Suet and All That

When it came to Christmas, my childhood celebrations followed mostly along the lines of our convict ancestry, since my dear Grandma was born in England.

Every year, several months before December, she would begin the pudding preparations. I well remember the warnings against meddling with the muslin wrapped, suet filled pudding that was suspended from the drying rack in her laundry. Later would come the mincing of the fruit for the mince pies, in the antique turn-the-handle meat grinder. Then the shortbread making, the rumballs (with real rum) and Christmas cake. And on the day itself, the mixing of the Yorkshire Pudding batter.

Stodge is what we called it. Good old fashioned stodge, that led to lazy Christmas Day afternoons with us lying on the floor groaning under the weight of all that had been consumed. Somehow though, there was always room for another rumball.

Another English tradition which I recall only once participating in, was the advent calendar. It’s strange that my box of windowed chocolates seemed to reach Christmas earlier than Christmas itself did that year. Perhaps my lovely mum realised that was the beginning of my lifelong addiction to all things chocolate, as I never received another pre Christmas calendar.

The biggest English tradition that we observed was pantomimes. My amazing dad’s career included over 30 years of producing children’s theatre productions, and not only at Christmas. My holidays were spent at his theatre watching the shows and wandering the aisles in between performances, snatching up any carelessly discarded lollies. Half consumed Cool Mints and Maltesers were the ultimate prize, much to my amazing dad’s horror. But to his delight, I can still sing many of the songs from those “pantos”.

1986 was a big year for my family. It was the year of our parents’ inaugural overseas trip, during which they went on a treasure hunt for the origins of our surname.

We had always believed that we came from the land of croissants and brie. However, there was no sign of any of us in France. Instead, we were eventually found listed in a telephone book (remember those?) in a public telephone booth… in Sweden.

So, since then, we have taken great delight in stating that we are descended from convicts on one side and vikings on another. Some might say that this explains a lot about our family!

As for Swedish Christmas traditions, any in which we partook during my childhood were more of an unconscious nod to our then unknown ancestry.

At a stretch, we could say our Christmas Day food fest was a parallel to their traditional Christmas Eve smorgasbords. And, like the Swedes, our presents were usually under the tree rather than in stockings hung by the fire. But first, the tree had to be foraged without us foragers being caught.

Each Christmas Eve my amazing dad would retrieve his bow saw from the shed and we would traipse down our road searching for a suitable branch to pilfer from one of the pine trees lining the paddocks. Once we had snuck our spoil inside, dad would set it into the “cauldron” and the decades old tree decorations would by suitably arranged. It was always a finger crossing moment when the switch was flicked for the lights. Would dad have to spend the next few hours trying to locate the offending globe that caused them not to work?

Presents would mysteriously appear under the tree overnight. On a few occasions they had tags attached with rhyming instructions on where to find the rest of the present. Perhaps this was an unconscious nod to another Swedish tradition of tags with poems and limericks that hinted at the identity of the present.

In recent years we have yearned to adopt a tradition from across the North Atlantic Ocean. The Icelandic Christmas custom of “Jolabokaflod” (“Christmas Book Flood”) is one that suits our family perfectly; the exchange of books on Christmas Eve and the settling down together to read them while enjoying a mug of hot chocolate by the fire. If only our Christmases were in winter..

So, as we approach the end of 2024, I wish you all a lovely holiday. Enjoy your traditions, celebrate the birth of the saviour Jesus, and whatever else you do, avoid the stodge.

Nikki