Ben Sixsmith is an English writer. He has written for Quillette, Areo, The Catholic Herald, The American Conservative and Arc Digital on a variety of topics including literature and politics.

There can be few more beautiful sights than Polish graveyards on November 1st. Polish graveyards are always beautiful — carefully organised and lovingly maintained. On All Saints’ Day, they are exceptionally so. Poles visit dead relatives and friends and leave candles flickering on their graves. When night comes, little flames create a breathtaking collective glow.

I sometimes meet Poles, and generally younger Poles, who have grown tired of this tradition. Why do we have to go on this day, I’ve heard them ask, when we could go on any day?

Well, it’s not my place to tell young Poles how they should feel. It isn’t me who has to drive for hours to old Aunt Agnieszka’s grave after all. But here’s why you shouldn’t go on “any day”: because you won’t.

Eh, I shouldn’t say that. Perhaps you will. But most people will just lose the habit. Trust me. I’m from England, and most English people visit their local Chinese restaurant ten times as often as their family graves. That’s one reason why we have traditions — to formalise the habits that we value.

Westerners might think of Poland as a very traditional place. It’s true to some extent, though it’s less true than it was. Wealth erodes traditions, because it makes us less reliant — or, at least, less obviously reliant — on our neighbours and on the natural world.

Still, a lot of Polish traditions have endured — sometimes similar to those of other countries and sometimes unique. Are there weddings quite like Polish weddings? The sheer length, as well as the sheer volume of food and drink, places it among the endurance sports. There are ultra-marathons, there are Ironman Triathlons and there are Polish weddings.

I remember sitting in a daze at 2am at a Polish wedding reception, with dumplings stewing in my stomach and vodka coursing through my veins, and my feet insisting that they could dance no more. Suddenly, the waiters glided in, carrying an enormous pot of tripe soup. I thought I must be dreaming.

Polish Christmases are interesting too. Carp is the centrepiece of the meal, which is eaten around 5pm on Christmas Eve rather than on Christmas Day itself. Kids open their presents after the meal, which stops parents from being woken up by a thunderstorm of feet rampaging up the corridor on Christmas morning.

A space is left at the table, with an empty chair and an empty plate. This, traditionally, is for an unexpected guest who might need food and shelter. It’s a lovely idea, though I’m not sure what I’d do if a stranger knocked on my door on a Christmas evening. Let them in or set the dogs on them?

After eating veritable mountain ranges of fish, mashed potatoes, sour cabbage, cake et cetera, and drinking rivers of wine or sweet kompot, a lot of Poles head to church for Midnight Mass — swaying in the pews, as the organ plays, in dozy reverence. Other Poles head to the pub.

Śmigus-dyngus is another popular tradition. Held on Easter Monday, this features boys and men soaking girls and women with water. Why? Frankly, I’m not sure, though I suspect it has something to do with fertility rites. Once, I was on a date when an old man crept up and fired a water pistol at my then girlfriend. As I prepared to commit an enthusiastic act of geronticide he threw up his hands and yelped, “Tradycja! Tradycja!” I relented. What could I do? It was a tradition.

Western media and commerce has brought new “traditions”. Halloween barely existed in Poland when I came here. Now, it has secured its place on the calendar. The appeal of sweets and dressing up to young and not so young people was too strong for it not to take root. So, somewhat awkwardly, people celebrate on October 31st and then stand solemnly beside graves on November 1st — some of the younger adults nursing oppressive hangovers.

Traditions often change. They always have done and they always will, because circumstances have changed around them. It can be sad but it is not always worth resisting. To put all of our energy into preserving all traditions exactly as they have been would make us slaves to the past. (God bless Morris dancers but I have no wish to join, watch or hear them.)

Yet traditions also pass insights down the centuries, and connect one generation with another. As much as I’m sure that All Saint’s Day can feel a bit routine, it reminds us to appreciate our predecessors. As exhausting and debilitating as a Polish wedding is, its scale befits the magnitude of the occasion. And carp? Well, it isn’t necessary to eat carp. But it’s still good to value much of that which makes cultures distinctive. Otherwise, everywhere will be the same.

Ah, one more Polish tradition — Fat Thursday. Here, just before Lent, Poles eat vast amounts of swollen doughnuts called pączki. Queues outside the bakeries can stretch so far back down the street that it makes communist shopping look like a masterpiece of speed and efficiency. Yet as tedious and tiring as the wait can be, the doughnuts somehow taste sweeter for it.

I feel like a bit of a fraud enjoying Fat Thursday because I don’t actually give something up for Lent. Perhaps I should. If nothing else, I might learn to appreciate it more.