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First published in Great Britain in 1986 by Methuen London Ltd
First paperback edition published in 1987; reissued in 1992 by Mandarin Paperbacks, an imprint of Reed Consumer Books Limited 1998 hardback edition published by Bantam Press, an imprint of Transworld Publishers Corgi edition published 2007 Bantam edition reissued 2025 001
Copyright © Jilly Cooper 1986
Illustrations copyright © Timothy Jacques 1986
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
The lines of poetry on page 12 are from ‘Christmas Shopping’, from The Collected Poems of Louis MacNeice, edited by E. R. Dodds, and are reproduced by kind permission of Faber and Faber Ltd.
The lines on page 94 are from ‘Christmas’, from John Betjeman’s Collected Poems and are reproduced by kind permission of John Murray Ltd.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 9780857508348
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to William and Susanna Franklyn with love
FICTION
NON-FICTION
CHILDREN’S BOOKS
ROMANCE
ANTHOLOGIES
By Jilly Cooper
The Rutshire Chronicles: Riders
Rivals
Polo
The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous
Appassionata
Score!
Pandora Wicked!
Jump!
Mount!
Tackle!
How to Stay Married
How to Survive from Nine to Five
Jolly Super Men and Supermen
Jolly Super Too Women and Superwomen
Work and Wedlock
Jolly Superlative
Super Men and Super Women
Super Jilly Class
Super Cooper
Intelligent and Loyal
Jolly Marsupial
Animals in War
The Common Years
Hotfoot to Zabriskie Point (with Patrick Lichfield)
How to Survive Christmas
Turn Right at the Spotted Dog
Angels Rush In Araminta’s Wedding
Between the Covers
Little Mabel
Little Mabel’s Great Escape
Little Mabel Wins
Little Mabel Saves the Day
Emily Bella
Harriet
Octavia
Prudence
Imogen
Lisa & Co
The British in Love
Violets and Vinegar
BEINGALOUSYCOOK, AROTTENPLANNER, ANDTHE worstwrapper of presents in recorded history, my only real qualification for writing this book is that I have the example of my brilliant husband, Leo, who is not only an ace cook, but having been in the Army, knows all about organization and delegation. I also have some marvellous friends, who with true Christmas spirit came up with countless anecdotes and ideas.
They include: Ewa Lewis, Roger and Rowena Luard, Rosemary and David Nolan, Candida Crewe, Christopher Chamberlain, Susanna Franklyn, Bob Kay, Susan Kyle, Jennifer Sherborne, Christopher Moorsom, Angela Sallitt, Pegotty Henriques, Rosie Cheetham, David D’Eath, Antonia Hunt, Tita Carter, Lesley Garner, Don Grant, Adrian and Felicity Rowbotham, Carole Taylor and Johanna Powell.
I should also like to thank my publishers, Geoffrey Strachan and Anne Askwith, for editing the book, and Annalise Kay and Beryl Hill, for so nobly typing the manuscript.
INTRODUCTION TO THIS NEW EDITION
IAMPARTICULARLYPLEASEDTHAT HOWTOSURVIVE
Christmas is back in print again in this lovely new edition because I think Christmas needs all the help itcan get. What should be such a happy time for families to get together and enjoy themselves is so often regarded with unholy dread.
I have only made minuscule changes to the text where things were inaccurate or seemed totally out of date. This is because I think one must remain loyal to one’s prejudices.
Flipping through the pages, however, I did notice that, although the book was written only twelve years ago, life has changed so much that it already seems aperiod piece. There are no chapters, for example, on how to cope as a working wife or a lone parent, or who should shoulder the burden of cooking andputting the fairy on the Christmas tree in a gayrelationship, or how to stop animal-rights campaigners lobbing bombs into Santa’s Grotto because his reindeer aren’t being paid double for working the Christmas night.
that life has changed so much since the book was written that it already seems like a period piece. There are no chapters, for example, on how to cope as a working wife or a lone parent, or who should shoulder the burden of cooking and putting the fairy on the Christmas tree in a gay relationship, or how to stop animal-rights campaigners lobbing bombs into Santa’s Grotto because his reindeer aren’t being paid double for working the Christmas night.
But if things have changed, problems remain. In a spirit of goodwill, my favourite divorcé asked a woman who’d been kind to him in New Zealand to spend Christmas in his tiny Chelsea flat. A week later she rang to ask if it was OK for her father, who was nearly eighty, to come and stay as well. As soon as this was agreed, she asked if Daddy could bring his new boyfriend. As it was Christmas, my divorced friend said yes – and a riotous time was had by all.
I was amused when a much younger friend of mine pointed out that it was such bad luck for Jesus having a birthday so near Christmas. But how many of us, as we bellyache about taxpayers’ money and Domeimprovements, remember that the millennium is supposed to be celebrating the birth of the Prince of Peace?
I was amused when a much younger friend of mine pointed out that it was such bad luck for Jesus having a birthday so near Christmas. But how many of us, as we bellyache about rocketing taxes, plummeting interest rates and increasing violence, remember that Christmas is supposed to be celebrating the birth of the Prince of Peace?
fighting, do try and wait until Boxing Day to bump off
Just as a new-born baby was the centre of attention 2,000 years ago, it is vital not to forget – as the whole fabric of marriage collapses, to be replaced by serial stepfathers, single mothers, extended families, live-in lovers, gay and lesbian relationships and goodness knows what other permutations – that it is the children who matter at Christmas. And as they loathe adults fighting, do try and wait until Boxing Day to murder your ex-husband.
AFEWYEARSAGOON WOMAN’SHOUR , IHEARDA farmercomplaining about the cruel way in which he was compelled to rear turkeys. Because the housewife wanted a cheap Christmas dinner, the wretched birds were force-fed, and put on weight so quickly that they had to stagger round on legs too weak to support their vast bulk, and often had heart attacks long before Christmas. He was caught in a trap, the farmer explained, because he needed the money, and if he didn’t rear turkeys in this way, other farmers would.
Ever since, I have been haunted by this image of the farmer and his turkeys. It seems to symbolize today’s family – particularly the housewife – staggering under the unnecessary toil and financial pressures of Christmas, which should be a season of love andjoy, but which many of us dread, feeling only passionate relief when it’s all over.
The reason for this, I think, is that Christmas goes on too long. Not only does the entire country grind to a halt for a fortnight over the actual holiday, but
Christmas starts in the shops in September, so that by the time you get to 25 December you’re absolutely fed up to the walnut-filled cavities with the whole thing.
Matters are not helped by journalists – me included – who not only have to write their Christmas pieces weeks, or even months, before Christmas week and before the full horror has started, but who are all so frantic for a new angle that they make their readers feel madly guilty if they are not disguising unsightly loo chains with homemade tinsel, and fricassee-ing burst balloons and cracker mottoes on Boxing Day.
Christmas is also an uneasy mingling of festivals. Originally, midwinter and the return of the sun after the shortest day were celebrated by a prolonged booze-up, a mixture of the Roman Saturnalia and the German Yule, in which people decked their houses with evergreens, exchanged presents, visited friends and generally made merry. It was only later, in about the fourth century AD, that this midwinter holiday was chosen as the most suitable time to celebrate the birth of Christ, with its message of peace on earth and looking after those less fortunate than ourselves.
The conflict thus comes because we feel that we deserve – like the early Romans – to be enjoying ourselves and having a blow-out, but feel – like the early Christians – that we ought to be doing good to others at the same time. Alas, those we should invite to spend Christmas with us – widowed Rich Great Aunt Phyllis who grumbles all the time or the lonely friendless colleague at work – are often the people who bore and irritate us the most.
Stress is also added these days because so many people are out of work; and the only thing most of
them can afford to do over Christmas is to watch television, which bombards them with images of plenty and exhortations to spend more and more. But Christmas in any family is a time of financial pressure, when breadwinners feel they are falling short. Any family can do without a holiday, or a new carpet, or central heating, but at Christmas, because everyone is doing more or less the same thing at the same time, comparisons are inevitable. If you can’t afford a turkey, a tree or presents, you can’t run and hide. This applies whether you are on the breadline in Belfast, or being badgered by your wife in Belgravia to give a party for 300.
One comfort, however, despite the journalists’ constant harking back to the good, old, simple, noncommercial days, is that nothing has really changed. Thus we find poor Lord Fermanagh, on 12 January 1712, wearily writing how relieved he was that Christmas was at last over: ‘It has been a troublesome time, every day with the noise of either drums, trumpets, hautboys, pipes or fiddles, some days 400 guests, very few days under 100, so that, besides the vast expense, it has been very tiresome.
Having decided to write a book about surviving andsimplifying Christmas, which would at least help myself, I was then faced with the problem of research. Looking back through my diaries from 1971 to 1984, I found a distressing number of blank pages between the beginning of each December and the middle of each January, because Christmas itself always took over and I was too frantically busy or knackered to chronicle events.