Dear reader,
My parents didn't really "do'" Christmas. They went to stay with friends and at thirteen years old I copied them. I went to stay with my school friend Karen who lived in Derbyshire. She lived in a beautiful house with a lake in the grounds, where in fact I caught my first fish, a small trout. Her parents were extremely kind to me and treated me as one of their own. Her mother did a stocking for me and I was given lots of presents.
But I have always had a problem with presents. My mother didn't ever give me a wrapped present and my father certainly did no such thing. But they weren't the presents I wanted as you will see if you read the poem. Being loved and cared for by someone kind and generous are life's presents, they need no wrapping paper. Better perhaps with simple brown paper and plain ribbon. Love is the best present you can give anyone, simply that.
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From Gerard Manley Hopkins December 9th 1868 in Surrey
'Honeysuckle out and catkins hanging in the thickets.'
From Nathaniel Hawthorne December 11th 1855 in Lancashire
'This has been a foggy morning and forenoon, snowing a little now and then, and disagreeably cold....At about twelve there is a faint glow of sunlight, like the gleaming reflection from a not highly polished copper kettle.'
*
Presents I don’t want presents tied and ribboned. Encouragement doesn’t wrap well in green tissue, praise in paisley boxes or love in thick gold paper. I don’t want guilt compressed into an envelope, with cheque. A parcel of thoughtfulness, a parcel of interest, a parcel of embracing, a parcel of safety, were the presents I hoped for under the festive tree. The presents I hoped for which were not to be. * Perhaps it is a bit too early to wish you all a very happy Christmas. But I do. And I hope lots of love is spread thickly in your direction on Christmas Day and that you have a lovely time.
With very best wishes, Patricia
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