Picking up the children from school recently, I heard the lovely old carol ‘In Dulce Jubilo’ drifting slowly across the quadrangle. It was a recorded version played over loudspeakers as part of the Christmas light switch-on, rather than the work of rosy-cheeked choristers in gowns, and yet I felt a sudden, unexpected catch in my throat, and a pricking at the corner of my eyes. I am still trying to work out why I reacted, involuntarily, in that way. ‘In Dulce Jubilo’ does not have any specific personal resonance for me. Perhaps it was something to do with the poignant timelessness of the scene – children hurrying between ancient buildings, chatting merrily and bundled up against the cold, while warm light glows in cosy windows. It’s true too that as a parent, each successive Christmas means your children are growing up, and time is marching on. And of course, when you reach a certain age, this time of year takes on a slightly bittersweet flavour. It is freighted with memories of Christmases long ago, of the roads not taken, of people who have drifted from our lives, or those who – in the words of the fine old prayer – now rejoice upon another shore, in a greater light.

More than any other holiday or celebration, the spirit of Christmas is inextricable from music. Seasonal hymns have a kind of Proustian effect, whisking me back in time. ‘God Bless Ye Merry Gentleman’ is indelibly linked in my mind with brass bands in railway........

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