4 True-life stories that evoke the true meaning of Christmas
12th Dec 2023 Life
12 min read
For some, Christmas means preserving a century-old neighbourly ritual, while for others it's caring for the terminally ill. We reveal four unique festive traditions
Christmas, a time when the world sparkles with lights, goodwill, and the promise of togetherness, means something unique to each of us. For some, it’s a time to be selfless and help those in need; for others, it’s all about family and connection.
In this festive article, we unwrap four unique true-life tales that capture the essence of Christmas.
A beacon of unity
The Harpers & Queen picture of Benjie, his dad and sister
Christmas is never so magical as when you’re a child. The stockings, the presents, the food, the sweets, the tree, the telly, and the rarity of “Can I stay up a bit later, pleeeeease” actually being answered in the affirmative.
But as a child, I would venture that my Christmases were more magical than most, thanks to a deeply romantic and picturesque tradition.
I grew up in Campden Hill Square, a beautiful Victorian square in London’s Notting Hill Gate. On Christmas Eve, when it got dark, every house in the square would turn off its lights and place rows of candles in all the front-facing windows.
Over the next few hours, people would come from the surrounding environs to quietly walk around the square, taking in a scene that could have been from the 19th century were it not for the Peugeot 504 sitting outside our house, and the sound of the 88 bus going past the end of our road.
The origins of the tradition have been lost in the mists of time, though it seems to have started in the 1920s.
One story is that a Jewish orphanage in the square placed candles in its windows on Christmas Eve, only to have the windows broken by antisemitic vandals. Thereafter, the other houses all put candles in their windows so the vandals couldn’t identify the Jewish house.
It is romantic, but apocryphal—one can only hope that it’s true.
"The other houses all put candles in their windows so the vandals couldn’t identify the Jewish house"
What was undoubtedly true was that the tradition was taken very seriously by local residents.
The only years that the display didn’t take place were during the Blackout in the Second World War, and the fire brigade’s strike of 1977. And woe betide the household that didn’t take part.
Even if you were due to be on holiday, it was considered your neighbourly duty to arrange for a surrogate to light your candles.
The whole affair was a cause of great excitement for my sisters and I—not least because my parents threw an enormous party every Christmas Eve.
Up to 100 guests would pitch up, walk the square marvelling at the scene, before descending on our house for the ensuing bacchanalia (in truth, this meant a glass of wine and a vol-au-vent, consumed in semi-darkness until the lights could be switched on at about 8.30pm).
There was one year, however, when the Christmas candles caused something of a rift in our otherwise harmonious household. Sometime around 1980 my father, in his role as chairman of the residents’ committee, was interviewed about the tradition by the magazine Harpers & Queen. They also sent a photographer.
But, Dad being Dad, whose mind was almost always occupied by lofty, intellectual matters, he’d forgotten to tell my mum (or indeed my oldest sister), and neither of them were present for the photo.
"Even if you were due to be on holiday, it was considered your neighbourly duty to arrange for a surrogate to light your candles"
Mum was incandescent. All the more so when the magazine was published, and it became apparent that I had been photographed wearing ripped jeans (this was not a fashion statement, more a legacy of hours spent playing football in the square gardens).
It’s fair to say that the Christmas chill wasn’t just meteorological that year.
Christmas Eve would always end the same way. We would go to Midnight Mass in the local church (our one religious event of the year, my parents being more of the Humanist persuasion). Then we’d go home, be allowed to open one present before bed (it being after midnight) before turning in and dreaming of Father Christmas.
Father Christmas, of course, may have indulged in a few glasses of wine during the party. One year, this led to a bit of a stocking mix-up, with my grandpa delighted to find some children’s Punch and Judy toothpaste in his stocking, and me rather bemused to discover a tube of Dentu-Grip.
Today, I live in Brighton, with my wife and our two children. I often think about making the trip up to West London to show them the candles, a tradition that still endures. But I’ve never been back.
Perhaps some things are best left as memories. Christmas is never so magical as when you’re a child.
(Benjie Goodhart, Brighton)
Sharing Christmas with strangers
In honour of her deceased aunt's love for Christmas, Louise's family threw open their doors to some unknown visitors
I come from a large multicultural family, spread out across the globe. Despite being found in far-flung corners of the world, we’re a tight-knit family that makes an effort to stay close and keep in touch.
Christmas has always been a special time for us and a chance for us all to come together, no matter where in the world we might be.
My aunt Samantha, known affectionately by everyone in the family as Mantha, loved Christmas and always went out of her way to make it cosy and magical for everyone around her. Mantha was kind, fun and full of energy so it wasn’t hard to get into the Christmas spirit when she was around.
December 2022 was no exception.
Mantha drove three hours from her house in Bournemouth to visit everyone two weeks before the 25th and to drop off presents to her friends still in the area. We chatted about our plans, laughed at how organised Mantha was (presents already bought and wrapped and the freezer full ahead of the big day) and kissed goodbye when it was time to leave.
"Just seven days before Christmas Day, Mantha’s son called us distraught to tell us Samantha had passed away suddenly"
So when on the evening of December 18, just seven days before Christmas Day, Mantha’s son called us distraught to tell us Samantha had passed away suddenly at home, none of us could quite believe it. I’d only been messaging her the day before, sharing voice notes like we always liked to do.
Mantha had had a blood clot that had unfortunately travelled to her lung and despite the paramedic’s best efforts, they were unable to save my beloved, fun, wonderful aunt.
So close to Christmas, none of us felt like celebrating and we decided we’d have a quiet day at home, surrounded by family. That was until my sister-in-law, Vera, told us about some colleagues of hers who’d just arrived in the UK.
Vera is Chinese and like her, her colleagues were four young women from mainland China. They’d arrived in the country far away from friends and family unaware they’d have to spend the next two days alone while the rest of the country got together and celebrated.
We knew we couldn’t leave them to spend the day by themselves, especially after we heard how eager they were to experience a proper English Christmas. More importantly, we knew that Samantha would have wanted us to throw open our doors and give them a Christmas to remember, so that’s exactly what we ended up doing.
At the last minute, we dashed around shops, adding to the trolly presents for them to open, extra bottles of prosecco and Christmas pudding to make sure there was plenty to go around.
When the day finally came, we welcomed them into the house with open arms and tried to put our pain aside so we could give them the full Christmas experience.
"By opening our doors to strangers who have now become friends, we experienced that love when we needed it most"
We opened presents together around the tree, ate a full Christmas dinner (introducing them to pigs in blankets and Yorkshire puddings), played games, pulled crackers, watched It’s a Wonderful Life and ate Christmas cake.
It didn’t ease the pain of Samantha’s absence but connecting with strangers and sharing our culture helped us get through the day and turned out to be the very thing we all needed.
The first Christmas without Mantha was difficult but it was also the first time where Christmas took on a deeper, more special meaning.
Around this time of year, it’s easy to get sidetracked and focus on the wrong things. We’re all guilty of spending too much money and trying to outdo ourselves but the best feeling doesn’t come from material things. It comes from being together, putting aside our differences and showing one another love.
By opening our doors to strangers who have now become friends, we experienced that love when we needed it most and it made for a Christmas none of us will ever forget.
(Louise Carleton, Bedfordshire)
Christmas standby
With sons living abroad who could drop by at any moment, it's Christmas all-year-round at Jane's home
I’m playing “Jingle Bells” on the piano and the bauble-laden tree is sparkling over my shoulder. The smell of roasting turkey fills the house and I can see filled Christmas stockings waiting to be plundered. Ah, cue Noddy Holder: “It’s Christmaaaaa…”
No. Wait, that’s the postman at the door in his shorts, the leaves are on the trees, plus, there’s a fan on trying to keep us cool. Oh yes, it’s August.
It could, in fact, be any time of year—except for late December! The problem is that our beloved grown sons live far, far away and almost never get home to England.
George tours the world with Cirque du Soleil (currently in South Korea). Edward lives in Toronto and his girlfriend has to work around Christmas, so they can’t travel either.
Oh no—because I absolutely love everything about the festive season and live for family fun and togetherness, opening stockings, playing games and watching Elf.
So we decided collectively on a solution. Whatever time of year it is that they get back home, even if only for one day—it is officially Christmas!
"Whatever time of year it is that they get back home, even if only for one day—it is officially Christmas!"
This started five years ago when my husband Roger was dutifully taking down the tree decorations on the 12th night in January. He stopped to ask: “Am I going to have to hurriedly put this tree up again in a few months’ time?”.
My answer “Probably...” was the start of having a tree up all year round and an ever-renewing assortment of gifts underneath it.
I remember the postman tapping on the window and asking if that was a Christmas tree in our room in May. And, of course, friends were puzzled to see Christmas stockings and presents under the tree all year round.
But now, they know: we’re on permanent Christmas Standby, you see—ready to jump into Santa action at the drop of a hat.
This year George managed five days in England. He arrived in August with his enchanting Austrian girlfriend who was unsure whether this happened in summer in every British home or just ours.
Bless her for wearing her paper cracker hat, joining in on the jokes and trying to make sense of bread sauce. She was confused and delighted in equal measure when she found out that there was a Christmas stocking for her too.
Old-style Ray Conniff music was playing “Little Drummer Boy” while they opened prezzies with oohs and laughter.
We had the fire going with an air cooling fan on in the room (only briefly!) and it all truly filled my heart to the brim. It will last me through the rest of the year and beyond.
As for that time around December 25 when you’re all settling down to turkey and trimmings…well, we’re free to try new things and locations.
We may/may not have traditions, we may be cooking for others or going to friends’, but I’ve actually managed to de-Christmas late December and find I can get the magical festive feelings unexpectedly in moments like watching a Nativity, hearing carols sung in a shopping centre or just sharing quality time with friends. It’s all good.
I’ve swapped two days of December for Christmas 365 days of the year! Not the true religious meaning of course, but that cosy, glowing feeling of excitement, love and togetherness.
It’s potentially even better because there is so much pressure (my brother says the word is “obligation”) around Christmas time: the meal has to be perfect, gifts must delight, certain relatives have to be invited and the house needs to look a certain way.
"I’ve swapped two days of December for Christmas 365 days of the year!"
Whereas, when we’re rustling up Christmas in summer, we’re not stressing because we’re too busy laughing at our own daftness searching for sprouts and parsnips in non-sprout-and-parsnip season.
We’re pleased at the ability to buy gifts at non-inflated December prices too and there’s no queuing at the tills.
I might even get more than one Christmas-time if our sons visit separately (we’ll simply repeat the process!) so, for us, it’s a win-win!
In the meantime, if you run out of sage and onion stuffing any time, you know you can borrow from us because living on Christmas Standby means you always have that to hand.
Finding mistletoe in summer might be another matter but other than that, this works pretty well!
So if your family squabbles over which relatives to spend Christmas with, just create an extra festive season and you’ll find there’s time enough to spend Christmas with everyone you love!
(Jane Malyon, Essex)
When love outshines darkness
Cherry offering palliative care to patients and their families with Marie Curie
I’ve been a healthcare assistant with Marie Curie for four years. What led me to join this remarkable organisation was a deeply personal experience.
Seven years ago, my father was in the hospital, and I was informed that he was in the end-of-life stage. He had wanted to be at home during his final moments, so I arranged for him to return home. He spent only one more night there, but he wasn’t alone. A Marie Curie nurse was by our side.
Facing the emotions that come with knowing a loved one is at the end of their life can be overwhelming—the fear, the adrenaline. Having a nurse with us made it easier to cope with these feelings. That’s when I made the decision to join Marie Curie.
Working for the charity, I find myself on duty during most Christmases. We operate every single day of the year, including holidays.
You might assume that being with families during their last Christmas, knowing it’s a difficult time for the person they’re caring for, would be a sad experience. But what may surprise you is that it’s not.
The families, in my experience, are not sad. They make the most of the time they have left. They remain positive. Everyone knows what’s coming; they understand that their loved one is dying, but it’s not a time for sorrow; it’s a time of togetherness and warmth.
"The families, in my experience, are not sad. They make the most of the time they have left"
I feel privileged to be there during this time of year because, sometimes, there are many family members present. They gather to celebrate Christmas one last time with their loved one.
We can’t change the inevitable, but we can make a difference. We provide support through the early stages of grief. And, surprisingly, for some families, death can be a relief because they don’t want to see their loved one suffer any longer. They may feel guilty about it, but it’s a normal feeling.
I’ve been there on Christmas Eve when we’ve lost someone. I remember one particular family—three sisters—and the fourth was in the end-of-life stage. When I arrived, she was unconscious, and I knew she might not make it through the night.
But sitting with the sisters, talking about their childhood, reminiscing about past Christmases and sharing photos, it was a special time. They mentioned that their sister had asked for peaches and cream earlier that day, and they made sure she got it.
She went to sleep, and we lost her that night. The sisters expected it, they thanked me, and it was a comforting experience. I’ll always remember the peaches and cream!
I’ve lost count of the number of stories I’ve heard, especially during Christmas. Everyone has memories, and it’s heartwarming to hear about them, particularly the ones from childhood.
It’s like any other time of the year when we visit their homes. Families like to talk about various aspects of life; it’s therapeutic for them.
"I’ve also been with many lonely, isolated individuals during Christmas"
Our role is to support families and the individuals who are dying. We do whatever they need us to do. For instance, one family asked us to play Christmas carols throughout the
night.
We accommodate such requests. What we do during Christmas is what we do throughout the year—we aim to please families. Christmas is a typical time for healthcare assistants like us. You might walk into a house with a Christmas tree, and there might be grandchildren around. It’s always different.
I’ve also been with many lonely, isolated individuals during Christmas. They wish to be at home, but they don’t have many family members, and the only people they see are the daytime caregivers and us during the night. It’s a sad time for them.
We do whatever they’d like—sometimes they just want to chat or they’re unconscious, in which case we sit with them. It’s a very personal experience, and it can be quite sad when you walk into a dark room, not knowing where the patient is because the lights weren’t switched on during the day.
There are some heartbreaking situations, but we are there until the end, and we do whatever it takes. We don’t stop, even during Christmas.
(Cherry Rowland, Essex)
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