Letters from Father Christmas

I send you lots of love (and lots for Michael too) and Lotts Bricks too (which are called that because there are lots more for you to have next year if you let me know in good time). I think they are prettier and stronger and tidier than Picabrix. So I hope you will like them.

Now I must go; it is a lovely fine night and I have got hundreds of miles to go before morning—there is such a lot to do.

A cold kiss from

Father Nicholas Christmas

1924 (#ulink_f7f9bf83-3b82-53fd-9cb6-f44f993efe13)

Dear Michael Hilary

I am very busy this year: No time for letter. Lots of love. Hope the engine goes well. Take care of it. A big kiss.

with love from

Father Christmas

December 23rd 1924

Dear John

Hope you have a happy Christmas. only time for a short letter, my sleigh is waiting. Lots of new stockings to fill this year. Hope you will like station and things. A big kiss.

with love from

Father Christmas

1925 (#ulink_bc415380-bcc1-52e2-9eee-86bf59e50c81)

Cliff House,

Top of the World,

Near the North Pole

Christmas 1925

My dear boys,

I am dreadfully busy this year—it makes my hand more shaky than ever when I think of it—and not very rich; in fact awful things have been happening, and some of the presents have got spoilt, and I haven’t got the North Polar bear to help me, and I have had to move house just before Christmas, so you can imagine what a state everything is in, and you will see why I have a new address, and why I can only write one letter between you both.

It all happened like this: one very windy day last November my hood blew off and went and stuck on the top of the North Pole. I told him not to, but the North Polar Bear climbed up to the thin top to get it down—and he did. The pole broke in the middle and fell on the roof of my house, and the North Polar Bear fell through the hole it made into the dining room with my hood over his nose, and all the snow fell off the roof into the house and melted and put out all the fires and ran down into the cellars, where I was collecting this year’s presents, and the North Polar Bear’s leg got broken.

He is well again now, but I was so cross with him that he says he won’t try to help me again—I expect his temper is hurt, and will be mended by next Christmas.

I send you a picture of the accident and of my new house on the cliffs above the North Pole (with beautiful cellars in the cliffs). If John can’t read my old shaky writing (one thousand nine hundred and twenty-five years old) he must get his father to. When is Michael going to learn to read, and write his own letters to me? Lots of love to you both and Christopher, whose name is rather like mine.

That’s all: Good Bye

Father Christmas

P. S.

Father Christmas was in a great hurry—told me to put in one of his magic wishing crackers. As you pull, wish, and see if it doesn’t come true. Excuse thick writing I have a fat paw. I help Father Christmas with his packing: I live with him. I am the GREAT (Polar) BEAR

1926 (#ulink_ac66b6c8-045f-53f5-90a0-d271e51f0e14)

Cliff House,

Top of the World,

Near the North Pole

Monday December 20th 1926

My dear boys,

I am more shaky than usual this year. The North Polar Bear’s fault! It was the biggest bang in the world, and the most monstrous firework there ever has been. It turned the North Pole BLACK and shook all the stars out of place, broke the moon into four—and the Man in it fell into my back garden. He ate quite a lot of my Christmas chocolates before he said he felt better and climbed back to mend it and get the stars tidy.

Then I found out that the reindeer had broken loose. They were running all over the country, breaking reins and ropes and tossing presents up in the air. They were all packed up to start, you see—yes it only happened this morning: it was a sleighload of chocolate things, which i always send to England early. I hope yours are not badly damaged.

But isn’t the North Polar Bear silly? And he isn’t a bit sorry! Of course he did it—you remember I had to move last year because of him? The tap for turning on the Rory Bory Aylis fireworks is still in the cellar of my old house. The North Polar Bear knew he must never, never touch it. I only let it off on special days like Christmas. He says he thought it was cut off since we moved.

Anyway, he was nosing round the ruins this morning soon after breakfast (he hides things to eat there) and turned on all the Northern Lights for two years in one go. You have never heard or seen anything like it. I have tried to draw a picture of it; but I am too shaky to do it properly and you can’t paint fizzing light can you?

I think the Polar Bear has spoilt the picture rather—of course he can’t draw with those great fat paws—

Rude! I can—and write without shaking.

by going and putting a bit of his own about me chasing the reindeer and him laughing. He did laugh too. So did I when I saw him trying to draw reindeer, and inking his nice white paws.

Father Christmas had to hurry away and leave me to finish. He is old and gets worried when funny things happen. You would have laughed too! I think it is good of me laughing. It was a lovely firework. The reindeer will run quick to England this year. They are still frightened!…

I must go and help pack. I don’t know what Father Christmas would do without me. He always forgets what a lot of packing I do for him…

The Snow Man is addressing our envelopes this year. He is Father Christmas’s gardener—but we don’t get much but snowdrops and frost-ferns to grow here. He always writes in white, just with his finger…

A merry Christmas to you from North Polar Bear

And love from Father Christmas to you all.

1927 (#ulink_2522c521-2da9-534b-b92e-45e2dab7a0fb)

Cliff House,

Top o’the World,

near the North Pole