Silent Night

Today we had a most remarkable experience. At the church here in St Gilgen this evening there was a series of formalities to start the celebration of Christmas, rather uninspringly decribed as a nativity play (4.15pm - just after dusk) follwed by 'tradional brass music played from the church tower' (5pm). The church tower is the one seen in the previous images of St Gilgen, which is not exactly encompassing in it space, and our expectations were of a small scale gathering in and possibly around the church.

When we arrived a little after 4pm the church was already packed and we filled the last few spaces at the very back for a few minutes while a recital of the nativity in German began. There were enough familiar terms across languages to be able to follow the story, but the setting was by far the most impressive part of this first movement.

As the children grew restless we moved out of the church itself into the grounds. Rather surprisingly, the entry way up from the street continued through the portico and on into a walled courtyard that was in fact the town cemetery, with graves dating from 2008 back though at least 150 years that we saw, and most likely much longer. At this stage the cemetry was mostly deserted aside from a few visitors to particular memorials, and people entering quietly and moving purposefully through various gates and into the church itself. On most of the graves stood at least one, and often many, candles burning either yellow and open or redly from small but neat lanterns. The cemetery was on at least three levels, and the fading royal blue sky was silently set off by the candlelight and the spotlight church spire, with deep shadows around the walls and enveloping buildings that hinted at well cared for family burial sites.

The existence of the graveyard was both a surprise and at the same time an obvious adjunct to the church. The spire dominates the skyline of St Gilgen from any angle, but the cemetary is subtly hidden behind the bulk of the building and the surrounding walls, and only by exploration does one get the chance to expereince the quiet reflection this setting seems to encourage. We walked through the town yesterday and completely circumnavigated the graveyard without even a hint as to its existence.

However, tonight was clearly special, and an important local custom. The candle and twighlight lit cemetery had been unexpected. As we wandered the town waiting for the music, we found there was a gentle but unmistakeable flood of people from streets and alleyways, always gravitating towards the central church. We expected that they would converge on the church itself, seeking those few remaining places within. However, we found ourselves back in the cemetery, but this time with literally hundreds and proabably thousands of people, most of whom appeared to be locals visiting the graves of relatives. By this time almost all the graves had candles burning, with many having Christmas trees replete with multiple candles, and a very high proportion of the graves had people actively tending to them.

This was unexpected and moving. The sheer scale of the gathering, and the serious and reflective, but also welcoming, mood was quite remarkable. At precisely 5pm the music began. Not the powerful brass Christmas carolling that we anticipated, but a slow, quiet and wheezy instrumental rendering of Silent Night drifted from the tower and across the courtyard. It was cold, but didn't seem to be. As the last refrain hung in the night, there was no applause or reaction, just a murmuring and respectful silence. Shortly, Silent Night began again, and finished again. It was repeated four or five times, each time with the same slow, controlled and gentle delivery. After the last recital, loud cracks of fireworks echoed across the valley and the crowd slowly and peacefully moved towards the exits from the cemetery.

The mood on the streets was bouyant, the crowd evidently largely local. Large groups with lanterns moved more purposefully towards the eating Haus's, and my impression was that the serious part of the evening was over and that the celebrations could now begin. We reckon it was likely that a good half of the local population may have been in the cemetery with us this evening.

We then walked back to the hotel, obviously sharing the paths with locals heading home, many (like us) carrying and cajolling small children onwards through the night. At the hotel there was a brief gathering of staff and guests, with sparkling wines, carols, piano and recitals by the family who own the hotel, and then a full scale six-course Christmas dinner. We finsihed with congnac at the bar, enjoying the second last night of our stay here together. This trip has been 15 months in the planning, and despite the travails of travelling with children, has been most worthwhile - it is sad to think this part is almost over, though Christmas morning remains to keep our excitement up.

It has been a remarkable night. On every trip I've had the chance to take there have been standout moments that took me by surprise and are the enduring images of that still resonate years later. A permanently twighlit night on Oslo Fjord; a dinner in a pub in England; camping on a beach in Ningaloo Reef; these are nights and times that I can describe in intricate detail long after the surrounding experiences have faded. Tonight will be one of those.