So, there we were.
Gathered around the blazing fire at the Donnington Valley Golf Club.
Reminiscing…
It was 30 minutes before I was due to start the workshop.
Soon there’d be a roomful of IFAs, learning about… Well, that’s no longer important.
Four delegates had arrived early, and lounged with me in comfortable armchairs, sharing thoughts of Christmas traditions.
“I remember the smell of pine needles as I came downstairs on Christmas morning” said one. “I wish we could return to real Christmas trees.”
“But why,” sighed another “do we give so many things to each other, when we have such a lot already. Our attic is full of stuff to take to the charity shop next year? Strange…” We laughed with him.
And my mind flew back to deeply ingrained memories of my childhood.
I remember sitting on my Mum’s lap, as each year she read to me from my favourite book… “Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house…”
Right there, I knew Christmas had truly begun. My sister and I would be bathed in the magic of it for days to come.
Mum and Dad would save up so that we could afford coal fires for two whole weeks! We even had chestnuts to roast.
Like many of you, we knew a little about struggle and survival.
As children we were painfully aware that the fact there was a turkey on the table at all was a small step short of a miracle.
But oh! We loved that succulent turkey, suffused with Jamaican stuffing (a family secret recipe!)
I clearly remember one Christmas when Uncle John (one of Dad’s friends) ate with us.
I remember his tears, as he mumbled “Thank you, Roy and Marge”
And, instinctively, we small children understood that he would have eaten alone today. With no Jamaican stuffing, or ham with brown pepper sauce. (How tough can life be?)
Mum and Dad didn’t talk much about giving.
They simply showed us how it looked.
Our children are mostly adults now. There’s just Briony still in her teens.
I doubt if any of them could tell you what presents they’ve received over the years.
But they certainly remember the ‘Christmas Elving’ which became our family tradition.
To be a Christmas Elf, you need to think of families who you know are having a struggle at this time of year.
You wrap small presents for each family - Christmas puds and the like – that the whole family can enjoy. Sometimes, you know when a special bounty of food and presents is needed.
My role was to write the ‘Christmas Elf’ poem each year.
Then you all jump in the car, and the fun starts (even more so when you take a couple of cars packed with friends’ children)
At each home, the children creep up to the front door… ring the bell… and run like the dickens!
Someone always screams. Someone invariably falls on the icy pavement.
Everybody giggles constantly.
The look of surprise and wonder on the faces of those families as they come to the front door! There on their doorstep is a mysterious, beautifully wrapped present. Plus a poem from the Elves.
It’s worth the cold noses and red ears just to observe them, and to see our children, crouched hiding behind cars and bushes.
(Of course, there was the time when Lauren slid on the ice, down a bank, and smacked straight into our open car door! Briony still loves that story.)
Years later, our Briony and Lauren remember what it feels like to forget themselves and remember others.
The Christmas memories are all the deeper, richer and warmer.
People have said to me in these last few days “It’s really about the children, isn’t it?”
I’m convinced it can be much more than that.
We can all become childlike!
Across the years, the sweetest memories for our family have been when we seek out those who are not couched in our comparitive opulence. Those for whom this time of year simply accentuates what is missing.
To be with loved ones – enjoying and building traditions. That’s fun. That’s memorable.
To touch another’s life, bringing light where there was darkness.
For our family that’s become a truer, more lasting Christmas Gift.
There is no Christmas recipe quite like it!
This Christmas, may you and your loved ones find the recipe that creates such magic and astonishing satisfaction. A satisfaction which money cannot buy.
