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The Rules of an Irish Christmas
Like most of our festivals, including St Patrick’s Day, Halloween and the Galway Races, the Irish Christmas is a relatively recent social invention with many of its principal features imported from abroad. In the past, the Irish Christmas was a modest affair. Traditionally, Irish people would only see fruit, chocolate, biscuits and cakes at Christmas. Rich people even got to eat them. Children received toys only on Christmas Day. In its current materialisation, the Irish Christmas lasts at least twelve days, when we stay home from work with enough food to see us through a limited nuclear conflict. The most important Irish Christmas rituals, which are heralded by eleven months of television advertising, include the putting up of trees and cribs, Santa’s visit, marathon drinking sessions, buying and exchanging impractical presents, and gathering reluctant family members, seen only once a year, for dinner.
The Irish Christmas may look like Christmas anywhere else. However, there are important differentiating social features under the surface. In Ireland we do Christmas differently. The Irish Christmas Day has the highest incidence of coronary failure of any day of the year; Stephen’s Day has the highest incidence of domestic violence; and January sees a peak in post-festivity suicides. Killing a family member or killing yourself are all traditional practices during the Irish Christmas. Very few tourists come to Ireland for Christmas Day to stay with Irish families, which is surprising and must be because they don’t realise what they are missing.
If we are relatively laid back for the rest of the year, we make up for it in stress at Christmas. This is sociologically appropriate because the festival of Christmas has its origins in social inversion. We are different at Christmas. Everyone pretends to believe in Santa Claus to get their children to bed early so that we can get pissed in peace on Christmas Eve. We smell good for a few days because we splash on the latest celebrity-sponsored perfumes and aftershave lotions. We model bumper-pack socks for those who gave them to us, just to show that we care, before passing them on to a local charity. We exclaim with hammy delight when unwrapping slippers in the shape of small furry animals, coffee-table books on the television personalities of the Outer Hebrides or the Complete Guide to Thermal Underwear Patterns of the Antipodes. I never buy these practical items during the year because I know some thoughtful person will be getting them for me for Christmas. I find it useful to make a list of these potential gifts to send round to my relations so that I won’t be disappointed.
If you happen to experience Christmas as the empty kernel at the heart of contemporary consumer society, it is because, in the words of many a world-weary Irish adult, you think, ‘Sure, Christmas is only for children.’ But that’s where you are wrong. Children’s Christmas takes up just ten minutes: five minutes on Christmas Eve to wrap the plastic toys (bought while drunk on the way home in the evening from the office Christmas lunch17) and stick them under the tree, including putting the tree back upright after knocking it over (you will re-attach the decorations in the morning); and another five minutes on Christmas morning to take photographs of the expressions of joyous horror on your children’s faces before taking two Solpadeine dissolved in a brandy and ginger ale. The rest of the time is for the adults.
Unlike the origins of many rituals, we know relatively a lot about the genesis of Christmas. The festival originates from the Roman Saturnalia.18 The great festival of Saturn was celebrated on the nineteenth of December. The Emperor Caligula, who must have been of Irish stock, had the good sense to add an extra day to the celebrations, which he dedicated to the sport of the young, called dies juvenalis, which may have taken the form of sports competitions between children and lions. During the festival of Saturnalia, the slave became the master of the house for a day. This social inversion brought about the chaos of the celebrations that reinforced the merits of the old order in the minds of the participants, including the slaves, when it was all over. The modern-day equivalent of this chaos in the Irish household on Christmas Day is the panic about cooking dinner or running out of vital essentials such as wrapping paper, mince pies, cake decorations, crackers, chocolates, mixers for drinks and cocktail sticks. People become panicked about their relatives coming to visit. Family members gather from all around in order to help drive each other mad. As in Rome, the old order of things is embraced with renewed zeal after the festival has ended and everyone has left. Collapsing immediately after the visitors have gone, we ritually exclaim: ‘Thank God that’s over for another year!’ We then rush back to work in mid-January with a renewed appreciation of our old routines. By late September, we start asking each other what we are doing for Christmas. We have a choice between two options: we are either staying put with people coming to us or we are the ones doing the visiting. Both options cause panic.
The Rules of Putting Up the Tree
Another important Christmas ritual is the putting up of the Christmas tree. Like most rituals, it makes no sense. The first formal step is to discuss the putting up of the tree with your neighbours as a topic of ritualistic conversation. Your annual conversation about the Christmas tree should typically go as follows:
You: Have you put up your tree?
Neighbour: Not yet. Plenty time for that. What about yourself?
You: I think I will go for a fake one this year. I am sick of the pine needles getting all over the carpet; the dog kept pissing against the trunk. After the fire last year I am seriously thinking of going fake.
Neighbour: I hear Woodies have a very convincing imitation tree.
You: I was there yesterday and they only have the white ones left.
Neighbour: Oh God, no. You couldn’t go with a white one. They’re so tacky.
You: I’ll wait until next weekend to see what they have down at Matt’s.
Neighbour: You’re probably right. Let me know how you get on.
The following week you meet again:
You: Do you know where I can get my hands on a tree? Matt has none. He says he can’t get anything this year. He had only a few two-foot-high things and they went out the door within an hour. I have looked the length and breadth of the city but can’t find anything except a massive thing for three hundred euro that I couldn’t get into the house without taking the ceiling down. I don’t mind for myself but the kids will be very disappointed if I can’t find a tree. It’s really only for the children.
Neighbour: I couldn’t find anything either. Apparently there is some disease that has wiped out whatever kind of tree they use for Christmas. I got the last white one up in Woodies. When I was at the till someone tried to buy it from me for eighty quid. There was no box with it so I only paid twenty-five. My kids are getting big now so they don’t care what colour it is. I was actually surprised. It looks okay. If you squint at it after a few pints when the fairy lights are on it looks like it’s covered in snow.
You: What am I going to do for a tree? I wonder if there is any kind of a bush in the garden I could get away with? What am I going to do?
Twenty-four hours later:
You: I am going out of my mind looking for a tree. As if I haven’t enough to do already!
Neighbour: Maggie said she would leave me if the white one stays so I am still on the hunt for a tree. I heard there were Chinese trees for sale up in Glasnevin. I am going up there now.
You: What’s a Chinese tree?
Neighbour [sighing]: A tree sold by people from China!
A week later – five days after Christmas:
Neighbour: How did you get on with the tree?
You: Ah, I didn’t bother this year. I think they are all a bit vulgar, really. Mind you, you would miss them. The dog missed having a tree. The children didn’t care. They had their toys. It’s not the same really without a tree. How did you get on?
Neighbour: I brought the white one back in from the bin after Maggie stormed off to her mother’s for the dinner. It did the job fine. I must remember to be more organised next year. Are you all set for P
addy’s Day in March?
You: Yes, but I still have a few things to do.
Bad Santa
Christmas is a time for giving. Where there is giving, there is taking. The custom of giving gifts to children was originally part of the pagan festival of Saturnalia, but it eventually became associated with the Three Wise Men when Christmas became a Christian festival. When Santa Claus started bringing us gifts, it became a pagan festival again.
We think of Santa Claus as a genial harmless old man, but he is really a bit of a queer fish. His past is very dodgy. Some historians believe that he evolved from Odin, the Yule-Father, who rides across the sky on a horse, carelessly dropping gifts onto sleeping children. Others believe he comes from Melchior, who is one of the Three Wise Men. Most commonly, it is thought that he is actually St Nicholas, the patron saint of children, virgins of marriageable age, sailors, merchants, travellers, prostitutes, pawnbrokers, choirboys, thieves and hardened general sinners. He is also found in the company of transsexual Norse goddesses, fairies, gnomes, witches, drag acts from Russia, virgins, as well as necrophiles and cannibals. Because Santa is not part of traditional Irish folklore, we know little about him. He is in fact a blow-in. When we examine his reputation abroad, it is obvious that he is very suspect. But no one here seems to mind.
Before coming to Ireland, Santa travelled around the world, changing both his appearance and behaviour along the way. Historically speaking, St Nicholas travelled from Southern Italy to Britain. On the way, he passed through Russia, where he acquired his white beard, his sledge, Rudolph and the rest of the reindeer. From Russian folklore we get the practical advice not to walk under these reindeer as they fly across the sky at night. From Russia, Santa made his way to Germany and Holland. In seventeenth-century Holland, Santa, aka St Nicholas, only visited good children, while his sinister cousin, Black Peter, took bad children, or Catholics as they were also called at that time, to Spain. After some years in the New World, Santa, abandoning his sledge for a liner, crossed the Atlantic to Victorian Britain. From there, it was a short ferry trip to Rosslare in Ireland.
When I was a child, I used to leave Guinness and Christmas cake out for Santa. Nowadays, because Irish children are more health conscious, they leave non-alcoholic drinks and carrots for both Rudolph and Santa. We didn’t have a thought for Rudolph when I was young. Santa’s high-blood-pressure complexion convinced me that he preferred the booze. His fondness for chimneys brings him into disrepute because of their folk association with nasty supernatural characters such as witches and goblins. His connection with roofs, where he parks his sleigh before squeezing his bulk down the chimneys, is equally damaging for his reputation in that it links him with the hormone-treated Norse goddess Freya, who drove her chariot, drawn by cats, across roof-tops while sporting a beard. Traditionally, roofs and chimneys are the exclusive territory of female supernatural beings. Santa’s weakness for these hints at a sexual ambiguity in his nature. Is there something he needs to tell us? Is there something he needs to tell himself?
St Nicholas is venerated as the patron saint of children, especially little boys, because of his legendary restoration to life of three boys who had been killed and dismembered by a wicked innkeeper who preserved their parts in brine to serve to his hungry customers for dinner. He supposedly gets the red of his suit from the sleeves getting soaked in the boys’ blood. Santa is found at crime scenes all over Europe. Where there is death and mayhem, Santa is sure to be near at hand. For instance, in Italy there were three young unmarried sisters, the daughters of an impoverished nobleman, who had no dowries. Their father decided to turn them to prostitution, but to ‘save’ them Santa visited each of them on three consecutive nights. He gave each a bag of gold. In most circumstances, being caught giving money to prostitutes means only one thing. But Santa’s plea of ‘Just trying to help, your honour’ actually worked to keep his incredibly nice-guy reputation intact. Interestingly, this is the character we allow to sneak into our children’s rooms at night to give them presents. This is the guy we use to threaten our children if they misbehave. Confusing or what?
But Santa seemed to have cleaned up his act when he was taken on by Coca-Cola. Thanks to a corporate makeover, Santa Claus has become the Teflon old geezer with no criminal record. In this age of registering sex offenders, he has charmed his way into all our homes. However, my suspicions remain.
The Rules of Give and Take
So you had better watch out, you’d better not shout, Santa Claus is coming to town. Is it any wonder, with Santa Claus at the helm of gift-giving, that giving and receiving gifts at Christmas is fraught with difficulty? The rules for giving gifts involve knowing what to get for each type of recipient. The rules of getting gifts involve knowing what to expect from whom. Don’t panic. It is all very conventional.
As Christmas fast approaches, both the stress and feelings of guilt increase exponentially. Secular Ireland has replaced religion with gift-giving because it has the same effect of making us feel bad about ourselves. If you are rich, you can hire someone to do your present-buying for you. If not, you can beg someone to do it. As it is difficult to find someone who is not already begging someone else, you will probably end up doing your own shopping. Put it off for as long as possible. Then run around the shops on Christmas Eve with an hour to go before closing. The results will be the same as if you bought your presents in the previous spring sales.
It is easier to shop for Christmas presents for Irish women because they are open to a wider range of acceptable options. Golf was invented specifically to allow Irish males to buy other Irish males presents without attracting any embarrassing suspicion about the motivation involved. An Irish male can buy anyone a box of golf balls or a putter. If stuck, you can buy golf balls for your entire family and friends. If they don’t play golf, you can suggest they should take it up for the New Year. Golf balls are also useful ballast to bulk up a lightweight present such as a pair of socks. You should not give toiletries to anyone who has a well-established body odour. BO remains one of the most intractable social problems in Ireland. It is a mainstay of our personal-help columns. Only give soap to the well-washed to avoid trouble. Clothes also present challenges because you may get the sizes wrong. Always err on the side of the size being too large because you can say, ‘Oh, I see you have lost a lot of weight since we last met’, rather than ‘Oh, I didn’t realise you were so fat.’ Before handing the garment over, tell the recipient that you are willing to change it. But remember, only the very confident or the completely desperate buy their relatives clothes for Christmas.
Irony Rules, Okay?
Happily, most Irish families have members living overseas. As Christmas is the time when we are driven by an innate impulse to congregate, many distant members fly in just to be with their loved ones. The general rule at Irish family gatherings is that you should only discuss topics in which you have no real interest. If you marry into an Irish family and find yourself under pressure to come to Ireland for Christmas to be with your new in-laws, you will find this rule practically life saving. As a stranger, your novel presence will bring about an artificial improvement in behaviour that will last about fifty-six minutes. After that, everyone will revert to their normal selves, having exhausted their entire supply of fake manners. The rule of avoiding meaningful themes is designed to delay conflict and allow for full deniability when the inevitable conflict does erupt. You don’t want to be ‘the one who started it’.
There is a conversation rule, which is well understood in the context of particular family histories. In general, start with indifference and move on to irony. The older and more senior the family members, the more ironic their comments should eventually become as the day goes on and the sherry intake increases. Do not ask a direct question unless, like a lawyer, you already know the answer. If you ask a direct question, someone may give you a direct answer, which will trigger the rule of crying and rushing from the room. The traditional way to ironically indicate total di
sagreement with a point of view when you are a visiting relation at Christmas is to start your remark with the Hiberno-English phrase ‘I suppose’, which means in English that you don’t suppose at all.
When you tire of drivelling on non-consequential topics or when your confidence grows, you can move onto ironic comments. In this case, the conversation game is to appear be as sincere as possible about views that are the opposite of those you actually hold. Evasion and irony should take you through your entire visit if you concentrate and keep off the booze. There is a rule that if you do have a lapse in concentration caused by your twenty-seventh glass of wine, the other participants in the conversation are allowed to remind you of your indiscretion for fifteen future Christmases.
While you may be burning to ask a direct question, you should translate it first into an indifferent query and then into irony. Following traditional Irish familial conversation custom, you should not ask your uncle if his new wife is worried that what happened to his previous wife may happen to her. Rather, enquire how he thinks Cork will do next year in the hurling. Both weather and sport were invented to allow Irish family members to converse at great length with each other without saying anything dangerous. You should put some effort into your Hiberno-English translations to demonstrate your commitment to domestic harmony. You can translate the sentence ‘I suppose your new missus won’t go down the stairs ahead of you’ into ‘I suppose your wife is very happy with the new stair rails!’ ‘I suppose you’re sure you are the father of that child?’ can be transformed to ‘I suppose a lot of black-haired fathers have blonde children.’
For example, one mother-in-law casually remarked when presented with her daughter-in-law’s Christmas cooking: ‘I suppose I am very broadminded. I am happy to try anything.’ When you open a particularly disappointing present, you should say, ‘I suppose I will find a use for that’, or ‘I suppose I’m grateful to get anything at all’, or ‘I suppose I can wear that in public.’ When you are eventually encouraged to leave for your own house at 1.00 a.m. on St Stephen’s morning by your exhausted hosts who are standing beside you with your coat and hat, you can say, ‘I suppose I could call a taxi’, just before starting into another beer and recycled turkey sandwich.
How to Be Irish Page 16