CHRISTMAS AROUND THE WORLD; FLIGHT OF FANCY THAT GIRDLES THE EARTH

Wanganui Chronicle, 24 December 1947, Page 6

CHRISTMAS AROUND THE WORLD; FLIGHT OF FANCY THAT GIRDLES THE EARTH

(Specially Written for "The Chronicle" by H. George Franks)

The one festival that is universally celebrated, Ho matter how great thee austerity or how anxious the times, is Christmas. No crisis is so great as to swamp Christmas rejoicings; no economic problems so complicated as to interfere with this world-wide anniversary.

The Christmas message, Goodwill to all men, is one of the few slogans that really means something, not only in lands recognised as Christian but also in lands wherever Christianity has permeated. And that means to the uttermost corners of the earth. Were you able to make a flying tour around the world in a multiengined bomber on Christmas Day, you could '’celebrate” the day at every place where you touched down. Suppose we make the journey (on paper—although to judge from the way round-the-world records are now being made it will not be long before such a trip will be possible as a sort of special Christmas tour). Let us start in Britain, where, despite the dark cloud of austerity and the rumblings of the crisis-storm, there is one thing that will not be exclusively made for export: the Christmas feeling and spirit. Housewives and parents have become experts in adapting and making-do for Christmas; the war years with their shortages, their racketeering in toys and black marketing in drinks and turkeys, have proved strange out of stern experiences.

Starting The Tour

So British children will still hang up their stockings in the sure knowledge that Father Christmas will visit them, even though his bag of gifts is labelled “austerity.” Parties will still split the cold air wth their jollity, even though the side-tables are not loaded with the traditional nuts and crystallised fruits, hot punch and crackers. For in Britain Christmas will always be the festival of the home, consecrated by family reunions; yet only enlivened this year by home-made decorations, a token plate of mince-pies, and a shopbought Christmas pudding. But it will still be Christmas, —a happy prophecy of better times to come when the shops will be ablaze with those signs of good cheer which, until Britain won her war, had always been regarded as the true accompaniments of Christmas.

In the frosty air of the Christmas dawn, then, we start off on our tour. As we cross the Continent, shortages and austerity seem so marked as almost to curtain off France, Germany, and Italy from a view of any form o; celebrations. Yet there are a few pathetic signs that in France and Italy, for example, the Christmas spirit still lives. The celebrations, however, take the form of “outside” parties rather than home celebration’s, for th e restaurants and hotels, at a price, can provide the seasonable fare unobtainable under domestic rationing or private purchasing.

Away off in Holland, of course, the Dutch have already celebrated their St. Nicolas—of early Christmas—at the beginning of December, using typical Dutch ingenuity and optimism to mark what, even through the war years, has always been so typically a family rejoicing and season of pre-sent-giving.

Despite India’s Sun

So on we fly. across lhe blue of the Mediterranean, where small groups of those of Christian faith far from their homes are uniting in a mixture of church-going and outdoor parties. In Cairo and along the Suez, in the scattered oases of the Arabian

Desert, and on to India, sounds of revelry in the burning sun reach our ears, all preceded or accompanied by the worldwide orgy of present-giving We decide to land in the split country of India. Despite the blazing sun, over a great part of India Christmas can still be made a real festival with all th© necessary cold. Fires blaze in the hearths in Pakistan; the blasts ot the Punjab blow with increasing coldness around Kipling’s Lahore; the Afridis on the North-West Frontier shiver in their poshteens and crouch together in their foetid caves. But down in Bombay, Madras, Calcutta, and a score of other cities that have recently burst into the news with anything but a Christmas spirit, we shall k find the day being celebrated amidst all the delights of outdoor scenery. Bathing parties, riding sorties, and motoring trips to beauty spots form the chief items on the day’s programmes; and although in some cases the roast turkey might be lacking, there will always be : Christmas pudding in some form or other, even though a branch of cactus must take the place of the holly or mistletoe as a colourful decoration. And despite prohibition in some of the provinces, we shall just about manage to get a nip of something to cheer us on our way farther East.

Troubled Land Will Find Peace

Another rush through scintillating space and we come to a brief halt in Burma, which provides a luscious though rich dish of roast duck as a Christmas offering, garnished with mangosteens or pawpaws; for the Burmese, typical orientals, have always thought the Christmas idea of giving presents (and receiving bucksheesh in return) an excellent one. Next stop will be the Dutch East Indies where the Christmas idea has been so strongly implanted by the Dutch that even this troubled land will, for the brief space of this Christmas Day, find a peace and

“cease-fire” which no resolution of UNO could ever produce. Generosity in the form of fruits, spices, and liquor again shows how the spirit of giving is predominant in this festival, made all the more colourful by the Indonesians’ gay dresses and the lavish decorations of Nature herself. Off now in a hurry to Australia, where Christmas is so essentially an outdoor celebration, marked by picnics and beach parties. As in South Africa, the weather is so dependable that plans are laid long ahead for spectacular open-air reunions of families, friends, or societies, while on Boxing Day there are concentrated the greatest sporting events of the year. No gatherings around th e hearth here, or in South Africa; no playing of drawing-room games; no drinking of warming potions. Fotin the Antipodes December 25 is the Great Festival of the Sun, where even Nature is at peace herself and pouring out goodwill to those who woo her.

Overflowing Shops

Evening draws on. So fortified by sunshine and good cheer, we set off on th e long hop back to Britain. We are tempted to halt for a while at one of the many island paradises of the Pacific, where every prospect pleases and only man is vile—and where even man is seldom vile at. Christmas-time. But time speeds us on, far above the revelry of Honolulu; hesitantly hovering over the romance that entices us to drop in on Christmas Island, where Christmas is just an ordinary day owing to its isolation; speedily rushing across the United States where the overflowing shops and bulging stores would fill oversea visitors with pangs of envy were they not so full of goodwill as to congratulate them on their good fortune and their riches; and thus back to Britain, amidst the echoes of old-time carols pealing from churchbells, just in time to join at midnight in singing the traditional song ot goodwill, “Auld Lang Syne.”

The tour is over. It has been Christmas all the way, Christmas all the day, Christmas right around the world.