Who knows what untold pleasure centres lie in Michael Harris's brain? He's a
quiet man, not given to exuding passion. “It's just a bit of Christmas
spirit, isn't it?” he says in his understated way.
Michael's Christmas lights are not understated. Not remotely. They roam (yes,
a lot of them are mobile) for 50 yards or so across the front of his cottage
and his father-in-law's farm. I tried counting the Santas and gave up when I
got to 23. Michael has no idea how many installations there are, he just
knows it's a three-week job putting them up and that the last few days have
been very cold indeed.
They are jolly lights that make you smile and remind you of the excitement you
felt about Christmas when you were 6. They are also a testament to one man's
ingenuity (he makes a lot of them out of scrap) and a family's generosity -
the electricity cost £300 last year and the bill will be bigger this year.
No wonder Michael is the reigning champion of Christmas light displays in
his village, Bradfield Southend in Berkshire.
“We just started with a string of lights up the top of the house and it's
progressed from there,” he says, almost as though he has no control over it.
“Where do I stop?”
That was 14 years ago, and this week the Harris family, including Michael's
father-in-law, Bob Wyatt, was one of 11 households in the village who
switched on their lights, slowed down the traffic and brought awestruck
children out on a vest-piercingly chilly night. Even St Peter's Church
joined in with an apt message that seemed witty in the circumstances: JESUS
SAID I AM THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD.
The same thing happened all over the country, bringing unbridled pleasure to
those who regard light displays as a happy herald of Christmas, and
simultaneously kickstarting middle-class moans about questionable taste,
kitsch and vulgarity. For some reason that no one can adequately explain,
the use of Christmas lights to enhance commercial enterprise in city centres
is festive and exciting, yet when amateurs go to great trouble and expense
to spread a little pleasure by attaching leaping reindeer to their homes,
the grumps, as Bob Wyatt calls them, can only sneer.
“Not my cup of tea,” says a lady in the local gastropub. “I prefer all-white
lights with a touch of blue.” Her acquaintance nods.
“It's absolutely horrible,” sighs a member of Bradfield Parish Council who, in
the interests of village harmony, must remain anonymous. “The trouble is, it
raises so much for charity.”
In a good year Bradfield Southend brings £10,000 to the charity collection
boxes that stand outside the illuminated houses. Last year Michael's display
raised £2,700, this year his family are collecting for the local air
ambulance service.
Down the road, Dianne Stanley and her friend Gary are finishing off the
instal- lation at her parents' house and the money raised will go to a
charity that helps the parents of children in hospital; Dianne's youngest
daughter was gravely ill as a baby and, four years on, Dianne remembers
every detail. “If you can't bring a little bit of hope and cheer to people,
what's the point?” she asks.
Houseblingers are not grand people. I have yet to find one whose motive is any
more complicated than wanting to spread good cheer; beyond that the
phenomenon does not bear analysis. Their displays are not religious, though
that does not necessarily make them irreligious. If, at a time of global
austerity, you're happy to pay a massive electricity bill in the interests
of spreading a warm glowing feeling, you are unquestionably a warm-hearted
soul.
And if, like Bob Wyatt, you keep your eye on skips and auctions where you
might find stuff that can be made into decorations, you are possibly a bit
obsessive, but only in a good way.
The same could be said of Michael, who happens to be an engineer who can turn
the bits of debris into decorations, and his wife Mary, who is a dab hand at
spotting bargains in catalogues and stitching up Santa's suits when they
split.
“Did you spot the tree I made?” asks Michael, pointing to the 14ft rope-light
extravaganza that covers the front of his cottage. “You see ideas somewhere.
They wanted £140 for one of those that was only 8ft tall. I thought I can do
it cheaper.”
“The deers, you made those, didn't you,” says Bob.
“Yeah, made those,” says Michael. He also made the 20ft banner that ripples a
Happy Christmas message high in the air.
This year Bob found a voice-activated cowboy at a cattle market auction,
picked it up for £30, and now they've got him a Santa suit and Michael's
working on his ho ho ho. The Santa who rides a train needs a bit of a push
now and then, but Mary has spruced up the station and even the paint came
out of a skip. There was just enough.
The grotto cost 27p for the wooden floor panels. The rest of it came off
skips, though a notice invites children to be careful when they climb on
Santa's knee because he's getting old now. And believe it or not, says Bob,
the glitterball is powered by a motor made in 1941. Must have been good to
last that long - the snowmen and Santas on the fence are only a few years
old but they have been so well used that they don't sing any more, and B&Q
has stopped selling them.
Then there's the waving Santa in the plywood chimney that has an arm acti-
vated by a windscreen wiper from a Vauxhall Cavalier, and the skating rink
that is a sheet of plastic perspex. “Kids like anything that moves,” notes
Bob with the broad smile of a man who is very happy indeed.
His favourite device is the Santa who, using a chain from a pea harvester,
climbs up and down the 29ft tower (made out of store stacking) to and from
his helicopter, though there was a nasty incident one year when Michael, who
at 39 is pretty fearless, fell off the tower. The barn roof broke his fall,
he needed 28 stitches in his leg and the air ambulance was there in minutes,
as it had been when Bob was stung by a wasp and collapsed and everyone - and
this is Bob's version - thought he was going to croak. There's more laughter
when these stories are told; fortunately, says Mary, Michael was taking down
the decorations when he fell.
“It hasn't put me off,” Michael says. “You can stand inside the house at night
and hear people enjoying it outside.”
It gets a bit hectic on the road sometimes with half a mile of parked cars,
and the grumps don't like that, the family concede. But the year the police
were informed they told Bob that they were too busy to attend.
“All we need is a bit of snow,” says Michael dreamily. “Shame you can't have
the decorations all year round.” Mary looks at him. “Don't give him ideas.”
Big kid's high-tech display
At Karl Beetson's house this year £500 worth of new additions include a
projector and a virtual Santa, three rope-light Christmas trees, three
reindeer (one animated), a sleigh and 40 metres of cabling. All are
synchronised to flash in time with Christmas tunes. “It takes it to a new
level,” Karl explains.
His dad, Alan, who happens to be a plumber, has been plastering the family's
semi in festive bling since his son was 4 - it started modestly with lights
on the cherry tree. Then, two years ago, it occurred to Karl that what he
regards as a tradition might die out, and he couldn't bear that. So he did
some research, found out that in the US displays were computer-controlled,
and bought the stuff. Karl's Christmas Display, as it is called on his
enthralling website, was born amd he now has 32 control boards.
“It's like a Disney display,” he says. “I do love Christmas, I'm a big kid. I
love being able to do the lights. The street would be very dark without
them.”
To keep the street nice and bright Karl, who is 19 and is studying aerospace
technology and management at university, has put in more than 100 man-hours
in recent months. Isn't it a bit pricey in electricity? “Dad deals with
that,” he says. “He moans when he helps put the lights up but he does enjoy
it.”
Happily his neighbours in Wellingborough, Northamptonshire, don't mind the
noise (Karl keeps it low, though visitors who like their music loud can tune
into it through their car radios), the way the sky lights up and the buses
slow down as they pass. Last year the Beetsons raised £340 for charity, and
believe me, I nearly choked with joy on my porridge just looking at the
website.
www.karlschristmasdisplay.co.uk
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