Wednesday, January 06, 2021

Nollaig na mBan (Women's Christmas)


Nollaig na mBan (Women's Christmas) (Posted originally on January 6th, 2009)
The following is a copy of a column I wrote several years ago. I realize that not many of you may have heard of this beautiful old Irish tradition and surely it deserves an annual audience. I have also performed it as a spoken piece. And hosted my own Nollaig na mBans and so has my sister and daughter.
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"Little Christmas" - or "Women's Christmas" as my mother used to call it - always fell on January 6 and was a tradition unto itself. Maybe it was just a peculiarity of the time and place in which I grew up - Cork, Ireland in the fifties and sixties in the last century. (And I don't think I ever thought I would write "last century" with such cheerful abandon!)

I was remembering Women's Christmas and wondering whatever happened to it and if anyone in Ireland is carrying on its charm and wonder anymore, or are we all swept up permanently in the Big Day, December 25 itself. I've talked to some Ukrainian friends here and they celebrate their traditional Christmas on that day - Twelfth Night as it is known in England - but I believe that Women's Christmas was unique to a time and place in Ireland now gone forever. But I hope not.

The day of the Women's Christmas women were supposed to take it completely easy after all the hustle, bustle and hard work of the prior months, with the men now taking care of them and cooking and cleaning all day. I can assure you that this never happened in my house as, like many men of his era, my father didn't know one end of a broom from the other and boiling a kettle was the peak of his culinary skill.

However, my mother was the eldest female of her family so consequently her sisters, sisters-in-law, aunts and mother came around on that day and a smaller, daintier version of the Christmas meal was served. On the menu were: a bird (usually a fine roast chicken), a smaller lighter plum pudding and a lovely cake, usually dressed up in the fanciest of pink wrappers with silver sprinkles everywhere on the pink and white icing. The most delicate of my mother's tea sets was brought out, my own favourite, the lavender and pale green set. I would love to hold one of these little saucers up to the light and put my hand behind it, as it was so fragile you would see all your fingers through it.

Gifts were exchanged, usually the most feminine of presents, perfume or talc, bottles of Harvey's Bristol Cream were lined up on the sideboard and the fun would begin. I was encouraged by the grandmothers and great-aunts to always give my mother a little gift on that day for the woman that she was and I did, from a very early age. I would buy something small in Woolworth's on Patrick Street, a little comb or my personal favourite, those fiercely aromatic bath cubes, which were a whole three pence each. I would wrap it up in layers and layers of newspaper and it was always exclaimed over with the phrase, "Well now, I can hardly wait to use this"!

The coal fire would be stacked up high and already lit in the front room before anyone arrived, with Bord na Mona briquettes piled on the fender around it, and any male showing his face would be banished to some other spot in the house.

I remember the women gabbing all day and in the heel of the evening getting into the stories and songs of which I never, ever tired. My female cousins and I would sense the privilege of being included in all of this, there was a respect in us and never did we exemplify more the ideal of children being seen and not heard than on that day. Unasked, we poured the drinks and ran outside to boil another kettle to make a fresh pot or brought in the sandwiches and the fairy cakes and the chocolates and exotic biscuits in the later part of the day.

I remember the hoots of laughter as my aunts dipped their ladyfinger biscuits into their sherries, letting us have a small sample of the incredible taste. This was the one day in the year that I could get a sense of how the older women in my family were when they were young girls themselves. Full of fun and music and stories. I learned about their old boyfriends and who courted them, how one of my uncles had dated all four sisters before settling on my aunt. How wild he was and how she tamed him.

I'd learn of the sad miscarriages and the stillbirths, the neighbours who went peculiar from the change or the drink, the priests who got spoiled in Africa and became pagan; or who had the failing, the old great grandaunt who took on fierce odd after her son married. I didn't know what a lot of it meant then but I stored it all away to ponder on in later years.

They would dredge up old musical numbers from their single days and sing a few bars while one or two got up and showed off their dancing legs. Sweet Afton cigarettes were lit and my grandmother would puff on her dudeen and we all could hardly see each other for the clouds of smoke.

Stories were told and they would get caught up on all the doings they might have missed in their conversations all year, obscure marriages and births, sometimes in Australia or other far flung and exotic outposts of the Irish Diaspora. But most of all I remember the peals of laughter which resounded throughout the house all day and evening.

A moment would come in the midst of all the hilarity when the time for a spot of prayer came. Out of the big black handbags that never left their sides would come the rosaries. These would be threaded through their fingers and all the heads would bow in unison. I never knew the prayer and haven't heard it since but it was to St Brigid, the women's saint of Ireland, and it involved her taking all the troubles of the year before and parking them somewhere in heaven and thus they were never to be seen again. This was followed by a minute of silence (while St Brigid did what she was asked, I have no doubt), then a fervent "Thanks be to God and all His saints" and a reverent kiss on the cross of the various rosaries which were all tucked away carefully into the handbags again. Then the glasses of sherry or the cups of tea were refilled and the whooping and carrying on would begin afresh, the bothers and griefs of the past year now permanently banished and forever.

And I wish this for all of you out there - both at home and abroad.

24 comments:

  1. This is a thing from a lost time, I suppose. But oh, how well you paint the picture of these long gone days.

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    1. It has been revived Charlotte, much to my pleasure,
      as my article was quoted in many outlets over the years.

      Thank you!

      XO
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  2. Blogger showed me your post today - and flatly refuses to let me comment. I have tried several times over a number of hours. Perhaps it will relent this time.
    I LOVE this tradition. So many women the world over deserve and would appreciate just such a day.

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    1. Oh that is a nuisance EC, I have no idea what is happening. It's like me and Zoom, have had so many issues with it and sometimes it's a mountain to climb before I get in.

      Yes see comment to Charlotte above it has had quite a revival and I held many both in Toronto and rural Newfoundland where I lived for many years.

      XO
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  3. To the best of my knowledge, nothing like this exists in India. A tradition that certainly needs emulation everywhere here, at least a few times a year following the many festivals that we have.

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    1. Yes, honouring women and their hard work and the gathering of women is so important. I've always loved this feast. I may celebrate it later when The Plague is over :)

      XO
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  4. This sounds like a fabulous gathering tradition, I'm so glad you told it.

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    1. It is River, and I have held many. So hope to do so soon again!

      XO
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  5. Thank you for sharing this. I left the Christmas decorations up later than usual and now that I know of Women's Christmas, they will be taken down today. Such a lovely tradition celebrating women and Irish heritage.

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    1. Yes, and the gathering of women which is all important. I've had some wonderful times here with it, Mona.

      XO
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  6. That's great and good that the memory of the tradition won't die out even if the tradition does.

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    1. The tradition has been revived Andrew but the pandemic of course has put a temporary stop to it. I've heard from people around the world after the original article and post.

      XO
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  7. I laughed when I read about those bath cubes! Exactly what I got every year as a child for my mother on a Christmas shopping trip to Woolworth's, clutching my few shillings! We didn't have Nollaig na mBan but we did call this day Little Christmas. I remember visits to my Granny on the farm near Kilmallock, and how my mum and aunts and granny would sit around the fire of an evening, reminiscing about their youth and the fun they had and the romances and the heartbreaks! We were like you, drinking it all in, keeping quiet so they wouldn't realise how late it was getting and send us off to bed.
    Thanks for stirring up those old memories and I hope you'll enjoy many more Nollaig na mBans.

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    1. Marvellous stuff of which a childhood is made Molly. I remember the pink paper ribboning the smaller Christmas cake and all the silver sprinkles on top of the icing. And the smell of the sherry and the lady fingers being dipped into it. It brings tears that they found such joy in this one small little event every year.

      XO
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  8. I've never even heard of it but then just this week I saw an ad for a "Women's Christmas retreat"
    It's funny how the universe does that.
    It sounds just lovely, I wouldn't mind trying it.

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    1. A great new tradition for you Kylie, marvellous to get the women together and talk about the year past and the new one coming. I am so glad I had so many here.

      XO
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  9. It sounds like a great tradition, when women can just let their hair down and forget all their demanding and irritating menfolk for a while.

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    1. And totally be themselves. It should be a tradition everywhere, NIck.

      XO
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  10. What a great post! I can just imagine it. So very Irish, indeed.

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  11. What a wonderful and needed tradition. Seen through the lens of the isolation this last year, we can recognize its value even more.

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    1. So very true Linda, I so miss my get togethers but Zoom is a good substitute.

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  12. I love this post, I'm glad you repost it.

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