We had an artificial Christmas tree. Granddad Davis ordered it from a newspaper and it arrived in a surprisingly small cardboard box. Plastic coated branches slotted into a screwed together wooden post. The final effect seemed magical. Every year we would sort the branches by size slot it all together and decorate it with a mixture of lights, tinsel, fragile old foxed baubles and 'unbreakable' seventies kitsch. The fairy graced the top. She had gold paper wings and a net skirt in those days.
After Dave and I left home Dad put up the tree every year, chuntering about it. The Christmas after Mum left, the girls and I put it up in her new flat. She invited us all round to tea and we pulled crackers and played charades. It was a snug family evening. After Christmas she binned the tree, without warning, because it was "no use hanging on to things for the sake of it."