When I was a small child, the spirit of Christmas was about being super-generous, but in a different way from today. My family was already generous with their time and efforts to family and friends - and it was 100% reciprocal. As children, all our friends parents cared for us as their own, but my brother and I received a single gift from our mother and father, carefully chosen to comply with our childish wishes, with perhaps a modest monetary one also arriving from grandparents. The emphasis was placed not only on the provision of the best food and drink for people who may - or may not - have just turned up, but on the most loving of welcomes. As we lived in a bungalow on the beach, they did turn up, towels and bathing suits rolled up under arms, confident that they would be able to swim in the calm, azure waters behind our home, several yards from a wide, pink, sandy beach. It was mutual joy to welcome them. Carols would be on the radio in the background, as my father made rum punch and my mother put the finishing touches to the decorative, Christmas festivities and culinary goodies. We had a maid, with whom there was mutual devotion, who actually turned up for work on Christmas morning, because she lived a short distance away. She loved being part of the warm, ambrosial welcome, as the most divine scents filtered through our kitchen and dining room. We always made sure she took away her own Christmas fare, when she went home in the early afternoon. Many times, she returned in the evening, to help my parents to clear up. Lunch could be for just us, the family, or it could be for twelve or sixteen. We never knew; so my mother made sure there was enough of a traditional Caribbean banquet, which covered every surface of our large dining table, for at least 20 people. Many would arrive for a quick, Christmas drink and still be eating and laughing with us, five hours later. What I remember most was not all of this, however, but the absolute, ecstatic joy we felt when we heard the sound of knuckles rapping on our open doors. It meant we had surprise company - glorious friends and family, who wanted to share their precious time with us, on such a magical day. All arrived empty handed. We did not expect anything and we knew we could have done the same with them. It was just the loving way in which our culture worked in those mid 20th century days. If a gift did arrive, it was usually a delicious home made cake or pretty, tasty confectionary, beautifully wrapped and presented: love was weaved into every action and into every gift. It was simply a way of life in Barbados in those sweet, cosseting days. It did not matter how much effort was expended or how much money had been spent from my fathers modest salary. My parents, my brother and I would be waiting, with joyous anticipation, for the next group to join those who were already sitting with us, or splashing in the warm water behind our seaside bungalow. Even if every chair at the table was taken, it would be thrilling to have to scavenge bedrooms for stools and padded chairs, as existing guests squeezed closer together, to make way for the newcomers. Of course, family would be happy to sit on the most uncomfortable seating, for all guests were royalty. It was a culture of pure, generous and kind hospitality to anyone and everyone. It is hard to believe it existed and, in some social pockets, still does today. It was in those devoted times that I realised that the best gift at any time of the year was not the tangible present you can see and feel, but those which register as warmest, kindest, most welcoming friendship; for it was the greatest honour to have people leave the comfort of their wonderful homes, in order to spend time on such a precious day, with us. Many left their massive mansions to be with us in our little, three bedroomed one, which had a giant, invisible welcome plastered on every wall, piece of floorspace and even dangling in every atom of air they inhaled. These sociable memories, to me, were the true spirit of Christmas: a time of love, togetherness and celebration of joy, aeons away from the orgy of consumerism it has now become.
Posted on: Wed, 07 Jan 2015 13:15:43 +0000
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