Christmas is coming, and you can tell by the lights decorating the streets, the faux pine garlands bedecked with red ribbons that frame shop doors, the tram drivers dressed as Santa Claus, and the stores that are open on Sundays in a yearly exception to the “no shopping on Sundays” laws. Last weekend I was walking down the busiest, poshest street in Zurich, tagging along with a friend who was actually shopping, and realized that there were two Bactrian (two-humped) camels and a burro standing in the street. They were accompanied by Swiss people wearing what they imagine camel- and burro-tenders to wear, and stood there calmly eating hay, while people scurried around buying their Louis Vuitton bags and Hermes scarves, pausing only to snap pictures of the wildlife with their camera phones. Next thing you know, there will be elephants and tapirs on Fifth Avenue.
But I described a lot about Swiss Christmas last year, and the stuff I’ve learned this year that has thrown me for a loop is about Christmas in England. Although I would have expected Switzerland to have different Christmas traditions from the States, I would have thought that Christmas in the UK would be pretty much the same as Christmas in the States, but apparently it is not.
Last night I had rehearsal with my choir, in preparation for a carols service we’ll be singing next week. A big tradition in the Anglican church is to have carols services involving 7 or 8 readings from the Bible, which give a Cliff’s Notes approach to the birth of Christ, interspersed with lots of carols. I figured it would be an easy rehearsal, as I noted some familiar carols: “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” “Away in a Manger,” and so on. And then I realized that although the carols have the same lyrics as the ones I grew up on, the music was entirely different.
English Christmas carols exist in an alternate universe, where the words are the same, but the melodies are completely changed. How did that happen? Our Christmas traditions are rooted in theirs, the words for our carols came from theirs, so how did we end up with a completely different set of carols? “Silent Night” was originally a German carol, and we translated the words into English, but otherwise, it’s the same song, so what happened? And how many Brits and Yanks are running around thinking that the carols bearing the same titles are actually the same songs? And what if this phenomenon is more widespread, and it turns out that Beethoven’s 9th, “Rock Around the Clock,” and “Hit Me Baby One More Time” also have alternate versions for people on opposite sides of the Atlantic? The possibilities are mind-blowing.
One line from a Christmas carol fascinated me as a young child: “Now bring us some figgy pudding.” I sat there pondering what that could mean. I knew that figs were fruit, although I wasn’t sure what they looked like and imagined them to be something like raisins, and my experience with pudding was limited to that of the chocolate, vanilla, and tapioca variety. So I wondered why on earth you would go out into the cold, knock on someone’s door, and sing for them to bring you a bowl of tapioca pudding with raisins, and why on earth they would actually have that ready to offer to you. I wondered what to give people if they demanded figgy pudding, and could only come up with leftover Easter or Halloween candy, and a lame excuse that we were fresh out of pudding of any kind.
As I later found out, pudding in this case refers to the dense cake-like dessert that never really made it big in the New World. I recently found out a more disturbing tidbit about Christmas pudding: it is often prepared months in advance, put in a cloth, and hung from the ceiling until it’s eaten. Prior to serving, it’s doused in brandy and set on fire, partly for the spectacle, and partly to burn off anything that shouldn’t be eaten that may have accumulated after several months of sitting around. Mmm… nothing says delicious holiday tradition better than month-old burning cake, which just moments earlier was molding in an old bag in the basement.
But I described a lot about Swiss Christmas last year, and the stuff I’ve learned this year that has thrown me for a loop is about Christmas in England. Although I would have expected Switzerland to have different Christmas traditions from the States, I would have thought that Christmas in the UK would be pretty much the same as Christmas in the States, but apparently it is not.
Last night I had rehearsal with my choir, in preparation for a carols service we’ll be singing next week. A big tradition in the Anglican church is to have carols services involving 7 or 8 readings from the Bible, which give a Cliff’s Notes approach to the birth of Christ, interspersed with lots of carols. I figured it would be an easy rehearsal, as I noted some familiar carols: “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” “Away in a Manger,” and so on. And then I realized that although the carols have the same lyrics as the ones I grew up on, the music was entirely different.
English Christmas carols exist in an alternate universe, where the words are the same, but the melodies are completely changed. How did that happen? Our Christmas traditions are rooted in theirs, the words for our carols came from theirs, so how did we end up with a completely different set of carols? “Silent Night” was originally a German carol, and we translated the words into English, but otherwise, it’s the same song, so what happened? And how many Brits and Yanks are running around thinking that the carols bearing the same titles are actually the same songs? And what if this phenomenon is more widespread, and it turns out that Beethoven’s 9th, “Rock Around the Clock,” and “Hit Me Baby One More Time” also have alternate versions for people on opposite sides of the Atlantic? The possibilities are mind-blowing.
One line from a Christmas carol fascinated me as a young child: “Now bring us some figgy pudding.” I sat there pondering what that could mean. I knew that figs were fruit, although I wasn’t sure what they looked like and imagined them to be something like raisins, and my experience with pudding was limited to that of the chocolate, vanilla, and tapioca variety. So I wondered why on earth you would go out into the cold, knock on someone’s door, and sing for them to bring you a bowl of tapioca pudding with raisins, and why on earth they would actually have that ready to offer to you. I wondered what to give people if they demanded figgy pudding, and could only come up with leftover Easter or Halloween candy, and a lame excuse that we were fresh out of pudding of any kind.
As I later found out, pudding in this case refers to the dense cake-like dessert that never really made it big in the New World. I recently found out a more disturbing tidbit about Christmas pudding: it is often prepared months in advance, put in a cloth, and hung from the ceiling until it’s eaten. Prior to serving, it’s doused in brandy and set on fire, partly for the spectacle, and partly to burn off anything that shouldn’t be eaten that may have accumulated after several months of sitting around. Mmm… nothing says delicious holiday tradition better than month-old burning cake, which just moments earlier was molding in an old bag in the basement.
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