The number at my Christmas table is growing ever smaller

When I imagine the perfect Christmas lunch, I think of the end of A Christmas Carol in which Scrooge turns up unexpectedly at his nephew’s house and discovers a warm family gathering: ‘Nothing could be heartier… Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!’

Back in my youth, the Christmas lunches hosted by my father, while not exactly hearty, were opportunities to get together with my extended family – my three half-siblings, my mother and sister, my grandmother Edith, an old friend of my father’s called Vincent. Now all those people are dead, save for my sister, Sophie, and one remaining half-sibling, Christopher. Indeed, the Grim Reaper has been particularly busy these past few years. I lost my half-sister Kasia in 2018, then my half-sister Gaia last year, the product of my father’s third marriage. This year I lost my half-brother David. I’m still having a Christmas lunch with Sophie and Christopher in Devon, but having lost three siblings in the past five years I imagine we’ll all be thinking the same thing: who’s next?

Caroline also has a lot of half-siblings and mercifully they’re all still alive. But the days when they would meet up on Christmas Day, and bring their children, are behind us. It’s not that anyone has quarrelled, more just they’re deciding to do their own thing. This drifting apart of extended families seems to happen organically, with the effort required to get everyone together increasing exponentially each year. It’s partly that cooking large Christmas lunches is such a chore, particularly as the children grow up and eat more, and, since that usually falls to the matriarchs, it’s not surprising that they become less inclined to arrange these things.