As I write, she has safely re-entered the atmosphere in Ethiopia, but she left a little something with me for all the lovely readers she seems to think I have!
Christmas spent overseas has always meant, as well as those already invited to join us, a last minute trawl round on Christmas Day to find those Brits who have not been invited to eat Christmas dinner elsewhere. This has guaranteed a houseful of people, usually of the young, single and male variety. It also guaranteed a ready supply of babysitters throughout the year as those hoping for an invitation the following year stored up points in their favour.
Our own family Christmas traditions have developed over the years. The Christmas cake was always made during October’s half term with the children fighting over who would get to lick the wooden spoon at the end of the mix. Chutneys and pickles were made in good time and the wonderful smells lingered for days. Baking got underway early as a good supply of shortbread, mince pies and other festive delicacies were always needed for end of term events at school. Decorating the tree was always a special occasion – the date (never before the middle of December) was marked on the calendar weeks before and several hours given over to it, with my children taking turns to hang each decoration – some collected over the years as well as the latest creations from school (usually made in red or green felt) – a few of which still exist and are hung each year on the elderly tree which I choose to take round the world with me.
Stockings, usually of the rugby sock variety, were left at the foot of each bed. Food and drink was left out for Santa, who came down the chimney during the night and magically filled the stockings . (Santa still seems to know when my children are visiting and always chooses to visit on those occasions). Christmas Day started early with the children opening their stockings – which always contained an apple, a tangerine, some nuts, chocolate coins, and some gifts which usually included a book, a puzzle or game and some new pyjamas. Some years we were lucky if the children went back to sleep after the grand opening. Otherwise, all 5 of us ended up in bed together at some unearthly hour whilst everyone showed the others what Santa had left them. When it was deemed a suitable time to get up, one of us would go downstairs, put on the kettle, the tree lights and the Christmas music (1001-tunes-loosely-connected-with-things-festive-and-anything-that- ever-made-the-Top-20-records-in-any-winter-month-since-1940-usually-involving-Slade-or-Shaking-Stevens). The stage prepared, it would then be time for everyone to come downstairs, still in their PJs, to check to see if Santa had consumed the food and drink left for him the previous evening. Santa had always cleared the plate as well as leaving the other, larger gifts under the tree. These were duly distributed and, in the paper-strewn mellee which followed, breakfast would always be forgotten in favour of the contents of selection boxes and other edibles.
Wherever we have lived, we have never failed to find a turkey – of varying sizes and quality. One memorable Christmas meant having to cut off the legs before the turkey (crossed with an emu) would fit in the oven. In some places we have needed to ask some late traveller to bring in brussel sprouts, chocolates, Christmas puds and cheese. One Christmas spent in the Balkans and, with a mass exodus of our friends and colleagues for the festive period, we decided that, rather than have our normal home-grown Christmas, we would push out the boat and duly purchased tickets for Christmas Dinner in the nicer of the 2 international standard hotels. The Manager (Austrian with a broad Mancunian accent) had even imported brussel sprouts just for us. We arrived in our finery in time for dinner on Christmas Day, to find that the whole event had taken place on Christmas Eve, ignorant at the time to the practice of celebrating Christmas on Christmas Eve. We ended up eating the leftovers in an ante room as the main dining room was closed.
The years have gone by and the family have gone their own ways as, one by one, the children (and former husband) met their partners and made other plans for their Christmases. I dreaded the first Christmas when none of my children would be with me. Several years ago it happened – and then there were none……! Living in Vietnam at the time, I put myself on duty over the festive period, stocked up on DVDs and ensured a goodly stock of food and alcohol in case it all got too much for me and I needed to spend Christmas ensconced under a quilt watching TV. In the event I was invited by some lovely Australian friends to share their family Christmas. Sitting on their floor playing with Lego with their young children took me back to the time when my own children were young and helped me to forget my lone state. Although I still miss my kids madly, I understand that they have their own lives to lead. I always phone them on Christmas Day wherever they are and whatever my own plans are.
Last year I found myself unexpectedly in the UK for Christmas. With daughter and her husband having planned to spend Christmas with his parents, we celebrated together before they left and had our Christmas Day on Christmas Eve – even managing to drag my sons to church to celebrate Midnight Mass.
This year I’ve managed to spend a few days in the UK during early December. I’ve loved spending time with all 3 children, but need to return to my job abroad before Christmas. Once more I will be opening my home to a crowd of young, ex-pat waifs and strays and will be taking parsnips and brussels sprouts back in my luggage. Anyone know where I can buy turkey in Ethiopia?
This is my first Christmas without my mum and, despite my best intentions to be cheerful and festive, am sure that I shall have one or two moments of doom and gloom on the day……but I bet I find a Terry’s chocolate orange somewhere around!
I’ve spent more than one Christmas on my own. Not nice. And I haven’t spent one with my own family in many years. Still, life marches on, and there are good ones and bad ones, memorable and not-so-memorable. I liked the Balkans one.
By the way, Kelly, I’ve nominated you for an award.
When you read this, the context “between the lines” is really quite sad. Sad as in “what a shame”. I was thinking about my own mum whilst reading it because she lives in Manchester and I now live in Northumberland. We see her on the 27th but only speak to her on the phone on the 25th. But she does get to spend the day with my brother and his family who live just around the corner. She must have her moments, however, since my dad passed in 2001, of those wonderful family Christmases when we would open our presents at ridiculous hours and be exhausted by 6pm. Those were the days of course when presents were so much more appreciated, not just expected.
Thank you for sharing this, Kelly.
Crystal xx