Traditions are on hold – so we’re doing the big day differently
The coronavirus pandemic restrictions have inspired Anna White to replace the annual self-inflicted pressure to create the ‘perfect’ December 25 with a decision to celebrate in entirely new ways
‘With tired legs and rosy cheeks from the fresh air, we’ll feast on leftovers’
Ihave spent the past seven years trying to recreate my childhood Christmas Day – and falling short. I grew up in a tiny farming village in Nottinghamshire, and on Christmas morning my brother and I would wake early (even as teenagers) and open presents in our pyjamas, while inhaling doorstep-sized bacon sandwiches with freshly cut homemade bread.
We would dress up and walk to the small Norman church in the village, where we sang carols and giggled at the lay preacher – who bore a resemblance to The Simpsons’ Ned Flanders.
Drinks at the neighbours’ came next, then a quick stop at the Plough, the front bar full of people and pipe smoke, before heading home for a late lunch which stretched into the evening.
There was always a collection of randoms around the table, from tenuously related students on their travels to elderly neighbours and their even more elderly parents, with wispy chin whiskers trailing in the gravy. It was wellrehearsed chaos, warm and inclusive, and hosted by my mum.
There was no such thing as too much food or too many people in our house and nothing was too much effort for her. She had the magical gift of wildly overcommitting and yet always managing, somehow, to deliver.
Mum died of breast cancer in September 2013, just after my twins turned one, and my brother lives in Australia. For me, Christmas Day at 14 was the best day of the year. At 40 it is full of silent sadness.
Melancholy is taboo on December 25; it spoils the mood. While Mum would have been both laughing heartily with Dad and swearing loudly at the Aga for losing heat, I’m stealing sorrowful moments and adding secret salty tears to the already over-seasoned gravy. It’s in this disparity of our moods at Christmas that I fear I fail her.
I find the pressure of hosting more stressful than she did, and yet long to make it appear effortless. No matter how organised I seem to be, I spend Christmas morning a sweaty shambles in the kitchen, over-catering to meet requests, overcooking the turkey and neglecting my trio of kids who, when finally lunch is served, will stay at the table for five minutes.
I realise how lucky I am to have children and extended family around me, but the noise can feel hollow. There are too many empty chairs.
I’m not alone. This rings true for lots of people at Christmas – especially in 2020, even with the festive five-day rule. The latest iteration of restrictions to be passed by Parliament states that a fixed set of three households are allowed to meet indoors from Dec 23 to 27.
Many will be shielding alone, irrespective of whether they are in Tiers 1, 2 or 3, and those families who have lost loved ones to the pandemic will endure their first Christmas without them.
So, I am breaking with tradition. No more recreating my childhood Christmas:
this year I am reinventing it and doing away with seasonal moping. I am replacing guilt-fuelled obligation for a more robust stance:
“Grandpa must have all the trimmings” – tough (like my turkey).
“It’s traditional to have crackers full of plastic rubbish!” – isn’t there enough waste at Christmas?
“Well, your mother used to make boiled Christmas cake prepared in November” – BUT NOBODY ATE IT!
For starters, I am flipping the day on its head, with our celebratory meal on Christmas Eve rather than Christmas Day. We are going to have an early, simple roast supper by candlelight with the kids before stargazing to spy Father Christmas’s sleigh streak across the sky.
This is a double-meal dinner, designed to be rolled out on Christmas Day too as cold cuts with oven-baked jacket potatoes, reheated cauliflower cheese and vegetables. I enjoy cooking (although confess to being a slow-cook, one-pot kinda gal) but not at the sacrifice of calling my brother in Australia on Christmas morning or having a shower!
We have an added complexity that my mum did not have to consider. The build-up to Christmas Day, presentopening ceremony and unrestrained indulgence is overstimulating for most children but my autistic eight-year-old boy needs careful management on this day of all days. No amount of smug list making in November will help, I just have to give him my time and create a calm environment.
We will spend the (very) early part of the morning opening presents and assembling toys. Then, rather than dressing up for church, we will pull on our wellies and head up the South Downs, armed with a flask of hot chocolate and a parcel of pigs in blankets.
Eating together is central to Christmas Day, but what is on the table has taken over and I feel a self-inflicted pressure to make everything from scratch, emulating my mum and grandma. This year is different. With tired legs and rosy cheeks from the fresh air, we’ll feast on leftovers and meat pies.
I have vowed not to find myself in Sainsbury’s at 6am on Christmas Eve buying the last “just-incase” bits that only go to waste. Instead I am shopping local.
All meat, pies and cheese are coming from the butchers Seabrights (@ seabrightsbutchers) in Haslemere, and fruit and veg from Applegarth Farm in Hindhead (@applegarthfarm). The kids have requested a vanilla ice-cream igloo (with chocolate penguins and a salted caramel middle) from Dylan’s Ice Cream (@dylansicecream) for pudding and I have pre-ordered brownies from Sarah Bakes Cakes (@sarahbakescakeshaslemere).
Asking around, it seems my cohort are breaking with foodie traditions too. My friend Gavin – a really accomplished amateur cook – told me they have asked the butcher for “the best steaks he’s got” for the big meal. “I am not cooking for more than half an hour on Christmas Day,” he says. The family of four will still eat like kings, but he has devised a low-maintenance menu.
Other friends have consulted their kids this year. Nicky and Charlie gave their two little girls the choice – they opted for cheese fondue. A third mum, Helen, is serving salmon for the adults and mac ’n’ cheese for her four little ones. It seems that we are all craving simplicity.
The new festive five-day rule, however, complicates matters. With just three fixed households allowed to celebrate indoors it really only enables one side of a family to get together.
As a result, this year we will spend part of Christmas Day with friends – for the first time.
To end the special day one local family with whom we have formed a bubble is coming over at 4pm for pudding, cheese, games and a film. We may work in grandparents nearer the time, depending on news flow and local Covid cases.
I am clinging to some traditions – but with a twist. As there is no end-of-term school concert or church service, I’m organising driveway carols with my neighbour Saumya on Sunday, Dec 20. The lady living opposite me will ask the council to close the road so another neighbour can wheel their piano into the middle of the street.
The family board game, which would always end with a three-way row between me, my brother and my dad, is being replaced by a virtual family quiz on Boxing Day. This allows us to connect with far more members of the family, spread across different continents, than we would ever have under one roof. I wonder who will be first to storm off Zoom?
I grew up in a heart-on-sleeve household of tears and laughter in equal measure – maybe this is the year to embrace the bitter sweet of Christmas rather than stifle it.
My new format Covid Christmas is not designed to forget Mum or distract myself from the sense of loss. It’s devised to make space in the otherwise hectic day so I can dedicate some time to raise a glass of bubbles in my bubble and remember her.
Merry Christmas, Mum.