AS time renders childhood an increasingly distant speck on the horizon, memories grow fonder. Together with the Advent calendar, nothing evokes the feverish anticipation of December 25 more poignantly than the arrival of the Christmas tree. Specially selected from a nursery or, perhaps, a street trader in the village and brought into the garden—receiving, hopefully, an approving nod (‘It’s a nice shape’)—there’s then the ritual of shoveling soil into the tub and getting the tree standing straight (‘Blasted thing’s still crooked’). This trial overcome, the tree is brought inside for the big moment little hands have been waiting for, the enormous responsibility of decorating the branches with silver tinsel and glittering baubles. From the wonderful, fresh pine aroma to the hazard of fallen needles spiking fingers and knees when playing with new toys beneath it, how on earth did bygone generations of children get through the festive season without a Christmas tree?
It may feel as if the family gathering around the tree is an annual re-enactment of an age-old ritual, but it is, in fact, of relatively recent origin in Britain. All the same, trees have long played a part in end-of-year celebrations. Inevitably, evergreens were the species of choice, their continuity of growth throughout the cold seasons, when most other vegetation had either died off or ceased to grow, seeming to symbolise endurance or eternity.
'How on earth did children get through the festive season without a Christmas tree?'
Bu hikaye Country Life UK dergisinin December 16 - 23, 2020 sayısından alınmıştır.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber ? Giriş Yap
Bu hikaye Country Life UK dergisinin December 16 - 23, 2020 sayısından alınmıştır.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Giriş Yap
Save our family farms
IT Tremains to be seen whether the Government will listen to the more than 20,000 farming people who thronged Whitehall in central London on November 19 to protest against changes to inheritance tax that could destroy countless family farms, but the impact of the good-hearted, sombre crowds was immediate and positive.
A very good dog
THE Spanish Pointer (1766–68) by Stubbs, a landmark painting in that it is the artist’s first depiction of a dog, has only been exhibited once in the 250 years since it was painted.
The great astral sneeze
Aurora Borealis, linked to celestial reindeer, firefoxes and assassinations, is one of Nature's most mesmerising, if fickle displays and has made headlines this year. Harry Pearson finds out why
'What a good boy am I'
We think of them as the stuff of childhood, but nursery rhymes such as Little Jack Horner tell tales of decidedly adult carryings-on, discovers Ian Morton
Forever a chorister
The music-and way of living-of the cabaret performer Kit Hesketh-Harvey was rooted in his upbringing as a cathedral chorister, as his sister, Sarah Sands, discovered after his death
Best of British
In this collection of short (5,000-6,000-word) pen portraits, writes the author, 'I wanted to present a number of \"Great British Commanders\" as individuals; not because I am a devotee of the \"great man, or woman, school of history\", but simply because the task is interesting.' It is, and so are Michael Clarke's choices.
Old habits die hard
Once an antique dealer, always an antique dealer, even well into retirement age, as a crop of interesting sales past and future proves
It takes the biscuit
Biscuit tins, with their whimsical shapes and delightful motifs, spark nostalgic memories of grandmother's sweet tea, but they are a remarkably recent invention. Matthew Dennison pays tribute to the ingenious Victorians who devised them
It's always darkest before the dawn
After witnessing a particularly lacklustre and insipid dawn on a leaden November day, John Lewis-Stempel takes solace in the fleeting appearance of a rare black fox and a kestrel in hot pursuit of a pipistrelle bat
Tarrying in the mulberry shade
On a visit to the Gainsborough Museum in Sudbury, Suffolk, in August, I lost my husband for half an hour and began to get nervous. Fortunately, an attendant had spotted him vanishing under the cloak of the old mulberry tree in the garden.
