Memories of Christmas

BackBlip of Callum c. 1900. One of my favs

My countdown to Christmas has begun with watching my favourite Christmas movies in the evening and here they are:

A Christmas Carol (1938)
Joyeux Noel (2005)
It's a Wonderful Life (1946)
Love Actually (2003)
White Christmas (1954)
Polar Express (2004)

and I'll add last year's new addition, How the Grinch stole Christmas which I know the boys will love this year.

We didn't know him as Santa back then. He was Father Christmas and "Santa" didn't really feature until we heard Bruce Springsteen's song. But he wasn't a huge figure in the Christmas message for us. Sure we would sit on his knee much like the boys above, pull on his wiry beard, but there was little commercialism in the Christmases of my youth.

What I would give to replicate the Christmases of my growing up years. How I feel I can never make a Christmas as good as my parents, Mary & Joseph, with so little money behind them and the family of five children they created. Walking home from midnight mass in which Mum sang so beautifully in the choir, in the chilling air, past the Christmas trees of Roomes stores lit up, singing to our hearts' content, my two brothers, two sisters, Mum, Dad and I, hot toddies upon our return to warm the soul, the early morning wake up from the eldest Peter, rushing down the stairs and Mum and Dad, having sat long into the night wrapping presents for us listening to our shrieks of delight as we devoured the mountain of presents, from one to all, all 7 of us, the hearty morning breakfast of sausages and bacon, the first glass of wine straight after, Quality Street, the smell of turkey in the air, the toast to family and friends around the world at 3pm and dinner under candlelight at 4pm, a huge, boisterous affair with red wine spilling over white tablecloths, Christmas crackers cracking, silly hats, a sumptuous feast, Christmas pudding ablaze with brandy, Frank, Bing and Ella singing Christmas carols on the stereo, Trivial Pursuit, Monopoly, charades, the heated intellectual debates between us on books, movies and directors, rock music and politics. Each a party trick: Geraldine reading a Victorian ghost story, me singing Wuthering Heights or Dancing Queen, or Irish dancing, Joe with his ridiculous magic tricks, Pete with his quiz games, Anne-Marie with her dancing to the Pogues' Fairytale in New York, our family's favourite Christmas song, Dad with his poems and prose, Mum with her stunning choir voice. We grew up very modestly but on Christmas Day and Boxing Day we dined and celebrated like kings. I know my parents poured every ounce of energy, love and money they could pull together to make it absolutely magical for us. We would not leave the house for days, all cosied in together. In more recent years, we would give up Christmas presents in lieu of gifts to the poor. We loved Boxing Day, the Feast of St Stephen, the public holiday on the day after Christmas traditionally celebrated in the Commonwealth by honouring the poor who had been required to work on Christmas Day itself serving landed gentry, and is thus traditionally celebrating by gift giving to the poor. It would simply be another Christmas Day with a full roast turkey, still leaving some for the next day's turkey curry. I envisage the day has been lost as a holiday in the US in lieu of Thanksgiving and as a means to break ties to the Victorian principles of the old country.

Our Lacey Christmas such a rich, warm stew of Irish Catholic, Scottish and Victorian traditions. It represented such an unbelievably warm feeling that I can barely describe that went straight to the soul.

What I would give for my boys to experience just one of those Lacey Christmas days. How far I feel that dream is now.