Christmas Eve 2023
A time for counting one’s blessings and thoughtful reverence for the true spirit of Christmas. A time for reflecting on Christmas eves past which in my case go from the sublime to the ridiculous.
First the sublime. Attendance at Christmas evensong in King’s College, Cambridge with choral voices in four part harmony slicing through damp, dense air and resonating off cold stone, penetrating body as well as the soul. Or attending midnight service at Florence Nightingale’s old church on South Audley, London with a now departed love. So it is not by accident that I have become a fan of English Christmas chorales of the 18th and 19th centuries. This is music that only a proud, confident culture can produce with even, dare I say, a little swagger. Something totally missing in the fractured Anglosphere of today where even agents of the crown can label Christmas to be “discriminatory”.
KING’S COLLEGE UNDER RAINBOW
Now the ridiculous! Never to be forgotten was the warmth of austere accommodation in Raxual, India one lonely Christmas eve halfway around the world. I had exited the Nepalese Himalaya’s crammed into the back of a dump truck with about 15 other pieces of assorted humanity. Upon crossing the border and reaching the railway station in Raxual, I had missed the last train and decided to pitch up for the night in the dirt of the railway platform. Fortunately I was spotted by a US Peace Corp worker who offered a basic lentil curry and accommodation in the darkness (no electricity!) of his humble abode. I can’t even remember his name but I remain eternally grateful for that act of Christian charity.
In the past few years the following, “In the Bleak Midwinter”, has pushed past my old reliable “Good King Wencelas” to become my favourite Christmas carol. Made all the more emotionally intense when I learned that the lyrics, a poem by Christina Rosetti, was set to music by Gustav Holst. Though not born there, Holst chose to live in Thaxted, Essex after his discovering it on a hike. Hiking in Essex, I know what that’s like! Thaxted was the first English village that I ever had the opportunity to explore in depth. My partner in crime was an older English tradesman, Alf, who delighted in showing me the hidden jewels of his rural Essex.
Below are some legacy photos of Thaxted that I took that day long, long ago!
THAXTED HIGH STREET BACK IN THE 60s
THAXTED GUILDHALL
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL (especially Alf and that generous Peace Corps worker……wherever they may be!!)