In Brighton, it feels Christmas was barely acknowledged this year. There were the usual lights down North Street. The clock tower shimmered in gold. But where were the Christmas trees? None in the Old Steine with all the road works. None in Churchill Square. Not even in Palmeira Square – the park fenced off months earlier than necessary.
Of course, shops do their part, but Churchill Square shopping centre was the only one to make the news – looking more like a modern interpretation of the rings of Saturn than a real tree. Or some member of staff had a set of pre-loved hula-hoops going spare. Someone should check out Strasbourg – France’s capital of Christmas – on YouTube. They could teach us a thing or two about Christmas. There, the narrow streets are crowded with shoppers searching for candles and lebkuchen in an atmosphere thick with gluhwein and roasted chestnuts. And there’s a large Christmas tree. No doubt Hove Town Hall was doing its bit to save the planet, but it was as miserable as a cave in the palaeolithic era – that’s before the invention of the match.
This year, my wife Tetiana and her friend Kseniia, who comes from near Odesa, decorated our tree. We always buy a real one. As a small boy, we had an artificial one – spindly and silver that lived in the loft. We had pets – cats or dogs – so may be my parents wanted to avoid dropped needles. But now, long grown up, my wife and I hum and haw over the different shapes and sizes found at the corner shop. This year, we have two trees – one Nordmann fir indoors and another miniature one outdoors that’s lasted a few years. We had the Nordmann delivered – I’d have done my back in carrying it back home.
Along with gold and red baubles, coloured lights and wooden ornaments of Victorian winter scenes, I half expected Kseniia and Tetiana to cover it in spider webs. Why? Well, there’s a Ukrainian fairytale that goes something like this.
Once upon a time, there was a poor widow who lived with her children in a small hut. They were too poor to think about Christmas. But one summer, a pinecone fell onto the earthen floor of the hut. And what did it do? It took root. The children watered it and watched it grow into a tree by Christmas Eve. Unfortunately, there was no money to decorate it, and they had to leave it alone in the dark and silent room as they went to bed.
The night was so cold even the spiders crept in from the outside, hiding in the soft needles of the tree to keep warm. And as they scurried hither and thither, they left silvery cobwebs hanging across the branches of the tree. In the early morning, expecting it to be like any other, the family saw the cobwebs hung about the tree glittering silver and gold in the early morning light and were overjoyed at the sight.
There are other versions of the story. In one, the children open the windows, and when the first rays of the sun touch the webs, they turn into gold and silver – the family never live in hardship again. Today, trees in Germany, Poland and Ukraine are often covered in pavuchky – little spiders – and spider webs, pavutyny. It might explain where tinsel comes from.
Our tree from two years ago died suddenly when we moved it out into the direct sunlight at the front of our house – if you can remember what sunlight is. It clearly preferred the shade of the back patio. We won’t make that mistake again – it was almost like losing a pet. But our little one out the front has survived for four years now. I don’t know what type it is – a spruce of some sort.
After the childish forgetfulness of Christmas, and the alcohol-induced optimism of New Year – over as soon as we’ve got stuck on the second line of Auld Lang Syne – January stretches out as gloomily as Rachel Reeves’ last budget speech. What makes it worse is seeing the piles of dead Christmas trees left around the city ready for recycling. They’d come so far – from the depths of a Norwegian forest or a farm in north Kent – to light up our living rooms, how can we discard them so easily? There’s been so little cheer in 2025, I’ll be hoping my little trees cling on for a few more years.
Alistair McNair is Leader of the Conservatives on Brighton & Hove City Council.
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