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What?! Leave home for Christmas?! Blasphemy!
 
PART ONE

THIS ARTICLE FIRST APPEARED IN OCTOBER, 2005. EXPANDED & UPDATED: OCTOBER 2010.

I. CHRISTMAS EVE
 
        The long shopping list looked pretty routine — with two noticeable exceptions. In 35 years of marriage we had never before shopped for Christmas pudding or Christmas crackers. Still, the Tesco hypermarket looked familiar, crowded on this Christmas Eve day with stressed-out, last minute shoppers getting ready for company. And, just like

at home in America on the eve of a big holiday, the English

WELCOME HOME! THE FRONT
DOOR TO OUR 16TH CENTURY
ENGLISH COTTAGE.
Photo © HOME AT FIRST

supermarket was more restive than festive.

         Somehow we managed to get several bags of groceries and all five of us into our small Vauxhall rental car. Fortunately, it was a short trip back to the little 16th century cottage we had rented, although made fifty percent longer than normal by heavy traffic on the highway. It was Friday afternoon, and get-away time at the start of the long holiday weekend here in rural western England. Saturday would be Christmas, and Sunday Boxing Day — what we anticipated would be Christmas, Part Two. We noticed cars full of packages and kids with faces pressed against the windows. More than a few had evergreen trees strapped to the roof or sticking out of the boot.

        Back at the cottage we unloaded the car and stocked the larder full. My wife and I retreated to our upstairs

bedroom to wrap gifts. My son and his wife did the same. His

mother-in-law, who had flown in from Sweden to join us for Christmas, took command in the kitchen. Christmas Eve night is the traditional Swedish celebration of Christmas, and Ingrid was preparing the hearty Christmas stew we would have before heading off to church.

         The weather was cold and damp, but the gas fire in the ancient fireplace kept the room warm. Hanging from the rough-hewn oaken mantle were five stockings we had brought with us from Pennsylvania. My wife and I filled them with lots of little gifts we had carried with us, plus fruits and nuts from the Tesco hypermarket. Several larger gifts leaned against the stone sides of the fireplace away from the heat of the open gas flame. My wife and I had purchased a few of these at London’s Petticoat Lane market and along Oxford Street before coming to the Cotswolds. Others came from Christmas markets in Sweden and English towns. It would be a rich Christmas, with each of us getting and giving to each other. By prior

A GAS FIRE IN THE ANCIENT
FIREPLACE KEPT THE ROOM WARM.
Photo © HOME AT FIRST

agreement, we had decided to limit the size and

number of gifts, if not the quality or the sentiment. No one wanted to be overladen on the journey home.

Christmas stew fortified us further.

THE CHOIR'S VOICES SOARED
IN THE GRAND GOTHIC
REACHES OF THE PLACE.
Photo © HOME AT FIRST

         We needed fortification. We had decided to walk to the local Christmas Eve church service, 35 minutes away. Although the temperature outside was just above freezing, roses still bloomed in the gardens of homes we passed. A few houses were decorated with electric lights, but displays were very modest by American standards. Christmas trees were visible inside many English living rooms. Streets were largely empty—traffic had "calmed" since the height of the afternoon Christmas rush. We were well bundled against the damp and cold. Though someone occupied every seat, temperatures were not much warmer inside the medieval stone church, and many worshippers wore overcoats and gloves. Wonderfully, the church choir remained unaffected by the chill, and their voices soared in the grand gothic reaches of the place. The Anglican priest, like ministers I have heard in American churches at Christmas and Easter, was careful to take the opportunity

to admonish his overflow audience that they should

         The walk homeward was Dickensian. In the full moonlight our breath steam was heavy with condensation. I imagined glassy footpaths lurking in each dark corner and hoarfrost icing on the shrubbery. Churchgoers in Christmas finery strolled high-mindedly arm-in-arm. Coats unbuttoned, a few high-spirited revelers poured out of pubs laughing and stumbling in the streetlights. One or two poor besotted young men huddled low in their greatcoats away from moon and lamplight, and from inquiring eyes. As we entered our street a milky blue light shone out from a neighboring house: a giant screen TV filled a complete wall of a small living room in a centuries old cottage. A vintage American western was playing on British television on the last hours of Christmas Eve.

        Back inside our rented 16^th century cottage, we huddled round the gas fire, and warmed ourselves further with hot glögg. In the Swedish tradition, we each opened one gift

ROSES STILL BLOOMED.
Photo © HOME AT FIRST

before midnight brought Christmas Day and sent us to bed.

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Each region promises an unforgettable Christmas holiday.
Minimum stay is 7 nights of Home At First lodgings.
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