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He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.

As Time Passed

The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.

Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.

Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.