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Old Christmas

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"But is old, old, good old Christmas gone? Nothing but the hair of his good, gray, old head and beard left? Well, I will have that, seeing that I cannot have more of him."

-- "Hue and Cry after Christmas," from the opening page of Old Christmas.

This book is what Washington Irving called a "sketchbook" -- a collection of impressions about something, gathered into a fictionalized story. It's a melancholy, fond evocation of fading English Christmas traditions of the author's time.

The story's simple: Irving sets himself in the English countryside, where he's travelling one Christmas Eve. At a country inn he runs into an old schoolmate, who invites him home to spend Christmas at the family estate. The friend's father, it turns out, dotes on all things Christmas, and has tuned his household to some of the more quaint and obscure English traditions celebrating the day. That lets Irving include lots of odd little bits and pieces of Christmas tradition, told through the old man, as part of his plot. The book covers a night and a day. The chapters are pieces of that time: the stagecoach ride is one chapter, then "Christmas Eve," and so on through "Christmas Dinner."

I read this every year lately, and it's a nice, low-key, sad and happy little way to mark the Christmases passing. Washington Irving wrote it in the early 1800s -- the dates of most of his "Sketch Book" are right around 1819 or 1820 -- and the story is mostly a reminiscence about even earlier Christmas traditions. Then it took until 1894 for this edition to be printed, with the illustrations by Caldecott. Later the facsimile edition I have was printed, in maybe the early 1980s... For a little book about Christmas past to have made it through all those years, and come down to me in this personal "sketch," is a glad thing. Coming back to the same copy year after year makes a nice little private tradition.

The text to this is available in a few places on the Web. That's an okay way to get to know the language, but a facsimile of the original book, with the illustrations, is still worth the few dollars it'll cost. The Caldecott who illustrated this is the one for whom the children's book award was named, among other things. You need to read this one next to the Christmas tree, not by the glow of a computer monitor.

Very enjoyable reading for those who like to pull up a chair, have a cup of tea, and escape to a simpler, more elegant time. Those who enjoy Christmas stories, or Anglophiles who can never get enough of English history will enjoy this insight into an Old English Christmas from one who was there.

What a quaint old book this is! Washington Irving is best known for spooky stories set in the early part of 18th century America but here he looks back to the England that he traveled to in his younger days. There's a grand old country family with it's patriarch who entertains his extended family and even part of the village he heads. Irving describes these pre-Victorian (where lots of our modern traditions hail from) traditions as simple but still very enjoyable. As will most likely always be the case food and drink are a very important part of the celebrations as well as decorative greenery and children's games. In this case Squire Birchbridge, as he's known by all, has a right hand man who's a distant relative who keeps things organized and moving along by herding the children, letting visitors know of the family traditions, and even preparing the Christmas Wassail. The Squire delights in the country customs and shuns London for his country life preferring to read books from previous eras that describe English country gentlemen's lives. He's also a keen amateur musician.....ok not exactly a musician but he does like to hunt out old verse and put it to traditional hymns and get the locals to perform them.

Here's one of my favorite passages from the book. It describes a thrown together church choir and orchestra:

"The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most whimsical grouping of heads,[98] piled one above the other, among which I particularly noticed that of the village tailor, a pale fellow with a retreating forehead and chin, who played on the clarionet, and seemed to have blown his face to a point; and there was another, a short pursy man, stooping and labouring at a bass viol, so as to show nothing but the top of a round bald head, like the egg of an ostrich. There were two or three pretty faces among the female[99] singers, to which the keen air of a frosty morning had given a bright rosy tint; but the gentlemen choristers had evidently been chosen, like old Cremona fiddles, more for tone than looks; and as several had to sing from the same book, there were clusterings of odd physiognomies, not unlike those groups of cherubs we sometimes see on country tombstones.

The usual services of the choir were managed tolerably well, the vocal parts generally lagging a little behind the instrumental, and some loitering fiddler now and then making up for lost time by travelling over a passage with prodigious celerity, and clearing more bars than the keenest fox-hunter, to be in at the death. But the great trial was an anthem that had been prepared and arranged by Master Simon, and on which he had founded great expectation. Unluckily there was a blunder at the very outset; the musicians became flurried; Master Simon was in a fever, everything went on lamely and irregularly until[100] they came to a chorus beginning "Now let us sing with one accord," which seemed to be a signal for parting company: all became discord and confusion; each shifted for himself, and got to the end as well, or rather as soon, as he could, excepting one old chorister in a pair of horn spectacles bestriding and pinching a long sonorous nose; who, happening to stand a little apart, and being wrapped up in his own melody, kept on a[101] quavering course, wriggling his head, ogling his book, and winding all up by a nasal solo of at least three bars' duration."

This description made me laugh out loud! Irving also describes the Squire's many relatives, both young, middle and older aged as almost having stepped down from the manor house portraits since they all resemble one another so much.

There's also a village myth that a crusading knight Bridgebirch, who's buried in his armor, legs crossed to symbolize his having taken part in the Middle Eastern wars, as being restless and walking the church late at night or the church grounds trying to redress an old wrong or let people know where he's buried the family's treasure. One of the very best parts of this book is the lovely contemporary illustrations. Irving's "Old Christmas" is a delicious seasonal treat.

I loved this book. I've been a student of holiday history for more than 30 years. I can't believe I never came across this book until now. Anyone who enjoys Washington Irving (Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Rip Van Winkle) or Charles Dickens (A Christmas Carol) will enjoy this book. It's a proper old English Christmas, the type undoubtedly celebrated by Mr. Darcy at his manor in Pride & Prejudice or by the family in The Wolves of Willoughby Chase. For those who have read extensively on pagan origins of modern holiday celebrations or have read about medieval customs (lord of misrule, etc.), much will be familiar. It is all here - the ancient manor house in the country, the huge yule log burning on the hearth, the old harper in the corner, the boar's head, the peacock pie, the wassail bowl, all the games - snapdragon, blind man's bluff, etc. There are visits from Morris dancers and singing by village waites under the window. The journey by coach through the countryside, the shadowy darkness, the warmth and welcome of Christmas Eve, the church service and light of Christmas Day, the merrymaking by young and old alike, the generosity of the Christmas Day Dinner - all described in lavish and loving detail. The detailed and charming illustrations by Randolph Caldecott (for whom the Caldecott award was named) add a great deal to the text. You could not have one without the other.