So I am sitting in the kitchen, listening to my ipod, waiting to start dinner, and a Christmas carol comes up. (Once In Royal David's City to be exact.) I have this CD that Mum gave me of Christmas carols from some old cathedral in Limeyland. Everyone but me dislikes it because, you know, it sounds like church music. (Which I love.) It got me thinking about the Christmases of my childhood....since when I hear that music I can almost picture I am back, as a little girl in Mum and Dad's house. The memory and feeling is so strong that it can bring tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat.
I can't work out if it's being English and the whole kind of Dickensian type of Christmas...the pudding (will it turn out? won't it? will it be as delicious as last year? See The Christmas Carol and Mrs. Cratchitt's pudding for a true appreciation of the importance of this delectable dessert), the roast turkey and roast potatoes (fluffy inside and roasted to a golden crisp on the outside), the carol singers or Salvation army singers in the high street on a Saturday that sing those almost melancholy Christmas carols that with a wind band accompanying them sound strangely sad and at the same time sweet. Or whether my family have some special attachment to the holiday. I know this is part of it because my sister feels the same way as do about Christmas. All the traditions as children that we partook in (and believe me they weren't big or fancy) we still want to do now at the grand ages of 36 and 43. My sister gets to do most of them whereas the years we are in America, I make do with the memory of them.
Most of our traditions were centered around food. The making of the pudding, usually around November time, the baking of the Christmas cake (stir it, make a wish and inhale the heavenly scent of brown sugar, butter, lemon, orange and spice), mince pies (luxury ones with the sweet filling and sweetened cream cheese enclosed in an orange, buttery short crust pastry). Or, when I was really small, we made peppermint candies, marzipan sweets dipped into melted chocolate, and my Mum wrapped dates around almonds for my Dad to enjoy over Christmas. My children have all kinds of traditions but they are way fancier - a child's production of Christmas Carol with Grandma (my personal favourite), a gingerbread house (made from scratch and assembled by yours truly), and a big Christmas Eve party at their Uncles (who knows how to party!!).
We had very little as children. I received one present from my parents, one from each of my siblings (I have 2), one from my Grandad or as we got older maybe five pounds from him and five from Great Auntie Ruth. Oh, and my stocking from Father Christmas. Wow. That was the thing I LOVED the most. Mum and Dad would leave them at the bottom of our beds and when you woke up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning, you could feel the bulky, heavy-ish, stuffed stocking at the foot of your bed. My brother and I would spend many days leading up to Christmas making plans. We'd plan on sleeping in the same room, and we'd plan on staying up to see Father Christmas. We'd practice creeping around his room, or trying to turn on his light without anyone else hearing the switch flick. We'd hide his flashlight under his wicker rubbish basket, so that the light would filter out of the tiny, crisscross holes in the basket which would then shed a dim constellation-like pattern on the floor around it. Of course, we never made it that late. But the preparation and anticipation of that night was the best part of all.
I didn't have a big extended family. No big parties, and lots of cousins or Aunties and Uncles. Our Christmases were kind of quiet with Grandad and Nanny Self staying for a couple of days. And after Nanny passed away, just Grandad, who would get us all excited about making eggs and bacon for breakfast on Christmas morning instead of our usual weetabix or cereal. But, despite the quietness I can still remember how wonderful it all felt. I guess it'strue that it isn't the presents (see the Grinch - the Who's know it), it's it really just time spent with loved ones, eating food that you only get once a year, and hearing that really old-fashioned church music. Priceless.