Why I’m keeping my Christmas tree up until February

“Anne,” our neighbour demanded earlier in December, “where is your Christmas wreath? Your bare front door is shaming the street.”

Of the many things wrong with this remark, I decided to pick just one. I summoned all my seasonal outrage. “It’s Advent. Our decorations go up on Christmas Eve…”

As any fule kno, Christmas started on 24th, which is when our tree went up. Similarly, instead of opening all our presents on the 25th, we like to spread our unwrapping – and giving – over the full 12 days of Christmas. Every year, members of our church would ply us with presents, mostly for the children. If we’d opened everything on the same day – part of a gruelling round of midnight communion, filling stockings, 8am communion, mid-morning service and late afternoon Christmas dinner – the orgy of materialism would have eclipsed all meaning of Christmas.

Which of course means keeping the decorations up until Epiphany, on 6th January. At least. So who are these people who are already taking their Christmas trees down?

I’ve seen it happening on social media. Times Radio presenter Stig Abell got quite the earful from followers when he announced: “Yes, it’s Boxing Day and, yes, the tree’s come down. The relief!”

Boxing Day? I was cheered by the outpouring this ellicited, including the comments: “But it’s only the second day of Christmas!” and “My wife took ours down, too, and it’s hard to describe the stress and disappointment at Christmas being brought to such an abrupt early end.”

I agree. Which is why I like to keep mine up until February.

Some years ago, our extremely ill middle daughter was absent for Christmas. That year, we cut down a beautiful fir in our garden which was set to grow far too big. It had real cones and smelt like a Norse fairy tale. I decorated it with tears soaking my cheeks. When Epiphany arrived far too soon, it was still fresh and vibrant as a fortnight earlier. I thought: why spend so much heartbreak dressing it, only to throw it away?

And then I heard a priest on the radio say he kept church decorations up till Candlemas Eve (1st February). When I learned that Her late Majesty went even further, keeping her tree up each year until the anniversary of her father’s death, 6th February, I had all the excuses I needed not to have everything down and packed away by 6th January, the more recent traditional cutoff.

That first year I kept the tree up well into the new year, I watched as the dreary nakedness of January dimmed everyone else’s windows, and the pavements filled with conifer-skeletons awaiting collection. But I also felt, at first, luxurious, then slightly embarrassed. Would I get another neighbourly rebuke for slovenliness? Eventually, I packed away all the decorations except the tree and lights… and continued to brave it out, shutters open.

My birthday is 2nd January – a date I used to dread until my children taught me how to love it. Now, I use it as an excuse for a party, keeping our decorations green and living over the New Year and during my birthday dinner.

I’ve also learnt to take tree decoration seriously – and personally, after our normally clever cleaner made an utter dog’s leftovers of it a couple of years ago.

This year, our splendid tree came from pinesandneedles.com. We made sure all the light wires were pushed, not wound, deep in-between branches, twinkling like candles in the forest. Delicate gold crystal angels were placed out of reach of dogs and children. Real, gold wax candles were carefully positioned with nothing above the flames. Yes, of course we light these. And, of course, we’ve often set fire to the tree.

It’s all one colour scheme, with nothing artificial on view – and buckets of fresh water hidden below the branches.

This year, I also brought in armfuls of ivy from the garden to twist round myriad tiny lights winking on bannisters, right up through the hall to the top of the house. There’s also fresh greenery on our welcoming wreath. All of it will be enjoyed for weeks to come yet… unlike the tinsel that was put up in town in November and has been looking tacky for some time.

The star atop my moral superiority is that my way is more sustainable. There’s no council collection of old trees by February, so we have to strip it down, axe it up and burn in a roaring grate: our final goodbye as days lengthen and Lent beckons, promising Easter soon.

An Elegant Solution, by Anne Atkins, is available on Amazon