December 25, 2023 - 8:00am

There is something special about Christmas Eve. The fevered and sometimes stressful preparation is mostly over; all that remains is a glorious anticipation, a feeling that everything has been building to a wonderful moment which is very nearly upon us. It is akin to the moment at a wedding when the doors open, and the congregation stands as the bride starts down the aisle.

This intuition hints at one of the key components of the splendour of Christmastime: its timelessness. This is partly nostalgia — every Christmas is freighted with the remembrance of Christmases past, especially those unbeatable childhood ones, and for many of us intertwined with memories of those who now, as one beautiful prayer has it, “rejoice with us, but upon another shore, and in a greater light”.   

And yet, beyond nostalgia, there is a genuine sense that we are stepping outside the ordinary flow of human affairs. As Charles Dickens explored so perfectly in A Christmas Carol, at Christmas we see through time. Not perhaps for very long — a few days or a few hours, or even just for fleeting instants. But the ordinary strains and troubles of life fall away just a little. We greet strangers in the street and, in the words of Scrooge’s nephew Fred, “men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow travellers to the grave.”  

Around 20 years ago, I spent part of Christmas in a small village in Gloucestershire. Eastleach is the kind of place where it is easy to imagine yourself in the early 20th century rather than the early 21st. After boisterous carol-singing in the parish church, we repaired to a nearby farmhouse — which itself would not have looked out of place in a Constable landscape — to sing the Gloucestershire Wassail, which dates at least to the 1700s, and probably rather further back. There was something profoundly beautiful about participating in this community ritual that has continued in one form or another for hundreds of years, since before the Reformation.

You get the same atmosphere attending a service of Nine Lessons And Carols, especially in ancient country churches, or the first Mass of Christmas. A popular faux-sophisticated take on Yuletide tradition is that it was all invented by the Victorians, and this is certainly true of a few aspects. All the same, many of our festive rituals far predate Prince Albert’s alleged innovations. This is especially true of Christian liturgies, including carols — The Coventry Carol was composed in the reign of Henry VIII, while O Come All Ye Faithful is at least 300 years old — and the more raucous customs, like feasting and drinking and the temporary upending of social order once embodied in the Lord Of Misrule. Undoubtedly there have been fashions in the keeping of Christmas, as opinions and social norms change, and yet there remains a deep core to the thing. 

The familiar rhythms give us a glimpse of the truth that all this has been going on for a long time, and will carry on in much the same way long after we’re gone. There is perhaps sadness in that realisation, but it is also a tiding of comfort and joy. 


Niall Gooch is a public sector worker and occasional writer who lives in Kent.

niall_gooch