Letters from Father Christmas

1929 (#ulink_40503d61-0d73-5474-a4cd-ca22f99c40a7)

November 1929

Dear boys,

My paw is better. I was cutting Christmas trees when I hurt it. Don’t you think my writing is much better too? Father Christmas is very bisy already. So am I. We have had hevy snow and sum of our messengers got buerried and sum lost: that is whi you have not herd lately.

Love to John for his birthday. Father Christmas says my English spelling is not good. I kant help it. We don’t speak English here, only Arktik (which you don’t know. We also make our letters different—I have made mine like Arktik letters for you to see. We always rite? for T and V for U. This is sum Arktik langwidge wich means “Goodby till I see you next and I hope it will bee soon.” - Mára mesta an ni véla tye ento, ya rato nea.

P. B.

My real name is Karhu but I don’t tell most peeple.

P.S. I like letters and think Cristofers are nice

Top of the World,

North Pole

Xmas 1929

Dear Boys and Girl

It is a light Christmas again, I am glad to say—the Northern Lights have been specially good. There is a lot to tell you. You have heard that the Great Polar Bear chopped his paw when he was cutting Christmas Trees. His right one—I mean not his left; of course it was wrong to cut it, and a pity too for he spent a lot of the Summer learning to write better so as to help me with my winter letters.

We had a Bonfire this year (to please the Polar Bear) to celebrate the coming in of winter. The Snow-elves let off all the rockets together, which surprised us both. I have tried to draw you a picture of it, but really there were hundreds of rockets. You can’t see the elves at all against the snow background.

The Bonfire made a hole in the ice and woke up the Great Seal, who happened to be underneath. The Polar Bear let off 20,000 silver sparklers afterwards—used up all my stock, so that is why I had none to send you. Then he went for a holiday!!!—to north Norway, and stayed with a wood-cutter called Olaf, and came back with paw all bandaged just at the beginning of our busy times.

There seem more children than ever in England, Norway, Denmark, Sweden, and Germany, which are the countries I specially look after (and of course North America and Canada)—not to speak of getting stuff down to the South Pole for children who expect to be looked after though they have gone to live in New Zealand or Australia or South Africa or China. It is a good thing clocks don’t tell the same time all over the world or I should never get round, although when my magic is strongest—at Christmas—I can do about a thousand stockings a minute, if I have it all planned out beforehand. You could hardly guess the enormous piles of lists I make out. I seldom get them mixed.