Dear readers, I had some feedback on my blog which was kind and seemingly has inspired one of my subscribers to write. And so I am guesting this blog to him who I won’t name and let it touch you in the same way it has me.
I’m so excited to bring you a truly unique voice today!
He admits he's not a creative person, has never thought of himself as a writer, and finds it tough to put his feelings into words. But after being inspired by some of my more moving blogs and poems, (he says); he decided to take the plunge and give it a try and after much thought about what subject to tackle for his first post, it finally dawned on him: his absolute favourite time of year... Christmas!
So, grab your festive treat, cosy up, and settle in as he shares his thoughts with a mince pie, a gingerbread latte, and a Christmas film on his iPad for inspiration.
-thank you for expressing your feelings.
The memories of Christmas past
As a child, I was incredibly lucky. I always spent Christmas Day at home, and we would always have family round to spend the day with us. Usually, that meant my dad, my mum, my brothers Paul and Antony, my sister Kate, my Nanny Wood, my Uncle John, and my Auntie Mandy filling the house with festive cheer.
We would always wake up as early as we could, trying to come up with inventive ways to get downstairs to see what Father Christmas had brought us. My only excuse would be, "I need a glass of water!" only to hear the voice of my dad—who had most likely been out during the evening on a fire call—belt out the words we didn’t want to hear: "Back to bed, Now!"
And that’s where my first true memory kicks in, right around the time I hear the opening notes of Brenda Lee’s "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree." As the day went on and my Aunt, Uncle, and Nanny started to arrive, we’d start to open presents. My mum would begin to get things ready for what my Uncle fondly called "My favourite meal of the year."
When we had finished our meal and the dishes began to be cleared, I’d receive the call from my sister which I dreaded: "It's time to perform!"
Leading up to Christmas Day, my sister would make me go into the kitchen with her, and she would choreograph a dance to a Christmas song. The specific memory I have is performing to Wizzard’s "I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday" with my mum, my auntie, my uncle, and my Nanny all watching along.
Thinking back, younger me hated every second of being forced to dance, but if I could go back and do it again, I would in a heartbeat.
A Firefighter's Christmas Eve
My dad is, and always will be, my hero. I'll never be able to put into words how incredibly proud I am of him. He was a firefighter, serving at 33 Romsey for forty dedicated years. Each Christmas lunch, he'd have the seat closest to the door, and a few times, his pager would go off just as we sat down, and he'd be gone. We'd all say the same thing as he ran for his shoes and car keys: "Be careful." It made me so proud to think he was going to save people and maybe even their Christmases.
But the memory I'm going to share with you is a bit different. It was Christmas Eve, and the weather outside was frightful... it was raining. So much so, my dad was called out to help with flooding. He was out from early afternoon and was still out when it got dark.
My mum got a phone call from dad. She was asked to drop some supplies to my dad and his crew. When I was asked to go with mum, I was so excited! Not just because I'd get to see my dad and the crew in action, but because I'd get to help. Now, the supplies we were asked to drop weren't what you'd expect. It wasn't food, it wasn't anything to drink, it was... socks. It turns out all these five firefighters wanted for Christmas was dry socks!
I remember so vividly coming out of our front door, our front garden completely flooded. I spent the whole car ride looking at Christmas lights, or scanning the sky for a sleigh being pulled by reindeer. I think, from memory, dad got home in the early hours of the morning.
That Christmas, the decorations were a little different. Instead of "Stockings hung by the chimney with care," as they were in the poem "’Twas The Night Before Christmas," we had our dad's wet socks hanging on an airer. Very festive indeed!
The Thought That Counts: A 2020 Christmas
It was 2020, and we were all in lockdown. This was meant to be my first Christmas with my girlfriend, Rachel. We were both looking forward to celebrating together, only to find out that it unfortunately wouldn't be possible due to the restrictions and rules. I drove over to where she lived with her Mum, Step-Dad, and sister just to drop off their presents and wish them a Merry Christmas.
The reason I have chosen this memory is because of the gift I had for Rachel. I got a teddy bear made for her, crafted out of two of my shirts. I, like many others, didn't know how long Covid-19 or the lockdowns would last, but I wanted her to know that I wasn't going anywhere and that I would be with her, in spirit, even when we couldn't be together physically.
It completely backed my personal belief: sometimes, thousands of pounds aren't needed to show someone how much we care. It really is the thought that counts.
Thank you so much for sharing these precious memories- I hope the publishing of your article helps with your feelings and as you finish your gingerbread latte and prepare to put the last Christmas film on pause, I will say that personally, I found these three memories sum up what Christmas means to most people
1. Nostalgia and Family: The joy of silly, shared moments—even the dreaded choreographed dances—that you’d give anything to relive, I remember my sister Sally, across the miles, in Indiana, USA who was always ready to dance to David Essex's "Gonna make you star" back in the day or my navy buddy, Jamie and me dancing to the Irish National Anthem when visiting my mum and dad's membership in a night out at their "Irish Club" when were just young navy lads in the late 1970s.
2. Heroism and Heart: The quiet dedication of people like your dad (or mum), who show up for others, proving that sometimes the greatest Christmas gift is just a pair of dry socks or a hug.
3. Love and Connection: The realisation that the best way to show someone you care isn't with a price tag, but with a thoughtful gesture—like a teddy bear made from a worn shirt—that promises connection, even when circumstances keep you apart.
I read in the paper today - an article which is probably poignant to this article it goes briefly :
‘Take your time’
“Grief is not something people get over quickly. The shock will wear off eventually, after a few days, weeks or months. But the emptiness, heartbreak, anxiety, bewilderment and raw pain of it all linger for a long time. People don’t ‘get over’ grief. Instead, we find a way to keep going. So make sure that people know there is no rush to try to get back to normal. Grief is a rollercoaster. Getting through it isn’t linear and can’t be hurried.”
There’s no such thing as a “right” way to grieve’
“I’ve never had much time for the idea that grief has five stages – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance – because the list seems too short.
There is no ‘correct’ way to show our grief, or one set timeline for processing those overpowering emotions. It is completely different for everyone.”
‘Do you remember that time…’
“When I was finally ready to talk, all I wanted to discuss was my brother. Sharing memories of him with friends and family was a way of keeping him with us, of sustaining that connection with him. When we talked about his ridiculous childhood practical jokes and obsession with Arnold Schwarzenegger, for instance, we were soon smiling and laughing. Talking about him meant he was still part of us, that he wasn’t forgotten and that our connection with him wasn’t completely broken.”
‘Try writing’
“Writing stopped me from getting stuck in endless circles of anger and regret and misery. At first, I wrote to my brother, updating him on what we were all doing, and telling him off for leaving us all behind. Later, I wrote about him. This was incredibly beneficial, because writing helps us to process the things that have happened to us. It was only through writing about my brother that I have managed to draw strength from the memories we shared, and only by writing honestly and openly about my struggles with grief that I have come to accept what has happened – to him, to me, to both of us. In the darkest of times, I found that writing was a lifeline.”
[source the I paper - 24th November 2024]
Poem -The Christmas Callout
Twas a time before Xmas,
Dad sat across from the door...
Pager at the short trail, us kids listening with nothing but awe
“Where’s me socks?” dad cried out loud - “by the chimney” said mum
Drying from the last one - such fun !
“Get em to bed” he murmured, as the pager went off
33 was beyond all MY learning...
“I’ll be back soon my lovely” - "Merry Xmas" he said,
Got to rush as Romsey is burning!
The snow brushed the windows, as we all looked out,
Blue lights, vanishing away, through the night
And all through the house, we dreamed of the sight
Of a man in a suit, who’d shout...
The we hear, Ho Ho, Home again, darling- but we need more socks!
These are wet, and our toes are so full of wrinkles.
Don’t worry, it’s a flood, we are avoiding the shocks
I’ll be back for some sherry and sprinkles!
When I awoke, I thought, there was only one snag.
Mum was snuggling up -not much noise- but Oh so much banta?
For in the suit was not “the man with the bag”
It was dad, my own special Santa.
EPILOGUE
I think a therapeutic thing, for me at least, to be able to write things down. Especially when one feels uncomfortable with life’s events. I have read in a 2025 study by the charity, Sue Ryder, that it found that 83 per cent of people think the nation is bad at talking about death and grief, that 88 per cent of people feel alone in their grief and that more than one in four feel they can’t talk about their grief. This is a shame as, for most of us, grief is inescapable. If you love someone, there is a strong chance that, eventually, you will lose them.
I am so pleased, my guest has found his voice, instead of saying nothing at all, or to pretend nothing has happened, thank you once again - keep writing!
If you want to share a memory and have it published in my blog please contact me at tvincent481@gmail.com