Article
Christmas culture
Culture
4 min read

De-coding the hidden messages in Christmas carols

Beyond the festive imagery, some carols hint at rebellion and even revolution.

Ian Bradley is Emeritus Professor of Cultural and Spiritual History at the University of St Andrews.

Dressed in Victorian clothes, a group of carol singers stand and sing amid Christmas foliage.
Mario Mendez on Unsplash.

Carols are one of the best loved features of Christmas celebrations and one of the most effective means of spreading the good news of the birth of Jesus, the Saviour of the world. In addition to their clear proclamation of the doctrine of incarnation, that God has taken on human form and come to dwell among us, some of our most popular carols may also have been written to convey further hidden messages. 

Take ‘O come, all ye faithful’, for instance. On the surface it seems a straightforward hymn of adoration to the newborn Christ but in fact historians suggest that it may well have been written in its original Latin form, ‘Adeste, fideles,’ as a coded message to rally Jacobites to the cause of Bonnie Prince Charlie on the eve of his rebellion against the British crown in 1745. The man generally reckoned to have been its author, John Francis Wade, was a fervent supporter of the Jacobite cause who seems to have written it while he was plain-chant scribe at the English Catholic college in Douai, France where a weekly Mass was celebrated for the return of the Stuarts to the British throne. 

Half hidden Jacobite images, including Scotch thistles and the Stuart cypher, appear in the earliest manuscripts of the carol. Its call to ‘the faithful’ may have had a double meaning and been intended to alert the supporters of the ‘King over the water’ to Charles James Stuart’s imminent arrival in Britain from the  continent. Similarly, its reference to ‘Rex angelorum’, translated as the King of the Angels, could also be taken to mean the true king of the English in contrast to the Hanoverian incumbent, George II. In its original Latin form, the carol seems initially to have been sung only in Roman Catholic places of worship, notably in the chapel of the Portuguese Embassy in London and its tune was long known as the Portuguese Hymn. 

Another well-known Christmas song may contain similarly coded messages. It has been suggested on the basis of letters from Jesuit priests attached to the English college in Douai, France, that that ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ was written to teach the elements of the Roman Catholic faith to children during the period following the Reformation in which it was officially proscribed and suppressed in the United Kingdom. In this reading, the twelve drummers drumming are the articles of the Apostle’s Creed; the eleven pipers piping the faithful apostles; the ten lords a-leaping the ten commandments; the nine ladies dancing the fruits of the Holy Spirit; the eight maids a-milking the beatitudes; the seven swans a-swimming the seven sacraments of the Catholic church; and the ‘five gold rings’ the five wounds of the crucified Christ.  

A hidden message of a rather different kind may be lurking in another popular carol, ‘Angels from the Realms of Glory’, which first appeared in a radical Sheffield newspaper entitled The Iris on Christmas Eve 1816. Its author, James Montgomery, the paper’s editor, was twice imprisoned for his support of the French Revolution and reform riots in Britain. The original last verse, which described Justice repealing the sentences of those sentenced to imprisonment and Mercy breaking their chains, was regarded by the authorities as too polemical and subversive did not find its way into any hymn book when the carol was taken up and sung in churches.  

A carol with a more overtly contemporary message is ‘It came upon the midnight clear’. Its author, Edmund Sears, who claimed descent from one of the original Pilgrim Fathers, was a Unitarian minister in Massachusetts with a deep commitment to social reform and the promotion of peace. He wrote it in 1849, following the violent revolutions in Europe and the bloody and costly war between the United States of America and Mexico in the previous year. These conflicts were undoubtedly in his mind when he wrote ‘O hush the noise, ye men of strife, and here the angels sing’ and expressed his heartfelt longing for a future age of gold ‘when peace shall over all the earth its ancient splendours fling’, sentiments which we can certainly echo this Christmas. 

The German carol Stille Nacht (Silent Night), which regularly tops the list of the world’s favourite Christmas song, underwent several adaptations through the twentieth century expressing the changing political mood in Germany. A Socialist version entitled ‘The Workers’ Silent Night’ which circulated widely around 1900 highlighted the prevailing poverty, misery and distress and ended with an appeal to wake up to social action rather than sleep in heavenly peace. It was considered subversive and banned by the German Government before the First World War. During that war, German soldiers on the front adapted Stille Nacht to express a sense of homesickness and in the period of rampant inflation that followed in the 1920s Weimar Republic a social democratic version asked plaintively: ‘in poverty, one starves silently,/When does the saviour come?’. A 1940 Nazi adaptation turned the song into a celebration of the fatherland and traditional German family values. More recent parodies of the English version have tended to focus on the commercial aspects of the festive season, like the American author Chris Fabry’s send-up of last minute Christmas shopping:  ‘Silent Night, Solstice Night, All is calm, all half price’. 

The tradition of adapting traditional Christmas carols to contemporary events has a long pedigree in Britain. ‘Hark, the herald angels sing’ has proved particularly appealing to parodists. During the abdication crisis of 1937 a version circulated which began ‘Hark the herald angels sing, Mrs. Simpson’s pinched our king’ and a group of journalists (of which I was one) heralded the birth of the SDP in 1981 with ‘Hark The Times and Guardian roar, Glory to the Gang of Four’. It is rarer to hear parodies of carols nowadays. Perhaps in our troubled times we just want and need to focus on their message of the coming of the Christchild and of God’s kingdom with its promise of a more peaceful and joyful world.  

Review
Culture
Film & TV
Trauma
5 min read

Unforgivable: Jimmy McGovern’s brave storytelling

Intelligent, understanding, and compassionate stories of a family affected by abuse

Henry Corbett, a vicar in Liverpool and chaplain to Everton Football Club.  

  

A family sit together watching a trial in a court.
BBC.

Jimmy McGovern would rather be called a storyteller than a writer. 

And what important, life-changing stories he has told. 

His 1996 TV film Hillsborough told the true story of the disaster in which 97 Liverpool supporters lost their lives. His 2014 story Common was written after he received a letter from a woman whose son was in prison unjustly under the Joint Enterprise Law. His 2017 BBC series Broken showed a caring priest dealing with a mix of situations, including the often hidden, catastrophic effects of gambling addiction. 

In those, as in all the stories he has told over the last 45 years, he seeks to serve the story, to be each character’s best barrister where possible, and to help an understanding of the often-complex situations the characters find themselves in. 

Brave, important stories, and here is another extremely brave story. 

A psychologist who worked with sex offenders contacted McGovern with the stories she was encountering in her role, and she mentioned the disturbing fact that so many people who abuse children have themselves been abused. A story that needs to be told? So to Unforgivable

Joe, played by Bobby Schofield, is in prison for sexually abusing his young nephew Tom. Tom blames himself for not saying more at the time. Joe’s sister Anna, played by Anna Friel, is trying to cope with her son Tom’s silences that are only interrupted by a “Yes” or a “No”. She has to go into school after Tom has been involved in a fight and amidst all this her and Joe’s mother dies, “from a broken heart”. Who broke her heart? Joe, surely. Joe’s father Brian, played by David Threlfall (the cast are all brilliant), agrees with his daughter Anna: they are both furious with Joe. His mother was the only person from the family who visited Joe in prison. Joe cannot come to his mother’s funeral. And young silent Tom has an older brother Peter who sits at the table with a stressed mother Anna and a non-communicative younger brother Tom. The whole family is blitzed. 

The mother’s funeral happens, and then Joe’s release date from prison comes. Where can he go? Right safeguarding procedures are put in place and he goes to St Maura’s, a place under the caring watchful eye of Katherine, an ex-nun, played by Anna Maxwell Martin. 

Joe is ashamed, penitent: “I am just a piece of s**t”. He gets spotted as he walks alone by the River Mersey and gets beaten up. In hospital the nurse asks “Why?”. He tells her that he is a child abuser and wonders if the nurse will continue to help him. She does. Is his life worth living, shunned by family, beaten up by lads who know him? 

Two things move him to action. The ex-nun goes with him to therapy sessions and tells him of her breast cancer. He is sorry to hear that. And he tells her the story of his abuse at the hands of Mr Patterson the football coach of his very successful under-12 team, and not only of his abuse but of one of his team mates too. 

The case against Mr Patterson goes to court, the family hear of Joe’s abuse, and Anna has another level of stress to deal with: if the abused often become abusers, then what about her Tom, will he become an abuser? Of course, not necessarily, and the other abused player tells Joe he didn’t go on to become an abuser. 

Not for one moment is the drama being soft on the horrors of child abuse. Joe was wrong, totally wrong. His act of abuse has and is affecting the whole family massively and tragically, and he should go to prison, serve his sentence and when he comes out there should be vigilant, effective safeguarding measures put in place to stop any repeated abuse. And child abusers can be very manipulative, can put on acts of contrition, and go on to abuse others. Not for one moment should we lower our guard. 

So where does this leave us? Many of us at some stage may be in the company of a family where a shocking, shattering act of child abuse has taken place. How do we respond? Do we blank the offender, wish them dead or in prison with the key thrown away? Are they inhuman monsters, just “pieces of s**t” as Joe describes himself? But Joe is a human being, he does seem penitent, and he was himself abused and he has taken his abuser to court to stop that person abusing others. What of others in the family? Anna’s hate, the father’s hate, the older brother feeling side-lined, Tom’s monosyllabic “yes” and “no”s, the desperate burdens they are carrying. How do we respond to them? 

A story-teller’s role is sometimes to ask awkward questions. Here is a final awkward question: is Joe forgivable or unforgivable? 

It’s also an ancient question. The unforgivable sin that Jesus talks of is the sin against the Holy Spirit, and that is calling good evil and evil good. Joe calls out his abusive act as the work of a piece of s**t. He goes after the person who abused him to prevent others suffering from a horrible, wrong, bad, traumatising act. 

I’ll finish with thoughts from people who know something of abuse, torture, injustice. 

Bryan Stevenson, the American lawyer and activist who has worked with many people on death row, says: "Each of us is more than the worst thing we've ever done." 

Desmond Tutu and his daughter Mpho who lived through the atrocities and abuses of apartheid say in their Book of Forgiving that forgiveness is not easy, is not a sign of weakness, is not forgetting, and is not quick. They suggest a fourfold path: telling the story, naming the hurt, granting forgiveness, and, depending on the situation, renewing or releasing the relationship. 

Jimmy McGovern tells the story and names the hurts movingly, bravely, and compellingly. 

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