From the Front Line is a series where social workers share their experiences on various topics and running issues within the sector. To express an interest or tell us what you'd like to see covered next, email us at anastasia.koutsounia@markallengroup.com
"It's the most wonderful time of the year" is the message echoed in every advert as we near Christmas.
The festive period is cherished as a time for family, celebration, indulgent food and rest; a chance to slow down, recharge, and celebrate the year gone by.
But for some social workers, Christmas Eve - and even Christmas Day - is spent in the office, completing paperwork, fielding calls and checking in on their most vulnerable clients.
While working during a day so closely associated with family might sound taxing, it can be rewarding.
For the final instalment of 'From the Front Line' for 2025, two adults' social workers recount working on Christmas Eve, the small festive moments shared with colleagues and the cases that stayed with them long after the decorations came down.
Andrew Gambrill, independent practice educator and trainer
I would recommend that everyone should work on Christmas Eve once. It's generally quieter: everybody's off and you're getting fewer reports coming in. I used to volunteer for it, because it was great for catching up with admin.
But also, the mood is very festive; it's a unifying experience. Everyone knows they've sacrificed something to be there and they’re doing something good.
Some of my best Christmas moments have been in the office with colleagues. There will always be music on, colleagues sporting Christmas jumpers, a bit of Trivial Pursuit or other games and, of course, everyone brings cake – social workers and cake cannot be separated. It’s a lovely thing to experience.
Every time, at the end of the shift, I would cycle home blasting ‘Home for Christmas’ in my headphones.
The accident
I have a funny and heartwarming story from years ago to share.
Picture the scene: it’s 9am on a frosty Christmas Eve morning, and I've just entered the office. I notice the answer machine - if you remember one of those – blinking red.
It was a care agency notifying us they had run out of staff and needed someone to check in on a guy called Bob*. I was the social worker supporting him, though he didn’t particularly like me. He was quite tricky.
He had mental health issues and was very much not engaging with professionals. No matter, I phoned back and said I’d go and check on him.
I got on my bicycle and started cycling quickly towards his neighbourhood. But the roads were icy, and as I was going down a hill, the realisation came - I was going too fast. Unfortunately, at the bottom of the hill I needed to take a sharp right turn, and the front wheel went from underneath me.
I didn't have a helmet on, just a woolly hat, and I fell head-first on the ground. For a moment, I just sat there, dazed. My head hurt, but as I checked myself, I found nothing but a few grazes on my body.
‘Grumpy’ Bob
My bike was okay, and the streets were empty, so I hadn’t drawn any attention. I got myself up and cycled the short distance to Bob’s house.
When he didn't answer the door, I got out the spare key and entered. You could immediately tell he was grumpy – he was tucked up in bed, head covers over his head, refusing to talk to me.
So I start talking to him anyway – I was known to be the 'cheery' social worker - while pattering around and cleaning up the house.
When I leaned over him to remind him to take his tablets, he looked up, and horror dawned on his face. I thought: "Oh God, what's up? What have I done to him?"
An unexpected moment of empathy
Then the horror turned to concern, and he just pointed at my head. Lifting my hand to my forehead, it came away covered in blood, due to the swelling from a wound I had failed to notice.
When I admitted to having had a bike accident, he just leapt out of bed, ushering me to sit down, and proclaiming he was going to make me a cup of tea.
He got me some paracetamol, and then he tried his best to do a bandage for me. It was so touching because he was perpetually grumpy and usually didn't like anybody.
We’d normally have a big argument about his pills, but that day he said: “Don't worry, I'm going to take my tablets, but you take yours [paracetamol] too.”
It was just so funny - the sweetest thing ever: the humanity of the gesture and the surge of empathy for me. There was a lot of Christmas spirit that day. I still get a bit emotional about it.
Christmas and loneliness
Loneliness becomes more stark for those we support during the holidays.
The songs, adverts and movies – they all advertise family coming together. But the people I was always looking after were older, and they had either lost their family members or were estranged from them. So I would make a point to go out and visit them to check in.
They wouldn’t always respond well, but it’s important to remember – whether it’s ‘grumpy’ Bob or ‘nasty’ Madge – there is often a story behind their outward persona. Even if you reach out and it's rejected, it still matters that you made the gesture.
A lot of the time, it was actually really appreciated. Even if you’re limited on time, it’s good to remember those [who are struggling] and reach out if you can.
Lisa Dolan, adults' senior practitioner and interim manager, qualified in 2014
There was a time when a colleague and I would put together hampers and deliver them to the most vulnerable clients in our caseloads.
We’d go to the supermarket, buy sweets, crisps and other snacks and we'd get the team to donate as well. We’d then pinpoint those on our caseloads who were the most in need, had no family, or were short on funds, and hand-deliver hampers to them.
The responses were mixed. Some people were quite nonchalant, while others said, “Oh, thank you, that's really kind of you”. Either way, it’s nice to do something good for someone else.
During this period, while we are celebrating with family, a lot of the people we support will be alone. They interact only with their carers, who sometimes are just there to complete a task and go home.
‘The care home won’t do’
In the lead-up to Christmas Day, a common thing is to make sure you 'tidy up' your cases, ensuring the people we support will be all right while we’re away. Of course, the emergency duty team is always on call during the holidays, alleviating some of the pressure.
But I'll never forget working on Christmas Eve a few years ago, when I was a frontline social worker, with a lady had severe dementia and was living alone.
We were trying to keep her at home, but there were signs indicating a placement might be better for her. Her house was in bad condition, and she was unable to manage any of her needs independently. I remember opening the fridge and finding soap bars with bitemarks.
She also had a propensity to wander off and go missing.
I was trying to keep her at home by upgrading her appliances and making sure the care package was working well, but as we were closing in on Christmas, she went missing again. It was the final straw.
“This is not working,” I thought. We had to move her into a care home.
We completed a mental capacity assessment and decided she lacked the capacity to decide where to live. But when I visited her, on Christmas Eve, to tell her I had found a care home, she responded that she was not going anywhere.
“This is my home. I'm not going, I'm all right,” she insisted.
I didn't know what to do. How was I going to leave her there and go off? How was I even going to relax, knowing that this lady, who was prone to wandering off, was alone?
Leaning on the community
I was wracking my brain to find a solution, and then an idea came to me. I knocked on a neighbour's door - the same person who had originally contacted us with concerns about the lady. Thankfully, she was planning to be home on Christmas Day and gladly committed to checking in on her neighbour.
It offered me some comfort to know that we had a backup plan. Obviously, I informed the care agency of what had happened, recorded everything in my notes, and ensured everyone was aware of the plan and that safety measures were in place.
But I’ll never forget picking up my child from school afterwards and going to McDonald's. Up until that point, I had been running on so much adrenaline, thinking: “Is this person all right? I'm off tomorrow, I need to get it all sorted out now."
I just remember sitting inside McDonald's, feeling like I could finally relax. This lady, who would be at high risk throughout the Christmas period, would not be alone. Eventually, we did move her into a care home, and she's alive and doing well today.
‘Social workers do not work alone’
The takeaway for me was the strength of leaning into the community. The neighbour had shown understanding. There was no judgment or thinking that “social workers don't know what they're doing”. There was a sense of community and looking after your neighbour.
It was also another confirmation that, in social work, there will always be curveballs. But we don't work in isolation; we have support around us to help. There was the care agency and the neighbour, but there’s also the ambulance service and the police - all of these making it possible for us to be off for a couple of days.
But even if you’re working during the holidays, make sure to do something for yourself afterwards to celebrate Christmas. Our work is very demanding, so we need to take care of ourselves too.
