Obviously the last thing he would have wanted to do was leave Sunny Italy for the rainy, windswept island off the coast of mainland Europe to try and convert a bunch of smelly Anglo-Saxons and halfway here, he got cold feet and decided to send a messenger to say he was coming back and Gregory sent his own back saying no you ain't and that's why two years after he left, he turned up in Kent to be met by King Æthelberht who decided not to balance his head on a pike and gave him some land in Canterbury to use as a base.
Considering still having a head a bonus, he still had to go around and tell the people who built huts out of their own dung that Jesus was the guy for them so he came up with the idea of sneakily allowing all the old, heathen festivals and beliefs to remain intact, but superimpose Jesus and Christianity on them.
It worked a treat because when he rolled up to a dungy hut he knew all the English cared about was getting as drunk as a newt and stuffing their ugly faces at certain times of the year so they didn't care who it celebrated so gradually, the main heathen feasts became days honouring Christ or one of the Saints who we had handy for any eventuality.
Over several centuries, all the big piss-ups were converted to Christian festivals including Easter and the 12-day festival of Yule at the end of December which became Christmas, the celebration of Christ’s birth although he had to fudge the dates a bit for that one.
He did such a good job that he was made the very the first Archbishop of Canterbury and kick-started the whole rubbing out the original Gods and pasting in their own guy thing.
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