Sabine Cassar-Alpert talks about their Christmas,
a German-Maltese compromise, in Gozo
Christmas is celebrated all over the world. While the reason for celebrating, the birth of Christ, is the same everywhere, there are almost as many different traditions as there are countries.
Christmas in Gozo was an entirely new experience for me, and in over twenty years I have never totally accepted some of the Maltese ways of celebrating. In Germany Christmas is a rather close family occasion, which is celebrated at home.
The most important difference, especially for children, is probably the fact that presents are given on Christmas Eve, rather than the next day. While children’s impatience before Father Christmas’s visit is a trait even of German children, at least they don’t have to try to get to sleep before!
Christmas Eve in our family was a pretty well organized affair. A quick lunch of roast chicken was served rather late in the day. Afterwards my sister and I had to do the dishes (no pain no gain being the motto) while our parents vanished into the ‘good’ living room (no difference to Gozitan homes there!), where they started off by transforming the fir tree into a Christmas tree behind closed doors, followed by placing heaps of gift-wrapped presents underneath.
Meanwhile we children were allowed to stay in the ‘every day’ sitting room and watch television – it was the same programme each year, called ‘We are waiting for Father Christmas’. German readers among you will surely remember it! During less absorbing episodes of Tom and Jerry or documentaries for kids, the wonderful Christmassy smell of pine needles, accompanied by the sounds of rustling wrapping paper – well-identifiable even through closed doors – raised our anticipation considerably! We never knew beforehand which of the items on our carefully written wish lists would be delivered.
‘Waiting for Father Christmas’, both the programme and our killing of time, was over at 6 pm, when we were finally allowed to join our parents in the Christmas room, and stand in awe in front of the tree. Now for one last hurdle before storming the tree and get unpacking! We always had to prepare a small Christmas-related poem, or a Christmas song, in later years rendered by recorder or guitar and accordion. It’s funny, I do not remember the sound of it; I am somehow sceptical that it was a feast for the ears.
The end of this performance, which thankfully lasted no longer than a few minutes, was immediately followed by an inaudible starting shot upon which we descended on two different corners of the tree. Nobody and nothing would have stopped us at that moment in time!
Having created a veritable mess with discarded gift-wrap and toys strewn all over the place, the aftermath was probably the same as in any German or Maltese household: mostly peaceful playtime, a wee bit of sibling’s quarrelling, Christmas carols, and idle chatter. The day finished with midnight mass, once we were old enough to be trusted not to start snoring in church because of sheer exhaustion.
The Christmas of 1983 was the first of many that I spent away from home. Having arrived at Luqa in the afternoon, it was too late to cross over to Gozo. George, then my boyfriend, had arranged for us to stay over in Malta for the night. The next day was Christmas Eve – a cloudless day, about 24°C – in short not quite the kind of weather that induces a Christmas spirit when you have grown up associating snow with the festive season! It was the strangest of feelings to walk into Valletta in the sunshine, wearing short-sleeved t-shirts and hearing Boney M blaring a decidedly German Stille Nacht from some hidden loudspeakers. Festive decorations everywhere did nothing much to dampen that effect. It was a culture shock of the finest sort!
I readily accepted the custom of putting up the Christmas tree in the beginning of December, because decorating it does put some Christmas spirit into the air! I never took to the English/Maltese type of tree lights though: frantically blinking, changing colours, and for the last few years even playing slightly off-key carols. I wonder what takes the inventors so long to come up with a Christmas tree that boasts of a built-in MP3 player!
On my insistence, our Christmas tree has always had white candle-like lights, which glow steadily and don’t ‘shout’. Christmastide for me means a lot of things; a quiet haven in an otherwise stressful life, a time for reflection and reminiscing, sometimes mixed with a little nostalgic homesickness. Certainly not a time to be loud and hectic.
Over the years our family has created its own tradition of celebrating Christmas, a sweet Maltese-German compromise for everyone. We do have a festive dinner on Christmas Eve, albeit with very few exceptions always at home. After desserts we relocate to the living room and continue the German way, exchanging gifts under the Christmas tree, listening to carols – quite simply enjoying the festive atmosphere as a family. I cannot deny that one of the reasons for keeping this tradition is probably connected to the fact that I carried my childish impatience into adult life. Almost half a century on this earth, and I have never learnt to wait patiently for receiving – but also giving – presents!
Our son Daniel never complained about receiving his presents a little sooner than his friends, of course. For a couple of years, however, he took to the annoying habit of whining two or three days before Christmas, “U ejja, naghmlu l-Milied illum!” I started doubting the wisdom of changing Christmas celebrations to suit my own feelings. It might have taught him this was a movable feast!
Christmas is certainly a special time for children, and as we grow older, it loses some of its enchanting and mesmerizing powers. I found that a little bit of this particular Christmas feeling returns to you once you have children of your own, as you try to pass on some of that joyful emotion, which suddenly is restored in your active memory in astonishing clarity.
One particular Christmas Eve remains edged into my memory. It was one of only two or three occasions when we went out for Christmas Eve dinner. Daniel was about 6 or 7 years old – just at that age when children usually discover commonsense and discard their belief in some higher being providing the presents. We were already on our way to the car when I pretended to have forgotten my purse and returned to the house on my own. Never before – or after – did I place the presents under the tree with such speed, and with trembling hands as I expected Daniel to come and look for me, and find me out!
On our drive home after dinner George and I started ‘seeing’ Father Christmas on his sledge somewhere up between the clouds. To our amazement Daniel, who at first responded with a hue of irony, “u mhux hekk!”, finally ‘saw’ him too! Thus, part one of the plan quite unexpectedly worked out beautifully. The grand finale, of course, was easy then. Upon entering the living room our Christmas tree greeted us with a full load of presents at its base, and it was obvious to Daniel that there was no way any of us could have done that. His brain was feverishly at work to figure out this mystery, his confusion evident in his facial expression, which I remember clearly even today: it was probably one of the last glimpses of child-like innocence that now, over a decade later, has sadly gone forever!