My sister Florence and I, Queen and King for the day. Photos: Guillaume David.
As part of our 12 days of what Christmas means to me series, we meet Guillaume David, who shares his memories of his childhood celebrations in France – and the chance encounter that made him feel at home in Australia.
All my earliest memories of Christmas centre around a great gathering with my extended family in Soissons, north of Paris, which would happen sometime in that festive season window.
Sometimes we’d rent a big room in a restaurant but most of the time we’d eat at my great aunt’s. She’d make these crazy 10-course meals – smoked salmon, oysters, roast beef, roast lamb. It was the only time of the year I’d see my cousins, and we always had fun.
One time we visited my godfather, Guy, who owned a toy shop in Soissons. It was one of those quintessential magical toyshops of old – not like the toy shops of today where everything looks cold, boxed up, lined up on a shelf. Here, the toys were on display. You could touch them, play with them. That day he told me to “pick something you like”. I can’t remember what I picked, probably because the toy itself didn’t matter as much as the feeling in that moment.
Another Christmas he gave me my first video game system – the original Nintendo Entertainment System. Until that day, the television was just something you watched. You were a passive spectator. To plug this machine in and be able to interact – it blew my mind. Everyone had a turn. We were all terrible at it, but we couldn’t stop laughing.
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were usually spent at home in Aulnay Sous Bois, just outside Paris. In most of the busier streets, they’d start stringing lights and elaborate arrangements across the roads and public squares in early December.
I know for a lot of people, winter is a depressing season. For us, it was the most exciting time of the year. The markets were more alive than ever; they’d sell all your favourite things. I remember getting excited just waiting in a bakery for my turn at the counter and looking at all the amazing pastries, unsure what to get but always getting the same thing – a Bûche de Noël, Grand-Marnier flavoured. When I smell those smells today I am thrown back to that time.
Festivities centred around big lunches with extended family at my great aunt’s home in Soissons.
We had many small traditions, and I’m not sure if they were French or specific to our family. For instance, my mother would wrap tiny glass animal figurines and hide them in the Christmas tree. My sister and I would pick one each day in the lead-up to Christmas. It was like our version of an advent calendar.
We never went to mass or anything but we had a very old nativity set with unmatched figurines from different sets. My mum would hide a tiny baby Jesus, which looked like a cacahuète (peanut) in the Christmas tree and on Christmas Day we’d have to find it. Every year she’d try to find a more challenging hiding spot for la cacahuète. You never know when these things will stop, which will be your last. But my sister and I are in our 40s now and it hasn’t stopped yet.
I’ll never forget my first Nintendo Entertainment System, a generous Christmas gift from my godfather, Guy.
The Galette des Rois was a Christmas fixture. It’s a sort of tart – a fragrant frangipane mixture enclosed in buttery pastry. It came with two gold crowns, usually made from cardboard but some were quite fancy. Hidden inside the tart was a tiny ceramic figurine or metal pin. We’d bake the galette, slice it and then, the youngest would go under the table. The oldest would choose a slice and ask, “Pour qui?” (For who?) and the youngest would pick a person at the table until all the slices were served. If you found the figurine in your slice you were king or queen for a day and could pick a fellow ruler to share the glory.
You don’t get a lot of snow that close to Paris but occasionally you get a dusting and once in a blue moon, a nice blanket. I remember one night my friend stayed over and we spent hours in my garden, hiding behind cars and trees and hurling snowballs. It’s funny because it’s very lively yet the snow makes everything more silent. It’s almost like being in a silent movie; everything is quiet, muted, but at the same time very animated. It’s not something you’ll get here in Australia.
My first Christmas here was wonderful because I had just gotten engaged to my Australian wife. But it didn’t feel like Christmas. It never does. All these things that make Christmas special for me do not exist in Australia. It’s too bright, too hot; the food is nothing special. Glazed ham feels like something you could eat any day, and don’t get me started on pavlova. I know there’s some big debate about who made it first, Australia or New Zealand. I’m sorry to tell you that it’s nothing to boast about. Someone dropped cream and fruit on a meringue. I don’t get it. What’s the big deal?
It would be a lie to say it’s not without its charms, though.
Once, we were celebrating Christmas with my wife’s family in Brisbane and my mother-in-law asked us to pick up some fresh seafood on Christmas Eve from a well-known shop. We stopped to ask a woman for directions and she replied, “Just follow the big prawn with the hat”. Such an Aussie thing, “big things”. I find it charming.
We arrived, and there was a very, very long line snaking out of the shop like the queue at a music concert. I thought, “We’ll be here forever in this sweltering heat”. But then people turned and started chatting with us. Complete strangers, and they were so friendly. That’s not something you’d experience in France – people mind their own business. I felt included and, being so new to the country at the time, it was a very nice feeling. I knew there was a chance that would be what my Christmases would be from now on, if I made Australia my new home. I knew I’d miss the French Christmas and I still do, but in that moment came a spark of belonging.
I really want my kids to experience what I did in France, because these will always be my best childhood memories and I want them to have that. But maybe we’ll find a cacahuète of our own.
At age two my daughter tasted her first Bûche de Noël in my family home in Aulney-sous-Bois. A pavlova does not compare.
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