The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year?

Christmas is coming...... I have always loved Christmas, the build up, the sharing, time with friends and family. Almost every year as an adult I end up depressed....

It has improved over the last few years. Acknowledging the fact it exists, and then sharing that knowledge is so important. I know now the reasons why I struggle over Christmas.. A need to please, wanting everything to go well, I plan and prepare and plot too much. The grandfather was born on Christmas Day... That used to really bug me. Gifts I received for Christmas used to vanish soon afterwards and I'd get the blame. In truth he sold them to pay for his Whisky habit...

I almost got into that "habit" myself as an adult. Drink was such an easy escape, then mornings came and feelings of guilt, shame and the hangover. I hid this for years. It was always worse at Christmas.

I spent a couple of Christmases totally alone, not seeing anyone. I hated it and now if I hear of anyone spending the day alone I invite them over. Christmas is no time to be alone.

‘Tis the season to be jolly..... Apparently December is not only the month where depression is most likely to hit you but it also has the highest rate of suicides. It’s the month where family and friends should be getting together, where you plan your Christmas and decorate the home etc.

Many things can trigger deeper depression in December...

Loneliness, bereavement and grieving, failed business or loss of a job. The breakup of a relationship. Ill health generally.  All likely to set you on the road to depression at any time, but worse at this time of year.

Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D) adds to the equation. The long nights and short days, the frequent lack of sunshine...

 I love the idea of Christmas but hate the commercialism that this celebration has been overtaken with.

It's the most wonderful time of the year...

Coping with depression is bad enough, but trying to do so when everyone else is extra happy makes it harder to reach out, to ask for help. We don't want to stand out from the crowd so instead we cut ourselves off. Not wanting to drag others down into our depression we stand alone, and watch from the sidelines.
Instances of depression are higher in those who have suffered trauma in their earlier lives. At a time of year where people are getting together to celebrate, those with depression are most likely to feel more isolated. Unable to join in, to embrace the season of good will, they sink further and further into a pit of gloom.

Alone in crowd. I have often felt most lonely when there are people hustling and bustling around me, laughing and joking. Not wanting to spoil their festive fun I would either paint a false smile on my face or just vanish into the shadows. Christmas can be a very stressful time for anyone. For those prone to depression it can be a nightmare.

Though there has been more publicity over the issue of Christmas depression in recent years, it is still not understood. The most important thing you can do is tell someone how you feel. Reach out before the season starts and share. Communication is much easier now. Social media and the internet generally helps bring people together. Telephone someone, talk to someone. See your Doctor or Priest, just don't sit at home alone. There is no shame in admitting that you get depressed and you may be suprised to find others feeling the same way. All to often those who find themselves getting depressed do nothing about it.

Depression can deeply affect your life. It can sneak up and disrupt your work, your home life, your health generally and can lead you to neglect those around you that need you well. Grab a hold of the problem and do something about it.The most important thing is to reach out, ask for help, talk to someone.

Don't let depression destroy your Christmas or that of those around you. The power to do something about it is in your hands. Do you want to become another statistic? Please remember there is no shame in asking for help. This is the season of goodwill to all men and if Scrooge can do it then so can you. 

If you are prone to Christmas depression then reach out, tell someone. Seek help if needs be.

If you know someone who appears to be slipping into a depression or who always gets the winter blues reach out to them. It won't kill you and you might just save a life.

Be nice to yourself, be kind to yourself. The greatest gift is that of love so remember to love yourself too.

To finish.. A little message from me!

Whose Christmas is it anyway?

Whose Christmas is it anyway?
 

Pagans celebrate the winter solstice, on December 21

Apparently, the season of good cheer did not start out as exclusively a Christian festival. According to Pagans, the early Christian church hijacked December 25 to celebrate the birth of Jesus because they saw that everyone was already having a good time and decided to take advantage of it.

Historical debate has been raging for a long time over the exact date of the birth of Jesus Christ, with estimates ranging from sometime in September to much later in February.

But the most important date in the festive season for Pagans is the winter solstice which always takes place around December 21. Called Yule, it is one of the traditional Celtic fire festivals and marks the return of the light after the longest night of the year.

The Pagan Federation, an umbrella group for Pagan organisations, describes Paganism as a spiritual nature-venerating belief system rooted in the ancient nature religions of the world.

The term of Pagan covers Wiccans, better known as witches, followers of the Northern Tradition who base their beliefs on Norse and old northern European beliefs, and also Druidism.

Christians and the more secular Christmas revellers may be relieved to learn that Pagans in Britain do not tend to cavort around holly bushes stark naked, or "skyclad", to celebrate their version of Christmas.

Eat, drink and be merry

Pagans light candles to welcome back the light

Seasonal rites vary among different sorts of Pagans from full-scale services with special robes, chalices and the lighting of candles to a little light meditation.

Many Pagans say that Christmas was superimposed over their great year-end festivals which were very popular in the Graeco-Roman world.

Firstly, the customs of giving presents, eating too much and generally having fun comes from the Roman festival Saturnalia which used to be celebrated around December 17.

Saturn was the Roman God of agriculture and plenty, and gift giving symbolised the redistribution of wealth from the rich to the poor during the season of greatest hardship. Big feasts were generally laid on by the rich to feed their poorer neighbours.

The next big ancient festival was the solstice feast of Mithras, the Roman God of light on December 25. This was the one adopted by Christians sometime around the 4th century as the birthday of Jesus. Traditionally, this festival marked the renewal of hope.

For modern Pagans, the solstice is the most important time. It is often called Yule, after the Scandinavian tradition, or Mother-Night from the Anglo-Saxon tradition. On this, the longest night of the year, they celebrate the return of light and an end to darkness.

The third celebration is New Year's Eve, originally dedicated to the two-faced Roman god Janus, who looked both forward and back. At this festival there were torchlit processions, lots of songs, present giving, fortune telling and people would decorate their houses with all sorts of greenery to symbolise new life.

Much of the ancient new year celebrations, such as gathering greenery in the form of a fir tree or holly, have now moved back to start at what is the beginning of the modern Christmas season.  

via BBC 

Whatever you believe.... Be nice to one another.

Christmas Without You #Christmas #Love

Christmas without you
White Christmas and I'm blue
Like fireworks with no fuse
Christmas without you
The fireplace keeps burning and my thoughts keep turning
The pages of memories of time spent with you
Old Christmas songs we knew and used to make love to
Make it hard to get used to
Christmas without you

Christmas without you
White Christmas and I'm blue
I love you I miss you
So sad but so true
Christmas without you
Like a mystery with no clues
Like fireworks with no fuse
Christmas without you

The sweetest gift I know would be if the new snow
Could fall on your footsteps on this Christmas Eve
The most joyous Christmas if luck could be with us
Would be if Saint Nicholas brought you home to me

Christmas without you
White Christmas and I'm blue
I love you I miss you I need you
So sad but so true
Like a mystery with no clues
Like fireworks with no fuse
Christmas without you

Wishing You All A Very Merry Christmas

Thank you for your support during this year. I wish you and your loved ones a merry, peaceful and happy Christmas holiday.

Unlock the door of your heart -

Enter the gentleness within.

Open the window of your soul -

Breathe in the season of miracles.

No matter how far you've traveled,

It's time to come home now,

Where Christmas abounds in love.

'Twas the night before Christmas.. #poetry #Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the joint.
Not a single decoration, I don't see the point...

No holly, no cards, no lit Christmas tree.

Why should I bother when it's only me?

This time of year just makes me feel blue.

Each year it's less likely my dream will come true.
I have only one wish to make my star shine.

All that I ask, is for someone that's mine!

Another year gone, what more can I do?
I'd do anything for a life lived as two.
I fall down on my knees and desperately pray.
"Please give me the courage to last one more day."

When out on the grounds, an ear piercing scream.

Just like every night when I wake from a dream.....
I run to the window and throw on a coat.

And there I see Santa, face down in my moat.

I'm in awe for a moment, then my jaw hits the ground.

His sleigh is loaded with presents abound.
I drool just thinking of what there could be.
But where will he put her? I don't have a tree.

He starts to get up and wring out his clothes.

Underneath him, his helper, with mud up his nose.

I laugh and yell down, "Don't worry little elf.

It's not deep enough to drown! I've tried it my self!"

Then POOF! They're inside. Like magic I say....

How else could they travel the world in one day?

And with that magic, they're now as clean as can be.

I find it quite hard to believe what I see.

He was fat as could be, I just had to chuckle.
His belt must have had a titanium buckle.
Dressed in red and white fur, from head to toe.

He pulls a tree from his sack. "Now where should this go?"

He pulls out some presents, some big and some small.
But I'm still waiting for the best present of all.
I tell him I've been good, as I pour him some brandy.
Hoping the next one pulled out is my beautiful Sandy.

I've been in love with this girl since the first time I saw her.
And I've told Santa this every year in my letter.
I try to hold on till the end of each year.
But they all end the same as I sob in my beer.

As he pulls the last present, he lets out a snicker.
It's hand soap and towels in a basket of wicker.
He turns to me and gives his shoulders a shrug.
Then stands back up and gives his pants a good tug.

"No Sandy for you." He says with a grin.
"You'll never get her, no matter how good you've been.
You don't have a chance Danny, I've told you before."
He drinks up his brandy and then pours out some more.

I lower my head in disgust and in shame.
Knowing there's only one person to blame.
I head to the window and pity myself.
Look down at my feet and see that damn elf.

"At least you're not me." He says with a frown.
"You don't have to live with this overdressed clown."
Then Santa walks over and gets in his face.
"Don't mess with me punk. I'll put you in your place."

"Nice." Says the elf. "Can we go now, please?
The reindeer outside are starting to freeze."
"Ok." Says Santa. "Our work here is done.
Let's find some more losers and have some more fun."

Then POOF! They were gone. Right out of sight.
Quick as a comet that streaks through the night.
Then I heard him shout out, as I stood there dumbstruck
"Come sit on my knee Sandy, he's moved on, you're out of luck."

I sit in the floor, my heart broken in two
Santa's got my Sandy, There's nothing I can do.......
♪ ♫ ♬ Love has flown I'm all alone,

I sit and wonder why-y-y oh why you left me, oh

Sandy.......♪ ♫ ♬


1999

Mistletoe Kisses - Mistletoe Wishes #poetry #Christmas

'twas Christmas Eve,  the night we met

Was it fate or something more amazing yet?

A Christmas gift from up above?

The magical, wondrous gift of love...

Was there something in the firelight

That brought us close that frosty night

Something stirred, the embers glowed

We sat together, our stories flowed.

Two strangers brought together by fate

Huddled close by the fire grate

Our eyes met, yours shone so bright

Two souls entwined, our hearts took flight

We danced that night, under the Christmas lights

Nowhere to go, we'd missed our flights

We fell in love forever, we just didn't know

When we first kissed under the mistletoe...

Rudolph - The True Story #Christmas

A man named Bob May, depressed and brokenhearted, stared out his drafty apartment window into the chilling December night.

His 4-year-old daughter Barbara sat on his lap quietly sobbing. Bob's wife, Evelyn, was dying of cancer. Little Barbara couldn't understand why her mommy could never come home. Barbara looked up into her dad's eyes and asked, "Why isn't Mommy just like everybody else's Mommy?" Bob's jaw tightened and his eyes welled with tears. Her question brought waves of grief, but also of anger. It had been the story of Bob's life. Life always had to be different for Bob.

Small when he was a kid, Bob was often bullied by other boys. He was too little at the time to compete in sports.  He was often called names he'd rather not remember.. From childhood, Bob was different and never seemed to fit in. Bob did complete college, married his loving wife and was grateful to get his job as a copywriter at  Montgomery Ward during the Great Depression. Then he was blessed with his little girl. But it was all short-lived. Evelyn's bout with cancer stripped them of all their savings and now Bob and his daughter were forced to live in a two-room apartment in the Chicago slums. Evelyn died just days before Christmas in 1938.

Bob struggled to give hope to his child, for whom he couldn't even afford to buy a Christmas gift. But if he couldn't buy a gift, he was determined to make one - a storybook! Bob had created an animal character in his own mind and told the animal's story to little Barbara to give her comfort and hope. Again and again Bob told the story, embellishing it more with each telling. Who was the character? What was the story all about? The story Bob May created was his own autobiography in fable form. The character he created was a misfit outcast like he was. The name of the character? A little reindeer named Rudolph, with a big shiny nose. Bob finished the book just in time to give it to his little girl on Christmas Day. But the story doesn't end there.

The general manager of  Montgomery Ward caught wind of the little storybook and offered Bob May a nominal fee to purchase the rights to print the book. Wards went on to print,_ Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer _ and  distribute it to children visiting Santa Claus in their stores. By 1946 Wards had printed and distributed more than six million copies of Rudolph . That same year, a major publisher wanted to purchase the rights from Wards to print an updated version of the book.

In an unprecedented gesture of kindness, the CEO of Wards returned all rights back to Bob May.. The book became a best seller. Many toy and marketing deals followed and Bob May, now remarried with a growing family, became wealthy from the story he created to comfort his grieving daughter. But the story doesn't end there either.

Bob's brother-in-law, Johnny Marks, made a song adaptation to Rudolph. Though the song was turned down by such popular vocalists as Bing Crosby and Dinah  Shore , it was recorded by the singing cowboy, Gene Autry.  "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed  Reindeer" was released in 1949 and became a phenomenal  success, selling more records than any other Christmas song, with the exception of "White Christmas."



The gift of love that Bob May created for his daughter so long ago kept on returning back to bless him again and again. And Bob May learned the lesson, just like his dear friend Rudolph, that being different isn't so bad. In fact, being different can be a blessing.

Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer

had a very shiny nose.

And if you ever saw him,

you would even say it glows.

All of the other reindeer

used to laugh and call him names.

They never let poor Rudolph

join in any reindeer games.

Then one foggy Christmas Eve

Santa came to say:

"Rudolph with your nose so bright,

won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"

Then all the reindeer loved him

as they shouted out with glee,

Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer,

you'll go down in history!

The Christmas Guest #Christmas #Hope

The Story of the Christmas Guest

It happened one day at December's end
Some neighbors called on an old-time friend.

And they found his shop so meager and mean,
Made gay with a thousand boughs of green.

And old Conrad was sitting with face ashine.
When he suddenly stopped as he stitched the twine.

And he said "My friends at dawn today,
When the cock was crowing the night away,

The Lord appeared in a dream to me.
And He said, 'I'm coming your guest to be"

So I've been busy with feet astir,
Strewing my shop with branches of fir.

The table is spread and the kettle is shined,
And over the rafters the holly is twined.

And now I'll wait for my Lord to appear;
And listen closely so I will hear,

His steps as he nears my humble place.
And I'll open the door and I'll look on his face."

Then his friends went home and left Conrad alone,
For this was the happiest day he had known.

For long since his family had passed away.
And Conrad had spent many a sad Christmas Day.

But he knew with the Lord as his Christmas guest,
This Christmas would be the dearest and best.

So he listened with only joy in his heart,
And with every sound he would rise with a start,

And looked for the Lord to be at his door.
Like the vision that he had had a few hours before.

So he ran to the window after hearing a sound,
But all he could see on the snow covered ground

Was a shabby beggar whose shoes were torn.
And all his clothes were ragged and worn.

But old Conrad was touched and he went to the door
And he said, "Your feet must be cold and sore.

I have some shoes in my shop for you.
And I have a coat to keep you warmer, too."

So with grateful heart the man went away.
But Conrad notice the time of day

And he wondered what made the dear Lord so late,
And how much longer he'd have to wait.

Then he heard another knock, and he ran to the door,
But it was only a stranger once more.

A bent old lady with a shawl of black,
And a bundle of kindling piled on her back.

But she asked only for a place to rest,
a place that was reserved, for Conrad's great guest.

But her voice seemed to plead, "Don't send me away,
Let me rest for awhile this Christmas Day."

So Conrad brewed her a steaming cup
And told her to sit at the table and sup.

After she had left, he was filled with dismay
For he saw that the hours were slipping away

The Lord had not come as He said He would
And Conrad felt sure he had misunderstood.

When out of the stillness he heard a cry.
"Please help, me and tell me - Where am I?"

So again he opened his friendly door.
And stood disappointed as twice before.

It was a child who had wandered away,
And was lost from her family on Christmas Day.

Again Conrad's heart was heavy and sad,
But he knew he could make this little girl glad.

So he called her in and he wiped her tears,
And he quieted all her childish fears.

Then he led her back to her home once more.
Then as he entered his own darkened door,

He knew that the Lord was not coming today,
For the hours of Christmas, had all passed away.

So he went to his room, and he knelt down to pray.
He said, "Lord, why did you delay?

What kept You from coming to call on me?
I wanted so much Your face to see."

Then softly, in the silence, a voice he heard.
"Lift up your head - I have kept My word.

Three times my shadow crossed your floor.
Three times I came to your lowly door.

I was the beggar with bruised cold feet;
I was the woman you gave something to eat;

I was the child on the homeless street.
Three times I knocked, three times I came in,

And each time I found the warmth of a friend.
Of all the gifts, love is the best.

I was honored to be your Christmas guest.

by Helen Steiner Rice

The Christmas Guest Music Video - Grandpa Jones

A Child's Christmas in Wales by Dylan Thomas #Christmas #Family

One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.


All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea, and out come Mrs. Prothero and the firemen.

It was on the afternoon of the Christmas Eve, and I was in Mrs. Prothero's garden, waiting for cats, with her son Jim. It was snowing. It was always snowing at Christmas. December, in my memory, is white as Lapland, though there were no reindeers. But there were cats. Patient, cold and callous, our hands wrapped in socks, we waited to snowball the cats. Sleek and long as jaguars and horrible-whiskered, spitting and snarling, they would slink and sidle over the white back-garden walls, and the lynx-eyed hunters, Jim and I, fur-capped and moccasined trappers from Hudson Bay, off Mumbles Road, would hurl our deadly snowballs at the green of their eyes. The wise cats never appeared.

We were so still, Eskimo-footed arctic marksmen in the muffling silence of the eternal snows - eternal, ever since Wednesday - that we never heard Mrs. Prothero's first cry from her igloo at the bottom of the garden. Or, if we heard it at all, it was, to us, like the far-off challenge of our enemy and prey, the neighbor's polar cat. But soon the voice grew louder.

"Fire!" cried Mrs. Prothero, and she beat the dinner-gong.

And we ran down the garden, with the snowballs in our arms, toward the house; and smoke, indeed, was pouring out of the dining-room, and the gong was bombilating, and Mrs. Prothero was announcing ruin like a town crier in Pompeii. This was better than all the cats in Wales standing on the wall in a row. We bounded into the house, laden with snowballs, and stopped at the open door of the smoke-filled room.

Something was burning all right; perhaps it was Mr. Prothero, who always slept there after midday dinner with a newspaper over his face. But he was standing in the middle of the room, saying, "A fine Christmas!" and smacking at the smoke with a slipper.

"Call the fire brigade," cried Mrs. Prothero as she beat the gong.

"There won't be there," said Mr. Prothero, "it's Christmas."

There was no fire to be seen, only clouds of smoke and Mr. Prothero standing in the middle of them, waving his slipper as though he were conducting.

"Do something," he said. And we threw all our snowballs into the smoke - I think we missed Mr. Prothero - and ran out of the house to the telephone box.

"Let's call the police as well," Jim said. "And the ambulance." "And Ernie Jenkins, he likes fires."

But we only called the fire brigade, and soon the fire engine came and three tall men in helmets brought a hose into the house and Mr. Prothero got out just in time before they turned it on. Nobody could have had a noisier Christmas Eve. And when the firemen turned off the hose and were standing in the wet, smoky room, Jim's Aunt, Miss. Prothero, came downstairs and peered in at them. Jim and I waited, very quietly, to hear what she would say to them. She said the right thing, always. She looked at the three tall firemen in their shining helmets, standing among the smoke and cinders and dissolving snowballs, and she said, "Would you like anything to read?"

Years and years ago, when I was a boy, when there were wolves in Wales, and birds the color of red-flannel petticoats whisked past the harp-shaped hills, when we sang and wallowed all night and day in caves that smelt like Sunday afternoons in damp front farmhouse parlors, and we chased, with the jawbones of deacons, the English and the bears, before the motor car, before the wheel, before the duchess-faced horse, when we rode the daft and happy hills bareback, it snowed and it snowed. But here a small boy says: "It snowed last year, too. I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea."

"But that was not the same snow," I say. "Our snow was not only shaken from white wash buckets down the sky, it came shawling out of the ground and swam and drifted out of the arms and hands and bodies of the trees; snow grew overnight on the roofs of the houses like a pure and grandfather moss, minutely -ivied the walls and settled on the postman, opening the gate, like a dumb, numb thunder-storm of white, torn Christmas cards."

"Were there postmen then, too?"

"With sprinkling eyes and wind-cherried noses, on spread, frozen feet they crunched up to the doors and mittened on them manfully. But all that the children could hear was a ringing of bells."

"You mean that the postman went rat-a-tat-tat and the doors rang?"

"I mean that the bells the children could hear were inside them."

"I only hear thunder sometimes, never bells."

"There were church bells, too."

"Inside them?"

"No, no, no, in the bat-black, snow-white belfries, tugged by bishops and storks. And they rang their tidings over the bandaged town, over the frozen foam of the powder and ice-cream hills, over the crackling sea. It seemed that all the churches boomed for joy under my window; and the weathercocks crew for Christmas, on our fence."

"Get back to the postmen"

"They were just ordinary postmen, found of walking and dogs and Christmas and the snow. They knocked on the doors with blue knuckles ...."

"Ours has got a black knocker...."

"And then they stood on the white Welcome mat in the little, drifted porches and huffed and puffed, making ghosts with their breath, and jogged from foot to foot like small boys wanting to go out."

"And then the presents?"

"And then the Presents, after the Christmas box. And the cold postman, with a rose on his button-nose, tingled down the tea-tray-slithered run of the chilly glinting hill. He went in his ice-bound boots like a man on fishmonger's slabs.

"He wagged his bag like a frozen camel's hump, dizzily turned the corner on one foot, and, by God, he was gone."

"Get back to the Presents."

"There were the Useful Presents: engulfing mufflers of the old coach days, and mittens made for giant sloths; zebra scarfs of a substance like silky gum that could be tug-o'-warred down to the galoshes; blinding tam-o'-shanters like patchwork tea cozies and bunny-suited busbies and balaclavas for victims of head-shrinking tribes; from aunts who always wore wool next to the skin there were mustached and rasping vests that made you wonder why the aunts had any skin left at all; and once I had a little crocheted nose bag from an aunt now, alas, no longer whinnying with us. And pictureless books in which small boys, though warned with quotations not to, would skate on Farmer Giles' pond and did and drowned; and books that told me everything about the wasp, except why."

"Go on the Useless Presents."

"Bags of moist and many-colored jelly babies and a folded flag and a false nose and a tram-conductor's cap and a machine that punched tickets and rang a bell; never a catapult; once, by mistake that no one could explain, a little hatchet; and a celluloid duck that made, when you pressed it, a most unducklike sound, a mewing moo that an ambitious cat might make who wished to be a cow; and a painting book in which I could make the grass, the trees, the sea and the animals any colour I pleased, and still the dazzling sky-blue sheep are grazing in the red field under the rainbow-billed and pea-green birds. Hardboileds, toffee, fudge and allsorts, crunches, cracknels, humbugs, glaciers, marzipan, and butterwelsh for the Welsh. And troops of bright tin soldiers who, if they could not fight, could always run. And Snakes-and-Families and Happy Ladders. And Easy Hobbi-Games for Little Engineers, complete with instructions. Oh, easy for Leonardo! And a whistle to make the dogs bark to wake up the old man next door to make him beat on the wall with his stick to shake our picture off the wall. And a packet of cigarettes: you put one in your mouth and you stood at the corner of the street and you waited for hours, in vain, for an old lady to scold you for smoking a cigarette, and then with a smirk you ate it. And then it was breakfast under the balloons."

"Were there Uncles like in our house?"

"There are always Uncles at Christmas. The same Uncles. And on Christmas morning, with dog-disturbing whistle and sugar fags, I would scour the swatched town for the news of the little world, and find always a dead bird by the Post Office or by the white deserted swings; perhaps a robin, all but one of his fires out. Men and women wading or scooping back from chapel, with taproom noses and wind-bussed cheeks, all albinos, huddles their stiff black jarring feathers against the irreligious snow. Mistletoe hung from the gas brackets in all the front parlors; there was sherry and walnuts and bottled beer and crackers by the dessertspoons; and cats in their fur-abouts watched the fires; and the high-heaped fire spat, all ready for the chestnuts and the mulling pokers. Some few large men sat in the front parlors, without their collars, Uncles almost certainly, trying their new cigars, holding them out judiciously at arms' length, returning them to their mouths, coughing, then holding them out again as though waiting for the explosion; and some few small aunts, not wanted in the kitchen, nor anywhere else for that matter, sat on the very edge of their chairs, poised and brittle, afraid to break, like faded cups and saucers."

Not many those mornings trod the piling streets: an old man always, fawn-bowlered, yellow-gloved and, at this time of year, with spats of snow, would take his constitutional to the white bowling green and back, as he would take it wet or fire on Christmas Day or Doomsday; sometimes two hale young men, with big pipes blazing, no overcoats and wind blown scarfs, would trudge, unspeaking, down to the forlorn sea, to work up an appetite, to blow away the fumes, who knows, to walk into the waves until nothing of them was left but the two furling smoke clouds of their inextinguishable briars. Then I would be slap-dashing home, the gravy smell of the dinners of others, the bird smell, the brandy, the pudding and mince, coiling up to my nostrils, when out of a snow-clogged side lane would come a boy the spit of myself, with a pink-tipped cigarette and the violet past of a black eye, cocky as a bullfinch, leering all to himself.

I hated him on sight and sound, and would be about to put my dog whistle to my lips and blow him off the face of Christmas when suddenly he, with a violet wink, put his whistle to his lips and blew so stridently, so high, so exquisitely loud, that gobbling faces, their cheeks bulged with goose, would press against their tinsled windows, the whole length of the white echoing street. For dinner we had turkey and blazing pudding, and after dinner the Uncles sat in front of the fire, loosened all buttons, put their large moist hands over their watch chains, groaned a little and slept. Mothers, aunts and sisters scuttled to and fro, bearing tureens. Auntie Bessie, who had already been frightened, twice, by a clock-work mouse, whimpered at the sideboard and had some elderberry wine. The dog was sick. Auntie Dosie had to have three aspirins, but Auntie Hannah, who liked port, stood in the middle of the snowbound back yard, singing like a big-bosomed thrush. I would blow up balloons to see how big they would blow up to; and, when they burst, which they all did, the Uncles jumped and rumbled. In the rich and heavy afternoon, the Uncles breathing like dolphins and the snow descending, I would sit among festoons and Chinese lanterns and nibble dates and try to make a model man-o'-war, following the Instructions for Little Engineers, and produce what might be mistaken for a sea-going tramcar.

Or I would go out, my bright new boots squeaking, into the white world, on to the seaward hill, to call on Jim and Dan and Jack and to pad through the still streets, leaving huge footprints on the hidden pavements.

"I bet people will think there's been hippos."

"What would you do if you saw a hippo coming down our street?"

"I'd go like this, bang! I'd throw him over the railings and roll him down the hill and then I'd tickle him under the ear and he'd wag his tail."

"What would you do if you saw two hippos?"

Iron-flanked and bellowing he-hippos clanked and battered through the scudding snow toward us as we passed Mr. Daniel's house.

"Let's post Mr. Daniel a snow-ball through his letter box."

"Let's write things in the snow."

"Let's write, 'Mr. Daniel looks like a spaniel' all over his lawn."

Or we walked on the white shore. "Can the fishes see it's snowing?"

The silent one-clouded heavens drifted on to the sea. Now we were snow-blind travelers lost on the north hills, and vast dewlapped dogs, with flasks round their necks, ambled and shambled up to us, baying "Excelsior." We returned home through the poor streets where only a few children fumbled with bare red fingers in the wheel-rutted snow and cat-called after us, their voices fading away, as we trudged uphill, into the cries of the dock birds and the hooting of ships out in the whirling bay. And then, at tea the recovered Uncles would be jolly; and the ice cake loomed in the center of the table like a marble grave. Auntie Hannah laced her tea with rum, because it was only once a year.

Bring out the tall tales now that we told by the fire as the gaslight bubbled like a diver. Ghosts whooed like owls in the long nights when I dared not look over my shoulder; animals lurked in the cubbyhole under the stairs and the gas meter ticked. And I remember that we went singing carols once, when there wasn't the shaving of a moon to light the flying streets. At the end of a long road was a drive that led to a large house, and we stumbled up the darkness of the drive that night, each one of us afraid, each one holding a stone in his hand in case, and all of us too brave to say a word. The wind through the trees made noises as of old and unpleasant and maybe webfooted men wheezing in caves. We reached the black bulk of the house. "What shall we give them? Hark the Herald?"

"No," Jack said, "Good King Wencelas. I'll count three." One, two three, and we began to sing, our voices high and seemingly distant in the snow-felted darkness round the house that was occupied by nobody we knew. We stood close together, near the dark door. Good King Wencelas looked out On the Feast of Stephen ... And then a small, dry voice, like the voice of someone who has not spoken for a long time, joined our singing: a small, dry, eggshell voice from the other side of the door: a small dry voice through the keyhole. And when we stopped running we were outside our house; the front room was lovely; balloons floated under the hot-water-bottle-gulping gas; everything was good again and shone over the town.

"Perhaps it was a ghost," Jim said. "

Perhaps it was trolls," Dan said, who was always reading.

"Let's go in and see if there's any jelly left," Jack said. And we did that.

Always on Christmas night there was music. An uncle played the fiddle, a cousin sang "Cherry Ripe," and another uncle sang "Drake's Drum." It was very warm in the little house. Auntie Hannah, who had got on to the parsnip wine, sang a song about Bleeding Hearts and Death, and then another in which she said her heart was like a Bird's Nest; and then everybody laughed again; and then I went to bed. Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steady falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.





Part One


Part Two



A Child's Christmas in Wales by Dylan Thomas

The Twelve Myths Of Christmas #Christmas

1. Prince Albert invented Christmas trees

Almost. The tree that Queen Victoria and he set up for their five children in 1848 was depicted in the Illustrated London News and the custom, still seen then as a Germanic importation, was taken up by the prosperous classes. But another royal consort, George III's wife, Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, had made the Christmas tree a feature of life at court from 1761.

2. Mistletoe was banned from churches

As Steve Roud points out in his learned The English Year, there is no evidence of mistletoe being banished by law from churches, nor even that it was used in "pagan" ceremonies in England. Pliny (in the first century AD) describes Druids harvesting mistletoe with a olden sickle, but that was in Gaul centuries before the Anglo-Saxons invaded Britain.

3. Decorations should come down on Jan 6

 Until the 19th century, people would keep the decorations of holly, ivy, box, yew, laurel and mistletoe up until Feb 2, Candlemas Day, the end of the Christmas season, 40 days after the birth of Jesus. Robert Herrick in his poem Ceremonies for Candlemas Eve writes, "Down with the rosemary and bays, / Down with the mistletoe; / Instead of holly, now up-raise / The greener box, for show." In the reign of Victoria decorations came down on Twelfth Night, Jan 6, and generally were burnt.

4. Jan 6 is the Orthodox Christmas

The Orthodox celebrate Christmas on Jan 7 by our calendar because their calendar does not incorporate the Gregorian reforms of the 16th century. For some years their calendar was only 12 days adrift, and their Dec 25 fell on our Jan 6. This is when, in the West, the Epiphany falls, the feast of the discovery of the child Jesus by the three wise men or magi. This feast is important to the Orthodox, usually being called the Theophany. But they will be celebrating it on Jan 19.

5. We three kings of Orient are

They are not called kings in the Bible but "wise men from the east" (Matthew 2:1). They are taken to be kings because in the prophet Isaiah (60:3), it says, "And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising." They are taken to be three because of their three gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. The incense signifies the divinity of Christ, since it was burnt in divine worship among the Jews and in the pagan world, too. Gold stands for royalty and myrrh for the future sufferings of Christ, who was offered wine mixed with myrrh to drink on the Cross, and whose body was anointed with myrrh and aloes before his burial. Their names came later: Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar (the last usually represented as black) are the names supplied in the sixth-century mosaic in the church of Sant'Apollinare Nuovo.

6. It is illegal to eat mince pies on Christmas Day

An Act of June 8 1647, declared that "forasmuch as the Feasts of the Nativity of Christ, Easter, and Whitsuntide, and other Festivals commonly called Holy-Days, have been heretofore superstitiously used and observed, be it Ordained, by the Lords and Commons in Parliament assembled, that the said Holy Days be no longer observed". Mince pies were not singled out. In 1657, the diarist John Evelyn was arrested at a forbidden Holy Communion service on Christmas Day and interrogated as to why he "durst offend, & particularly be at Common prayers, which they told me was but the Masse in English". The anti-Christmas laws of the interregnum lapsed at the restoration.

7. Santa Claus is American

St Nicholas was Bishop of Myrna, in what is now Turkey. But his transmogrification into Santa Claus was indeed accomplished in America, largely through the popularity of a poem, The Visit of St Nicholas, usually known from its first line as The Night before Christmas, published anonymously in 1822 by Clement C. Moore, an Episcopal clergyman from New York, until then better known as a Hebrew scholar. He incorporated customs connected by the Dutch with the feast of St Nicholas, Dec 6.

8. Santa Claus is the same as Father Christmas

There were personifications of Christmas hundreds of years ago, Sir Christmas or Father Christmas. In a 16th-century manuscript there is a carol beginning:

"Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell."

"Who is there that singeth so,

Nowell, nowell, nowell?"

"I am here, Sir Cristesmasse."

"Welcome my lord, Sir Cristesmasse."

9. Nowell means "good news"

Nowell is a word fraught with misunderstanding. It comes through Old French from the Latin natalem (accusative), "birthday", referring to the birth of Christ. It does not come from nouvelle, the French for "new". It was used centuries ago in English as an exclamation of joy, not just in carols (where it survives), but also in circumstances unconnected with Christmas (as in the welcoming home of Henry V from Agincourt). Only in the 19th century did it come to be used (in the form noel) as a synonym for "carol".

10. Adeste Fidelis is an ancient carol

Some medieval carols are in Latin but the words of Adeste Fidelis are found in a manuscript dating only from 1750, written by John Wade, a scholar of plainchant. It is assumed that he invented them. The words were translated into English by Frederick Oakeley in 1841. "Carol" was at first the name for a dance, and the songs that went with the dance came to be called carols too. They were not at all limited to Christmas subjects, touching on love, mortality, devotion to the Holy Trinity, war, lullabies and the Virgin Mary. There are plenty of manuscripts from the 15th century. The phrase "Christmas carol" appears in an early printed book sold by Wynkyn de Worde, the colleague of Caxton, in the early 16th century.

11. Good King Wenceslas looked out

The Feast of Stephen is Boxing Day, and Wenceslas did exist. He was known as Vaclav to the Bohemians he ruled and he was murdered by his brother in 929. He is the patron saint of the Czech Republic, so there is no quarrel with the adjective "good". Much of the rest comes from the prolific pen of John Mason Neale, who published the lyrics in 1853 to go with a medieval tune he had come across that had originally fitted a song about the spring, Tempus adest floridum, which was printed in a collection called Piae Cantiones in 1582. Though the historical basis is lacking, it is unkind, as some hymnologists have, to call Neale's verses "doggerel".

12. Christmas cards originally had religious themes

In 1843 John Calcott Horsley, a painter, designed a Christmas card for sale for Sir Henry Cole, the great designer and founder of the Victoria and Albert Museum. The cards were lithographed by Joseph Cundall, were hand-coloured and sold at the high price of a shilling each. The first card sold 1,000. The picture was of family cheer, not a religious scene.

Is Santa Claus an advertisers dream? #Christmas

It's often said that Santa's red and white robes were the creation of a Coca-Cola advertising campaign. Is that true?

He's got his own style and he sticks to it. Father Christmas is the universally recognised symbol of the festive season in his traditional robes.

But the red suit and hat with the white fur trim have given rise to the belief among some that Santa's togs were dreamed up by canny ad men who recast him in the soft drink maker's corporate colours.

But while there's some truth in the suggestion - Coke ran a campaign for 30 years featuring a jolly fat Santa - his colour scheme owes more to ecclesiastical vestments than a brainstorm on Madison Avenue.

The colours are widely thought to derive from the original Saint Nicholas, who was the Bishop of Myra in the 4th Century. Red and white were the hues of traditional bishop robes, although some historians argue that he originally dressed in different colours.

He was famous for his kindness to children and generosity to the poor. After he died the legend of Saint Nicholas grew and he is still remembered in some countries on 6 December.

"To this very day St Nicholas arrives in Holland each November, dressed in a bishop's vestments," says a spokesman for the St Nicholas Society.

"He rides through the streets to the enjoyment of thousands of onlookers, to begin his investigation into the behaviour of the children."

In medieval England and for centuries afterwards, the figure of Father Christmas represented the spirit of benevolence and good cheer. In the 19th Century Dutch emigrants took their story of a legendary gift-bringer called Sinterklaas to America, where he eventually became known as Santa Claus.

'Evolutionary creation'

But while the names and legends may differ, there was little variation in the red and white outfits worn. However, over time the bishop cloak and mitre were replaced by the fur-trimmed suit.

There are records of Santa wearing various coloured costumes, but red was by far the most popular and became known as the quintessential Father Christmas outfit.

"Father Christmas is an evolutionary creation, influenced by folklore, legend and religion," says Tom Glamon, whose research into Santa will win him the envy of children the world over.

"He didn't spring to life at a certain time, fully formed and wearing a red and white suit. It wasn't really until the late 19th Century that the image now recognised across the world became set."

In recent history the red and white suit has been fixed and standardised by certain publishing events and advertising campaigns.

Between 1863 and 1886, Harper's Weekly magazine ran a series of engravings by Thomas Nast. He developed an image of Santa very close to the modern-day one. From these engravings the concept of Santa's workshop and the idea of writing letters to him also developed.

Coca-Cola's involvement kicks in in the early 1930s when Swedish artist Haddon Sundblom started drawing ads for Coke featuring a fat Santa in a red coat trimmed with fur and secured with a large belt.

His drawings were used in the company's festive advertisements for the next 30 years, well and truly cementing the image.

Of course, one sure fire way of putting the Coca-Cola story to rest would be to ask the man himself. Unfortunately, this time of year finds him so busy he has been unable to return our calls.

As for Father Christmas himself... Well we all know that he is real and all you have to do is believe.

Why a Christmas Tree? #Christmas

The custom of having a tree as a central focal piece in winter holiday celebrations can be traced back hundreds of centuries. The ancient Egyptians had a custom of bringing branches from palm trees into their homes on the shortest day of the year each December. The Chinese and Hebrews from ancient history had similar traditions, too. The Scandinavians are attributed with beginning such customs as the Advent Wreath and the Yule Log, and were known to decorate their houses and barns with evergreens during winter celebrations. The Vikings of Northern Europe believed the evergreen to represent the promise of the return to spring once winter had passed. In Italy, Romans decorated trees with candles and trinkets during Saturnalia. The Druids, in France and England, dressed oak trees with fruit in honor of the gods of harvest. Boughs from trees were use in several other Pagan winter festivals as well.

There is a bit of contention as to whether the Christmas tree originated from Pagan celebrations or from Christian influence and is muddled with legends such as the ones involving Saint Boniface.

Saint Boniface was an English monk from Crediton, Devonshire, sent to Germany in the 7th century to spread the Word of God. There are two well-known stories born from his visit. One is rather farfetched and the other is more closely related to true facts.

In the former legend, Saint Boniface is said to have come upon a Pagan festival centered around an oak tree in which a child was about to be sacrificed. In order to stop the revelers from killing the child, he smashed the oak tree with his fist and fell it with a single blow. In its place a fir tree grew. Saint Boniface then told the people that it was the Tree of Life and represented the life of Christ.

The more realistic legend indicates that Saint Boniface spent a great deal of time in Thuringia, an area later to become the leader of the Christmas decoration industry. He used the fir tree in his ministry as an analogy of the Holy Trinity with each corner of the tree's triangular shape representing either the Father, the Son, or the Holy Spirit. Because of the Pagan reverence for the oak tree, the analogy was an easy transition to make for the newly converted. They began to refer to the fir tree as God's tree. By the 12 century, an inverted fir tree was hung from ceilings at Christmas as a symbol of Christianity.

Another Christian given credit for the Christmas tree was Martin Luther, the founder of the Protestant movement, at Riga in Latvia in 1510. The story tells of his wandering through a forest one evening and noting how the stars sparkled through the limbs of an evergreen making it appear as though the tree were bejeweled with light. So inspired by the sight, he cut down a small fir tree, took it home, and decked it with tiny candles so that he could share it with his children.

The first Christmas tree as we know it today appeared in Alsace in 1521. In current geographical mapping, Alsace is in France, but, in 1521, it was in German territory. The tree was introduced to the local courtesans by Princess Hélène de Mecklembourg who brought one with her to Paris after her marriage to the Duke of Orleans. Ten years later, the first printed mentioning of Christmas trees was published.

By the end of the 16th century, Alsace and surrounding communities had sorely abused their resources of evergreens. So popular was the custom of bringing trees into their homes to decorate that an ordinance was passed to keep households from having more than one tree. Because of the scarcity, some families erected Christmas pyramids instead made from plain, wooden structures, which they then adorned with branches and candles.

With the 17th century came a surge of inventiveness in the field of Christmas decoration. Christmas markets were held in German towns to provide villagers with gifts, food, and holiday trinkets to place on their trees. Bakers made gingerbread in various shapes and molded wax ornaments for the villagers to purchase. The most accurate record of such a fair was by a visitor to Strasbourg in 1601. In his notes, he made mention of a tree covered in wafers, sugar-twists, and paper flowers in all colors. The variety of color is significant because earlier Christmas trees were symbolic of the Paradise Tree in the Garden of Eden. Traditionally, food adorning these trees represented plenty while only two colors of flowers were used, red for knowledge and white for innocence.

Tinsel was another holiday decoration that arrived on the scene in the 17th century and is attributed to a sad tale of a woman whose husband had passed. She was left with several children to raise and worked very hard to support them. For Christmas, she diligently created a Christmas visual to greet the children on Christmas day, but during the night, spiders spun webs through the limbs of her tree. According to legend, the Christ child witnessed the webbing and knowing the woman would be devastated to find all her work ruined, he changed to webs into silver.

Actually, tinsel was first used in Germany in 1610 and was originally made of silver. Machines were invented to stretch out the silver into thin strips soon afterward and inventors tried unsuccessfully to create tinsel from a mixture of lead and tin. However, the mixed tinsel tended to be too heavy and prone to breaking, so people reverted to the use of silver until the mid-20th century.

The Christmas tree ventured to England during the 17th century as well. It accompanied the Georgian kings from Germany, but because the British populace wasn't duly impressed with the German monarchy, nor were they wont to follow the fashions of the court, they didn't readily accept it until nearly a hundred years later under Queen Victoria's rule. The Christmas tree of that time period was bedecked with tinsel, silver wire ornaments, candles, and strung beads. It was customary to have several small trees, one representing each member of the family, set on a table with each person's gifts place beneath their tree.

During the American Revolution, in the 1770's, Hessians, German soldiers hired to fight along side the British, introduced their custom of having a Christmas tree into a pocket of American civilization. After the war ended, some of the Hessian soldiers remained and the tradition caught on within the local region. The Pennsylvanian German settlements, however, had a community Christmas tree as early as 1747.

In 1846, the Illustrated London News pictured Queen Victoria and Prince Albert with their children surrounding a Christmas tree. Due to the reigning couple's popularity, the Christmas tree was launched into a state of fashion in English society. Not to be outdone, the ever, fashion-conscious American east-coast adopted the Victorian tree into their midst.

Decorations during the 1800's were still of a hand-made variety. Young ladies crocheted snowflakes and stars and made baskets for sugared almonds from paper. Beaded decorations and tinsel were special ordered from Germany and candles were ensconced in hoops to provide a modicum of safety.

The 19th century was a flurry of activity in the history of the Christmas tree. Lauscha, in Thuringia, began to produce intricately shaped glass bead garlands as well as garlands made from common necklace materials. They were primarily available in Germany, so there was not a sufficient amount to ship outside of the country. The Christmas angel became a recurring tree topper. Small toys were tucked into the tree as gifts, but the majority remained under the tree.

The Christmas tree was quickly traveling throughout Europe, but the Mediterranean countries held fast to their own traditions. They preferred to exhibit Creche, a Nativity scene including a stable and figurines. However, they were likely to place Creche below a wooden, triangular platform tree called a ceppo.

Once again, the German evergreen resource began to suffer. It had become the height of fashion to cut off the top of a tall evergreen tree. The practice stunted the growth of the trees and eventually, killed them. Statutes were passed to prevent such destruction from happening.

By the late 1800's, Christmas trees had undergone a radical change. Lauscha was producing glass ornaments. The more a person had on their tree, the higher their status. Patriotism was an immensely popular theme in England and the angel topper was replaced by a flag. The Americans patented electric lights in 1882, and ten years later, metal hooks for safer hanging of ornaments.

The 1880's saw a rise in the Aesthetic Movement. Christmas trees no longer were contained to a table, but reached the floor and were piled high with anything that would fit. As a contrast, some people chose to opt for the opposite effect and maintained a well-balanced tree with delicately colored ornaments, interesting shapes, and minimalist style.

Changes continued throughout the 19th century. Themed trees were growing in popularity such as color themes with trees beribboned in pastels and matching ornaments or topical concepts such as an Oriental or Egyptian tree. Queen Victoria's death in 1903 sent England spiraling into mourning. With her death, the Christmas tree nearly died as well. It wasn't until the 1930's when Dickinson became the rage that the Christmas tree was popular once again. In America, immigration prompted a flux in Christmas tradition and customs.

A number of families started Christmas tree farms because of the depletion of resources. The first Christmas tree farm opened shop in 1901 and began with 25,000 Norway spruce near Trenton, New Jersey. The transplanted seedlings were harvest in 1908 and sold for a dollar a piece.

The first artificial tree made from goose feathers was made in Germany to balance the destruction of forests. It was closely followed by an American company's invention. The Addis Brush company created the first brush tree using the same machinery that they made their toilet bowl brushes with. The brush tree had an advantage over the feather tree from Germany because it was able to support the weight of heavier ornamentation.

Two world wars saw a shift in where Christmas trees and decorations were manufactured. Due to Germany's difficulty in exporting, Japan and American began to produce in order to compensate. The 1940's were a resurgence of the real and large Christmas tree. However, because of air raids, most people kept their Christmas ornaments well-protected in storage.

Patented in the 1950's, but not popular until the 1960's, the infamous Silver Pine tree was exported en masse from America. It was made of aluminum and was a modernistic idea, designed to be accompanied by a revolving light source. Each colored window would reflect different shades as the gel sphere passed by the light once a revolution.

The rest of the 20th century was comprised of a return to Victorian nostalgia and themed trees. Antique replicas, plastic reproductions, and new designs arrived on the scene. There was a delight in convenience over better artificial trees making for easier clean up, yet some people still enjoy the smell and look of the real thing.