‘That’s right.’ Max looked apologetic. ‘I’ve honestly tried to discover from Swiss people at work what the story is behind the procession but haven’t gathered coherent information. Some say it’s St Nicholas’s birthday, some his death day, but why lanterns and donkeys I don’t know. St Nicholas the bishop – or Samichlaus – gave money to the poor so have your change ready so you can contribute to the money raised.’

Once they’d found a handy spectating spot alongside others whose breath hung in white clouds on the night air, they waited.

‘Hope this is worth it,’ Carola muttered, hunching her neck into her scarf like a chilly tortoise.

Then the background rhythmic buzz they’d been able to hear on the way down grew in volume, punctuated by sharp cracks like pistol shots, and people edged closer to the road, craning their necks.

The noise grew louder, louder, and suddenly men in white smocks appeared from each of the converging roads, cracking large whips. The effort required was obvious as they used both hands on the stock to pull the whip from the air and slash it in front of themselves, then pause and drag it back, causing the shot-like CRACK! ‘Wow,’ said Lily, taking an involuntary step back. It felt as if one of those whips could come loose and hurt someone.

More and more whipsters arrived, stationing themselves carefully out of range of each other. Into this racket processed other white-smocked figures waving long, thin lanterns, rhythmically shaking cowbells that hung from great yokes across their necks. Lily felt as if the bells said ruddle ruddle ruddle ruddle. The horn blowers followed, rouuuuhhh, rouuuuhhh. Over it all the whips kept up a constant CRACK! CRACK!

In each of the six processions walked Samichlaus with his entourage and a pony or a donkey, apparently unbothered by the cacophony of whip, bell and horn reverberating around the crossroads. The processions followed and circled one another. Silken bags were held out to the crowd to throw in their change.

Lily’s head clanged almost as much as the bells. She turned to Franciszka, raising her voice. ‘I’ve never heard such a row!’

Franciszka nodded. ‘In Poland we celebrate St Nicholas Day, Mikołajki, which is tomorrow, with presents for the children.’ She fell silent to watch the procession and Lily did the same, reflecting on all the folklore and traditions of Christmas and how different they were around the world. The UK’s Santa Claus was a lot cuddlier than Samichlaus.

Finally, the processions turned back towards the different roads from which they’d appeared, still shaking their cowbells and blowing horns, leaving ringing ears behind them. The men with whips were last, still snapping and cracking the whips in the middle of the road. After several minutes they followed their respective processions with a fading CRACK! CRACK!