Christmases I'll Never Forget!

My family has a habit of making a drama out of Christmas. It began with my older brother having his birthday on 27 December, making Christmas a three-day affair back in the post-war era when it was unusual enough for a family to have even a two-day celebration. Fast-forward to 1966, and as a 17 year-old I was at a Christmas dance with a friend on 23 December, when I met a boy who took me home that night, and then took me out on a date on Christmas Eve. This was the boy I married, four years later - making 23 December, the night we met, a memorable date in our calendar.

But we didn't stop there. Having had our first daughter in 1975 on a far more civilised date in July, I then gave birth to our second daughter on 29 December the following year. At least we still had a little breather between Christmas and her birthday . . . but two years later, we discovered daughter No.3 was due to arrive on Christmas Day! We went to my parents for Christmas, and I was under strict instructions from Mum to sit still and do nothing! Perhaps this approach worked . . . temporarily . . . but after we went to bed that evening the baby decided enough was enough, and made a fairly hurried appearance early on Boxing Day morning. Baby daughter and I actually had our photo in the local paper - they usually displayed Christmas Day babies but that year, none had arrived until mine did on Boxing Day!

With two out of three daughters having Christmas birthdays, Christmas became an even more exciting time in the family, with birthday parties following swiftly after Christmas presents were unwrapped. During the year following our third daughter's birth, we decided to move to a bigger house, and when we found the property we wanted, we were hoping to move in soon after Christmas. But our vendors had other ideas; they wanted to be in their new home before Christmas. Everything was settled at the speed of light and we found ourselves actually moving house on 20th December. When I look back now, I have no idea how I did it, but I had everything straight in the house, decorations and tree up, hosted Christmas at our new house that year - with both our families - and held a joint birthday party for our two Christmas babies afterwards.

Some of our Christmases are memorable for less exciting reasons. There was the year our cooker conked out in the middle of roasting the turkey, which necessited handing the bird over the garden fence to a kind neighbour who finished it off for us in her oven. Another year, it was the turn of the boiler to break down on Christmas Day, causing so much tension that it led to an argument between my husband and his mother, culminating in her threatening to go straight home! Fortunately everyone settled down before that could happen.

On another occasion, we had Christmas dinner with barely any vegetables. I'm ashamed to say this was entirely my fault. I had Christmas drinks that year after finishing work at lunchtime on Christmas Eve. I was . . . er . . . enjoying myself a little too much, having arranged for one of the daughters to pick me up in my car afterwards. The plan (which I'd completely forgotten about by then) had been to drive home via the farm shop. But I'd stayed for so long at the after-work drinks party that the farm shop was closed. So was the greengrocer. I really can't remember why we didn't go to the supermarket! Perhaps back then they didn't stay open as late as they do now!

I remember too, the year when, in the lead-up to Christmas, we couldn't get rid of a nasty smell in our bedroom. I cleaned the room over and over again but we couldn't work out where the smell was coming from. It wasn't until Christmas Day, when I realised a couple of the presents I'd bought were missing, that I thought to search for them on top of the wardrobe. It might sound weird, but that was where I kept all the shopping bags, and I wondered if the missing gifts were still in a bag from when I'd bought them. I brought all the bags down - and immediately the smell was even more overpowering. I can't remember now whether I found the presents. But what I did find was . . . a pack of pork chops, now very decidedly long past their sell-by date! Yuck.

Then there was the horrible time when our middle daughter was taken ill on Christmas Day. Her husband called us to say he'd got to take her straight to hospital - but could we please drive over to their place to collect their three month-old baby? We abandoned the rest of the family who'd already gathered at our house, asking them to continue with cooking the dinner, and rushed to collect the baby. Fortunately, after treatment our daughter was able to leave hospital and spent the rest of Christmas Day with us, resting on the sofa.

Another year, our youngest daughter and her family had to cry off from coming to us for Christmas Day because their own younger daughter came down with a horrible stomach virus on the day. As if this wasn't disappointing enough, they had nothing to eat! They were due to fly out to visit her in-laws in New Zealand straight after Christmas so hadn't stocked up with any food. We made up an emergency food parcel with some of the turkey, mince pies and all the other goodies and drove it all over to them before settling down to our Christmas, sadly without them.

Of course, a few years later, Covid would cause more Christmases where sections of the family were isolated, unwell, or banned from visiting us by the pandemic restrictions. Every year, since that horrible period, I've been thankful when we finally all manage to make it to Christmas Day and our family get-togethers without any more problems or hiccups!

But the tradition for Christmas-time births has kind-of continued into the next generation. The youngest of our six grandchildren was born on 6th January . . . OK, just very slightly outside of the Twelve Days of Christmas, but . . . well, we all love the whole festive period. And what's one more birthday present to choose and buy during the run-up to Christmas?! Happy Christmas, everyone - and I hope all your Christmas dramas are happy ones! x