The Cauldron Happy Llani Christmas

Most sensible adults can just about cope with one set of Christmas preparations and celebrations. Imagine, then, having two of the most elongated festive cultures merged together, with no stone unturned, no tin of Quality Street left unopened, and no polvoron uneaten.

The Gibraltarian Christmas is not for the faint-hearted, and I hereby issue a health warning before you read any further.

The uninitiated might assume that a British ‘Colony’ would mean a quiet Christmas Eve indoors, sipping sherry and wrapping gifts while children are tucked up in bed lest Father Christmas catch them awake.

Think again. Being a predominantly Catholic nation with a Mediterranean culture means that December 24th is a special evening on the Rock, marked by large family dinners, Midnight Mass, and opening presents. Opening presents the night before Christmas! As an English person, I still find this hard to comprehend.

My own childhood Christmas meant being in bed by 9 o’clock, anticipating Santa Claus coming to town. Naturally, he did, and when I woke on Christmas Day there was a pillowcase stuffed with goodies at the end of my bed. Even though there were bigger gifts under the tree, we weren’t allowed to open them straight away.

First, we went to church, then came the big lunch, and only once everything was cleared away and the washing up done would we congregate in the front room to open presents. There were no large G&Ts or Bucks Fizz for breakfast—ours was a simple, rather frugal affair.

You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve carried on this tradition with my own children (minus the church visit). As my mum says, it makes Christmas last longer and keeps the suspense alive. It also means that those who do all the work can sit down comfortably and enjoy the gift exchange without worrying about basting a turkey.

A full-monty, double-bubble Llanito Christmas might include the following:

Stir-up Sunday, the last Sunday before Advent, when Christmas puddings and cakes are prepared. This centuries-old British custom takes its name from the Anglican prayer beginning “Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord”. The whole family gathers, each person taking a turn to stir the mixture and make a wish. Drink is usually taken.

The Christmas Festival of Lights. Our annual switch-on has gone large in recent years and is now a full-blown extravaganza. Conveniently held on a Friday night so yuletide consumption can continue afterwards under the magic of the lights.

December 8th: the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Until recently, local schools closed and parents had to arrange childcare or take the day off work while also avoiding Main Street, which is mobbed thanks to it being a public holiday in Spain. If FOMO kicks in, pop over to La Línea and join in. Why not?

The Convent Christmas Fair, one of the few occasions when the hallowed doors are opened to the uninvited. Mulled wine, children singing, cakes, Welsh cakes, mince pies, borrachuelos, and tea.
St Theresa’s Carol Concert, where the entire population of Gibraltar attempts to park nearby before squeezing into a very small church. This year, sensibly, the marquee used for Father Charlie’s inauguration as Bishop is being used, how sensible. Keep that marquee!

Then there are the optional extras: a trip to Malaga to see the famous lights or a weekend in Jerez for the zambombas. Some brave (mad) people go to London for Christmas shopping and a cold weather hit. As the legend goes, they will always see Llanitos on Oxford Street (or any Primark).

Now for the last working day before Christmas. Expect long tables of civil servants in Biancas, wearing paper hats, banging cutlery, and singing villancicos. Witness them falling into the bushes along Ocean Village Promenade before ending up at a makeshift karaoke belting out Livin’ on a Prayer.

Prepare yourself for the sight of teachers drunk and disorderly, knocking back unthinkable concoctions like Pisang Ambon & Pineapple, Licor 43, or Rum & Coke. Depending on how the calendar falls, this entire jamboree may be repeated on Christmas Eve (although usually only by young people and men).

Women, it goes without saying, will be at home preparing food for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day dinners.

In France and Spain, the big meals are the first two; in the UK, the latter two. In Gibraltar, it’s all three! If you’re lucky, hosting duties will be shared among households but brace yourself for arguments and Mexican standoffs over who hosts whom and what gets served. Families have been known to fall out forever over a misplaced tiramisu.

Parents, warn your children before they marry anyone from the UK—it can backfire during the season of goodwill. They are very particular about Christmas Day lunch. The turkey and all meats must be piping hot, as must the vegetables.

Under no circumstances should cold cauliflower smothered in garlic oil appear on the table. Stuffing must be sage and onion or chestnut never that ham-and-cheese concoction. Yes, it’s fine for courgettes at other times of the year but keep it well away from Christmas!

The days in between might include a Polar Bear “swim” (in reality a rapid run in and out of the sea whilst screaming) to convince ourselves we’re offsetting the food intake. There’ll be a guilt-quelling hike up a mountain, followed by a huge lunch in a venta. Then comes New Year’s Eve and yet another massive family gathering around an extended table squeezed into a small lounge. At midnight, the Spanish tradition of gobbling grapes on each chime leads into all-night partying, followed by a slap-up full English breakfast at the first place brave enough to open. Phew.

But that’s not all! Next, comes the Three Kings Cavalcade on January 5th, with sweets hurled from floats and—yes—another dinner out.

Throughout this entire period, there will be a constant spread available: turrones of every flavour, tubs of Heroes, trays of Ferrero Rocher, nuts, Belgian chocolate shells, roscones, Eat Me dates (cockroaches in an oval box), Baci, panettone, German stollen from Lidl, bottles of anís (is it the devil or a monkey?), Baileys hot chocolate, Pringles, Terry’s chocolate oranges… I could go on and on.

I once suggested introducing a traditional Twelfth Night feast and was met with icy glares.

Every year we say we’ll cut down—do we? Of course not.

Feasting at the end of the year matters. It brings joy, comfort, and anticipation.

A few years ago, when I found myself unemployed, our family had to economise. The choice was simple: presents or food. Food always wins.