George Bernard Shaw and G.K. Chesterton were both accomplished British writers at the turn of the twentieth century but in character the two could not have been more unlike each other. Shaw was a vegetarian contrarian, an atheist, a eugenicist, and a supporter of despots. (He was also the only man to be awarded both a Nobel Prize and an Oscar.) Chesterton was a gourmand, an anti-fascist, and a devout Catholic. Despite their many differences, they enjoyed a friendly rivalry. At one point Chesterton mocked Shaws asceticism, saying, “To look at you, anyone would think a famine had struck England.” Shaw replied, “To look at you, anyone would think you had caused it.”
One topic on which they disagreed was Christmas. Of the holiday Shaw said:
Like all intelligent people, I greatly dislike Christmas. It revolts me to see a whole nation refrain from music for weeks together in order that every man may rifle his neighbour’s pockets under cover of a ghastly general pretence of festivity. It is really an atrocious institution, this Christmas. We must be gluttonous because it is Christmas. We must be drunken because it is Christmas. We must be insincerely generous; we must buy things that nobody wants, and give them to people we don’t like; we must go to absurd entertainments that make even our little children satirical; we must writhe under venal officiousness from legions of freebooters, all because it is Christmas — that is, because the mass of the population, including the all-powerful middle-class tradesman, depends on a week of licence and brigandage, waste and intemperance, to clear off its outstanding liabilities at the end of the year. As for me, I shall fly from it all tomorrow or next day to some remote spot miles from a shop, where nothing worse can befall me than a serenade from a few peasants, or some equally harmless survival of medieval mummery, shyly proffered, not advertised, moderate in its expectations, and soon over. In town there is, for the moment, nothing for me or any honest man to do.
Chesterton loved Christmas and rebutted Shaw thusly:
If a man called Christmas Day a mere hypocritical excuse for drunkenness and gluttony, that would be false, but it would have a fact hidden in it somewhere. But when Bernard Shaw says that Christmas Day is only a conspiracy kept up by poulterers and wine merchants from strictly business motives, then he says something which is not so much false as startling and arrestingly foolish. He might as well say that the two sexes were invented by jewellers who wanted to sell wedding rings.
In the early nineteenth century, a settlement at the confluence of the Red and Assiniboine rivers was an important outpost in the fur trade of the Hudson’s Bay Company whose royal charter gave it rule over a vast swath of North America. The territory became part of Canada after 1867 and the settlement became the city of Winnipeg whence this blog emits. In 1884 the Canadian Illustrated News looked back in a condescending way on the little town colonized by Lord Selkirk’s settlers. The prose is suitably Victorian and ornate. The illustration below is from 1821 and the church on the far bank is the source of “the bells of St. Boniface” referred to.
AN OLDEN SELKIRK SETTLEMENT CHRISTMAS-TIDE.
But fifty years ago, on the banks of the great Red River of the North, only “forty hours”-in these modern times-from Chicago, the throbbing heart-city of America, ” the vesper ringing of the bells of St. Boniface” announced the advent of Christmas Eve to a people whom centuries might have separated from us, so different were they from any American community of to-day.
The links of the winding river’s “long red chain,” lately changed from gold to polished steel by that potent, old alchemist of the north – Jack Frost – lay, glittering in the rays of the setting sun. The “belts of dusky pine-land,” through which it sweeps northwards, no longer echoed the songs of returning voyageurs, the last wanderer having found his way back from his summer journeyings weeks before. The “gusty leagues of plain,” far around the clustered dwellings of the Selkirk settlement, lay white and still.
One uninterrupted level, as if stooping. the Creator with his hand had smoothed them over. The dazzling surface of snow seemed almost to reflect the gorgeous tints of the northern prairie sunset. No human figure relieved the monotonous expanse; for all within reach–the hunter, the trapper, the coureurs des bois, even the native children of the plains had sought the social warmth of the village at the Christmas season.
Cheerfully flashed the lights from the stockaded enclosures of “the fort,” as twilight quickly deepened into darkness. Answering gleams came from the casements of the stately log-and-plaster “mansions” of retired Hudson’s Bay Company magnates in the vicinity. Brightly twinkled the cabins of settlers along the river. Distantly glimmered the tapers of the French “mission” across the stream. Fainter still glowed the windows of the Swiss colony, half a mile lower down. At times ruddy glare burst upon the night as the curtain of a tent or the veiling buffalo-robe “tee-pee” was swept aside for a moment, revealing wildly-clad figures grouped around the blazing logs within.
That was strangely assorted social life which those various lights shone on. With the walls of “the fort,” perhaps they lit up a dinner party, progressing with the ceremonious decorum of London dining-room, amid incongruities of dress and surroundings that must have been infinitely diverting to young arrivals from the Old Country, with a properly developed sense of the ludicrous. The humorous potentialities of a dress-coat can only be fully appreciated by those who have seen it amid wild or semi-savage surroundings. Its effect, under such circumstances, can indefinitely heightened by attention the remainder of the toilet of him who displays it. Moccasins, substitute for “patent-leathers,” greatly enhance its picturesqueness. Indian leggings set it off still more. A coarse flannel shirt makes it a striking fore-ground. Sun-burnt hands, bronzed face and none too carefully trimmed hair and beard cap the climax. Thus was the dress-coat often exhibited on state occasions in the old Hudson’s Bay days. Thus perhaps it appeared at our Christmas Eve dinner.
But the social gatherings of the gentlemen of the Company’s service in those times were never wanting in dignity, while always abounding in good cheer, notwithstanding incidental peculiarities of toilet; so true is it that dress does not make the man. Fine, courtly personages they often were, those olden-time Hudson’s Bay officers, with their upright bearing and punctilious notions. Not infrequently well-born; well-nurtured, generally; if not always versed in current literature at least well read in the book of nature; trained to habits of thoughtfulness and close observation by their long seclusion from social frivolities, they almost invariably displayed in their intercourse with each other the characteristics of true and intelligent gentlemen. Overbearing to others they no doubt sometimes were, for they had long been accustomed to command. From this trait they have too often been harshly judged. We may be sure, however, that nothing but courtesy and good fellowship obtained among the members of our party, assembled around the upper-table of the great dining-hall at “the fort.”
There would be present the local officers and head clerks, visitors perhaps from the fur posts of the Saskatchewan and Athaboska [sic], come down to revel in metropolitan life on the banks of the Red River for a time, and the more favored of the retired “factors” settled in the neighboring colony. While enjoying feast of reason and a flow of soul, we may assure ourselves that the guests of the evening were not inattentive to the substantials set before them, for those were the days of princely bills-of-fare in the Selkirk settlements. The forest, the prairie, the river, vied with the farm and the garden in the abundance of their supplies. The days of pinching scarcity among the pioneers of the colony were happily over. Settlers had enough and to spare of the fruits of the field, while the storehouse of primitive nature in the vicinity was still overflowing. That must have been a royal repast then to which our party sat down; and well were they served, no doubt, by the army of Indian and half-caste waiters which “the fort” could command. How recollections of “bonny Scotland” and the long ago must have crowded in on those veterans of the Company’s service, when after dinner the cloth was drawn and the wine went round!
Preparatory revelry, of not highly commendable sort, among certain element of the settlement, was of course, not wanting, in which rum, the beverage of the place and period, was by far too prominent a factor.
One by one, as the night advanced, the lights of the village disappeared and the lonely farm-houses were darkened. Overhead the stars continued their cold vigil in an ink-blue, northern sky. The auroral curtain, its luminous, many-colored folds rustled or seemingly rustled by an unseen hand, gradually hushed into deeper repose the restlessly expectant beings over whom it floated. Slowly the last sound died out. The intense chill of a sub-Arctic night quieted even the motions of the air. And ” the great, lone land” lay apparently as still, and cold, and dead as it had lain many a long Christmas Eve ” before the daring genius of Columbus pierced the night of ages,” opening up the remotest regions of the vast American continent to Christianity and light.
During the rule of the Puritan republic of the 1640s and 1650s, the observance of Christmas was banned. This proved very unpopular and hard to enforce; riots and disobedience were common. A subversive print war was waged by Christmas supporters with some authors earnestly arguing for the holiday using religious and historical examples while others, probably more effective, were satirical. The tract Women Will Have Their Will or Give Christmas His Due, which appeared in December 1648, seems to have been aimed particularly at a female audience. It contains a dialogue between ‘Mistress Custom’, a victualler’s wife in Cripplegate and ‘Mistress New-Come’ an army captain’s wife living in Reformation Alley near Destruction Street’.
New-Come finds Custom decorating her house for Christmas and they fall into a discussion about the feast. Custom exclaims that: I should rather and sooner forget my mother that bare me and the paps that gave me suck, than forget this merry time, nay if thou had’st ever seen the mirth and jollity that we have had at those times when – was young, thou wouldst bless thyself to see it.She claims that those who want to destroy Christmas are: A crew of Tatter-demallions amongst which the best could scarce ever attain to a calves-skin suit, or a piece of neckbeef and carrots on a Sunday, or scarce ever mounted (before these times) to any office above the degree of scavenger of Tithingman at the furthest.
When New-Come suggests she should abandon her celebrations because they have been banned by the authority of Parliament, she replies: God deliver me from such authority; it is a Worse Authority than my husband’s, for though my husband beats me now and then, yet he gives my belly full and allows me money in my purse Cannot keep Christmas, eat good cheer and be merry without I go and get a licence from the Parliament. Marry gap, come up here, for my part I’ll be hanged by the neck first.
The turmoil continued until 1660 when Christmas celebrations were restored along with the return of the Stuart monarchy of Charles II.
During his heyday, megachurch preacher Robert Schuller(1926-2015) presided over his Crystal Cathedral and ordained many a Christmas spectacle. The production wrought for 1994 was particularly gaudy as it was meant to celebrate his 40th anniversary as a clergyman. The “Glory of Christmas” nativity show turned his church into what one visitor described as “a cross between a zoo and the set of Les Miserables”. Eight darting and swooping angels accompanied a 200-member chorus in “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”; a local football team mounted on real horses played a detachment of Roman soldiers; ballet dancers interpreted the nativity story; the Star of Bethlehem was represented by a 2,000-watt searchlight shining out of the crib, and the Magi arrived on real camels. In addition there was a host of baby animals — kids, lambs, calves and donkeys — specially bred for the show by the Cathedral’s animal handler.
Here is a link to the show in its entire cheesy splendour: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e06WkQ3V7Mg. (The video is too large to be inserted directly into this post.)
The conversion of a savage people to Christianity was not an overnight process. We can see this in the reactions of some Scandinavian leaders to the new behaviours required of believers at Christmas time. Consider the case of King Sigurd of Norway who had some difficulty with Christian strictures on eating meat in Advent and consorting with concubines on Christmas Eve.
So befell on a time on Yule-eve, as the king sat in the hall and the boards were set, that the King said: “Fetch me fleshmeat.” “Lord,” said they, “it is not wont in Norway to eat flesh-meat on Yule-eve.” He answered : “If it be not the wont, then will I have it the wont.” So they came and had in porpoise. The king stuck his knife into it, but took not thereof. Then said the king : “Fetch me a woman into the hall.” They came thither and had a woman with them, and she was coifed wide and side. The king laid his hand to her head, and looked on her, and said : “An ill-favoured woman is this, yet not so that one may not endure her.” Then he looked at her hand and said : “An ungoodly hand and ill-waxen, yet one must endure it.’ Then he bade her reach forth her foot he looked thereon, and said “A foot monstrous and mickle much ; but one may give no heed thereto ; such must be put up with.” Then he bade them lift up the kirtle, and now he saw the leg, and said : “Fie on thy leg; it is both blue and thick, and a mere whore must thou be.” And he bade them take her out, “for I will not have her.”
I do wonder what it was liked to be “coifed wide and side”.
You might think that Judas, who sold Jesus to the authorities for thirty pieces of silver, would be the last of the associates of Christ to figure in the legends of Christmas but there are two stories told about the unfortunate fellow and the holy season.
The oldest of these says that on the Feast of Candlemas, February 2 and the last day of Christmas-tide, Judas is allowed out of Hell and given a respite from the torments he was sentenced to suffer. The poor soul is allowed to cool himself in the sea for a day before he returns to the infernal regions.
The Victorian poet Matthew Arnold took that legend and reworked in a piece called “St Brandan”. St Brandan, or Brendan as he is more commonly called, was an Irish monk (c. 484-c.577) who was supposed to have crossed the Atlantic in a small boat in search of the Isle of the Blessed. On his voyage, says Arnold, on Christmas night he spies an iceberg with a man on it. It is Judas who tells him that because he was once kind to a leper the angels allow him temporary relief from the fires of Hell.
There are a number of customs relating to hunting during the Christmas season. One of the most curious comes from Venice where the city’s ruler, the Doge, was obliged to go duck hunting every Christmas and to present each member of the Grand Council (essentially every Venetian noble) with 5 birds. This meant that the Doge and his party had to come up with about 12,000 ducks and if he couldn’t kill that many he had to buy them from somewhere. This was proving both expensive and tiresome – each set of five birds had to contain the same proportion of fat and lean fowl, lest it appear that the Doge was showing favour to some nobles more than others.
In 1521 Doge Antonio Grimani found a way around this irksome custom. He replaced the donation of 5 birds with the presentation of a medal, worth a quarter-ducat, instead. This custom of the silver coin called an “Osella” (Venetian slang for “duck”) continued until the fall of the republic in the 1790s. Pictured above is such a medallion with a portrait of the Doge being presented with a banner by St Mark (patron saint of the city) and being blessed by Christ.
The publisher’s motto is “Humor Heals Us.” Noble words, but count me as one who is sceptical about either the risibility or the medical efficacy of its publications. Consider Fritz the Farting Reindeer, subtitled “A Story About a Reindeer Who Farts” – one must imagine the side-splitting antics that ensue when Santa has to choose his team for his Christmas run and Comet comes down with a broken leg. Imagine more unbridled mirth in the same author’s Santa’s Tooting Tooshie: A Story About Santa’s Toots. Conceive, if you possibly can, of the jocundity to be found in Ellie the Tooting Elf: A Story About an Elf Who Toots. Stand back Voltaire, P.G. Wodehouse, and Ogden Nash, you are no match for the literary mind that can turn a phrase like this:
Farting without you is like…. Elmer without glue Detective without a clue Crying without “Boo-hoo!”
The author is modestly anonymous but he (or she) has emitted a whole series of books aimed at the children’s market, involving unicorns, penguins, turkeys, puffer fish and other fauna plagued by uncontrollable gaseous emissions. Not since the fabled Le Pétomane, consummate farter of the French musical hall scene in the 19th century, has flatulence been monetized so nakedly. I can only recommend that the author purchase a barrel of industrial-strength Gas-X and stay away from beans, prunes, and cabbage.
The annual Hallmark Channel Christmas movie season is upon us again. Here is a way to really enjoy these cheesy seasonal offerings: play Christmas Movie Bingo.
You can print out your own sets of these cards online at sites like https://www.playpartyplan.com/movie-christmas-bingo-cards/ or https://www.peanutblossom.com/blog/hallmark-christmas-movie-bingo/.
When the Nazi forces were driven from Ukraine in the Second World War, anti-communist partisans continued to fight for independence from the Soviet Union and the occupying Red Army. Their struggle went on for years until they were eventually crushed, but their Christmas cards served to remind Ukrainians of their national and Christian identity.
Some of these groups, though brave, were not the most morally irreproachable. Some had collaborated with the Germans during the war; some were involved in ethnic cleansing against Polish populations but they endured for years against KGB forces because of the wide support they were given by the Ukrainian people. It appears that more recently Vladimir Putin underestimated the strength of Ukrainian nationalism,
