Christmas in Korea in the 19th century: Santa and Christmas trees: Part2

Not everyone was happy to see Santa in 1954. Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

Starting in 1890, Christmas became one of the largest social events held in Seoul by the Western community. Unlike the previous decade when the Western residents of Seoul were mainly single missionaries and diplomats, there were now families with small children and they brought with them the familiar holiday traditions of Santa Claus and Christmas trees.

For many children, the magic of Christmas is Santa Claus and, as I noted a couple of years ago, the American children in Seoul dutifully wrote letters to the jolly old soul in which they extolled their good behavior (and naturally glossed over their naughtiness) in an attempt to convince him they were deserving of his visit and, more importantly, a gift. Without exception they succeeded.

Such was the case of Maurice, the eight-year-old son of Horace Allen (the secretary of the American Legation in Seoul), who, in 1894, found a pair of ice skates under his Christmas tree after a letter had been written to Santa Claus. His exuberant belief amused the adults, including John Sill, the American minister to Seoul, who wrote: "It hardly seems possible that a boy his age should really believe such a thing, but he appeared most innocent."

Young Maurice's conviction of the veracity of Santa was strengthened three years later at the American Legation's Christmas party, when Santa suddenly appeared and presented him and the other children with gifts.

Korean children greet Santa in 1954. Robert Neff Collection

Although I have been trying to confine this article to anecdotes about Americans residing in Seoul, I am compelled to include Santa's visit to Wonsan in 1896. As most parents are more than aware, Santa is a very busy man and sometimes requires assistance. Mr. L. Ahrendts, a member of the Korean Customs Department at that port, took it upon himself to assist Santa by assuming his dress and role. It was an unforgettable act and was described in The Independent (an English- and Korean-language newspaper that was published in Seoul):

"He was robed in scarlet mounted with beautiful snow cotton ― a veritable 'old Santa,' as he bound down from the snowy North. He had not finished his stories to the children, when by an accidental twitch of the hand the cotton took fire, and in a moment he was [engulfed] in a mass of flames. Mr. Ahrendts' presence of mind enabled him to free himself very quickly of the burning robe, thus came off with nothing more serious than a severely burned hand. It was a moment of intense excitement. And after all was over, the frightened children scarcely knew what to make out of 'Old Santa,' that he should take his departure in a burning flame like that."

While Santa enthralled (and, in some cases, frightened) children, it was the Christmas trees that seemed to bridge the cultural gap between the foreign residents and their Korean hosts. One example is in 1890 when Lillias Underwood hosted a Christmas party in her home and took great delight in entertaining her son and his young guests ― describing them as "a queer little company." Years later she wrote:

"[There were] little Americans from the missionary homes, little English from the consulate, little Russians, little chubby Japanese from the legation, little German Americans, Canadians, one Korean and the very cunningest little Chinese baby you ever did see, all wadded up in such an amazing number of gay quilted coats he could roll one way as well as another, and could roll all day without hurting himself."

Christmas dinner at a U.S. Army camp in Korea in 1954 Robert Neff Collection

There were, naturally enough, some problems in entertaining so many children of varying ages. Some felt they were too old to sit with the youngest children and demanded a place with the older children or with the adults. Their demands were met with apologies and quick seating changes and dinner was promptly served.

However, it wasn't the meal the children were interested in ― they were interested in the magic: the Christmas tree. Obtaining a tree had been no easy task. Underwood wrote:

"The poor around the city, where trees are quite scarce, cut them down so fast for fuel that the cutting of trees had been forbidden by law, and, unless one can be had from someone's own land, we must do without."

Fortunately, after several days of searching and waiting, a small tree was obtained just before the party along with "large bunches of the beautiful mystic mistletoe so prized by our English cousins, and long branches of evergreens."

She had the tree set up in the parlor and the evergreen branches and mistletoe were used to decorate the walls and ceiling. The parlor was carefully closed off so that none of the curious and expectant little tykes could get an early peek.

A postcard from the 1930s shows the Korean countryside during the winter. Robert Neff Collection

Christmas in Korea in 1880s: politics and parties: Part1

2021-12-25 09:22 | About the past

As the children were finishing their meal, the partition was moved aside and the candles on the tree were all lit, allowing the children to see it for the first time "all blazing and glittering." I am sure there are more than a few parents who can relate to what happened next.

"Such a clapping of hands, such shining eyes! Each of the babies had a rattle, each of the boys some trumpet or musical instrument, and soon the racket was all that a boy could desire, or Christmas time-honoured custom demand."

The party soon ended but the tree was not finished entertaining yet. A group of little Korean schoolgirls and their teacher arrived to gaze with wondering eyes at [its] bright lights and glittering trimmings. Then they sat down on the floor, Korean fashion, and received their gifts, had their little feast of Christmas dainties, and were sent home greatly perplexed how to carry away all the goodies that had been given to them."

The following afternoon, the Korean boys from the orphanage were invited for tea. Preparations were made well in advance as long low tables had to be set up with trays of bread, sweet crackers, cookies, cakes, tarts and other exotic treats.

At the appointed time, the smallest little boy led his companions to the Underwood house which they entered, dropped their wooden shoes in the hall and made their most humble and polite bows. Underwood recalled that they were "such a lively and brilliant little company, coats of cherry, blue, green, purple, red, white with bright ribbons fastening their long braids."

They were taught some American games and they romped about until they were served their treats. After they had partaken of all the cakes and pastries they could eat, they were taken into the parlor "and found the tree waiting in all its glory. When the penknives, etc, had been appropriated by their joyful little owners, excitement was at its height. They sat speechless with pleasure. They were aching to return [to their orphanage] and enjoy their gifts, so they soon made their bows and farewells…"

Waiting to enter Gyeongbok Palace in 2012. Robert Neff Collection

What happened to the Underwood Christmas tree of 1890? Early the following morning, it was discovered that "a dishonest servant" robbed it of its tinsel and paper ornaments. Robbed of its initial beauty, it was declared that the tree had served its purpose and was promptly chopped into pieces and used to heat the house.

"He [the tree] blazed up merrily and made a delightful, warm, cheery fire, and even his ashes were used to brighten up the andirons till they shone as never before."

Every year in the 1890s there were Christmas parties held in the homes of missionaries and diplomats ― all of them had beautiful Christmas trees and judging from the accounts, each venue competed with its rivals to have the most beautiful tree. Despite their valiant attempts, it appears the Americans did not have the best Christmas trees in Seoul ― the Russians did.

Yet, it was the Americans who managed to catch the attention of the Korean royal family. In 1894, Christmas found its way into the Korean palace through the efforts of Lillias Underwood, who set up a Christmas tree for the royal family. It wasn't a great success as she recalled:

"Soon after Christmas I dressed a Christmas tree for the royal family, but to my great vexation, the effect was quite spoiled because their majesties were too impatient to wait till dark to view it, and one cannot lock the doors on kings and queens and forbid them to do as they will in their own palaces. There were no heavy hangings or means of darkening the room, and so the poor little candles flickered in a sickly way in the glaring daylight, and I felt that Western customs were lightly esteemed in the critical eyes of the East."

Gyeonghoeru Pavilion in Gyeongbok Palace in 2012. Western residents of Seoul were often invited to the palace during the winters in the late 1880s and early 1890s to skate on the ice. Robert Neff Collection

The year of 1894 was not the only royal encounter with a Christmas tree. According to an article published in the United States, sometime prior to 1905, Crown Prince Yi Un (Emperor Gojong's youngest son) "had a burning desire to shake off ambiguous attendants and to flee away into the great unknown world beyond his father's walls and to explore it all by himself." The young royal climbed to the top of the wall and looked down into the kindergarten compound managed by an American missionary named Ella A. Lewis. She had a Christmas tree set up, "festooned with all the gay trimmings at her command, and candles a plenty to send out their lively gleams, and to crown all a huge star."

The young prince was amazed at the sight of the Christmas tree with its "intoxicating lights and colors." It was like no tree he had ever seen before. The article notes that there were trees within the palace, "wonderful trees, twisted pines that appeared even older than the hills that looked down upon them, spreading chestnuts and cherry trees that had reached their maturity no one remembered when and, very awesome, certain sacred trees, that had as it were chips on their shoulders, and to appease whom it was necessary to build altars and offer up sacrifices, otherwise their malicious spirits might bring down upon royal heads a plague of smallpox or other dreadful calamity."

These trees frightened him but the Christmas tree enthralled him. "Bravely he slid down the wall and lost no time in making known his desire to see this phenomenon at close range." While Lewis was undoubtedly delighted to have a visit from the young prince, it also caused problems. The "divinity" of the prince's social standing far exceeded that of her young charges and she feared aiding and abetting a runaway prince might have international repercussions, so she made a deal with the young man. If he could gain his father's consent, then she would allow him to come back the following evening and she would show him the Christmas tree ― just the two of them.

If we are to believe this tale, the emperor did grant permission, and the young prince was granted a private viewing. As for the trees in the palace, the article implies that they "wrought their malicious deeds" and that before the young prince reached adulthood, he had lost his mother and the Korean people had lost their freedom. There is one thing, however, that the prince did not lose: his memory of the Christmas tree. Whenever he returned to Seoul he supposedly never failed to visit Lewis and give her a gift in appreciation for allowing him to have that glorious hour with his first Christmas tree.

Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books including, Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.