Melancholy memories are part of the Christmas experience for many.
Every Advent Sunday, I turn to a lovely poem by former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams, “Advent Calendar”. “He will come like last leaf’s fall,” it begins, “One night when the November wind / has flayed the trees to the bone”. And later: “He will come, will come / will come like crying in the night / like blood, like breaking / as the earth writhes to toss him free.” I don’t normally get on with Williams’s poetry – I’m willing to believe the fault is mine given the ex-Primate’s many intellectual and artistic accomplishments – but what I find very affecting in “Advent Calendar” is its acknowledgement of the melancholic aspects of Christmas, especially the northern Christmas. He alludes to the downcast and abandoned feel that the natural world takes on at this time of year. As well as the mention of flayed trees, there is reference to the “alien” beauty of the “shrinking earth”. One of my favourite pieces of music, Ralph Vaughan Williams’s glorious Fantasia On Christmas Carols, expresses something of the same sentiment, especially in its opening minutes, which incorporate the subdued, evocative melody of the old English folk carol “The Truth Sent from Above”.
