Magic of Christmas Played at Little Christmas Eve

I just turned 60 years old. A quick calculation takes us back to 1964. Of course, I can’t remember the first few years—who can? The earliest Christmases I recall were spent with my grandparents. But every year, we had a Christmas tree at home, which we danced around (YES, that’s a Danish tradition) on Christmas Day. Just to avoid any confusion: Little Christmas Eve was December 23rd, Christmas Eve was December 24th, and Christmas Day was December 25th.

In 1970, our house was renovated, and the living room became significantly larger. This also meant that the family decided we would only celebrate Christmas Eve with my grandparents every other year. The other years, we would celebrate at home. And 1970 was the first year we celebrated at home.

In December, we made an Advent wreath. It hung gracefully from the ceiling on red silk ribbons and grew drier and drier since it was made of real spruce. Just like the Christmas tree when it finally appeared—yes, I deliberately say appeared, because where did it come from?

To this day, I still don’t know.

The Advent wreath was pretty much the only Christmas decoration in the house during December. However, mischievous paper elves sneaked in and clung to the picture frames around the living room. Their numbers grew—perhaps they multiplied during the summer? No, calm down. That’s not how elves work. They multiplied because we received sheets of paper elves when we, for instance, shopped at the local clothing store. Some years, they handed out Christmas calendars; other years, it was paper elves. We cut them out eagerly—some were meticulously trimmed, while others were a bit rough around the edges. Our patience levels varied.

So, the paper elves swarmed the pictures in the living room, and we loved it.

At some point between 1970 and 1983, paper stars also found their way into the two windows facing the garden. These stars had electric bulbs inside, radiating Christmas peace. Everyone started hanging these stars, so naturally, my parents had to follow suit.

But I still didn’t know where the Christmas tree came from.

There was a flurry of activity baking Christmas cookies and making homemade confections. Oatmeal balls and cornflake clusters made with cocoa and a type of coconut oil called Palmin—there wasn’t enough money for real chocolate.

A few days before Christmas Eve, my mother made Christmas centerpieces. These were variations using the same materials from previous years. Only the clay and spruce branches, along with the tall, slender candles, were new. You could call it tradition—or perhaps frugality.

These centerpieces were placed on the coffee tables—we had two, one at each end of the living room with matching sofa groups. The TV was by one of them, and that’s where we usually hung out. So the centerpiece on that table was typically sturdier to endure the battle for spots on the sofa among four kids.

The spruce branches for these decorations came from somewhere—we didn’t have any spruce trees ourselves—but they were usually bought at the local scout Christmas market in a bundle tied with white string.

But I still didn’t know where the Christmas tree came from.

Little Christmas Eve was special. A Christmas tablecloth graced the table, and my mother baked æbleskiver (a type of Danish pancake ball) in the kitchen after dinner was cleared away. My uncle usually came by, and the adults had gløgg (mulled wine), while we kids might have had juice—I honestly don’t remember. But æbleskiver with blackcurrant jam and powdered sugar were heavenly.

While we sat around the table, the radio was turned on, and the program "Knas og Quiz" (Crunch and Quiz) became the highlight of the evening. This was a beloved Danish radio show featuring a mix of trivia questions and popular Christmas tunes, which many families enjoyed as part of their holiday traditions. If the last two digits of your phone number were called, you had the chance to dial in and participate in the quiz. Unfortunately, we never got through—always a busy signal on the other end, likely because countless others with the same ending digits were also listening across Denmark. Between the quiz segments, festive Christmas melodies played, making it a truly cozy experience in our little home, which still had no Christmas tree in sight.

When my uncle went home, we kids were usually told it was bedtime. With bellies full of æbleskiver and jam, it didn’t take long for us to fall asleep.

But I still didn’t know where the Christmas tree came from.

Christmas magic worked its wonders in the living room overnight. On Christmas morning, when we woke up, the tree stood there, decorated with beautiful white candles in holders attached to its branches. Back then, they were real candles. Only later in my childhood—or perhaps my teenage years—did an electric light chain appear.

Had the elves brought the tree in and set it up so we could wake up to this marvel? We were elated by the Christmas magic. As we grew older, we realized it was my dad who brought the tree in, attached the stand, and, together with my mom, decorated it late at night with the ornaments that belonged to my childhood Christmas.

Where and when my dad bought the tree, and where he hid it on our farm, I still don’t know. After we moved out, the tree would be bought and left by the house gable until it was brought inside. Eventually, the tree started coming in earlier than in the old days when we still believed in Christmas magic.

This left a gap in my upbringing. When I moved out and decided to have my own Christmas tree, I had no idea how to make it stand upright, let alone decorate it or arrange the lights without risking a fire.

I think it was entirely intentional on my parents’ part. The magic of Christmas had to endure even after we left home. We were meant to return home to them for Christmas. We weren’t supposed to manage this ourselves until we truly had our own nests with a partner who hopefully knew how to set up a Christmas tree. So, the magic of Christmas lasted for many years. Eventually, it reversed. My parents began spending their final Christmases at my home with my partner.

But even then, we never spoke of where the Christmas tree came from.