Mary KennyTreasuring past Christmases for their ‘uncomplicated simplicity’
I suppose every generation develops a kind of nostalgia when it comes to Christmas and end-of-year celebrations, and yearning expressions about “the good auld days” become something of a cliché.
Perhaps we view Christmas past through a rose-tinted rear mirror because complaints about “the commercialisation of Christmas” have been going on at least as far back as the 1950s.
Grousing that Christmas starts earlier each year have also been heard for a good while, even if we are justified in protesting about shops starting their merchandising in October, or even before that.
Yet I succumb to this Christmas nostalgie du passee each December, recalling with fondness the sweet simplicity that seemed to represent Christmas in times gone by.
We didn’t have a Christmas tree when I was growing up – just because not everyone had one. Decorations were, as far as I remember, somewhat minimal: a sprig of holly here and there, and a bit of extra greenery thrown in.
Excitement
There was certainly excitement over ‘Santy’, and there were lively visitation of family and friends, and we always got a visit to the panto. And I am certain that people always spent more money on family and friends at Christmas than at any other time. And yet, in retrospect, it all seems to have been simpler and more reverent.
My mother retained an endearing tradition from the West of Ireland of placing a candle in the window on the night of Christmas Eve, to call to mind that Mary and Joseph were on the road, as a homeless couple. This image has stayed with me, and remains a powerful reminder that the meaning of Christmas is about poor people and a nativity.
The Christmas Day meal in the west of Ireland, my mother recalled, used to be fish. The turkey didn’t make an appearance until mid-century, but the ham was traditionally a feature.
It was always a special time, and a time of home-coming, but seeing it through the rear-view window of the past, I, too, now treasure Christmas past as a festival of uncomplicated simplicity.
Raising a glass to the Pioneers
After a lapse of more than half a century, I re-joined the Pioneer Total Abstinence Association in 2014. I think the conditions are easier to meet than they were when I made my Confirmation and we were signed into the pledge automatically.
The great thing about the Pioneer Association today is that you can join it for a specified time – a year, say, and then revise your membership after that. This is a sensible policy – people who quit drinking often find it hard to think into the future and, in self-help groups, are often told “don’t project – take it a day at a time”.
So I’ve taken the Pioneer pledge for a year, and le cunambh Dé I hope to continue that way from year to year.
Taking the pledge permanently is much mocked by the joke about the toper who goes to his parish priest saying: “Father, I want to sign the pledge”. The priest says: “For how long, Mick?” “Forever, as usual.”
“Forever” is daunting! A specified time seems less intimidating. I quit drinking some years ago but, in 2014, I thought, why not turn sobriety to a commitment and support the Pioneers. I like their idea of making reparation for the sins occasioned through alcohol excess, as well as the point of giving witness. And giving witness to the fact that there is joy in sobriety, too.
So, I’ll be lifting my lovely glass of elderflower spritzer (a fabulous tipple – pressed elderflower with sparkling water) for Christmas lunch, and grateful to have it.