Christmas Every Day

Since we must always consider Christmas as a season, and not just December 25, we can understand how a gift given on St Nicholas Day, or St Catherine’s Day, or St Lucy’s Day, New Year’s Eve, or New Year’s Day is a Christmas present. 

Thus the title of the first book to feature a picture of Santa Claus: “The Children’s Friend: A New-Year’s Present to the Little Ones from Five to Twelve.” In this publication Santa Claus arrives on Christmas Eve to deliver gifts.

In the sixteenth century, the English humanist Roger Ascham spoke about writing a book that might prove to be “a new-year’s gift that Christmas.” That book turned out to be The Scholemaster, showing a plain and perfect way of teaching the learned languages. In it Ascham criticizes the use of corporal punishment as an aid to educating children. “Beat a child if he dance not well,” he said, “and cherish him though he learn not well, ye shall have him unwilling to go to dance, and glad to go to his book.”

During World War I the British navy imposed a blockade on the German Empire, cutting it off from needed resources and foodstuffs. This cartoon imagines that all Germans have left to enjoy for their Christmas meal is art depicting the food they are deprived of.

Christmas “pantos” are dramatic presentations during the holiday season much enjoyed by British families for over a century. The characters are stereotyped and familiar to the audiences. One of the favourite themes is Jack and the Beanstalk. Here the cartoonist in the midst of World War II portrays Soviet leader Stalin as Joe the Giant Killer with a Nazi soldier tumbling to his doom. 

The devilish figure of Krampus was a popular image in Austrian Christmases. He accompanied St Nicholas and terrified children into good behaviour. However, in 1934 the fascist government of Austria chose to clamp down on this tradition.

The New York Times  December 11, 1934 reported that under pressure from Catholic clergy the Austrian authorities urged a boycott of Krampus, warned against rowdy parties involving the devil, and demanded that anyone wishing to appear as Santa Claus must be licensed. Such warnings do not seem to have had much effect at the time and to this day Austrians are still devoted to Krampus.

Since the 1850s, in the Thurinigian town of Lauscha, family businesses had produced the glass ornaments that decorated Christmas trees around the world. These mouth-blown, hand-painted baubles came in thousands of shapes and attracted the interest of the Woolworth’s department store chain which bought millions for their stores in Britain and North America. After the Second World War, Lauscha was located in the communist German Democratic Republic which was suspicious of private enterprise. The ornament-making family businesses became state-run and an object of concern for the Stasi, the East German secret police.

Why had the Lauscha Christmas decoration business became a matter of national security? In the first place, because the area was notorious for its acts of low-level resistance and non-cooperation with the communist authorities. The Stasi blamed this on the family and commercial contacts that the local glassblowers had with West Germany. Secondly, it was feared that such contacts might prove harmful to the economy of the GDR, with trade secrets leaked to the ornament-making industry across the border.

The East German government was concerned that Lauscha decorations might be made subject to restrictions on imports to the West which wished to protect its own manufacturers. Stasi agents at the toys fair in Nuremberg also found that Lauscha products were developing a bad reputation for declining quality and unreliable delivery – typical complaints about Soviet bloc goods. The secret police made it their business to collect samples and catalogues from their western competitors.

After the Berlin Wall came down in 1989 and the two Germanys reunited in 1991, the Lauscha glass works ceased to be state-run enterprises and many returned to the ownership of the families traditionally associated with the trade.

In Králíky, Bohemia, admirers of artisanal nativity scenes will find what are known as Grulich cribs, so-called after the former name of the town.

These crèches were traditionally made by the area’s miners who were looking to supplement their income. They are often constructed in the form of a mountain or tower. In a typical arrangement, at the top are placed little figures of shepherds or craftsmen bringing gifts to the Holy Family. On a level beneath that are Mary, Joseph, and the Baby Jesus; on the bottom are miners. (This composition is by no means obligatory as can be seen in the image above.)

Because such nativity scenes were assembled and covered with a glass dome, no work was necessary to put them together at Christmas time – hence the nickname “lazy crèches”.

The Grulich style is also known for the appearance of non-traditional figures such as the devil, chimney sweeps and folk in modern dress.

In an earlier post I wrote about the phrase “Christmas bummers” which could mean (in Australia) a pair of underwear with Santas printed on them; (in contemporary America) a sad Christmas song; or (over a century ago) children who went from church to church to reap the goodies handed out during Christmas pageants.

Here is a cartoon of the early twentieth century showing a row of Christmas bummers, one of whom has brought along a bag for his loot, pretending to be regular members of the congregation.

In the year 441 Kyros Panopolites was in serious trouble. He had once been a renowned poet and a successful civic administrator in the Byzantine Empire. With the patronage of the Empress Theodokia, wife of Theodosius II, he had risen to be the City Prefect and the Praetorian Prefect of the East. Thanks to his efforts Constantinople recovered quickly from the catastrophic earthquake of 437 but in his ascent to the top he had made powerful enemies. The eunuch Chrysaphios, a rival civil servant, had poisoned Kyros’s reputation in the eyes of the emperor, who may already have been jealous of his popularity with the citizens of Constantinople. Theodosius accused Kyros of being a pagan, stripped him his offices, and seized his property.

With no further life for him in the secular world, Kyros turned to the Church and was ordained a priest. On the orders of the emperor he was made a bishop and dispatched to the diocese of Koryaion in Phhrygia. This was by no means a promotion — the inhabitants of Koryaion had a reputation for rowdiness. In fact, they had killed there four previous bishops. No doubt Theodosius wished for them to make Kyros their fifth victim.

On Christmas Day 441, Kyros was conducting the church service when the congregation called on him to preach. They had heard the rumours of his being a pagan and wanted to see for themselves whether their new bishop could prove himself to be a true Christian. Kyros stepped into the pulpit and delivered the following sermon:

Brethren, let the birth of God our Saviour Jesus Christ be honoured with silence, because the Word of God was conceived in the holy Virgin through hearing alone. To him be glory for ever. Amen.

This thirty-second oration was greeted with great enthusiasm instead of a lynching. Kyros went on to become a beloved bishop, noted for his kindness to the poor.

If you’ve ever wondered how Christmas movie makers create a winter wonderland clad in a mantle of snow while filming in a studio or outdoors on a summer day, wonder no further.

In the early days of Hollywood, directors tried a variety of substitutes for the sort of snow that never falls in southern California. Powdered gypsum, salts of various kinds, concrete dust, asbestos, cotton, and corn flakes were all used but found to have drawbacks. Bleached corn flakes looked good on the ground but couldn’t be made to waft — they fell straight down in an unconvincing fashion – or to bear footprints. Moreover, they also crackled when walked on. 

Real snow was, of course, best but it was expensive to truck in and quickly melted. Shooting inside a refrigerated area froze up the cameras which had to be specially lubricated and covered in blankets. In the 1930s Warner Brothers studio invented a snow-making machine whose blades chopped up a huge block of ice and blew the particles through the air.

The filming of It’s A Wonderful Life in 1946 required massive amounts of snow for the streets of Bedford Falls. RKO studio technicians created a realistic substitute using foamite, a kind of carbon dioxide foam found in fire extinguishers, soap flakes, water, and sugar. This formula became the standard forsake snow until the 1980s and the invention of Snowcel, a paper product that was very good at imitating snowbanks.

Today, many of the technical challenges of convincing audiences that the snow they see is real have been solved in the animation studios. Digital effects now replace physical efforts to duplicate what Mother Nature gives so freely to Winnipeg for five months.

From the Greek epiphania, or manifestation. Celebrated in both Eastern and Western churches on January 6, Epiphany marks a number of important appearances or manifestations: the arrival of the Magi, the baptism of Jesus, the miracle at Cana and the Feeding of the 5000.

 Its first appearance seems to have been in the second century A.D. among the Basilidean heretics of Alexandria who believed that Jesus did not become divine until his baptism which they claim had taken place on January 6. Though this idea of a late-acquired divinity was rejected by orthodox Christianity, some churches seem to have used the date to celebrate Christ’s earthly birth — an epiphany of a different kind. When in the fourth century Rome adopted December 25 as the day to celebrate the Nativity the Western churches’ Epiphany emphasis shifted to focus on the Magi while in the East strees was placed on the baptism. The period between these two important holy dates became known as the Twelve Days of Christmas.

Epiphany became an official holiday in the Eastern Roman Empire, marked by a ban on chariot racing and attending games in the arena and by ceremonies of blessing the waters. At these ceremonies the emperor would drink the waters three times to the cry of “The emperor drinks!” The blessing of the waters takes place even today in Orthodox denominations. A priest will bless a body of water, either inside, or by a lake, river or sea and the faithful take it home where it will be used to sprinkle on houses, barns and fields to ensure prosperity for the coming year. In some places the priest will throw a cross into the water and divers will race to be the one to recover it.

In the West Epiphany was a day to celebrate the visitation of the Magi or the Three Kings as they became known. Religious services honouring the Magi gradually turned into dramas held outside of the church such as The Play of Herod. As returning Crusaders in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries brought back stories of the fabulous east, fascination with the Magi grew — cities held processions honouring the Kings and carols retelling their journeys were sung. (The remnants of these customs are the Star Boys and their January pilgrimages from door to door.) Epiphany came to be a time all across Europe for popular celebrations marked by eating a cake and gift-giving. 

December 27 is the feast day of Saint John the Evangelist, the son of Zebedee, companion of Jesus and reputed author of the Fourth Gospel. In the Middle Ages the day was marked by a blessing of the wine, derived from the legend that John had drunk poisoned wine and not been harmed.  As Barnaby Googe in the sixteenth century related: Nexte John, the sonne of Zebedee hath his appointed day,/  Who once by cruell tyraunts will, constrayned was they say, Strong poison up to drinke, / therefore the papistes doe beleeve/ That whoso puts their trust in him,/ no poyson them can greeve.

It was also a custom for people to bring wine or cider to the church on December 27 to be blessed and then to take this liquor home to be poured back in the barrels. This “St. John’s Wine” was considered a protection for travellers setting out on a journey or for those near death. Because the gospel of John proclaims Jesus as the light of the world, a German custom allowed children named John or Joan to be the first to light the Advent candle.