Christmas Every Day

In late 1942 the German army reached the Russian city of Stalingrad on the Volga. A Russian counterattack in November led to an encirclement of the German forces by the Red Army. This is how some starving and freezing Wehrmacht troops marked Christmas.

Lieutenant Sachonbeck, a 20-year-old officer with the 24th Panzer Division, took some comfort in the preparations he had made for the festivities. “On December 24th there were about fifteen men in my bunker. That morning, under fairly heavy fire, I had managed to dig up a little pine tree buried in the snow of the steppe – probably one of the very few Christmas trees in the entire Kessel. That spring, when I’d been billeted with a priest in Brittany, I’d scrounged three church candles that were just the right size to fit into my backpack. I had no idea why at the time, I just liked the look of them. It got dark very early. The candles were burning as I told the Christmas story and spoke the Lord’s Prayer. A little later, the crackly loudspeaker transmitted a Christmas message from the Forces’ radio station in Germany. It was being broadcast everywhere from the North Pole to Africa. At that time an enormous part of the world belonged to us. When Stalingrad was called we began to tremble though we were indoors in the warm that evening. Then when the words ‘Stille Nacht, heilige Nacbt…’ were sung, our tears started to flow. We cried for a long time. From that moment, no one said so much as a word – maybe for a whole hour.”

Another German soldier, Wilhelm Hoffman of the 267th Regiment of the 94th Infantry Division, made a last entry in his diary, writing: “The horses have already been eaten. I would eat a cat; they say its meat is also tasty. The soldiers look like corpses or lunatics, looking for something to put in their mouths. They no longer take cover from Russian shells; they haven’t the strength to walk, run away and hide. A curse on this war.”

More in our Christmas Dinner in Strange Places series.

Royal flunkeys bring in the boar’s head and a monstrous pie for the royal dinner of Queen Victoria at Windsor Castle.

A look at Christmas fare in the officers’ mess in a British army encampment during the Crimea War, 1855.

The first is a series on Christmas dinner in strange places as depicted in 19th-century illustrated news sources. 

The fare here is meagre but the room is suspiciously roomy and clean.

There is nothing like being immersed in medieval splendour to remind one that people have been doing Christmassy things for a very long time.

In Prague’s Old Town Square, the first of my stops to investigate Central European Christmas markets, I am surrounded by the town hall, the site of two famous instances of throwing politicians out the window (1419 and 1618); the wonderful astronomical clock (built in 1410); the baroque Church of St. Nicholas (1704); and the Gothic spires of the Church of Our Lady Before Týn (1380).

Historians argue about the date of the first Christmas market. Some say Vienna’s December fair of 1296 was the earliest, others say it was Bautzen, in Saxony, in 1384, while still others point to Dresden in 1434. There is no doubt, however, that shopping in outdoor venues for seasonal food, toys, and gifts has been going on for centuries, spreading from the German-speaking lands to the rest of Europe and, now, around the world.

Such markets reached a peak of popularity in the 19th century, but were hit by the rise of department stores whose mass-produced goods were cheaper than hand-made items and which offered what seemed to be a more elegant setting for consumption than outdoor booths.

By the early 20th century, Christmas markets were seen as scruffy, rowdy, and lower-class. Astonishingly, what saved them, at least in Germany, was the rise of Adolf Hitler in the 1930s—the Nazis disliked department stores, which they believed were Jewish-owned, and encouraged citizens to patronize local merchants. They revived and glamourized the Berlin and Nuremberg Christmas markets, making them experiential sites for nostalgia, community feelings, and sentiment rather than mere commercial exchanges.

After World War II the popularity of Christmas markets spread, and today they serve as major tourist attractions, some in dramatic settings such as Vienna’s Rathausplatz or the Schönbrunn Palace, with stalls selling regional food and drink, ornaments, clothing, toys, and souvenirs. Visitors can also experience light shows, listen to Christmas music, go ice skating, watch Christmas tree lightings, see artisans at work at forges or looms, and ride Ferris wheels.

Most European cities will hold multiple markets, some large and impressive, some on a smaller scale meant for local shoppers. To travel, as I did recently, from one country’s offerings to another is to see both the national and regional differences on display and the international appeal of Christmas.

Every visitor to a Christmas market is going to be assaulted by waves of wonderful aromas emanating from vats of soup, spits of roasting pork, and ovens full of gingerbread. Every eye will be caught by the pans of toasted chestnuts, rows of chocolates, heaps of dumplings (sweet and savoury), and stacks of giant pretzels.

In Prague you will be enticed by the sight of trdelniki (variously translated as funnel cake, chimney cake, or spit cake), a delicious sugary confection which can be filled with ice cream, Nutella, chocolate or nuts. You can taste them, as well, in Bratislava, Vienna, and Budapest—and everywhere you will be assured that this treat was invented locally and copied by jealous neighbouring countries.

Everywhere, you will be tempted by flatbread and potato pancakes but the toppings will intriguingly vary—try them with pulled pork, sour cream, cheeses of various sorts, or bacon and onion. Central Europe is heaven for sausage-lovers, and those who go for the barbecued klobása in Czechia will find the zatocená pikantná klobása, the twisted spicy sausage of Slovakia, the Käsekreiner of Austria, and the paprika-flavoured Hungarian gyulai equally alluring.

In Prague try the carp soup, in Bratislava sample the goose, in Vienna the Christstollen, and in Budapest, don’t miss the goulash. Mulled wine is going to be delightfully different from market to market and it is often served in souvenir mugs which can be retained. (There is a commitment to sustainability on display in all of these markets. Emphasis is placed on the local sourcing of food and goods on sale, and on using recyclable material for wrapping or utensils.)

If the visitor is looking to bring home a unique but inexpensive reminder of a Central European Christmas market, look for oplátky in Prague (called oblátky in Bratislava). These are unleavened wafers in a variety of sweet flavours, stamped with images of the Nativity or some other Christmas scene. It is traditional at the Christmas Eve meal for the father of the family to break off the first piece and then to pass it around the table while prayers are said and good wishes expressed.

In Budapest, don’t pass by the szaloncukor, chocolates filled with jelly or fondant wrapped in shiny coloured foil and used to decorate the Christmas tree. Collectors of snow globes will appreciate the fact that they were invented in Vienna and are plentiful at Christmas markets in that city. Those with larger budgets might wish to come away with handmade wooden Czech nativity scenes, embroidered ethnic table cloths from Slovakia, Austrian glass ornaments, or Hungarian ceramics.

Despite the term Christkindlmarket—the Christ Child Market—do not expect to be overwhelmed by any Christian religiosity in these places. There will be an obligatory life-size replica of the Bethlehem manger scene somewhere on the premises (and the largest of the Vienna markets has some modern takes on the Nativity by Austrian artists) but these are largely secular venues. A visitor is more likely to hear Eartha Kitt singing “Santa Baby” over the loudspeakers than “Silent Night.”

And do not expect to see much evidence of Santa Claus, either. The Christmas gift-bringer in Central Europe is usually St. Nicholas or the Baby Jesus and his angels, so local carvers have little time for the North American Santa. They are more likely to produce Nutcracker figures or images of the Russian-inspired Grandfather Frost as tokens of the season.

So what are they selling, these purveyors of food and drink and tokens of Christmas past? Hope, that the crowds will come, that hearts will be a little lighter, and wallets too. And that treasure may still be found.

From E.B. White (1899-1985), American author of Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little:

The only way the American Christmas could be simplified would be to change the date from December 25 to February 29. Then it would come every four years. I’ve advocated this for a long time but nobody pays attention to me.

E. B. White, Letter to Mrs. Cushman, 17th January 1984

An account of two French soldiers, who killed themselves at St. Denis on Christmas-day, 1773.

A very tragical event has just happened near us. On Friday last (Dec. 24, 1773) about eleven o’clock, two soldiers came to an inn at St. Denis and bespoke a dinner for the afternoon. Bourdeaux, one of these soldiers, went out to buy some gunpowder and two bullets. While making the purchase he observed, that St. Denis seemed to him to be so pleasantly situated, that he was determined to pass the remainder of his life in it. He then returned to the inn, and they spent the rest of the day together in great cheerfulness. On Saturday also (being Christmas-day) they were in good spirits, and seemed very merry at their dinner. They called for more wine, and about five o’clock in the evening they were both sound dead near the fire, with a table between them, on which were three empty bottles, the will, a letter, and half-a-crown (having previously discharged their bill). They were both shot through the head and the pistols were lying on the floor. The people of the house being alarmed at report of fire-arms, rushed into the room. Monsieur de Rouilliere [Rulhière], Commandant of the Maréchaussée of St. Denis, who dined with us yesterday, gave us the whole account, and showed us the will from which the following was copied: