joyous characters who love to dance and eat and have fun. Each time I read it I wish I was at their party.
Dickens is responsible for changing the face of Christmas and creating many of the traditions that make Christmas what it is today. We, like every family, have our own and I enjoy hearing about how traditions have evolved in other families. One of my friends, Jane, always buys the whole family matching pyjamas which they wear on Christmas Eve – while drinking hot chocolate – and watching a Christmas film together. Her reasoning behind the new nightwear is that on Christmas morning everyone looks good for the photos. From November, Carl, her husband who hates heights, perches precariously on top of a ladder to ensure that their house is festooned with hundreds of outside lights and in December she changes all the beds and replaces the sheets and duvet covers with Christmas bedding. What a woman – Mother Christmas!
Each year, our family has admired their lights, but we have never had any of our own outside, although I’ve always been secretly envious. This year, ironically the first year we no longer have any kids living at home, we splashed out and bought some to decorate the outside of our new shed. They are red, pretty and twinkly and make me happy. In Payhembury, the small village where I live, a kind and generous couple have given away thirty sets of outside lights. As one of the lucky recipients we now have hundreds of lights all over our sheds, fence, the rose arch and apple tree. Their reason for giving lights was that after this awful year they wanted to light Payhembury up as a sort of metaphor for chasing away the darkness of Covid. When we went for a walk the other evening it was wonderful to see the whole village illuminated like never before; the bridge over the stream looked particularly beautiful with the reflections of light in the water below.
One of our family traditions is that each child – although this has now stretched into adulthood – is allowed to open one present on Christmas Eve. I agreed to this initially in the hope that it would keep them quiet for a bit while they wait for the big day. I miss having little ones at Christmas. Without them the magic is muffled. It’s like celebrating and seeing the day through a net curtain. When I was a single parent it was a battle to get the three of them to bed on Christmas Eve. I would always read them Christmas stories in the vain hope that they would go to sleep; which of course they didn’t as they were far too excited. I can remember when I was a child my mum would read me a book called Teddy Robinson meets Father Christmas.
Written in 1953 it would perhaps seem old fashioned now, but it was special because we shared it every year and I loved it because in the story the bear gets to ride in Santa’s sleigh. Before Mum kissed me good night, we would look out of the window at the starry sky to see if we could see his sleigh. In the morning my sister, Liz and I would creep quietly down the stairs and stare in wonder at the enormous pile of presents underneath the tree. I didn’t read my daughter that book – Poppy’s favourite was called Christmas in Exeter Street.
It is the most wonderful story which encapsulates the Christmas message of goodwill and charity, when the owner of the house, Maggie Mistletoe, ends up with hundreds of unexpected visitors to stay on Christmas Eve. There are people sleeping on bookshelves, in the bathtub and a baby in the kitchen sink. I miss reading that and the other traditions that have evolved as the years have gone by.
Although my kids are older I am lucky to still have some little ones in my life. Last year we had a mini Christmas when my grandson, Frankie and his brother, Tyler came for the day. They opened their presents; we did some Christmas cooking, had dinner and went for a walk to Hembury Fort.
They played on the rope swings and ran through the trees enjoying their freedom. It was a lovely day and one I’ve placed in my memory bank.
I also have three godchildren. Dan, the oldest is my best friend, Val’s son and they come as a family for a big dinner just before new year which is something we’ll miss this year. Roxy and Lola are my goddaughters, Jane and Carl’s girls, so very much in to Christmas. In the past, when Roxy was younger, she would come one evening after school in December and make Christmas cards and mince pies. Then a few years ago Lola came too.
Last year Roxy decided she was too old, now she’s at secondary school, so Lola came on her own and we had fun. One of our family traditions is normally my daughter, Poppy, goes and gets the tree with Jase, we put the Frank Sinatra Christmas album on and she and I decorate it. While getting all the baubles and tinsel out we reminisce and laugh about past Christmas memories. This year, Poppy isn’t around as she’s moved to Kent, so I asked Roxy if she’d like to decorate the tree.
We had a great time – she did a fantastic job – it was lovely to spend some time with her and have a catch up too.
Then it was Lola’s turn. She arrived wearing a white Christmas jumper with a pug on it, a Christmas tree headband and a big smile. We made crackers and mince pies and had a lovely chat although all unfortunately socially distanced.
Back when my kids were small, and I’d eventually got them to sleep, usually after 9 on Christmas Eve, I would sit down with a glass of wine and start the gargantuan task of wrapping the presents for their stockings. Every year I planned to do it earlier but it didn’t happen. A tradition of mine is to listen to Christmas carols and sing along while parcelling everything up. Then, as I didn’t have much money I would get them lots of little things which were fiddly to wrap; life was simpler and they were so happy with a little car or a packet of pens. Once that was done, generally getting close to midnight, I would creep upstairs and listen outside their rooms to make sure I could hear they were sleeping. Then I’d tiptoe in and silently place their stockings on the end of the beds before crawling into bed knowing they’d be up in a few hours. It was all worth it when they woke me up shouting, “He’s been!” and jumped into bed with me to open their presents.
When Joel was 10, Jack 7 and Poppy 3, Joel began to suspect the whole Santa story and he must have convinced Jack as they devised a plan, which I was completely unaware of, while I was busy doing the usual wrapping on Christmas Eve. They were both mad about Lego and had big toy boxes full of it under their bunkbeds. One year, Jack got a pirate ship and Joe a huge castle. They were overjoyed but it took hours and a lot of my patience to put them together. On this particular night, I packed up the stockings and went upstairs. When I listened outside their rooms it was all quiet. I put Poppy’s stocking on her bed then carefully opened Joe and Jack’s bedroom door. I couldn’t see a thing; it was inky black as I had turned the landing light off so as not to wake them. I walked in and fell over the huge Lego trap they had left for me. Standing on one piece of Lego is painful but on loads is sheer agony. I shrieked and they leapt up triumphantly and put on the light shouting, “We knew it was you!” I had to beg them not to tell Poppy as she was still so little; unfortunately, I don’t think she believed for too many years after that thanks to them.
As a mum of four children I have had the pleasure of seeing more Nativity plays than most over the years and I never tired of them. They were traditionally held in Payhembury Church which is beautiful. When its enormous oak door opens the smell of wood collides with the scent of history and you instantly feel part of a larger narrative. I imagine the feet that have trodden the well worn steps before me and wonder who has walked in the graveyard which boasts one of the oldest Yew trees in the country – a giant – at around 1500 years old. When the church is adorned with Christmas flowers and the rood screen is decorated with greenery intermingled with fairy lights it is a picture. One of the most memorable nativities I have been to was when Will was a shepherd many years ago.
Here he is with the obligatory tea towel on his head! This particular year it was freezing and we sat shivering on the tiny pews made for much smaller people many years ago. Teachers were shepherding children to their right places ready to sing the opening hymn. As latecomers entered they had a light dusting of snow on their coats which made the evening even more wonderful. I watched through the window as the flurries got faster. Proud parents sat waiting to see their child perform; there was a buzz of excitement in the air when the lights went down and the children sang ‘Away in a Manger’ by candlelight. The angels looked celestial with their silver tinsel and wings poking the people behind them. Mary looked beatific holding the doll tightly as if it were as precious as baby Jesus while Joseph looked on. Will did his bit and remembered his lines. As we clapped I imagined the hundreds of plays that had been performed there in the past and how wonderful it was to sing ‘Silent Night’ all together before going out into the snowy night. The children were thrilled to see the snow and it made the whole evening perfectly magical.
Last Sunday morning a blackbird singing crept into my dreams and woke me up. Listening to its sweet song and the rain drizzling down I enjoyed the warmth of my quilt before getting up for the run I go on every Sunday, with my friend Becky, come rain or shine. The previous Sunday was more fun as the weather was the opposite. As we ran to the top of the hill, we met the sun peeking over the horizon, painting the sky flamingo feather pink.
We were both in awe of the beauty surrounding us. The stresses of the week before and the worries about the week ahead faded as we ran past sheep and cows in fields covered in mist where a hard frost decorated the hedges like icing sugar on a cake.
Later that morning I went for a walk with my husband, Jason, and our black labrador, Otis. We decided to go somewhere we’d not been for a while to some woods near the river. The sun was higher by this time and as we walked, we were dazzled by glimpses of gold in the interstices between the trees where it gilded their trunks and splashed the leafy path that crunched beneath our boots. We first walked there twenty years ago when we had not long met. Then the kids were young (although Will wasn’t even a thought), we had our old dog, Ella and were falling in love. Stopping in front of a broad old oak tree we laughed to see that our initials – carved into the bark all those years ago – were still there.
This set us off talking about memories and I asked him about his Christmas ones. Prior to being part of our family, Jason’s Christmases were quiet affairs consisting of eating, drinking, watching television and no children. Being with us couldn’t have been more contrasting! He says he prefers having crazy loud Christmases and thankfully the first one we spent together didn’t put him off.
Jason is an amazing man and when he met me, he wasn’t fazed that I had three kids and embraced the madness which was my family. Fortunately, he was naïve and ignored the people who told him he was mad for taking us all on! I can’t really remember the Christmas day, except that the boys got skateboards and Poppy got roller blades, so they spent a lot of the day falling over and off them outside. I do remember Boxing Day though. In the morning, Jason got up to make us a cup of tea and bring it back to bed. Half asleep, he went into the kitchen and slipped on one of the skateboards that was by the door, fell over and trod in the present of poo that the cat had left for us. Hearing shouting, we all ran downstairs to investigate – I struggled to keep a straight face – and the kids were rolling around laughing. Also, later that day they persuaded him to play Monopoly which, as usual, got completely out of control and ended up with Joe and Jack having a punch up.
Welcome to the family!
I think at that point he started questioning becoming a stepdad, but I’m relieved he stuck around. Neither of us have played Monopoly since though.
We reminisced about other Christmases like the one where Poppy, our very own Mrs Christmas, bought all three of her brothers Nike trainers. Her face was a picture of pure joy as she watched them open them and saw how happy they were. I remember when Joel was 14 and had his first job working at Otter Nurseries. He bought us all presents with his own money and proudly gave them to us.
My mum normally spends Christmas with us and brings something that makes us laugh. One year it was moustaches for everyone!
We all do our part in cooking the roast dinner and Will makes delicious desserts.
Traditions wise, an important part of Christmas is the food. Jack, the chef, loves coming back and thankfully, still has passion left for cooking despite doing it constantly at work. Last year he tried to start a new tradition that we are not adopting. He wanted to make a traditional Italian Christmas meal. As Catholics, Italians – like many Europeans – celebrate on the 24th. We got all the ingredients to make these tiny pasta shapes filled with a special meat concoction which took ages to make. Will, Jack, Jason and I sat round the kitchen table while Jack informed us that we needed to make fifty each! It was fun although extremely fiddly so this year, we are going back to our traditional fare. Jason makes the best sausage rolls I’ve ever tasted and on Christmas Eve we eat them, roast gammon cooked in orange marmalade, prawn cocktail and cheese and biscuits. Changing food habits is one thing; however, stockings are a tradition that can’t be broken, although Jason thinks I’m mad to continue with them. One year I tried to stop and there was uproar; the kids told me that without them, Christmas was ruined. So, at the ages of 33, 30, 26 (plus Sam) and 18 I’m still doing it; although for the first time I’ve done all my wrapping early so I’m looking forward to relaxing a bit before the big day. Although I miss the old traditions from when they were young, as they have grown up we have made new ones. On Christmas Eve I’m normally the first one in bed now! As it’s generally the first night we all get together we make food in the kitchen and everyone takes a turn to put their favourite song on YouTube. It’s great fun – we drink cocktails, dance and laugh into the early hours of Christmas Day.
This year is going to be strange for so many people. I won’t get to see my eldest son or Mum as they are both vulnerable and isolating. Will is home from university which is a relief. I gave him a huge hug and have enjoyed catching up on all his news. The dog is delighted to have him back too.
He has changed, which I knew he would. It was inevitable, he and all the students that went to uni for the first time this year have been through a lot. Despite all the stress, he loves Liverpool and is looking forward to going back.
Jack and Poppy were supposed to be coming back too, plus Sam, Poppy’s girlfriend, but as we have just found out they have all been put into Tier 4 that won’t be happening. Jack said that four of his colleagues have Covid and he was feeling ill so had a test which unfortunately was positive. Everyone around Poppy and Sam are catching it too so it will be a very low key Christmas this year. I can’t bear the thought of Jack being completely alone on Christmas day. I would do anything to give him a hug and have him here so I can look after him; however, I know this is the same for so many people and things could be much worse. Many people will be facing this Christmas without their loved ones and never see them again, thankfully that isn’t the case for my family.
A positive I can find in this darkness is that although Christmas isn’t going to be anything like we had planned we still have a celebration to look forward to next year. So those stockings and presents are going to be here for when we can all get together. Hopefully now we have a vaccine that won’t be too long and in the meantime thank goodness for FaceTime!
I would love to hear about your family traditions. If you’re interested in telling me, please write and let me know. I hope whatever type of Christmas you have it is a wonderful one and let’s hope and pray that 2021 is a much better year than 2020 has been.
Merry Christmas xx
Love, Life and Lemons 