It's Christmas! -

It's Not 'The Holidays!'

          It's unreasonable of me, I suppose, but I'm annoyed by the increasing habit of referring to Christmas by using the American expression of 'the holidays.' - 'The Holidays are coming!' - 'Happy Holidays!'
          As I understand it, the Christmas holiday is the only public, paid holiday in America. (Apologies to any American readers if I'm mistaken.) So it's understandable that they refer to the Christmas period as 'the holidays.'
          But we're British, and it isn't so for us. We have many other public holidays - New Year, Easter, Whitsun, Bank Holidays - so why use the expression? It makes no sense in Britain.
          In Britain, it's Advent. It's Christ's Mass and the Feast of St Stephen - or Boxing Day. It's New Year or Hogmanay. And then Epiphany and Candle Mass. These names have beauty and resonance.
          The whole Christmas season is a Mid-Winter Feast, celebrating the solstice, that goes back century upon century. It's not merely, 'The holidays.'

          I'm also coming to detest this character - 

          Not the actual man in the WikiCommons photo, of course. I've nothing against him. And it's not because Santa Claus or Kris Kringle in the red and white suit was invented by Coco-Cola. That's not actually true - though I'm sure Coke rejoiced when they saw how they could exploit it. Much older portrayals show the Christmas saint wearing red and white. After all, red and white are associated with Christmas for many reasons - snow, holly, purity, firelight...
          But still, the old white-haired buffer in red and white has become increasingly associated with Coca-Cola, cosiness, Disney and sticky cuteness.

          I much prefer this fella - 

          Everyone will know that this is the Cruikshank illustration of 'Scrooge's Third Visitor' - or The Ghost of Christmas Present - from Dickens' Christmas Carol. But neither Dickens nor Cruikshank invented this figure - indeed, Dickens' description, I think, shows that he is playfully describing for his readers a figure he knows they will recognise.
          Scrooge opens the door of the room adjoining his bedroom to find it changed.

     The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that dull petrifaction of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time... Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see:, who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door.

     "I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the Spirit. "Look upon me."

      Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. This garment hung so loosely on the figure, that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any artifice. Its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. Its dark brown curls were long and free; free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.
      "You have never seen the like of me before!" exclaimed the Spirit.
      "Never," Scrooge made answer to it.

          Perhaps Scrooge, in his meanness, had never seen the like of this visitor before - but Dickens' readers knew that the ghost was Father Christmas. The popular personification of Christmas in Dickens' time - and before - was a vigorous, dark-haired man in the prime of life, dressed in green and crowned with holly.
          I much prefer this representation, because it harks back to still older beliefs - to the medieval Lord of Misrule, to the Roman Saturnalia, and to northern paganism, to Wodan and Frey.
          Dickens' Ghost wears an empty scabbard 'eaten up with rust,' signifying 'the peace and goodwill on earth to all men' that is supposed to hold sway over Christmas. This didn't begin with Christianity. During the pagan celebration of Yule, peace was the rule - the Frey-frith, or Lord's Peace. ('Frey' is a title, not a name: it means 'Lord'. Something which made exchanging Frey for Christ the Lord easier.)
          The ancient celebration of the Mid-Winter Solstice is about delighting in the survival of life through the months of cold and darkness - Oh, the holly and the ivy! It's about life having such strength and power that not even the coldest winter can suppress it - and the holly bears the crown. That's why Father Christmas is a strong, vigorous man with dark hair, dressed in green, crowned with a red-berried holly wreath.
          For all his geniality, there's a slight chill of danger about Father Christmas - he may be seated beside a roaring fire, and presiding over a great feast, but it's icy, barren and dark outside. He may be young, but there's a sense of immense age about him. I much, much prefer him to Santa Claus.

Have a happy time on the Feast of the Returning Dead, as you set out food for your ancestors.

(Christmas Eve, and the setting out of mince-pies and wine.)

        Good Yule!

And Blot makes a return!

Spirit: These are the chains I forged in life. I made them link by lik and yard by yard....

Spirit: I sold my neice's puppy to a pie-maker //  I short-changed the pie-maker

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spirit: I laughed merrily as I did it... Still, that's all behind me now. My job in local goverment keeps me very busy...

          One reason for Blott's absence is that he badly cut his paw on a very sharp chisel while doing a bit of wood-carving. But he's handling the pen again now.