Can’t Wait for Christmas
Christmas 1972, I was staying with my husband at his parents’ home in Switzerland, for the first time. Accustomed as I was to the joyful Yuletide spirit in England, I was in for a seriously rude awakening. The dampened sense of Christmas on the streets of this Swiss town on Christmas Eve was spooky, but the Sally Army soldiered on and carolled their frozen hearts out. In all fairness there were some Christmas lights on the main shopping street, but I missed the magic of this special season in the air. The subdued atmosphere in his Swiss home was a masterpiece in sterility, while a small Christmas tree emerged from the bath for the present-giving, but was instantly returned to the bath when the last present had been unpacked. The pine needles might otherwise fall on the carpet. I was acutely aware of the feeling of sober awakening into my new homeland.
Fast forward to 2024 and we live in a totally different world. Suddenly we can’t wait for Christmas. Political turbulence is palpable and the foot soldiers are plodding through life, trying to acclimatise to high prices, low morale, impending WW3 and no prospect of much improvement. Folk are clearly crying out for something a little more uplifting than a few harvest pumpkins. So, the motto seems to be: bring forward Christmas and spread the joy early.
It was mid-September as I toddled into my favourite shopping centre and browsed around a little shop with candles, tea cloths and decorative household items. I suddenly spied some miniature silver reindeers, so unrelated to this otherwise late summer environment that I sensed a twinge of mistrust. It looked sincerely as though the decorative deer had been planted there surreptitiously ahead of time. Sure enough, the following week, the collection of silver reindeers had mutated into a sizeable herd. By the following week, twinkly lights were adorning the crowded shelves of the shop. By this time, the school children were off on their Autumn holidays. It was a curious inter-mingling of seasons, as pumpkins and sunflowers were competing with progressive Christmas manifestations. One could be forgiven for becoming slightly confused, while seasons seem to be miraculously merging. And blow me down, before the leaves had even fallen off the trees outside, shiny balls of all dimensions were populating vast areas of this otherwise prosaic shop. As All Saints’ Day descended upon us, fully-dressed Christmas trees (mostly without the angel on top), were converging on all corners of the city. In the meantime, endless battalions of chocolate Santas in golden get-up took their place on the shelf which, not so long ago had been inhabited by suspiciously similar-looking Easter bunnies.
On 15. November, the Christmas lights were formally switched on in the town centre and the first Christmas market worked its way onto the scene. I am generally an adaptable kind of soul, but the pace of these events is astonishing. I wonder what the hurry was to speed ahead with Christmas. I wondered, if by the time Christmas actually arrives, whether the folk might become indifferent to it all. Some of it would certainly need a good dusting off, to reveal the full effect. Of course, we are informed that Jesus was not born on 25. December, so there was no essential need to restrict oneself to a specific date in December, but we live by traditions. In the bigger picture of things, women have been known to give birth prematurely, which would justify precipitating the celebrations, but two or three months in advance is pushing it. After all, according to accounts, the heavily pregnant Mary was travelling to Bethlehem on a donkey, which might have led to a premature medical incident.
Well, whatever the reason for this seasonal urgency, I love Christmas and the perceived feeling of warmth, mystic and goodwill. So, I am making the most of it, and hoping that in the future we won’t have to speed up our summer holidays, to make way for this enchanting festivity.
Photo: Pexels / Hakan Kiymaz