Comments on: The Gentle Author’s Christmas

By: Christine Swan

Christine Swan — Thu, 29 Dec 2022 16:53:12 +0000

This is a bittersweet tale. I only had one set of grandparents alive as a child. They lived in Walthamstow and we visited before Christmas Day after we moved to Kent. My Nanny was a lovely, warm lady. I have very fond memories of her. My grandad died when I was 12. I never felt that I knew him as well when he was alive but I have learned subsequently that he had a tough childhood with both of his parents dying young of TB. Nanny’s house was a post-war council house with a linoleum floored-living room and a roaring coal fire. My sister and I were bored silly by the inevitable political talk. Left met centre but the left always won. Very rarely, we were allowed into the parlour – but only on very special occasions and Christmas wasn’t one of them as it was only “us” visiting. I had five sets of aunts, uncles and cousins so the little living room was crammed with voices. We children played elsewhere – on the stairs and upstairs usually. I remember being told that I should NOT go upstairs because of the bogey man who lived there. Nanny told me this was somebody called Old Nick. The only toilet was upstairs so this was a pretty terrifying experience! The rest of the house was freezing – the only heating was in the living room. I can picture each room now as I think of childhood Christmas’s. I have very fond memories of my time spent with Nanny. I also spent time with her as an adult when my relationship with my parents was very fraught. She was very non-judgemental and tolerant and I could talk to her about anything. They were special times. She taught me so much about other members of the family too which have been so helpful when researching my family history. Memories are forever when they are written down.

By: Julia Rice

Julia Rice — Wed, 28 Dec 2022 15:46:01 +0000

A really moving account which captures beautifully the mixed emotions that many of us I am sure associate with the festive season, when the pressure to ‘enjoy’ butts up against unresolved tensions. I write this from my bed, having been struck down with a virus over Christmas! Best wishes for 2023 and thank you for all your wonderful posts this year.

By: Naomi

Naomi — Wed, 28 Dec 2022 08:31:26 +0000

I’ve only just read this and despite following you for years, it is the first time I have come across it. So evocative and powerful. You have – with huge respect and love – distilled the years of seasonal rituals into the essence of those few family observations and exchanges revealing the dissatisfactions with life, the fears and longings, the grieving for past hopes, the fragility and the pleasures from the simplest of things.

I would hungrily read more if you ever decide to publish more -either about your family or something of fiction. My tummy is rumbling ..!

Trusting you had the gentlest of festive breaks.

By: Garrick Davis

Garrick Davis — Tue, 27 Dec 2022 19:09:50 +0000

A family; vividly and exquisitely rendered.

By: Nick

Nick — Mon, 26 Dec 2022 20:01:52 +0000

Fantastic

By: belinda

belinda — Mon, 26 Dec 2022 09:04:29 +0000

thank you for this it moved me to tears so sad
i appreciate your candour and gentle objectivity

By: Richard

Richard — Mon, 26 Dec 2022 05:31:51 +0000

Merry Christmas
And Thanks

By: Sally Hirst

Sally Hirst — Mon, 26 Dec 2022 00:43:55 +0000

Thank you for this story, not fiction, but a very moving set of memories that spark my own feelings about family.
Your work is rich and enlightening, year round. I enjoy and appreciate it in many ways.
I wish you good health and contentment and moments of great joy.

By: Miriam

Miriam — Sun, 25 Dec 2022 23:42:55 +0000

Dear GA,
Thank you for your bittersweet memories. I am fortunate to not have had that sense of disappointment within my family – brought up in a fiercely working class and atheist household to boot- Christmas was a curious tradition for my family, really. But my mother liked to do it right. Mateus rose, trifle, overcooked topside and a capon. Never turkey. I suspect my Parents were suspicious of it because they felt it reeked of American Imperialism – even though it was eaten in Britain in the 19th century and earlier. White chocolate mice, my red Ladybird dressing gown, helping to set the table on Christmas Eve with plates and receptacles not seen from one Christmas to another. This included a curious pot that my Mammy informed me was called a gravy boat – that mix of working class aspiration and trepidation that meant it was kept for best. I always felt happy when entering the house and the kitchen windows were covered in condensation – this meant Mummy was hard at work. The kitchen door would open and through the billowing steam she would appear triumphant, bearing plates of tattles, sprouts and the bird. Not a shard of pancetta or a chestnut in sight. It was the 1970s, after all. I still have that butterfly feeling in my stomach at the build up to Christmas even though my parents have been gone these 30 years. It never does fully fulfil my expectations as an adult as it did as a child, but I hope that maybe one year it will all fall into place. But for that to happen though, I would probably have to spend it on my own. A bit of a conundrum. Apologies for rambling on, but your piece made me think of Christmas past. So thank you and a A Guid New Year Tae Ane and A’, when it comes.

By: Saba

Saba — Sun, 25 Dec 2022 23:40:36 +0000

Hello GA and GRs, only want to say Happy Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone! I am so grateful for this in depth, constantly-changing kaleidoscope known as Spitalfields Life. I have not missed a day since I discovered it about six years ago, and I look forward to 2023. Like holidays past, I suppose, this column brings comfort as it has become a traditional way for me to start the day. So, yo ho ho, and I look forward to days to come. Saba