Now, as those of us in the Northern Hemisphere face the longest night of the year, it is time to do as communities in our cold little island have done for millennia, and mark the season in which we slowly begin our journey back from the darkness into the light. While our distant ancestors celebrated the continual fertility of evergreens and the restorative powers of fire in heat and light, as the solstice rolls around yet again in our house it is the time of year to get out the Christmas tree and put the Fat Controller on top of it. We have three grandsons, you see, and this is becoming our tradition, in the manner that traditions have always slowly blended from past into present.
Last year, I attended one of the most heart-warming modern mid-winter rituals of all, one of those 'firsts' that only take place on a few Christmases within one lifetime: my 3 year old grandson’s first nativity play. The joy in the hall was palpable- the love and pride of parents, grandparents and great-grandparents, coming together with their memories of Christmas past and hopes for Christmas future. As my youngest grandson slept peacefully beside me, the tableau began with an exuberant announcement from a tiny girl in her very best dress: ‘Mary had a baby’ and I was reminded once again that the festival to mark the returning of the light has always been about new life, and new beginnings.
As the nativity unfolded, other perennial scripts began to unfold. For example, one of the Magi had his vision almost totally obscured by a hat malfunction but nevertheless continued resolutely in his role, one of the sheep lost nearly all of his wool and my grandson (being one of the stars who announce the birth of the baby Jesus) began to realise that his costume was entirely obscuring his hands. This became particularly apparent when he had difficulty joining in the Hokey-Cokey, sung by the entire cast assembled in the stable, because it was their favourite song.
A wonderful time was had by all, in a glorious, mash-up Christmas celebration- which is precisely what human beings in Britain have been doing since they arrived here, whether they called their winter festival Yule, Samhain or Christmas. Even Santa is not immune, morphing from the pre-Christian Green Man to the Christian St Nicholas (Santa Claus in Dutch, adopted into American English) and changing his green suit for ecclesiastical red, which eventually became instantly recognisable around the world through the advertising might of Coca-Cola.
While all of us are located in our life journeys by generation, ethnicity, gender and many other individual differences, what we can all share in the mid-winter festival is a celebration of beginnings, the hope in new life and the returning of the light: Here Comes the Sun. This year, in his comment that ‘do you know, granny, it’s Christmas every year’ as he donned his bigger boy inn keeper costume for this year’s pageant, my grandson demonstrated his deepening understanding of the winter festival customs of the culture in which he is immersed. And, as most grandparents do, I reflected on how swiftly another year had passed, and how quickly he was growing up.
Following a difficult year for many Western nations, I have become fascinated by some of the articles I have been reading online as the festive season draws closer this year, considering ancient traditions of dark stories for dark winter days and the growing fascination for the ‘anti-Santa’, Krampus. In a year in which my own family has experienced the tragic loss of some young friends, these darker cultural legends have been a part of my own stock taking of the year that has just passed, helping me to reflect on the complexity of light and the dark that are inevitably part of the tapestry of every human life, a process that we are now beginning to understand is important for the maintenance of mental health.
The fact that our winter festival can be so effectively tracked back into the distant past also seems to me to be quite comforting, illustrating the continuity between generations across millennia. And this year, as midnight chimes on the 21st December and yet again, we move slowly back into the light, I will be contemplating the long line of ancestors who took time out from the joys and sorrows of the human existence that we all share to celebrate this perennial event within the culture of time and place in which they were located.
This year instead of sending Christmas cards, we have donated to two charities to remember the three young friends we lost in 2017:
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