In 1895 the Fabian Society’s Beatrice Webb could look back over a year which saw the creation of the London School of Economics, and some pleasing improvements in her husband Sidney’s personality! She spent Christmas with Lord and Lady Trevelyan, both prominent Liberals, in their grand country house, Welcombe, near Statford upon Avon. Today it’s a hotel, spa and golf club.

‘On the whole a satisfactory Autumn. Our own little bit of work – the book – is slowly progressing…we have turned our hopes from propaganda to education, from the working class to the middle class…having been beaten back in our endeavour to make a London Progressive Party with a permanent majority, we are creating the London School of Economics and Political Science as a wider foundation than our street-corner preaching. Hewins is making a success of the School – 200-300 students attending the difficult classes and lectures….now we are spending a peaceful Christmas at Welcombe, the gorgeous mansion belonging to Lady Trevelyan…Sidney is very happy here. The perfect happiness of his life has cured his old defects of manner, he has lost the aggressive self-assertive tone, the slight touch of insolence which was only another form of shyness, and has gained immeasurably in persuasiveness.’
Beatrice Webb, Christmas 1895

George Orwell retreated to the Scottish island of Jura after the second world war, where he kept goats, planted vegetables and wrote Nineteen Eighty-Four. His own flat in London had been destroyed by a doodlebug. He lived in a farmhouse lent to him by David Astor, editor of the Observer. It had no electricity, and Orwell worked by the light of paraffin lamps. He was joined by his sister Avril and his adopted son Richard.

‘Sharp frosts the last two nights. The days sunny and still, the sea calm. Avril has very bad cold. The goose for Xmas disappeared, then was found swimming in the sea round at the anchorage, about a mile from our own beach. Bill thinks it must have swum round. He had to follow it in a dinghy and shoot it. Weight before drawing and plucking: 10 ½ lbs. Snowdrops up all over the place. A few tulips showing. Some wallflowers still trying to flower.’
George Orwell, 24 December 1948

Richard Crossman was a minister in Wilson’s first government. His Christmas was spoilt by worries about money – at a time when being a minister meant giving up income, not living comfortably.

‘I have had my first Christmas and New Year break as Minister. Rather to my surprise I found that the Ministry and I agreed that they didn’t want to see me for the whole of the first week after Christmas. So I had a complete break until last Thursday…Over Christmas it was getting colder and by Boxing Day we had 25 degrees of frost registered at Upper Prescote. We had one lovely walk with the children, testing the ice on the Broadimore and then walking on it…the only worries we had during recess were, curiously enough, about money. I had earned virtually nothing during August, September and October and I find my ministerial salary leaves me with far less than I earned before because of course I have no expense account. As a minister I am supposed to live in London so I don’t get any living-away-from-home allowance. I have no meals paid for now. There is absolutely nothing on expenses for a minister, and this means that even on a salary of £6,000 I shall be very hard up.’
Richard Crossman, 3 January 1965

Barbara Castle was minister for transport in 1967. Her exhaustion and illness over Christmas was brightened by the news that her road safety initiatives, including the breathalyser, seatbelts and the 70 mph limit, had been a success in reducing accidents.

‘Christmas over. The party was a great success. Boxing night dinner over, I crawled into bed and barely lifted my head off the pillow for four days. The pain in my lower ribs when I coughed was agonising. My doctor said she thought I might have fractured a rib coughing and that I ought to have it X-rayed. During all this I kept getting requests to appear on TV about the marvellous reduction in the Christmas accident figures. All I could do was groan at the very idea and turn over in bed.’
Barbara Castle, 31 December 1967

Tony Benn, then 52, spent Christmas 1977 surrounded by his growing family. He engaged in some speculation about a very British coup, a common subject for conversation in the late 1970s. His wife Caroline came up with a very prescient prediction, 43 years ahead of its time.

‘Christmas Day. Although our oldest child is twenty-seven next year, they all turned up at home at 8am to exchange presents and came into the bedroom to give us ours. The children love Christmas and Caroline makes it such a marvellous occasion. Thirteen of us sat down to lunch. Dave [Benn] told me some interesting stories… he told me that there was so much intelligence collection going to, and so many rightwing fringe organisations operating in Britain, that he wondered whether a coup was being prepared here. I said I didn’t think that there was much you could do about it. If there was a coup, a government that came to power by force could only be removed by a general strike or something of that kind. When I talked to Caroline about it later, she said ‘it won’t be like that. It’ll be a coalition.’
Tony Benn, Sunday 25 December 1977

Chris Mullin, a reluctant minister under Tony Blair, spent Christmas 2000 in Sunderland with his Vietnamese wife and young daughter. Whether she liked her present is unrecorded.

‘Emma proclaimed confidently that Santa was going to bring her a robot dog, which was news to us. It emerged that Emma believes that Santa is a mindreader. Ngoc dashed into town only to discover that the said robot dog cost a ludicrous £35. Instead she came back with a little plastic made-in-China version costing a mere £4.50. Hopefully the tiny monster will be satisfied.’
Chris Mullin, 23 December 2000

Photo: UK Parliament