As I prepared for a podcast, my thoughts drifted back to Christmases past. No ghostly visitations or underdone potatoes were involved, but the memories came flooding back all the same.
Oddly enough my journey started not with Christmas but with bonfire night, when I was about six. Picture this: me, my mum, and Auntie Barbara (not my real aunt, just Mum’s best friend), all dancing around the fire singing carols. Yes carols, in November! But there was a strict rule in our house: no carols before Guy Fawkes. Once the last firework fizzled out, the sparklers were spent, and the parkin crumbs were cleared, the strains of Silent Night and Away in a Manger would float through the cold, smoky air.
From Radio Times to Nativity plays
That was the true beginning of Christmas for us. Back then there was no endless loop of Christmas music starting in September, or entire TV channels dedicated to festive films. With just BBC, ITV and later BBC2, Christmas didn’t hit the screens until properly close to the big day. But one tradition from those days has stuck with me: the double edition of the Radio Times. As a family we’d gather with pens to highlight the shows we couldn’t miss. There was no catch-up TV. Miss it and it was gone forever. Talk about pressure!
We also had an upright radiogram that saw plenty of action. My parents had some cracking records – whatever happened to them? One year we bought an album called A Christmas Present from Ronco. The music was fine but the real magic was the double-album sleeve, with a pop-up Christmas scene in the middle. To this day I can picture it, it became part of our decorations every year.
Like most kids I must’ve been in school nativity plays, though I can’t remember a single one. What I do remember is reading at the Nine Lessons and Carols in secondary school. Oh, and playing Joseph at 17. This wasn’t your average school nativity either. We performed it in a barn complete with a real donkey, sheep, and assorted farm animals. There were even two Marys (one of whom I dated). We performed twice a day for a week to local schools, got coverage in the papers, and even made it onto TV. Proper fame for a lad from a comp!
Our family Christmas
But what about family Christmases? For as long as I can remember, right up until 1989, our Christmases followed a strict and wonderfully predictable routine that barely wavered for over 25 years. Then in that year, we lost both my dad and my grandma, and everything changed.
But let’s rewind to happier times. Christmas Day was always spent at home – just me, Mum, and Dad. We were an ordinary working-class family. Dad worked for the Post Office starting as a postman and moving up the ladder, while Mum worked in a woollen mill. By the time Christmas rolled around, Dad was shattered. However, my parents always went above and beyond to make the day magical.
We didn’t have loads of money but looking back, I realise how lucky I was. Christmas was special and filled with traditions. The tree – sometimes real, sometimes artificial – would go up a week or two before the big day. Decorating was a family event, complete with Mum’s treasured vintage ornaments. Here’s a question: what did you call your tree decorations? In our house, they were ‘wessel cups’ (from wassail, apparently). Not baubles – what even are baubles? And tinsel, do people still use it? We did, alongside paper chains, concertinaed metallic decorations, and the occasional lonely sprig of mistletoe.
Christmas Day
Food-wise we were traditional. For years we had capon (a castrated chicken – yes, really), before graduating to turkey and then turkey crowns. I’ve always loved sprouts (don’t judge me), and as a kid I was allowed a very weak ‘snowball’ (Advocaat, lemonade, and lime). Dinner was a full production with paper hats, crackers, and a garish Christmas tablecloth.
The highlight of course, was opening presents. Father Christmas was always generous, though looking back, I know how much Mum and Dad must’ve saved to make it happen. One Christmas stands out: I was about six or seven and unwrapped an Action Man in ski gear, Thunderbird Five (John was my favourite Tracy), a Magic Robot quiz game, and – best of all – books. I adored books, from Teddy Bear Annuals to Enid Blyton and from sci-fi to the classics.
One year I got a portable cassette recorder. I used it to tape us singing carols, something I treasured especially after Dad passed away. Sadly it went missing years later, but those memories of us singing together remain vivid.
After the main event
After dinner we’d take a walk in the park with our border collie Patch (if the weather behaved). Then it was back home to play with my new toys, read, and watch TV. After tea the board games came out. Magical, simple times.
But Christmas didn’t end there – oh no. Boxing Day was like a second Christmas, held at Grandma’s with the whole extended family. Present swapping was a military operation and just as exciting as Christmas Day. The real joy though, was being together – chaotic, noisy, and absolutely wonderful.
Lunch was a two-sitting affair. First up were the kids and women who didn’t want to pop out for a drink, followed by the men and women who did. It was a rite of passage to turn 18 and join the ‘adults’ for a pre-lunch pint. Once lunch was over, the table was reset for a party tea. I shudder to think how many calories we consumed in one day!
The evening was all about party games, carols, and a singalong of whatever pop hits were in vogue. It wasn’t fancy but that was the charm, it was perfect.
The year everything changed
Then came 1989 and everything changed. Dad died suddenly in May aged just 55, while we were watching Yorkshire play cricket at Headingley. Five months later, I found Grandma had passed away in her sleep. That year Christmas felt different – quieter, heavier.
But Grandma being Grandma had already wrapped most of the Christmas presents before she died. So for one final time, we all received a gift from her. It was bittersweet – a sad yet heartwarming occasion. I’ll never forget Uncle John raising a glass later that day and toasting ‘absent friends’. That’s when the tears came.
All my uncles and aunties like my parents, are now long gone. It’s strange how those memories linger, isn’t it? The traditions, the laughter, the love – they’re what make Christmas truly special.
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