Am I a Scrooge for not wanting to do the usual this year and send out packs of Christmas cards to all and sundry – even our clients? Yep. Probably. But, apart from the problem with ground mail delivery to certain parts of the world, it strikes me as being a bit of a shallow gesture. This includes the frills and furbelows that people go for this time of the year. Some of the houses around here have been done up in lights, blow-up plastic Santa figures and reindeer, and eye-watering video screens displays that bear little connection to the actual meaning of Christmas. Yes, I said it: the “C” word. Christmas. Not the festive season, or the holidays or whatever. Essentially, December the 25th, whether it is historically exact or not, is taken as the birthdate of Christ, celebrated by Christians.
A child’s Christmas in South Africa
Nowadays though, it is an excuse for buying lots of stuff, partying and holidaying. I remember as a child, going to Christmas Day church services with my parents. And that, mind you, was in South Africa where the 25th of December is hot as hell, and we were living in probably the driest, most God-forsaken town in the country. But there most of the town’s people would be, singing hymns and carols that all harked back to composers and poets from Europe, while they sweated in Sunday suits, stockings and heels.
Blame Prince Albert
If you look at how Christmas is celebrated in the West these days, much can be traced back to how the Victorians, particularly Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, the husband of Queen Victoria of Britain, established some of the traditions of European countries like Germany and the Netherlands in England: the look of Father Christmas (“ho-ho-ho!”), the holly, reindeer and sled, Christmas trees, gift-giving, etc. Christmas traditions ended up as a mixture of pagan, folkloristic and Christian elements.
Will the real Father Christmas please say Ho-ho-ho?
The figure of Father Christmas is based on a real saint, Saint Nicholas of Myra (c. 15 March 270 – 6 December 343).
Santa Claus (“Sinterklaas” in Dutch), or Father Christmas, evolved from Dutch traditions around Saint Nicholas. The figure of Father Christmas dates back as far as 16th century in England, during the reign of King Henry VIII, when he was pictured as a large man in green or scarlet robes lined with fur. He typified the spirit of good cheer at Christmas, bringing peace, joy, good food and wine and revelry. As England no longer kept the feast day of Saint Nicholas on 6 December, the Father Christmas celebration was moved to 25 December to coincide with Christmas Day. The Victorian revival of Christmas included Father Christmas as the emblem of good cheer. Christmas, as it is now, is a real cultural conglomeration, but in Hollywood movies, especially, it has been established with specific features and behaviours.
Father Christmas, Krampus, Saint Nick, Santa Claus, or whatever people call him, is only one manifestation of this figure: many countries have their own variations. In the Greek Orthodox tradition, there is Saint Basil, they have Krampus in the German-speaking Alps, and Befana, the friendly gift-giving witch, in Italy. There are many classical children’s books and novels depicting different versions of Christmas celebrations and Father Christmas. The original cover of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol (published in 1843), below, shows Santa as he would have typically been depicted at that time, looking more like a Nordic (and slightly macho) god than a friendly, fat old man.
Above, clockwise, some famous Christmas books: Father Christmas, by Raymond Briggs; A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens; Old Christmas, by Washington Irving; The Nutcracker, by E.T.A. Hoffmann, illustrated by Maurice Sendak; The Hogfather, by Terry Pratchett; A Child’s Christmas in Wales, by Dylan Thomas, illustrated by Edward Ardizzone, and [T’was…] The Night Before Christmas (the poem), by Clement C. Moore.
The gift of a future
My favourite is The Hogfather, by Terry Pratchett. He depicts the “Hogfather”, the Discworld version of Father Christmas, as a primeval force of nature who delivers gifts, and punishments, on “Hogswatch”. His sled is made of huge, rough logs and pulled by a team of aggressive, long-tusked boars. When the Hogfather disappears because people no longer believe in him, “Death” (likewise, an anthropomorphic manifestation), accompanied by a skeptical “Albert”, tries to take his place.
The most moving and meaningful moment in the story is when Death, on his present-delivery route, spots “the little matchstick-seller” or “little match girl”, dying of cold and hunger on the street of Ankh-Morpork. As Death puts it: “THE HOGFATHER GIVES PRESENTS. THERE’S NO BETTER PRESENT THAN A FUTURE.” (Dreadful pun, but good idea.) Death always speaks in capital letters.
“The sleigh slewed around at the end of Money Trap Lane.
The Hogfather, by Terry Pratchett
COME ON ALBERT.
“You know you’re not supposed to do this sort of thing, master. You know what happened last time.”
THE HOGFATHER CAN DO IT, THOUGH.
“But… little match girls dying in the snow is part of what the Hogswatch spirit is all about, master,” said Albert desperately. “I mean, people hear about it and say, ‘We may be poorer than a disabled banana and only have mud and old boots to eat, but at least we’re better off than the poor little match girl,’ master. It makes them feel happy and grateful for what they’ve got, see.”
I KNOW WHAT THE SPIRIT OF HOGSWATCH IS, ALBERT.
“Sorry, master. But, look, it’s all right, anyway, because she wakes up and it’s all bright and shining and tinkling music and there’s angels, master.”
Death stopped.
AH. THEY TURN UP AT THE LAST MINUTE WITH WARM CLOTHES AND A HOT DRINK?
“Er. No. Not exactly at the last minute, master. Not as such.”
WELL?
“More sort of just after the last minute.” Albert coughed nervously.
YOU MEAN AFTER SHE’S—
“Yes. That’s how the story goes, master, ‘s not my fault.”
WHY NOT TURN UP BEFORE? AN ANGEL HAS QUITE A LARGE CARRYING CAPACITY.
“Couldn’t say, master. I suppose people think it’s more… satisfying the other way…” Albert hesitated and then growled. “You know, now that I come to tell someone…”
Death looked down at the shape under the falling snow. Then he set the lifetimer on the air and touched it with a finger. A spark flashed across.
“You ain’t really allowed to do that,” said Albert, feeling wretched.
THE HOGFATHER CAN. THE HOGFATHER GIVES PRESENTS. THERE’S NO BETTER PRESENT THAN A FUTURE.
“Yeah, but—”
ALBERT.
“All right, master.”Death scooped up the girl and strode to the end of the alley. The snowflakes fell like angels’ feathers. Death stepped out into the street and accosted two figures who were tramping through the drifts.
TAKE HER SOMEWHERE WARM AND GIVE HER A GOOD DINNER, he commanded, pushing the bundle into the arms of one of them.
AND I MAY WELL BE CHECKING UP LATER.
Then he turned and disappeared in the swirling snow.”
There’s a thought: “There’s no better present than a future”. I think Sir Terry hit the nail right on the head about the real spirit of Christmas. Presents, food, parties, etc., all come and go. A real gift, that of a future, of continuation, persistence, and hope – has value.
A meaningful gesture
This year, I started to question all of this, and wondering what the real meaning of Christmas is, because it seems as though the world has gone quite bananas with the whole Christmas thing, while in reality major wars are raging in the world. I wanted to do something meaningful, rather than the usual raft of Christmas cards, presents, dinner parties, and traditional activities.
The answer I got to was: Since it is the end of the calendar year, I was thinking of old friends and family, and how far away they are, and that I’d like to say “Hi” to them. I’m one of those people who may not communicate with someone for years, but that does not mean that I do not think of them, or remember them, or love them. I do. They are still on my mind and in my heart, despite the radio silence. That being said, I wondered, what could I give the people in my life, that would be meaningful? Since I am not likely to ever be rolling in money, I thought that the one thing I can do, and do do fairly okay-ishly well, is write songs. So I wrote them a Christmas song. The lyrics say exactly what I – and my significant other, by default – have on our minds at this time of year.
My greetings and my gift – A Christmas song
Thus, dear Book People, with this song I wish you all a merry Christmas, however you celebrate it, and, and I hope you will live well and prosper next year.
Lyrics – “Remember Us”
Look the snow is coming down –
Winter’s here at last.
As the year ends we recall
Christmases of the past.
As it builds into a pile
against our window pane,
the lights on our Christmas tree
are twinkling once again.
This time of the year we do
Festive Season things.
Yet we’re sad about the folks
whom we’re remembering.
Do they think of us also
during this December?
Will our friends and family
text us or remember?
Hello old friends,
hi there family.
Remember us.
Remember me.
There is a gift
beneath our tree,
especially for you
with love from me.
From far and wide
we come together
this Christmas tide,
in all sorts of weather.
But if you can’t,
give us a call.
Don’t forget to
remember us all.
Outside the sky is glowing
from the many Christmas fests,
colourful strings of lights
welcoming our guests.
Every one of you
we’re so glad that you’re here.
Our home is your home
at this time of year.
SEVEN CIRCUMSTANCES 
Geseënde Kersfees!
En dieselfde vir jou, en jou gesin ook, Fran! Groete vanuit ‘n koue en sneeurige Vancouver.