Most of you will know by now that I have a barely concealed hatred for Christmas that extends way beyond simple ‘bah humbug’.
In my youth, I loved it – in fact, I loved it until I moved from Southall to Oxford in 1986. Until that point, my Christmases had always been much the same as any other young woman whose family and friends all loved and cared for her. About a year after I moved to Oxford, I married (not the best move I’ve ever made). From that point on Christmas became a chore but was still basically OK if a bit too competitive for my liking, you know…having to make sure you fit in all the parents (his parents were divorced which added complication), without one set of parents getting upset that they have not had as much of your time as someone else. It also meant driving hundreds of miles to see everyone.
After leaving Oxford to move here, to Sandhurst, I got fed up of trooping around the countryside so invited his Mum and her family, my parents and my sister and her family all to dinner here. I put so much effort into that day and in particular that dinner – absolutely everything was hand-made, including the chocolate truffles to go with coffee. The pudding, mince pies and cake were also hand-made with allspice instead of mixed spice so my sister, who is allergic to cinnamon, could share these treats. Jan and I are both veggies too so I had prepared two centre-pieces for the feast.
On the day, I had all my instructions blu-tacked to the fronts of the kitchen cupboards and my management of the day was spot-on (even if it’s me who says so!). After I’d cleared up the plates from the main course and was in the process of taking the pud out of the steamer, all hell broke loose. My in-laws got up from the table (yes, half-way through the meal) and just decided to go home, leaving me and my own family agog!
If that wasn’t enough, a couple of days later, I discovered my husband’s infidelities by complete accident. They say a woman always knows in her heart that it is happening, but I swear I did not. I was completely shaken to my very core and after a while unravelled a sorry tale going back to the very early days of our marriage.
Christmas has never been that joyful place since. For years I was too frightened of being alone to leave him and so each Christmas served as a reminder of how empty and unhappy my life had become. Each year, I fixed the best smile I could onto my face and got through it. It’s funny how only the lonely and sad can seem to recognise it in the eyes of others. I realised during that time that there were many other unhappy people in the world beside me.
When I eventually plucked up the courage to strike out on my own (prompted by my looming 40th birthday and the shocking realisation that I could wake on my 80th birthday and find I’d been unhappy all my adult life), my first Christmas as a single woman topped the lot.
I had accepted an invitation to spend Christmas with Claire, my buddy from Melton Mowbray, and her family. I volunteered to cook the meal and she gratefully accepted as she’s not much into cooking. On the way to her house I popped into my folks’ house with Rosie and Archie to deliver presents to find that my little family were most definitely not welcome. I know I am loved by my family – there is no question about it and if I’d been alone it would have been OK but the dogs were absolutely not wanted. My sister had just had a baby and for some reason all of my family thought the mix of dogs and babies was a bad one. It didn’t occur to me that this would be an issue – families with small children have had pets forever. Of course I couldn’t stay more than a few minutes in the circumstances.
I went to Claire’s house and almost immediately Archie bit one of her dogs who was showing too close an interest in Rosie who had just started her first season. Shadow ended up at the vet being stitched and Rosie and Archie got sent home in disgrace. C&G were actually really good about it – let’s face it when you extend the hand of hospitality to friends you don’t expect a huge vet’s bill to ensue. Gary took me and the dogs home, I left Rosie and Archie alone for the afternoon and Gary kindly took me back to their house in his car where I prepared and served dinner.
Early in the evening I had to go home, despite having originally planned to stay the night because I couldn’t leave my babies alone any longer. I’d ended up spending the day without them, which had made me sad and I ended up on my own Christmas Day night, watching soap operas on the sofa with Rosie and Archie either side of me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more lonely or unhappy in my life. I felt desperate. I spent a lot of that evening in floods of tears wondering what I had done.
The reason why I tell this sorry tale of woe is that I was actually lucky (even though I didn’t see it at the time). I had a family who loved me, lots of wonderful supportive friends, two beautiful ‘babies’ in Rosie and Archie, a good job and a lovely home.
I also had David, although I didn’t know it at the time. He and I had started seeing each other in the autumn of that year and our relationship had not yet moved from its passionate beginnings into the warm contentment of a lasting relationship. We’d both been ill – he’d had a dreadful virus for three weeks and I’d not seen him during that time. By the time he was better, I had bronchitis and so wasn’t well enough to see him. That Christmas I was so sure that it was a fling that couldn’t withstand that month or so apart that I had no inkling that it would be rekindled easily once we saw one another.
So, why tell you all of this? Because I want to ask something of everyone who reads this page. I want you to look in the eyes of the people you meet today….no, REALLY look. If you see the pain of loneliness, why not invite that person to share your table tomorrow. I know only too well how cripplingly miserable Christmas can be and I’m really a lucky one. What about the not so lucky? Don’t they deserve some kindness this Christmas?
