Nobody does Christmas like Erin’s bards

WHEN it comes to Yuletide, Ireland is the best place to reside and when it comes to capturing the festive spirit no one does it better than Irish writers.

When describing the Irish experience during the festive period, the literary range of Erin’s bards is vast, catering for all ages and tastes. Whether it be Alice Taylor’s nostalgic reminisces of her Cork childhood, or James Joyce’s observations on Irishness, or the wildness of Shane MacGowan’s Irish in exile, every human feeling is present in Erin’s Christmas stories. All shades of emerald are painted, and every emotion of Yuletide is explored by Irish wordsmiths.

The Irish literary tradition has been adept at observing family, local community, the importance of pub and pulpit and writing about them in a uniquely Irish way. Such are the literary skills of Ireland’s writers that their readership can immediately identify with the characters and the community that they live in. Yet, whilst being uniquely local they also have a universal appeal that touch readers beyond the shores of Erin.

The Night Before Christmas

When it comes to nostalgically describing an Irish childhood no one does it better than Alice Taylor. The Cork writer was born in 1938 on a farm in Lisdangan, Newmarket in the north of the county. She did not start publishing her stories until well into her middle age. Yet when The Night Before Christmas (1994) was released, it immediately struck such a nostalgic chord with Irish readers both at home and abroad, it became an immediate festive classic.

The book is a loving trip down the memory lane of her childhood firmly rooted in rural traditions around Christmas. The story brings readers into her home where she begins to describe the rural Yuletide rituals of her childhood, from the Headmaster dismissing school to formally start the holiday, to her neighbours ensuring that all the children had completed the important task of writing to Santa. Her books are warm and amusing and offer a window into life as it was in mid-20th century rural Ireland. When reading her tales you can almost smell the turf and taste the stew that is cooking on the hob. But above all, the secret to Taylor’s success is that she is a real craftswoman at describing how Christmas was once celebrated in rural Ireland. Her books are rich in a reminiscence that can warm any Irish heart during the twelve cold nights of Christmas.

Kerry Christmas

Irish writers are masters at nostalgia but equally they are second to none when it comes to comedy. None are more funny than the Yuletide tales of John B Keane (above) in his hilarious An Irish Feast. These are 50 tales from Kerry which—with a nod and wink to the reader—describes rural Kerry characters and their comings and goings at Christmastide.

The yarns are set in rural Kerry and bring to life memorable characters such as Aenias Mackson who spends his money fast so that it doesn’t burn a hole in his pocket and Hiccups O’Reilly, who mysteriously disappears for seven years one Christmas Eve.

These modern fables draw on Gaelic folklore and describe the idiosyncrasies and foibles of the characters with the most humorous of touches. At the heart of the tales are messages about compassion and forgiveness which are true Christmas messages if ever there were ones.

Aside from writing An Irish Feast, Keane was a serious writer and was President of the Irish PEN society. His two sons were also journalists, and his nephew is the internationally renowned investigative journalist Fergal Keane. However, regardless of his writing pedigree, it is his tales of a Kerry Christmas that Keane will be best loved and remembered for as they bring light and laughter to even the darkest of winter nights.

A Yuletide Tale by Joyce

Irish writers have mastered the ability to write with nostalgic and humorous eye better than anyone. However, when it comes to sorrow they are in a league of their own. A writer who pens a Christmas tale and calls it The Dead must be assured of his own literary skills and the ability of his readers to understand his message. James Joyce trusted his own abilities and his Irish readers abilities to understand the meaning behind his story about love and identity.

The tale centres around the well-to-do Dublin family the Morkans’ annual Christmas Epiphany dance, which is one of the ‘great affairs’ in the city’s social calendar. The central characters are Gabriel and Greta Conroy. He is a successful teacher and fully committed West Briton, his wife is originally from the west of Ireland. During the social gathering of the year Greta becomes distant after one of the guests sings a traditional Irish ballad The Lasses of Aughrim. Later she confesses to her husband that song reminded her of her first love Michael Furey. The 17-year-old Michael died as a consequence of consumption caused by the winter nights that he stood outside her window begging her not to leave for Dublin.

Gabriel realises, that for all his urbane sophistication and wealth, Greta has never loved him the way she loved Michael, an ordinary rural Irish boy. His awakening happens on the Feast Day of the Epiphany that it is not West Britain, but Ireland that she loves.

The Dead was the last short story in Dubliners which was released in June 1914 on the eve of the Great War. In less than two short years, Ireland’s political Epiphany would lead to an Easter Rising. Ever the visionary, Joyce saw the storm coming in Ireland even when it was covered in a deep blanket of West Briton snow and ended the story with the lines: “Snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.”

Santa Shane

Few pop lyricists, no matter how skilful they might be at writing a clever rhyme to a tune, are poets. There are some exceptions to the rule including Bob Dylan who was awarded the Nobel Prize for his literary talent. Another exception was the lead lyricist of the Pogues, Shane MacGowan. The punk-folk band’s frontman’s life could not have been more Yuletide if Charles Dickens had penned it. Shane Patrick Lysaght MacGowan, was born on Christmas Day in 1957 in Kent to Irish parents. Shortly after he was born, the family returned to Ireland and Shane spent most of his early childhood in Tipperary.

In the early 1960s, the family returned to England where the young MacGowan won a literary scholarship to Westminster School, one of the most prestigious public schools in England. In true wild Shane fashion, he was expelled for drug offences and, after leaving school, he began to become involved in the London Punk scene. The young MacGowan became a well-known face on the New Wave music circuit mixing with The Sex Pistols and The Clash.

In 1982, with Spider Stacy, he formed The Pogues whose unique blend of punk and traditional Irish music became an immediate success across the UK and in Ireland. Classics such as A Pair of Brown Eyes marked Shane as a songwriter who was able to fuse poetry into pop and both fans and critics took notice of the emerging musical maverick.

Fairytale of New York

Yet it was with the Christmas classic, Fairytale of New York in 1987 that MacGowan’s writing talents would reach a global audience and universal critical acclaim. The origins of the song are disputed. However, one story is that their then producer, Elvis Costello, threw down a challenge saying that the band would not be able to write a Christmas song. Shane picked up the gauntlet and wrote an unholy Yuletide anthem.

The song, a duet with Kirsty MacColl, is a classic tale of an Irish immigrant being down on his luck at Yuletide. The character in the song finds himself on Christmas Eve daydreaming of the past whilst sleeping off a hangover in NYPD’s drunk tank. When a fellow old Irishman in the cell sings The Rare Old Mountain Dew, the narrator MacGowan dreams of an old lover. However, this is not Bing Crosby’s schmaltz reminisce. This is a proper Irish fighting dream between two bickering lovers and their ghosts of Christmas past.

As the song descends from love to vitriolic argument which pulls no punches: “You’re a bum you’re a punk/You’re an old slut on junk…” it is certainly not lyrics in the tradition of White Christmas. Yet there are signs of redemption in the song when Shane tells Kirsty’s character that he ‘can’t make it all alone, I’ve built my dreams around you.’

Although only reaching number two in the charts in 1987, the song has subsequently topped the charts. In 2023, just shortly after Shane’s death in November of that year, aged 65, his classic song took its rightful position as the Christmas number one. In the UK alone the combined sales of the song stand at 3.6 million and in December 2012, it was voted in an ITV poll as the nation’s favourite Christmas song.

In the UK, it is the most played festive song of the 21st century. MacGowan had written one of the most dark, but beautiful pieces of lyrical poetry because he was able to describe the Irish immigrant experience so poignantly. Stripping it of schmaltz but always keeping a sense of hope for those who are outside in the cold looking in at others around the Christmas tree.

Festive cheer is here

Irish writers have captured the Yuletide tradition in such a captivating way that when we read them, they give us pause to reminisce and reflect. Also, they remind us, it’s not what’s under the Christmas tree, but those who are around it. Erin’s Bards paint pictures of cherished Christmas memories with family and friends. Yet they also speak to core Irish values in their Yuletide tales. That the values of community and compassion are important, especially for those who a left out in the cold on what is the happiest of occasions. So here is a wee Yuletide poem to remind us to show kindness to everyone in this festive period. Merry Christmas and all the best when it comes, David.

Cold Comfort

The dominion of snow is where we’ll go,

In winter’s way with whiteness,

And little warmth to fill our day.

Bruegel’s winter landscapes are hung from affluent entrance halls,

But are cold comfort to we outside shivering in snowfall.

Seasonal rituals of crisp walks and mulled wine,

Are but leisured luxuries for we who skate on thin ice.

As December sharpens its teeth and frost bites,

We pavement people pray for a little more alms,

To warm our palms, upon the feast of St Stephen,

Upon the feast of St Stephen.

Dr David McKinstry is a teacher and poet whose poems are widely published and broadcast across Ireland and in the UK. If any readers wish to share their literary output with him, they can contact him at: davmick38h@yahoo.co.uk