Christmas in Narnia was wonderful. Sugar wasn't rationed, you could actually meet Father Christmas, and no one ever gave you socks.
But kings and queens could not run to (absent, slowly vanishing) parents and wake them before rushing to the tree. They could not receive toys, and no one in Narnia had even heard of peppermints.
Each of them held on to a bit of their memory about Christmas as if their life depended on it.
When they got home, everything felt strange. Lesser.
Until Christmas. Rationed or not, Mum's cooking beat feasts hands down, letters from father outweighed gold chess sets, and for once, as they ripped off paper, it felt good to be treated as a child.