Festive thoughts from Abroad

Christmas 2011

In England, it was always our tradition to attend the Christmas morning service at our local church.  For me, this was always the best time of the whole Festive Season.  The turkey was in the oven, the presents had been appreciated.  If something hadn’t been bought of our thought of at that stage, then it was far too late or just not important.  We would troop down to our local Methodist Chapel and the church would be warm and smelling of pine, mince pies and mulled wine.   There was such an age range too – from tiny babies to grannies.  The vicar had a flashing bow-tie which rotated – we all liked that.  The services were never too long and then we would shake hands with the Vicar – he had skin like kid gloves – and say see you next year.  We would then return to the house and my husband and kids would then spend the rest of the day trying to put the presents together and make them work.  By Christmas Day I was normally worn to a frazzle and heading for my yearly bout of ‘flu and would happily eat myself to the size of a snowman and then pass out whilst watching the animation of the same name.  Every time I hear ‘I’m walking in the air’, I am taken back to those sparkling white Derbyshire Christmases.

When we came to France, I missed Christmas.  I missed snow and carols and church.  The first Christmas came and went and seemed less special.  The second Christmas we went to England.  On the third Christmas, I brought up the subject of church and we skimmed the Internet and found Saint Andrew’s at Pau.  We have been every year but one ever since; a brief defection, not to be repeated, to Biarritz of which more another time.  The streets are usually deserted and the only shops open are the Fleuristes, the Boulangeries and McDonalds.

The Vicar bears an astonishing resemblance to Patrick Stewart.  His robes are snowy white with gorgeous golden bands.  The church is bright with holly and ivy and candles light up the stained glass windows.  And what a diversity of people attends!  There are tall and willowy, there are short and stout, there are blondes and braids, there are shaven and dreadlocked.  There are carrot tops – of which I can claim a proud contribution with my youngest.  Indian, Caribbean, African, Scottish, English and Welsh, all were represented and  I reflected, as we sang hymns praising our Lord’s birth, what a wonderful thing it is to be British, and I gave thanks for that too.  For the way a language and a belief can bring people together – to pray, to laugh and to hold hands and say ‘peace be with you’.  To have the blessing of our Lord, though the hand of his priest, which warm weight I felt for the rest of the day and which will sustain me through the coming year.  This is the essence of Christmas for me – to come together in peace and love.  A merry Christmas to you all, wherever you are.  Peace be with you.

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