The fire was blazing, and in front of the fire guard were propped two bulging stockings. I could see bars of chocolate and fudge, packets of Turkish Delight, and tangerines in silver foil. Next to them were piles of presents, beautifully wrapped in tissue paper and ribbon. The room was festooned with green, spicy boughs, and breakfast was laid out on the low table next to the sofa: muffins and bread ready to be toasted, and eggs and bacon still steaming.

Then the doors were thrown open for us, and inside was a scene from a painting, a dining hall even grander and more ornate than Maudlin's, all stone and stained glass, with an enormous tree in the corner, decorated and lit. On the long wooden tables turkeys gleamed like chestnuts, bowls of cranberry sauce and piles of potatoes and stuffing and roast vegetables. Christmas crackers were laid out at each place, and students were filing in, wearing their formal caps and gowns.

There were carolers singing beside King's College Chapel as we passed, their breath smoking with the song. Christmas was everywhere—in the bright window shops, in the parcels done up with string, the Christmas trees and boughs of holly, the sides of ham and poor drooping geese being carried home on shoulders and bicycles by bright-cheeked passers-by.

The lamps were lit, and the candles on the Christmas tree were burning. They made the tinsel glitter, the fronds of it floating gently, like fur or feathers. It all looked wonderfully festive.