Our display of outdoor lights this Christmas was, at first, abysmal. The Man of the House would not put them up until the last minute; he had just begun to untangle them when a son-in-law arrived, and insisted on helping.

Between the two of them they strung up loops along the verandah, on shrubs in the garden, and as far as they could manage on the gum tree out the front.

Only half a strand appeared to work, and that was the one climbing the gum tree.

Later, during the night, I awoke under the impression I was having a migraine headache. Another half row of lights was flashing on and off outside our bedroom window.

That was it, until our son from Canberra arrived, complete with another four sets of lights, surveyed our pathetic attempts, and set to work.

By the time the third lot of visitors had arrived most of the lights were twinkling. Come Christmas Eve, and a fresh influx of family complete with a terrible twosome of eight year olds boys, who seemed intent on murdering each other and the dogs, thundering through the house, terrorising their little sisters, destroying the garden and generally creating mayhem, many more lights were up but we had not seen the full effect once evening fell.

It seemed our visitors might not see them either.

After an episode that involved threatening each other with large gum limbs they had torn off, the boys were told that their mothers were calling up Santa on their mobile phones and cancelling the delivery of presents this year.

One boy simply looked aghast, but the other put on such a grand sulk at this news, stomping through the house with a bottom lip stuck out so far that he almost fell over it, that his mother relented momentarily, and said she had hung up on Santa; but two minutes later, after another misdemeanour, his Grandmother stepped in, said she was definitely calling Santa and was not hanging up.

She said as far as she was concerned, he could have a lump of coal in his Christmas stocking.

The misbehaviour of these two boys was hard to ignore; it took more than the non-alcoholic punch and Christmas carols on the CD player to drown out the yells and screams from outside – and that was from the parents.

It wasn’t all bad- some light relief was had when the two little sisters, aged four, took their three year old nephew to the bathroom, and were in there so long an adult went to investigate.

The three were on their knees around the bidet, very happy to have found a wash basin that was just the right size for them.

But it seemed the evening would have to be cut short. The boys were just so full of pre-Christmas hype that they could not behave themselves. After they had attempted to spear Zahli and ride Zylka, it seemed likely the evening would be cut short.

Then, one by one, the lights began to come out. The four and three year olds were the first to notice, and pointed them out to their wayward brothers, who pretended not to care.

In the dusk light, the flying foxes came down to the gum tree, flapping and quarrelling just as much as the boys had done.

Provided with a torch with a very strong beam, their shouts turned to cries of wonder as they were able to see the animals over their heads, pairs of indignant eyes occasionally flashing back at them from the heights.

As well as the flying foxes, a species of beetle had temporarily taken over the gum tree, and were making such a noise in their mating activities that the whole tree hummed.

It was alive with the music of the season – we didn’t need carols on the radio.

By now the full effect of the light show our son had created was working its effect. The boys calmed down, and, with a little prompting from their parents, apologised for their bad behaviour, both to us and to the dogs.

 Lights and nature had prevailed; although one boy was heard to mutter that he didn’t care if he did only get a lump of coal, as he was ushered into his car.

His mother later reported he was first up to check that Santa had delivered more than fuel for the fire.