You may know someone who is from another country who is on their own and won’t be home for the holiday season.
Many of us see this season as one of busy family celebrations and may be unaware of those from other countries who will be on their own. While they may be glad to have time away from the office, being away from home for the holidays may not be so pleasing to them.
Exactly 35 years have passed since my year in England where I covered court, sports and theatre as a trainee journalist with the Thames Valley Series, a large regional newspaper chain.
I had never visited the UK and was getting to know it well after my September arrival. In a short period, I had traveled to North and South Wales, France and Scotland, which are mere jaunts from the 14 platforms at London Paddington (built in 1838 in the heart of London) compared to the distances Canadians travel to get around.
During the 1977 Christmas season, Britain was still celebrating the November arrival of the Queen’s first grandchild, Peter Phillips (who would marry Autumn Kelly of Montreal 31 years later). Primer Minister James Callaghan led the Labour Party and inflation was running at 15.8 per cent (vs. 4.2 per cent today). Abba (once attributed to be Sweden’s most lucrative export since the Volvo) was topping the world charts with its Arrival album and Fleetwood Mac had released its Grammy Award-winning Rumours album earlier that year.
My newspaper colleagues were skilled journalists, many of whom had come from Portugal, Spain and Germany. My assignment editor was Peter Brown, who was a few years older but had experience as a court reporter on London’s Fleet Street before being promoted to the Reading Post in Berkshire.
As Christmas approached, he asked me if I would join he and his family at their home outside Reading for Christmas. He picked me up outside my bedsit (British for small apartment) called the Albion Hotel on London Street across from the Reading Jail and the University of Reading on Christmas morning and we arrived for lunch at his parent’s house.
I will never forget the welcome they extended to me. They prepared a fabulous lunch, Christmas dinner and a delicious breakfast the next day. They included me in long distance calls with their relatives across the UK and even got my parents in Toronto on the phone to wish them a happy Christmas. It really did feel like a Toronto Christmas, but with an added warmth I will never forget.
Thirty-five years later, memories of the conversations, music, pub and the Brown’s welcome are crystal clear.
Maybe you know someone whose first holiday season in Canada on their own could be made just as memorable, thanks to your hospitality. It could be an experience you – and they – will never forget.
