31 December 2020

from Letters from Father Christmas (J.R.R. Tolkien)

Cliff House,
North Pole,
Christmas 1943

My dear Priscilla

            A very happy Christmas!  I suppose you will be hanging up your stocking just once more: I hope so for I have still a few little things for you.  After this I shall have to say "goodbye", more or less: I mean, I shall not forget you.  We always keep the old numbers of our old friends, and their letters; and later on we hope to come back when they are grown up and have houses of their own and children.

    My messengers tell me that people call it "grim" this year.  I think they mean miserable: and so it is, I fear, in very many places where I was specially fond of going; but I am very glad to hear that you are still not really miserable.  Don't be!  I am still very much alive, and shall come back again soon, as merry as ever.  There has been no damage in my country; and though my stocks are running rather low I hope soon to put that right.

    Polar Bear - too "tired" to write himself (so he says) - 

I am, reely

sends a special message to you: love and a hug!  He says: do ask if she still has a bear called Silly Billy, or something like that; or is he worn out?

    Give my love to the others: John and Michael and Christopher - and of course to all your pets that you used to tell me about.

    As I have not got very many of the things you usually want, I am sending you some nice bright clean money - I have lots of that (more than you have, I expect; but it is not very much use to me, perhaps it will be to you).  You might find it useful to buy a book with that you really want.

    Very much love from your old friend,

            Father Christmas.

from Grimble, chapter 1, Monday (Clement Freud)

At school he got lunch; that was the orderly part of his life. Shepherd's pie or sausages and mashed potatoes on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday; and on Fridays, fish fingers. This was followed by chocolate spodge – which is a mixture between chocolate sponge and chocolate sludge, and does not taste of anything very much except custard – which the school cook poured over everything.