scrapheapstuart3

I’m writing this at that strange time of the year — the week between Christmas and New Year. Some have dubbed it “Twixmas” while others have cornily called it “Crimbo Limbo”. Half of the population is desperately clinging on to the so called festive season, while the other half is keen to get back to normal. The Christmas lights are still twinkling but the excitement generated by gatherings of family and friends and present swapping has largely evaporated. Peoples’ visitors have either gone home or they are forlornly trudging around the streets with them trying to find something to do with many of the cafes, museums, libraries and galleries and some of the shops still closed for the holiday.

It was a long, long build up to the “big day” this year. ( 2025.) When Chris, my wife, and I landed back in Manchester after a mid-November overseas holiday, Christmas was unbelievably already in full swing. Christmas lights decorated the streets and squares, big store entrances were flanked by giant fir trees, festive markets were doing brisk business, and it was all being played out to a background chorus of familiar carols and seasonal songs. Shoppers scurried around with bulging bags of presents and rolls of wrapping paper. I had to pinch myself in disbelief. It was only halfway through November, and apparently it had already been going on for a week before we got back. We had been visiting a Muslim country ( Turkiye) so all this frenetic festive activity gave us a strong dose of reverse culture shock. Much of it was driven by out -and- out commercialism of course but many people seemed to be throwing themselves enthusiastically into the game. All this and Mary, Joseph and the donkey had probably not even set off yet!

And so we entered the fray — buying presents, writing and posting cards ( expensive!), putting up our lights and the obligatory, baubled tree, meeting up with friends and family, and going to a whole stream of pre-Christmas meals until our stomachs were begging us for respite. Yes, we joined in the annual madness but drew the line at Christmas jumpers. Primark wasn’t going to get our custom. The supermarkets suddenly became full of sprouts, towering mountains of Quality Street and lakes of beer and prosecco. I searched my brain and couldn’t recall any scenes of Mary and Joseph getting tipsy with the shepherds or chomping chocolates with the 3 wise men.

As we got into December it seemed to be compulsory to mention “Christmas” in every second sentence. It replaced the weather as the topic of conversation that glued our disparate society together. Everyone wanted to know what I was doing for Christmas even though nobody cared what I was doing on any other day of the year. The usual questions popped into conversations — Are you ready yet? Are they coming to you or are you going to them? How many will be sitting round your table? ( predictably pulling crackers, wearing paper hats and reading corny jokes on the big day.) Much of this was driven, as always by the media but in recent years this has been reinforced by constant posts on social media portraying people’s “perfect” Christmas celebrations. The excitement built up to a frenzy and I knew things were at last about to kick off when Dave’s illuminated nodding reindeer appeared on next door’s lawn.

Well for me it was the usual massive anti-climax I’m sorry to say. No single day could live up to that massively over the top build up. I am not a child anymore; my own children have all left home; I am an agnostic so don’t go to church; I am a vegetarian so don’t indulge in turkey or goose. I am also a former Methodist so don’t really have much of a thing for alcohol. I am pre-diabetic so I cannot eat loads of chocolates, cakes or puddings. I try not to go on about it as if you don’t join in all the traditions, people call you “Scrooge”, “spoil sport” and other unflattering names. I blame Charles Dickens.

And so it is now more or less over for another year but we are still in the limbo period bookended by the two bank holidays. For me this is a time for reflection. I think of all my past Christmases at different stages of my life. ( and I don’t need a Dickensian ghost to remind me.) As a child I remember the excitement of waking up on Christmas morning and seeing a pillow slip bulging with gifts at the bottom of my bed. ( we didn’t do stockings in our house.) Santa had been! I could usually rely on getting some new Dinky toys ( toy cars) for the garage my dad had made for me, a Rupert the Bear annual and at least 2 selection boxes, from each of my lovely grandmas. Later Rupert the Bear was replaced by Billy the Kid albums about the Wild West. It’s funny how people thought that reading about a cold-blooded murderer was deemed appropriate for the season of peace and goodwill to all men.

Of course, being in a religious family, Christmas Day also involved an extra visit to church to listen to all the familiar bible readings which we could almost recite by heart and sing the favourite carols that we wrapped around us like a comfy blanket. The last verse of Oh Come all Ye Faithful was always sung with extra gusto — ” Yay Lord, we greet thee, on this happy morning.” We all felt that strong sense of belonging and togetherness. Another highlight was when my sister and I got silver coins pushed into our hands by kind members of the congregation. It was usually half a crown ( 2 shillings and 6 pence) which was a lot of money in those pre-decimalisation days. Then it was back for the special Christmas day feast which for us was pork and all the trimmings — carrots, parsnips, sprouts, mashed and roast potatoes, apple sauce, stuffing and a rich, thick gravy. We could not afford turkey, goose or chicken. In those days ( 1950s and 60s) , before the days of factory farming, a chicken was still regarded as a special, luxury treat to eat. Next, like everybody else we had Christmas pudding and white, brandy sauce. We were big supporters of tradition and so ate what most people in the country were eating. Later, after the Queen’s Speech on telly at 3pm, we had a late, light tea, the highlight of which was Christmas fruit cake topped with marzipan and icing. I always rushed through my tea as I wanted to watch the pantomime on TV. As I entered my teens and became more sexually aware, the big attraction of the panto was Prince Charming ( or equivalent) who was always an attractive young woman with long, shapely legs and stiletto heels. She was much more attention- grabbing than soppy Cinderella in her long dress. It was an early example of gender bending, standing alongside the likes of Widow Twanky, who was (is) always a man in drag. Yes I enjoyed Christmas Day as a child and young teen. It had many highlights.

However, everything changed in 1967 when I was 17 years old. My innocence was shattered. After his retirement from the coal mine, my paternal grandad ran a small- holding consisting of pigs and chickens. That Christmas he wrung a chicken’s neck in front of me and gave it to us for our Christmas dinner as a special “treat.” My dad later invited me to help him pluck the poor lifeless thing and remove its giblets. I refused to touch it and then announced I wasn’t going to eat it either. It was my Saul on the road to Damascus moment and turned me into a lifelong vegetarian . A friend gave up meat with me after reading about the horrendous goings in abattoirs, and we took the life changing decision together. Vegetarianism and veganism were much less common in those days and most veggies were widely mocked as cranks. On the “big” day we just went out walking around the streets and into a local park. We got really cold. In an act of kindness and support which I’ll never forget, my sister, who I never really got on with, pushed a tupperware container of vegetables in cheese sauce into my hand, along with a spoon to eat it. I was really moved.

Once I left home the straight jacket of tradition was further loosened. The first Christmas dinner I ate with my new wife, at the age of 20, consisted of egg and chips! We were sick of conforming! Once we had our own children some of the traditions crept back and we made more of an effort to make the day special for our family. But the vegetarian fayre remained a fixture. In many ways we were a typical family enjoying the joys of Christmas. But all good things sadly have to come to an end. For reasons not to be disclosed here, divorce tragically came our way and the family was blown apart. My wife and I split up and I volunteered to be the one to leave the home and be an outsider in my own family. It was very tough, and for some reason, it was even tougher emotionally at Christmas.

Of course I got invited to spend much of the day with my ex-wife and 3 children but it wasn’t the same. I woke up alone instead of being woken by squeals of delight from the children. The family in turn had to wait for me to arrive before they could open their presents. It was as if I was delivering myself to the children as an extra Christmas present. The day passed pleasantly enough as we played the game of happy families but there came a time when I had to leave. I lived 5 miles away and had to cycle to my new home as I didn’t own a car and there was no bus service. I still distinctly remember the gut wrenching feeling when the door closed and I was standing alone on the dark path. For many, Christmas is all about being with one’s loved ones but if one is excluded from the family for whatever reason, then every positive becomes a negative. It’s the flip side of the coin.

I have never forgotten that feeling of being on the outside looking in. Everytime I passed scenes of families enjoying themselves in that holiday period, it rubbed salt into my wounds. Divorce is not the only reason why families split up and the idealised version of Christmas becomes impossible. Bereavement is another major factor, especially as we get older. I have joined various Facebook groups, one being “Born in the 40s, Grew up in the 50s.” It’s usually a place where nostalgic memories are shared by older people like yours truly. I feel lucky because I have now remarried and enjoy lovely quiet Christmases with my wife. ( our children and grandchildren live away.) But I was shocked this year to read 2 posts that didn’t fit the normal social media pattern of trying to show how wonderful one’s life is. Both said ” Christmas was sh-t. I was lonely and miserable.” Both were from men . Had they been divorced or bereaved or had they never hitched up with anybody in the first place? Several of my friends have sadly died over the past few years, and as I wrote my cards to their widows , I couldn’t help wondering what type of Christmas they would now have. They say the loneliest place to be is in the middle of a crowd. Similarly, it must be really difficult to be suffering feelings of loss and unhappiness at a time when the rest of society is being programmed to be merry and happy. “Tis the season to be jolly” the carol goes, but not if you’re unwillingly on your own.

So, as I said, my Crimbo Limbo has turned into a time for refection and of trying to empathise with others who are less fortunate than myself. In this cold, wintry weather for instance I’m glad to have a warm, dry home and that I am not trying to sleep in a freezing shop doorway. Obviously, one cannot help thinking of victims of war, persecution, famine and disease. My heart goes out to all the suffering people in the world and I do my best to support the charities that try to help them. Soon the lights and decorations will come down, the New year fireworks will have fizzled out and the reality of normal life will return. I will think of the people dragging themselves back in to work after the holiday, knowing that I now have the luxury and privilege of being retired from the daily grind. The only trouble is, I am getting older and every year I have more and more memories to look back on during this strange quiet period between Christmas and New Year. I hope you all had a merry Christmas and I wish you all a very happy and prosperous New Year.