How far back can you remember? Christmases long past. I recall the very thin wrapping paper, on presents under our Nan’s big metal framed bed. I slept on a camp bed that was just below the bottom of the frame. Our dear grandad slept on their very small settee, nan and my older sister Debbie slept in the creaky bed.

I spotted the two big parcels neatly wrapped under the bed. The temptation for a 5 year old was overwhelming, so I crawled under and spread the thin paper between my small hands. You could easily see the ‘mousetrap’ picture and the other ‘kerplunk’.

My sister never forgave me for excitedly informing her of the games to be enjoyed, long before we got to open them.

 It became my mission every Christmas after that to hunt the house for presents...much to my siblings’ horror. David remembers vividly the year I stole the element of surprise by revealing to him an action man complete with an army tank was earmarked for him - and did he want to have a peak.

Apparently it spoilt his Christmas. I don’t remember him getting angry, he never got angry. I don’t ever remember falling out with him. 

Our paternal grandparents were greener than green. Carefully unwrapping every present, folding up the discarded paper carefully and replacing it in the ‘Christmas suitcase’ to go back into the attic for another year. I believe each carefully stored piece of wrapping got smaller each year and yet reappeared to cover another exciting treasure. More celotape bits on it, than on the roll itself.

Happy memories.

Our mum was ‘Christmas’ and it was hard celebrating it without her the first year after she went to Heaven. 

Somehow you do for your children’s sake. You wrap stocking fillers late on Christmas Eve and set the alarm to ‘deliver’ the individually wrapped gifts and as quietly as you can slip them into the pillowcases waiting expectantly at the end of the boys beds.

Our eldest is 31...I have to set the alarm much later, as they go to bed long after me now. Apparently they still ‘believe’ and they enjoy the stocking more than getting a big present. They insist they are not too old?

At least one of them will get the annual recycled stapler, reminiscent of school supplies replenished every Christmas. Another the small hole punch, and all will get a Terrys chocolate orange and a pair of new boxers, and socks.

Family traditions run deep. One year before David had his own family he was staying over with my sister, her family of four and my mum. At the allotted time when we figured they were definitely asleep we sneaked up armed with bags of hurriedly wrapped small gifts. Always a last minute job.

They had all wanted to sleep together so there were 6 bodies on various camp beds, bunk beds and settee cushions in a tight line.There was barely ten inches between the end of the sleeping bodies and the wall. The three of us crept quietly into the darkened room, shimmying along the wall. The wrapping paper was rustling loudly in each of the carrier bags ready for transfer to the traditional pillowcases, just like we had as children.

David was stuck in the far corner trapped by me and then Debbie. The loud whisper of the paper made a couple of them stir. We stood still like rabbits in the headlights, not daring to breathe. They were young enough to think Father Christmas did not need us to help him deliver the presents.

I am not sure which of us caved first but we started giggling uncontrollably, shaking the bags and ruffling the paper even more.

As the youngsters turned in their sleep, disturbed by weird goings on, we try to hold our breath but ended up snorting, which had us laughing even more.

There was only one way to go, to tip the presents in the ‘sacks’ and fall over each other trying to escape to the landing.

Thankfully their dream of Christmas Eve was not shattered, miraculously.

Precious memories.

More recently as our families have increased so much we all get together in a local clubhouse and play games, eat, drink and  sing our ‘family’ song, Country roads.

With grown up cousins that couldn’t be closer, Uncles and Aunties, sisters and brothers, in laws and possibly outlaws we share hours of love and laughter.

Treasure in all our hearts. The words from our song...Take me home, country roads, to the place I belong will be sung with tears this year. For David he is further along the road to home than we are. He may be there by Christmas Day. 

This year we cannot be together as a group of 25 or so. Individually we will hum or sing, smiling whilst tears will run down our cheeks. Of that I’m certain.

As Christmas comes and goes, those we love join us as they are born, and those leave us as they move on. Yet still they Remain in each of our hearts. Two sets of grandparents, our mum, friends, loved ones that once sat at the table to say cheers, and pull a Christmas cracker with us. They are still very much a part of Christmas, the love they gave remains, the memories never fade, the laughter can still be heard. 

Even in the quiet of  Christmas 2020. Let’s celebrate all those who have loved us, those we miss and those we will celebrate with next year God be willing.

Rejoice in the true meaning of Christmas. Emmanuel God is with us. He IS love. Amen x