Tuesday, 25 December 2012

The Magic of the Unfamiliar.

You know, as a kid I could never understand why people wanted to go away for Christmas. The only time we ever did it was when I was about ten, and we went to stay with my brother and his wife near Oxford. I hated it; it was the only childhood Christmas that disappointed.

To my mind, it was absolutely essential to be in the familiar surroundings of home on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. That was so that on Christmas Eve I could go to bed with the expectation of finding on Christmas morning something unfamiliar in a place where usually there was nothing. It didn’t matter whether it was at the end of my bed or on the sofa in the living room. It was there just once a year: a sack containing things wrapped in coloured paper.

It wasn’t the value of the gifts that mattered. It wasn’t a materialistic thing. It was just that neither of my parents was inclined, for different reasons, to buy me anything during the course of the year. Christmas was the one time of the year when I was given something. And my favourite gifts were always the chocolate selection box and the comic book annual, usually Rupert Bear.

I suspect that was largely true of most kids where I grew up. Times change.

2 comments:

Anthropomorphica said...

I was always in love with the tree and fairy lights and would adore sitting in the dark for hours. One of my favourite pastimes leading up to the day was to sneakily scoff the chocolate decorations and carefully wrap the foil around tissue so that they looked untouched. You can only really do that at home...

JJ said...

You really are a minx aren't you, Melanie Ashton?

I loved the tree and fairy lights and darkness too, but my reveries took me to a fantasy world of plastic snowmen, Santas, cottages, fir trees and reindeer, all lovingly arranged on a bed of cotton wool.

We didn't have chocolate decorations at home - too expensive - but I remember the school having treasure hunts for chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil. I earned my treats, don't you know.