Letters From Father Christmas, Page 3

  Many of the pictures were done by these cave-men—the best ones, especially the big ones (almost life-size) of animals, some of which have since disappeared: there are dragons and quite a lot of mammoths. Men also put some of the black marks and pictures there; but the goblins have scribbled all over the place. They can’t draw well and anyway they like nasty queer shapes best. North Polar Bear got quite excited when he saw all these things. He said: “These cave-people could draw better than you, Daddy Noel; and wouldn’t your young friends just like to see some really good pictures (especially some properly drawn bears) for a change!”

  Rather rude, I thought, if only a joke; as I take a lot of trouble over my Christmas pictures: some of them take quite a minute to do; and though I only send them to special friends, I have a good many in different places. So just to show him (and to please you) I have copied a whole page from the wall of the chief central cave, and I send you a copy.

  It is not, perhaps, quite as well drawn as the originals (which are very, very much larger)—except the goblin parts, which are easy. They are the only parts the Polar Bear can do at all. He says he likes them best, but that is only because he can copy them.

  The goblin pictures must be very old, because the goblin fighters are sitting on drasils: a very queer sort of dwarf ‘dachshund’ horse creature they used to use, but they have died out long ago. I believe the Red Gnomes finished them off, somewhere about Edward the Fourth’s time.

  The animal drawings are magnificent. The hairy rhinoceros looks wicked. There is also a nasty look in the mammoth’s eyes. Also the ox, stag, bear, and cave-bear (portrait of Mr Cave Bear’s seventy-first ancestor, he says), and some other kind of polarish but not quite polar bear. North Polar Bear would like to believe it is a portrait of one of his ancestors! Just under the bears is the best a goblin can do at drawing reindeer!!!

  You have been so good in writing to me (and such beautiful letters too), that I have tried to draw you some specially nice pictures this year. At the top of my ‘Christmas card’ is a picture, imaginary, but more or less as it really is, of me arriving over Oxford. Your house is just about where the three little black points stick up out of the shadows at the right. I am coming from the north, and note, NOT with 12 pair of deer, as you will see in some books. I usually use 7 pair (14 is such a nice number), and at Christmas, especially if I am hurried, I add my 2 special white ones in front.

  Next comes a picture of me and Cave Bear and North Polar Bear exploring the Caves—I will tell you more about that in a minute. The last picture hasn’t happened yet. It soon will. On St Stephen’s Day, when all the rush is over, I am going to have a rowdy party: the Cave Bear’s grandchildren (they are exactly like live teddy-bears), Snowbabies, some children of the Red Gnomes, and of course Polar Cubs, including Paksu and Valkotukka, will be there.

  I’m wearing a pair of new green trousers. They were a present from my green brother, but I only wear them at home. Goblins anyway dislike green, so I found them useful.

  You see, when I rescued Polar Bear, we hadn’t finished the adventures. At the beginning of last week we went into the cellars to get up the stuff for England. I said to Polar Bear, “Somebody has been disarranging things here!”

  “Paksu and Valkotukka, I expect,” he said. But it wasn’t. Next day things were much worse, especially among the railway things, lots of which seemed to be missing. I ought to have guessed, and Polar Bear anyway, ought to have mentioned his guess to me.

  Last Saturday we went down and found nearly everything had disappeared out of the main cellar! Imagine my state of mind! Nothing hardly to send to anybody, and too little time to get or make enough new stuff.

  North Polar Bear said, “I smell goblin strong.” Of course, it was obvious:—they love mechanical toys (though they quickly smash them, and want more and more and more); and practically all the Hornby things had gone! Eventually we found a large hole (but not big enough for us), leading to a tunnel, behind some packing-cases in the West Cellar.

  As you will expect we rushed off to find Cave Bear, and we went back to the caves. We soon understood the queer noises. It was plain the goblins long ago had burrowed a tunnel from the caves to my old home (which was not so far from the end of their hills), and had stolen a good many things.

  We found some things more than a hundred years old, even a few parcels still addressed to your great- grand-people! But they had been very clever, and not too greedy, and I had not found out.

  Ever since I moved they must have been busy burrowing all the way to my Cliff, boring, banging and blasting (as quietly as they could). At last they had reached my new cellars, and the sight of the Hornby things was too much for them: they took all they could.

  I daresay they were also still angry with the Polar Bear. Also they thought we couldn’t get at them. But I sent my patent green luminous smoke down the tunnel, and Polar Bear blew and blew it with our enormous kitchen bellows. They simply shrieked and rushed out the other (cave) end.

  But there were Red Gnomes there. I had specially sent for them—a few of the real old families are still in Norway. They captured hundreds of goblins, and chased many more out into the snow (which they hate). We made them show us where they had hidden things, or bring them all back again, and by Monday we had got practically everything back. The Gnomes are still dealing with the goblins, and promise there won’t be one left by New Year—but I am not so sure: they will crop up again in a century or so, I expect.

  We have had a rush; but dear old Cave Bear and his sons and the Gnome-ladies helped; so that we are now very well forward and all packed. I hope there is not the faintest smell of goblin about any of your things. They have all been well aired. There are still a few railway things missing, but I hope you will have what you want. I am not able to carry quite as much toy- cargo as usual this year, as I am taking a good deal of food and clothes (useful stuff): there are far too many people in your land, and others, who are hungry and cold this winter.

  I am glad that with you the weather is warmish. It is not warm here. We have had tremendous icy winds and terrific snow-storms, and my old house is quite buried. But I am feeling very well, better than ever, and though my hand wobbles with a pen, partly because I don’t like writing as much as drawing (which I learned first), I don’t think it is so wobbly this year.

  The Polar Bear got your father’s scribble to-day, and was very puzzled by it. I told him it looked like old lecture-notes, and he laughed. He says he thinks Oxford is quite a mad place if people lecture such stuff: “but I don’t suppose anybody listens to it.” The drawings pleased him better. He said: “At any rate those boys’ father tried to draw bears—though they aren’t good. Of course it is all nonsense, but I will answer it.” So he made up an alphabet from the marks in the caves. He says it is much nicer than the ordinary letters, or than Runes, or Polar letters, and suits his paw better. He writes them with the tail of his penholder! He has sent a short letter to you in this alphabet—to wish you a very Merry Christmas and lots of fun in the New Year and good luck at School. As you are all so clever now (he says) what with Latin and French and Greek you will easily read it and see that Polar Bear sends much love.

  I am not so sure. (Anyway I dare say he would send you a copy of his alphabet if you wrote and asked. By the way he writes it in columns from top to bottom, not across: don’t tell him I gave away his secret).

  This is one of my very longest letters. It has been an exciting time. I hope you will like hearing about it. I send you all my love: John, Michael, Christopher, and Priscilla: also Mummy and Daddy and Auntie and all the people in your house. I dare say John will feel he has got to give up stockings now and give way to the many new children that have arrived since he first began to hang his up; but Father Christmas will not forget him. Bless you all.

  Your loving, Nicholas Christmas.

  1933

  Near North Pole

  December 2nd 1933

  Dear People,

  Very cold here a
t last. Business has really begun, and we are working hard. I have had a good many letters from you. Thank you. I have made notes of what you want so far, but I expect I shall hear more from you yet—I am rather short of messengers—the goblins have—but I haven’t time to tell you about our excitements now. I hope I shall find time to send a letter later.

  Give John my love when you see him. I send love to all of you, and a kiss for Priscilla—tell her my beard is quite nice and soft, as I have never shaved.

  Three weeks to Christmas Eve!

  Yours, Father Nicholas Christmas

  Cheer up, chaps (Also chaplet, if that’s the feminine). The fun’s beginning!

  Yours, Polar Bear

  Cliff House, near the North Pole

  December 21st 1933

  My dears

  Another Christmas! and I almost thought at one time (in November) that there would not be one this year. There would be the 25th of December, of course, but nothing from your old great-great-etc. grandfather at the North Pole.

  Goblins. The worst attack we have had for centuries. They have been fearfully wild and angry ever since we took all their stolen toys off them last year and dosed them with green smoke. You remember the Red Gnomes promised to clear all of them out. There was not one to be found in any hole or cave by New Year’s day. But I said they would crop up again—in a century or so.

  They have not waited so long! They must have gathered their nasty friends from mountains all over the world, and been busy all the summer while we were at our sleepiest. This time we had very little warning.

  Soon after All Saints’ Day, Polar Bear got very restless. He now says he smelt nasty smells—but as usual he did not say anything: he says he did not want to trouble me. He really is a nice old thing, and this time he absolutely saved Christmas. He took to sleeping in the kitchen with his nose towards the cellar-door, opening on the main-stairway down into my big stores.

  One night, just about Christopher’s birthday, I woke up suddenly. There was squeaking and spluttering in the room and a nasty smell—in my own best green and purple room that I had just had done up most beautifully. I caught sight of a wicked little face at the window. Then I really was upset, for my window is high up above the cliff, and that meant there were bat-riding goblins about—which we haven’t seen since the goblin-war in 1453, that I told you about.

  I was only just quite awake, when a terrific din began far downstairs—in the store-cellars. It would take too long to describe, so I have tried to draw a picture of what I saw when I got down—after treading on a goblin on the mat.

  Only ther was more like 1000 goblins than 15.

  (But you could hardly expect me to draw 1000). Polar Bear was squeezing, squashing, trampling, boxing and kicking goblins skyhigh, and roaring like a zoo, and the goblins were yelling like engine whistles. He was splendid.

  Say no more—I enjoyed it immensely!

  Well, it is a long story. The trouble lasted for over a fortnight, and it began to look as if I should never be able to get my sleigh out this year. The goblins had set part of the stores on fire and captured several gnomes, who sleep down there on guard, before Polar Bear and some more gnomes came in—and killed 100 before I arrived.

  Even when we had put the fire out and cleared the cellars and house (I can’t think what they were doing in my room, unless they were trying to set fire to my bed) the trouble went on. The ground was black with goblins under the moon when we looked out, and they had broken up my stables and gone off with the reindeer.

  I had to blow my golden trumpet (which I have not done for many years) to summon all my friends. There were several battles—every night they used to attack and set fire in the stores—before we got the upper hand, and I am afraid quite a lot of my dear elves got hurt.

  Fortunately we have not lost much except my best string, (gold and silver) and packing papers and holly-boxes. I am very short of these: and I have been very short of messengers. Lots of my people are still away (I hope they will come back safe) chasing the goblins out of my land, those that are left alive.

  They have rescued all my reindeer. We are quite happy and settled again now, and feel much safer. It really will be centuries before we get another goblin-trouble. Thanks to Polar Bear and the gnomes, there can’t be very many left at all.

  And Father Christmas. I wish I could draw or had time to try—you have no idea what the old man can doo! Litening and fierworks and thunder of guns!

  Polar Bear certainly has been busy helping, and double help—but he has mixed up some of the girls’ things with the boys’ in his hurry. We hope we have got all sorted out—but if you hear of anyone getting a doll when they wanted an engine, you will know why. Actually Polar Bear tells me I am wrong—we did lose a lot of railway stuff—goblins always go for that—and what we got back was damaged and will have to be repainted. It will be a busy summer next year.

  Now, a merry Christmas to you all once again. I hope you will all have a very happy time; and will find that I have taken notice of your letters and sent you what you wanted. I don’t think my pictures are very good this year—though I took quite a time over them (at least two minutes). Polar Bear says, “I don’t see that a lot of stars and pictures of goblins in your bedroom are so frightfully merry.” Still I hope you won’t mind. It is rather good of Polar Bear kicking, really. Anyway I send lots of love.

  Yours ever and annually

  Father Nicholas Christmas.

  1934

  !! To messenger: Deliver at once and don’t stop on the way!!

  At once Urgent Express!

  My dear Christopher

  Thank you! I am awake—and have been a long while. But my post office does not really open ever until Michaelmas. I shall not be sending my messengers out regularly this year until about October 15th. There is a good deal to do up here. Your telegram—that is why I have sent an express reply—and letter and Priscilla’s were found quite by accident: not by a messenger but by Bellman (I don’t know how he got that name because he never rings any; he is my chimney inspector and always begins work as soon as the first fires are lit).

  Very much love to you and Priscilla. (The Polar Bear, if you remember him, is still fast asleep, and quite thin after so much fasting. He will soon cure that. I shall tickle his ribs and wake him up soon; and then he will eat several months’ breakfast all in one).

  More love, your loving Father Christmas

  Cliff House,

  North Pole

  Christmas Eve. 1934

  My dear Christopher

  Thank you very much for your many letters. I have not had time this year to write you so long a letter as 1932 and 1933, but nothing at all exciting has happened.

  I hope I have pleased you with the things I am bringing and that they are near enough to your lists.

  Very little news: after the frightful business of last year there has not been even a smell of goblin for 200 miles round. But, as I said it would, it took us far into the summer to repair all the damage, and we lost a lot of sleep and rest.

  When November came round we did not feel like getting to work, and we were rather slow and so have been rushed at the end. Also it has been unusually warm for the North Pole, and the Polar Bear still keeps on yawning.

  Paksu and Valkotukka have been here a long while. They have grown a good deal—but still get up to frightful mischief in between times of trying to help. This year they stole my paints and painted scrawls on the white walls of the cellars; ate all the mincemeat out of the pies made ready for Christmas; and only yesterday went and unpacked half the parcels to find railway things to play with!

  They don’t get on well with the Cave cubs, somehow; several of these have arrived today and are staying here a few nights with old Cave Brown Cave, who is their uncle, granduncle, grandfather, great granduncle, etc. Paksu is always kicking them because they squeak and grunt so funnily: Polar Bear has to box him often—and a ‘box’ from Polar Bear is no joke.

  As there are
no Goblins about, and as there is no wind, and so far much less snow than usual, we are going to have a great boxing-day party ourselves—out of doors. I shall ask 100 elves and red gnomes, lots of polar cubs, cave-cubs, and snowbabies, and of course, Paksu and Valkotukka, and Polar Bear and Cave Bear and his nephews (etc.) will be there.

  We have brought a tree all the way from Norway and planted it in a pool of ice. My picture gives you no idea of its size, or of the loveliness of its magic lights of different colours. We tried them yesterday evening to see if they were all right. If you see a bright glow in the North you will know what it is!

  Behind the tree are snowplants, and piled masses of snow made into ornamental shapes—they are purple and black because of darkness and shadow. There is also a special edging to the ice-pool—and it is made of real coloured icing. Paksu and Valkotukka are already nibbling at it, though they should not—till the party.

  Polar Bear started to draw this to help me, as I was busy, but he dropped such blots—enormous ones. I had to come to the rescue. Not very good this year. Never mind: perhaps better next year.

  I hope you will like your presents and be very happy.

  Your loving

  Father Christmas.

  PS I really can’t remember exactly in what year I was born. I doubt if anyone knows. I am always changing my own mind about it. Anyway it was 1934 years ago or jolly nearly that. Bless you! FC PPS Give my love to Mick and John.

  Polar Bear LOVE BISY THANKS

  1935

  December 24 1935

  North Pole

  My dear Children

  Here we are again. Christmas seems to come round pretty soon again: always much the same and always different. No ink this year and no water, so no painted pictures; also very cold hands, so very wobbly writing.