Christmas cards and rituals — escaping into the past.
Each year before Christmas and with it the first snows of Christmas cards, my dad would diligently set himself up at the living room table (we called it the lounge) to write Christmas cards. He had a ‘Christmas Card List’ which was added to or deleted dependent on cards received. I imagine it was old folk ‘passing on’ that dropped off the list for the most part but anyone who, for any reason hadn’t sent a card, was also crossed off. New acquaintances (I presume) were added and the senders of any unforeseen card arrivals. Everything was handled meticulously — cards signed (maybe with a message); envelopes addressed; stamps applied. Maybe I was sent off to the post-box to post or if un-stamped to deliver by hand. It was the first of the Christmas rituals. And I had my own Christmas card ritual too — but more of that later.
Cards might come incredibly early. My birthday is towards the end of November and I wouldn’t think about that anniversary until Halloween and Bonfire Night were out of the way. For Christmas, not a thought until my birthday had been celebrated; there was a month between the latter and Christmas Eve — thus absolutely no point in any Christmas shenanigans before this (at the earliest). A non-card ritual I had was to go through the (Christmas) ‘Radio Times’ (BBC1 and 2) and the (Christmas) ‘TV Times’ (ITV only, originally) and mark all the programmes I wanted to watch. I usually loved the scheduling on the days leading up to Christmas Day — Laurel & Hardy and Children’s Specials (Blue Peter say) and Christmas Eve especially. Christmas Day had its rituals (I would disappear when the Queen’s Speech came on). Boxing Day was okay too but there was already a feeling of everything ending.
In those days there were only a couple of weeks build up to Christmas with the tree going up with various decorations and lights. On the tree’s topmost branch we would put an elf I had made at Primary School (I would have been about seven I think). I still have that elf — with its felt hat and gloves, pipe-cleaner body and ping-pong ball head! My folks feigned annoyance at my usurpation of the television viewing schedule — but I think they enjoyed most of my choices. My brother and sister, being older, never seemed to figure in my Christmas memories.
A Christmas not that long ago — when my Dad was alive…so in fact quite a LONG time ago (!) we watched Ken Burns’ series on the American Civil War. I would have been in my 30s I think (and married) and staying over. During one episode I remember my dad crying. I was moved by this series too — with contemporary photos, music and letters sent by, or to, the men who fought. I think it brought back his time fighting in the war. He used to tell us a tale about making his men (he was a Petty Officer) sit down and have a ‘traditional Christmas meal’. They probably wanted to go on furlough and get drunk — having a welcome break from fighting or at least being on rough seas. But my dad made them sit down and enjoy the meal. I used to think that was really unfair when I was young — but now I understand. It was the need for continuity; the need to celebrate together; the need for something normal but special. I imagine some of the men would have resented this imposition but later, I trust, understood how special and necessary it was. There would have been six Christmases away at war.
There was a works dinner party that I was invited to as a child which I always managed to get out of, apart from one occasion. The best time was when I was sent a collection of cakes as recompense. There were also visits to relatives in the mysterious ‘Black Country’ (North of Birmingham). On the way we would count Christmas trees resplendent in bay windows or half-hidden behind lace curtains. Yes, the build up to Christmas Day WAS electric. But back to the cards…
When the drifts of cards became heavier (bending the back of our friendly postman — well in fact I don’t recall him bringing the sack out of his van) the cards would be read, recorded and then placed over string-lines. These would be suspended between points (drawing pins?) on various, if not ALL the walls. I used to love looking at these cards and I was fascinated by many of their images. Frankly I was also judgemental. I’m now going to delve into my childhood memory (perhaps lasting into my twenties!) regarding my views on them. Right! Well I never liked the overtly religious cards — I KNOW Christmas IS a religious ceremony but those cards left me a tad cold. I preferred scenes from the outside of churches to their insides, for example. Gravestones tell stories; headstones sinking into the earth paint pictures; the church itself withstands much of the modern world. But choirboys and overtly religious script didn’t do it for me. Thus my memory of those types of cards is hazy. Also — candles and baubles presented in a garish fashion also left me cold. You’re probably wondering why I can’t recall these cards, it being less than 11 months since last Christmas! Well I don’t send cards and tend, therefore, not to receive many. Being ‘abroad’ certainly doesn’t help too. So as a child the ‘card-snow’ was six foot deep — now it’s a short, sleety shower!
I’m a sucker, therefore, for stylish cards — even when the content is a bit twee. I loved Christmas trees adorned with lights; snow scenes; Victorian scenes (especially); even snowmen if presented tastefully. No PHOTOS though. And ‘family cards’ were a big ‘no no’. I LOVED countryside scenes with snow; dark pastel skies; low moons; misty scenes; red pillar boxes; robins; villages nestled in undulating snow-covered landscapes; smoke twirling from chimneys…NO funny cards, no overtly secular cards and I do not like seeing the word XMAS! Nothing nauseatingly ‘politically-correct’ either. I liked a gnarled Father Christmas — nothing too ‘cutesy’. I guess what I wanted was to disappear into the magic of the card’s picture. To find myself trudging up a slope of snow towards a tiny hamlet, or church…I wanted to go into the PAST.
I wanted to travel into an Edwardian time, or a Victorian time (maybe encountering a joyful Scrooge) or right back to a medieval scene when, in fact, the snow was no blessing. I wanted to feel the continuity of life…of families…of gatherings…of presents…of JOY…of children being delighted but NOT spoilt. I wanted to go back to ill-lit town scenes with half-timbered houses or thatched-rooved village cottages. This is where the essence of cultural Christmas lived and lives. And yes it is backed by a religion from the East and the Biblical story (which reminds me more of Nativity Plays and nervous children). It was almost the Pagan element I loved and perhaps love still (despite being a follower of Swedenborg’s mysticism).
There were the colours of baubles reflecting fairy lights…presents carefully wrapped beneath the tree. An expectancy filling the rooms at night. Maybe the smell of an annual cigar — a spirit (in a glass). Maybe the sense of spirits gathering from long ago. Yes — I’m almost back there staring at the cards. AND. My ritual.
Each year, when Christmas had lost its magic and was looking and feeling tired, I would do something quite un-charitable and mark/score each card we had received. Well, there would be an initial cull and THEN I would mark. And keep honing it down. It was much to my nieces’ entertainment as I recall — much to my parents disquiet and disgust. But I would have the ‘Christmas Card Competition’. Big cards never fared well. Gaudy cards absolutely not. But there were cards I adored — the ones I could escape into. And thus the final few would be chosen and the eventual winner announced. It was always intriguing to see who had sent the cards — the good and the bad. I think that that was quite illuminating in its own way!
Christmas would be ‘boxed back’ and taken up into the loft to lie dormant for another year. Some Christmas cards found themselves in the company of the tinsel and trinkets in the main box. When December 25th approached and the box(es) brought out for their annual occasion these cards were like a link. Well they WERE a link. Why had it been kept…who had it been sent by? Was there a message? Did the sender belong in the ‘current’ or ‘deleted’ list?
Sadly — Christmas changed. After my dad died it was different and family friends were beginning to die off too. We would celebrate with my mum and family but it was never quite the same. My dad used to come into a fair bit of ‘ribbing’ over Christmas and he was a sentimental man — but I imagine many of us have memories of tipsy fathers at the dining table with a cocked and slightly ripped paper crown hat that had dropped out of the inside of a pulled cracker. Those days have all gone. We have our own family get-together now. Who knows what rituals might develop. We kept the ‘stocking full of smaller presents’ ritual for our son; we DID (and do) have a small (artificial) Christmas Tree with great fibre-optic lights. The boxes are brought out and returned each year. There are no television guides and not much television viewing. But we have our special films to watch that keep continuity: ‘The Muppets Christmas Carol’ being one (a superb performance from Michael Caine). ‘Box of Delights’ is a children’s series we watch (written by John Masefield). One of my favourite viewing is a Christmas Special called ‘Little Pig Robinson’ (from the Beatrix Potter original: ‘The Tale of Little Pig Robinson’) it mixes characters portraying animals with those playing the human roles. It captures a moment in time for sure. My wife cannot abide it! But that’s Christmas too — isn’t it?
For some reason Ghost Stories were always associated with Christmas — especially late viewing on Christmas Eve. And now so many of the characters of my own Christmases are ‘ghosts’. This is the way of life. And you know what — I might even send a few cards this year. Well you never know — as I AM recalling the events of Christmas Past and considering Christmas Future. And to quote lyrics from my own Christmas Song:
‘You’ve got to keep Christmas, like it was like it always will be.’
Well, you know nothing stays the same but some things are worth preserving. I have more tales of Christmas — maybe one for next year, or even this year if I get writing. In the meantime, with Halloween and Bonfire Night over — I’m looking forward to my birthday!
Thanks for reading.
Tim Bragg is the author of ‘Lyrics to Live by’, a book which looks at the life lessons found in twelve song lyrics.
Lyrics to live by 2 was released in 2020.
