I spotted this book in the National Theatre Bookshop four or five years ago and bought it. The main attraction was the pretty cover. I don’t normally go in for that. I’m usually all about content. It’s the quality that counts and not the wrappings, as my father used to opine in various contexts. But I really couldn’t resist this elegant Liberty fabric cloth cover and the matching marker ribbon. Tactilty and visual delight, for once, won the day.
Over several Christmases since I have dipped into it, along with my collection of other favourite old Christmas anthologies, but until now had never read it right through. Now that I have, I can report that it’s a goldmine of new discoveries.
Simon Rae’s collection dates from 2017 and of course he includes all the obvious, familiar things such as John Betjeman’s Christmas, the opening of St John’s Gospel, Charles Causley’s Innocents’ Song, some Dickens and lots of carols. But across 260 pages he also assembles lots of extracts, stories and poems which were either new to me or which I’d never thought of in this context. I like the way he ranges across nine centuries (I don’t think I knew that I Saw Three Ships dates from the 14th century) and arranges his material in broad themes such as War, Family, Carols, Animals and seventeen other “chapters”.
I especially enjoyed George Bernard Shaw’s 1898 review of The Babes in the Wood at Theatre Royal, Drury Lane in which he gives us a witty condemnation of Christmas and all who sail exploitatively in her, including pantomime makers and participants. He describes Christmas as …. “an indecent subject; a cruel gluttonous subject; a drunken, disorderly subject, a wicked, cadging, lying, blasphemous and demoralizing subject”. Oh for an ounce of Mr Shaw’s flair with words. I wouldn’t mind a bit of his fearless cynicism either.
Or take George Monbiot’s short piece which suggests that the image of Father Christmas being drawn across the sky by reindeer may have its orgins in delusions induced by eating hallucinogenic fly agaric toadstools in darkest Siberia.
Of course, moreover, I relish anything by Wendy Cope and hope I’m not infringing copyright by sharing this witty, bitter little gem here.
At Christmas little children sing and merry bells jingle.
The cold winter air makes our hands and faces tingle
And happy families go to church and cheerily they mingle
And the whole business is unbelievably dreadful if you’re single.
Rae also throws into the mix Just William, Saki, Mr Pooter, TS Eliot, Jilly Cooper, DH Lawrence, Sylvia Plath, Dylan Thomas, John Milton and a delightful spoof, by Frank Jacobs, on The Night Before Christmas among many others. It really is a glorious and eclectic seasonal read – like a tasty Christmas pudding into which every imaginable ingredient has been happily stirred with plenty of brandy.
Next week on Susan’s Bookshelves: All the Lonely People by Mike Gayle
