I love Christmas – not so much how it encroaches on November, even October; but once Advent begins, I’m all in.
Our tree is up, looking twinkly, and there are lights in the front garden too – tasteful, of course. The house is filled with ubiquitous festive tunes (Chris de Burgh’s “A Spaceman Came Travelling” is my favourite), and I can even just about get on board with the Elf on the Shelf nonsense.
All in all, the slow run-in to the big day has been going well. The only fly in the ointment (myrrh, presumably) arrived through the letterbox on Friday, when alongside the takeaway menus, clothing catalogues and a phone bill came a bunch of Christmas cards – our first of the season.
Churlish though this will sound, my heart sank a little.
Last year, I almost made the decision to stop sending cards at Christmas. There was the faint environmental guilt, the outrage over the price of stamps, and simply a lack of time. But then I thought I should probably at least send some to my aunts and cousins; and once a couple had arrived from old friends, I thought I’d better reciprocate.
Inevitably, one or two turned up when it was too late for me to send any more, and I dispatched some desultory texts on Christmas Eve to those I’d failed to write to. It all felt a bit slapdash.
When I was a child, my mother would begin writing her Christmas letters towards the end of November, if only to ensure she had enough time to get through them all. In those pre-internet days, seasonal missives were a big deal. She would hand-write at least 25 quite long letters, updating relatives and distant friends on the goings-on of the last year. Each would then be tucked into a card and posted in the pillar box at the end of our road, adorned with a festive stamp.
My job would be to do the posting, and I felt the responsibility keenly. Without those letters, what would our third cousins know of their kin? How would they cope without news of my progress at school, or of our summer holiday in Austria?
In fairness, when we received similar letters from those same third cousins, I would read them with interest. Updates from friends who had once lived in our village felt like strange visitations from people I could barely remember. Even when personalised letters began to be replaced by round-robin, typed summaries of a family’s recent history, I lapped them up.
The world has changed now. Email, Facebook and WhatsApp make it almost impossible to be unaware of what your friends and family are up to. In fact, we probably know too much. Even my mother stopped writing proper Christmas letters long ago, although she still tends to put a few sentences in her cards.
For most people, however, it’s just a simple ‘Dear so and so, Happy Christmas, Love from us.’ The card is a recognition of a faintly enduring affection but is patently a bit of a chore as well.
This year, like the last, I was in two minds about what to do. I wondered about sending emails, but how unmagical is that? And most of us get too many emails anyway. An e-card feels a bit naff, and you can’t really replace a Christmas card with a one-liner on WhatsApp. I could do a festive TikTok video for the world – but I’m 45.
When those cards arrived on Friday, I initially left them on the kitchen table, eyeing them with a mix of irritation and joy. When my wife and I finally opened them in the evening, we found one was from a former flatmate of mine who we really should see more. Another was from my aunt, who has recently moved to a new home. And the third was from my wife’s best friend, who has lived overseas for years. Each was a little reminder of the love we feel for these people, and the love they feel for us.
I realised the game was up. I might resent the cost of postage and get frustrated when I can’t find the address of a cousin who I’m sure has moved but the truth is, I would resent even more not hearing from those old mates and the relations I rarely catch up with in person. And if you do not give, you shall not receive.
So, I now have a box of 30 cards at the ready. While they won’t be accompanied by a lengthy letter, I will mean every word when I write: ‘Happy Christmas! Love, Will’.
