"You didn't go downstairs on Christmas Eve, did you Grampy!"

Christmas is all but over – the big day has come and gone and although my front room still has candles and tinsel, it is all starting to look a little bit tired and sad! Yes, we still have New Year;  yes, we still have the rest of the twelve days of Christmas  to go but the January sales are with us, the world is moving on.

Every year it is the same – so much anticipation, so much prior preparation and hard work, so much potential stress. The TV adverts show us the idyllic Christmas of huge roast turkey, smiling families, happy children, peace and contentment throughout the world – and we so want to live up to the expectations. And then it’s over so quickly!

Christmas is great - you get just what
 you've always wanted!

Was it meant to be like this? Was it part of the deal on the first Christmas when Jesus was born? I think not. But if, indeed, there was a first Christmas with shepherds and magi and angels; if Mary & Joseph existed; if a baby, the Son of God, was born in a  stable adjoining an inn – then was the deal that we celebrated this event in the way we do with rushes to the January sales, the latest computer consoles and i-phones, an over indulgence of food and drink, by jetting off to the sun via Heathrow or by  watching again a much repeated “family film” as we sit, droopy eyed, in our new sweaters, our bellies bloated and heads slightly hazy from  too much wine.

It all sounds a bit doubtful to me – but the thing is we all do it in our various ways. And why? Because it is Christmas! We want it to be the “best one ever” and anyway, “it’s only for the kids”.

So what has my Christmas been like? What, twelve months down the line, will I remember of these past few days?

It didn’t start at all auspiciously. Early last week I went down with a dreadful cold which slowly took its toll -  a non-stop cough and wheezy chest meant that lying down to sleep was impossible. For several nights I slept not a wink and, so, felt dreadful next morning. We managed to entertain one or two friends for coffee and a glass of sherry, we got the last minute shopping done and the car cleaned (a “must do” for Christmas!) and by Friday afternoon the shining car was packed with presents, food and drink to take to our daughter Kate’s in Manchester. We were to spend Christmas there with her and her family, plus our son John and his family. He would make the trip from Reading to Manchester on Christmas Eve as would we from Nottingham.  Unfortunately that night my cold got worse and in the end at 2 a.m. in the morning we found ourselves in Accident and Emergency at our local hospital. It was not the cold that was the problem but the fact that my dodgy heart was beginning to show its hand and we feared a build up of fluid on the chest. As always, the  A & E dept was overworked but kindly and hard working. I slowly progressed through the system and at just after 4.30 a.m. following heart traces, blood tests and e-rays found myself given the all clear but with the much appreciated rider  “With your heart condition, Mr Beale, come straight back if you have any worries”. We are, in this country very, very lucky.

Waiting for our star parts as
Mary & the Angel!

So that will be one of the things that I will remember twelve months hence from this Christmas - A&E on Christmas Eve morning.. But there are a couple of others from the same night. As I  lay on the A&E trolley, waiting to be wheeled to have my x-ray completed, a young woman lay close by. She was fast asleep and a nurse approached her and kindly said “Open your eyes, Rosie, wake up”. There was no response and it took the nurse a minute or two to establish some kind of communication. When she did so she said ”Rosie, you are going home, we’re getting  taxi for you” She walked the young woman around the area, trying to get her attention and wakefulness. “You’ve drunk too much and taken  too many pills...........we’ve spoken to your mum........but she can’t pick you up because she’s drunk too much and taken some pills too...........I’ll get you a drink of coffee”. The nurse went off to get the coffee and as I was wheeled away for my x-ray the Rosie sat quietly sobbing on a chair. It’s Christmas.

The tableau is growing

And the second event? At 4.30 a.m. as I stood outside A&E in the cold  waiting for Pat to pick me up a young man stood arguing with his mother.  The lady, caring, anxious and upset - tears streaming down her face -  was trying to calm him down. His face was a mass of blood, rough bandages had been coiled around his mouth and nose. As they argued these slipped down to reveal a dreadful cut from nose to lips, exposing his teeth and gums behind. His face had clearly been sliced by a knife of some kind. Blood ran down his chin and onto his shirt. The lady pleaded with him to return into A&E where they could attend to his injuries – he roared that he wasn’t going back in but was going to find the culprits and exact vengeance. He was clearly very drunk – swearing at his mother and becoming increasingly agitated and aggressive. He stormed away from his mother and approached me – “You got a lighter mate?” he demanded. “Sorry I don’t smoke” I replied – inwardly I groaned at the prospect of seeing him trying to hold a cigarette in those bleeding, gaping lips. His mother ran up, mumbled an apology to me and grasped his arm, again pleading for him to come into the hospital. I strode back inside to seek safety and warmth until my wife arrived. Inside the door the security man advised “Steer clear of him.....he’s gonna cause trouble”. And standing there with the guard was a nurse who confirmed he did indeed have problems – “He needs maxillofacial surgery – and  urgently”. When Pat arrived with the car to pick me up the man was still standing swearing at his mother, she begging and pleading with him, the blood continuing to spread. And as we drove away I wondered what his mother must have been thinking –  just a few years ago he would have been a little boy excitedly looking forward to unwrapping the presents that she had wrapped for him  for Christmas Day? What must she think now as, the night before Christmas, he swears at her in public, uses every form of foul language and blood spurts from his face and he threatens a terrible revenge on his attackers? Where did it all go wrong for him and her?

Opening presents is great

And so to Manchester. Tired (having been at A & E for most of the night) we arrived to be with our family – eleven of us. We had a wonderful time – lovely meals together, the five grandchildren playing and laughing together, Christmas presents, too much food and although we had a drink or two nothing in excess. But what will I remember?

Well, certainly, all of the things that I mention above but especially our trip to the local church on Christmas Eve afternoon to join in the nativity service. We always feel welcome there – a full church, the usual humorous and warm welcome from Fr Clarke and the expected songs and carols to accompany the great words of the Christmas story and the building of the nativity tableau as children excitedly and noisily  take their places as shepherds, kings, sheep, Mary, Joseph and angels. We’ve all seen it hundreds of times before – we know the words, we can predict that the shepherds will wear tea towels on their heads, we can be almost certain of the songs we will sing..............and yet, year after year people all over the world will turn up to see something they have all seen before. It’s the ultimate “repeat show”. And we loved it! It's Christmas!

What other image will stick in my mind twelve months hence?

I like Christmas

On Christmas Eve I could not sleep – no, I wasn’t waiting for Santa – my cold had become worse and I could not stop coughing as I lay in bed. So, at about 2 a.m. in order not to disturb my wife who was fast asleep I crept downstairs, my duvet under my arm, to see if I could grab an hour or two’s sleep sitting in the arm chair. The light from the street light showed me that Santa indeed had been – the floor at the base of the tree was piled high with presents! Next morning at breakfast I commented to my granddaughters, Sophie and Ellie, that I had come downstairs to sleep. A look of horror crossed their faces – “Grampy, you didn't go downstairs in the middle of the night did you? Had Santa been? Did you see him? What if you disturbed him?” I suddenly felt that I was being accused of acting very rashly and putting the whole of Christmas in jeopardy by possibly interrupting Santa delivering his gifts -  the girls  clearly thought that I had not thought this through properly and they were going to let me know it!

And on Christmas Day much unwrapping of presents and a lovely Christmas lunch together. As lunch time approached it all reminded me of Dickens’ wonderful description of Christmas at the Cratchit’s in a Christmas Carol: “Such a bustle ensued......Mrs Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah.

And so do we!

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last. Yet everyone had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows. But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs Cratchit left the room alone -- too nervous to bear witnesses -- to take the pudding up and bring it in.”

Everyone waitng to tuck in!

And yes, just as did the Cratchits, after we had all eaten our fill and congratulated my daughter on her preparations and cookery skills we left the table to relax – much as Dickens’ described it 150 years ago: “At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.” We, too, all sat together, the children watching a TV programme whilst they grasped one of their presents, the adults in various stages of conversation, nodding or TV watching.  And scattered around little piles of presents – testaments to the day!

And, just like the Cratchits, we all gathered around......

If Dickens had looked down on us (and probably millions of others like us) I think he would have recognised the similarities between what he saw in  my daughter’s lounge on Christmas Day and what he had written about all those years ago in “A Christmas Carol”. I wonder what he would have thought? A far cry this from the Cratchit’s poor house – but of course as we all know the spirits ensured that their lot was improved by Scrooge when he became a “new man”. Would Dickens have approved of the huge amounts of money that we spend on Christmas each year, would he have approved of the vast numbers of presents that my grandchildren each received. As a Victorian gentleman I think not. And would he have approved of our visit to church and the nativity play – he would certainly have approved of the church visit but the informal nature of it, the way that children were encouraged to take part and dress up? There was no thought here that children should be “seen and not heard” as was the belief in Dickens’ day. – that might have been too much even for the great social reformer Dickens. It might not have been the sort of church service that he recognised! And finally, what would he have thought of my Christmas experiences in A&E – in one way he would have found it wonderful that ordinary folk can be treated for their illnesses - he would have thought that one of his great social dreams had indeed become reality. But what of Rosie, the girl suffering from an hangover and possible drug use? What of the young man with the gaping lip and blooded face? Well, he would certainly have recognised the seamier side of life – violence, drink and drugs were very much part of his age – but would it have saddened and confused him to see this in the age in which we live where poverty of the scale prevalent in Victorian Britain is totally unknown. Would it have confused him or indeed worried him when he saw and heard the way that the young man treated his mother who was trying to help him? Would he have thought that despite the wonderful hospital facilities and care there that we have are still very serious problems in our society – that increased wealth has not always made for a perfect society. I think that he could have used a few of his very carefully chosen words to express his feelings.

Christmas!