Christmas memories from six stars of the screen and stage, exclusively extracted in the Telegraph Magazine from a new book, Last Christmas. Here, Emilia Clarke shares the touching story of her last Christmas with her darling Dad…

I would say, and I think anyone who knows me would agree, I’m more of a giver than a receiver. Christmas was always my time to shine. I would get giddy with planning, mastering and presenting someone I loved with the ultimate gift. The entire process gave me unbridled joy, from lying awake at night, going through every option and then scribbling notes, before landing on The Perfect Gift. As December rolled round I would go into overdrive.

My dad, however, was one of the hardest people to buy a gift for. He had me stumped every year. I would spend an unnatural amount of time trying to work out just what to get him; the response on giving him something would always be that of sincere love and grateful noises but I was never sure I’d got him something he wanted, or as dads often say, ‘needed’. (I ‘need’ shoes and chocolate; he ‘needed’ food and shelter – you see the predicament.)

I get this gift-giving mania from my mum, whose generosity knows no bounds. Christmas always consisted of navigating a path to the kitchen from the tree that had more presents pooled underneath it than the four members of our family (five including Roxy, the dog, who obviously didn’t miss out here either) could ever hope to open on one day.

Very quickly, our Christmas Eve and Christmas Days would turn into a massacre of ripped paper, ribbons and cards, presents once lovingly wrapped, now discarded in the name of all things CHRISTMAS. But throughout my dad never really shared wholeheartedly in the festivities. The gifts for my brother and me were always from both parents but they had the undeniable trademark Mum stamp all over them. You could tell this from her beaming face as she tried to hide the sheer excitement of seeing us jumping for joy. Throughout, my dad remained quiet and occasionally… erm… soporific.

As I grew up I was determined to get him involved. I kept trying for many years, and as my earnings went up my gifts got more extravagant (up until that point they had been more on the homemade side). Every time, he made the right noises and wore the jumpers/jackets/cashmere socks all year round, but I could tell that something was missing.

Then in 2015, I had the idea of taking my family away for Christmas. It was going to be a surprise present. Throughout my and my brother’s childhood we had all gone away on breaks many a time but they mostly consisted of walking holidays in the UK or quick trips to European countries. It had been years since we had all been away together. The family holiday had become a forgotten relic revisited only in our photo albums.

I kept my plan a secret from them all, and instead enjoyed keeping my mum on fretful tenterhooks as I insinuated I may not be able to stick around much after the 25th December due to tight filming schedules (lies, all lies, to throw them off ‘my perfect gift’ scent).

I waited until Christmas Day arrived. As we started tucking into a ‘Dad Clarke Christmas Dinner’ (he was honestly the best cook in the world), I presented them with a wrapped package. In it was a red robin onesie and inside it I had hidden the itinerary for a trip to the North Pole I had planned for us all. Safe to say they, Dad included, were speechless, mainly at my ability to keep a secret from them, but also at the fact that we were leaving the very next day. [Source]