n When Christmas Comes: An Anthology of Childhood Christmases compiled by Anne Harvey (Sutton £9.99)

SOLDIER-poet Edward Thomas wrote to his wife towards the end of 1916 breaking the bad news that he had not been granted seasonal leave.

He would instead be spending the forthcoming festive period in a muddy field somewhere in Picardy.

With a stoicism that is almost unbearable to witness, we - the readers - become flies-on-the-wall in the Thomas household as mother tells the children why father will not be joining their Yuletide table.

It is impossible not to be moved as we picture the scene of Helen Thomas comforting the family as the big day approaches.

This was to be Thomas' last Christmas. Just over three months later, in the opening stages of the Battle of Arras, he would be killed by a shell hitting a forward observation post. He was 37.

The poignancy of this story typifies the tone of an enchanting collection. For this is a charming pot pourri of prose and poems by writers from varying walks-of-life.

And they all have one thing in common - their theme is Christmases past.

Some are well-known, others less so. Writers such as Eleanor Farjeon are given a respectable amount of space and Richmal Crompton recalls with clarity a Christmas Eve through the eyes of his immortal William.

But it is W H Davies' The Holly On The Wall, also written during the cataclysm of the First World War, that resonates with startling directness.

Who else but this great poet-tramp could write of "millions of men whose Christmas bells/are guns' reports and bursting shells/whose holly berries, made of lead/take human blood to stain them red."

This is a book to treasure. As Christmas becomes increasingly meaningless, here is a stocking-bursting array of creativity from people who were truly in touch with their hearts rather than their heads.

John Phillpott