I have a vague childhood memory of the evenings between Christmas on the 25December and Russian Christmas on the 7 January spent curled up on the sofa next to my mother, who was reading to me from The Nutcracker and The Mouse King. Opposite us was the Christmas tree we
Grand Duchess Olga Nikolayevna as a nurse in WWI – postcard from the author’s personal collection
December 1944 was the last time my father would see his father, and it was also approximately four months before my father would be captured by the Americans. It is difficult to say whether he spent Christmas with his father, his diary notes just mention that from 20 – 26
For me it is the smell of Christmas which brings back childhood memories. I just have to walk past freshly cut pine trees to remember the ones we used to have. In the weeks leading up to Christmas my mother and I would make decorations, cutting coloured paper into strips
I am slowly transcribing notes my grandmother, Olga Woronoff, née Countess Kleinmichel, wrote over the years. The other day I came across this story which must have taken place on Christmas Eve 1921, somewhere in the South of France. I have narrowed it down to 1921 as there is no
Despite the common assumption that only children are spoilt, I cannot remember that being the case. I was definitely lucky though. As the only child of a Baltic German father and a Russian mother, I celebrated both birthday and name day, Christmas on 25th December and Orthodox Christmas on 7th