23 December 2012
John, a father who loved his daughter very much, and was willing to buy her anything she wanted, was somewhat stumped when he read that this year's Christmas list proceeded thus:
Dear Father Christmas This year I would really really really really really really like a magic wand so I can do all my homework without thinking about it and stuff. I'll leave loads of mince pies for you. I don't really want anything else because I can just magic it with my wand. Thanks.
Lots of Love Emily
P.S. I'm 8.
John's daughter was ten. However, despite the fact he could see his offspring was being very cunning, he believed that she probably thought this was possible.
John spoke to his wife June. She was fairly unhelpful, saying he could just carve a twig and wrap it up. That was all very well, until his daughter realised it didn't do very much.
So it was that John spoke to Emily seriously. He said that Santa might have some difficulty providing such a complicated present, and that his elves might not quite be up to the job.
To this his daughter replied "But Santa's magic! He can do anything." John couldn't think of an acceptable answer to this, so went away for a bit to think. This was on November the 18th.
By 1st December, John had got no further. Emily's 'list' had long ago entered the Royal Mail's tsunami of letters to a fictional being, with Emily saying "He'll need to be told well in advance to be able to make something so complicated." John could only agree amiably while secretly cursing himself for producing a far too intelligent child.
A fortnight later, John was struck by a brilliant idea. He carefully wrote out a letter, signed it Santa, and put a stamp on it and held it back for the next day's post delivery. The following day he handed a letter addressed Miss Emily May to his daughter who tore it open and read with a very businesslike look upon her face. It went like this:
Dear Miss Emily May Thank you very much for your letter, it was very endearing. [John had to explain what endearing meant.] However, I regret to have to inform you that your request cannot be achieved. A wand is unfortunately far beyond the capabilities of my workers. I have, however, thought of an extremely suitable substitute which I am sure you will will appreciate.
Yours Merrily Santa xxxxxxxxxxxxx
[Two years ago, John had had a very similar idea, and had ended the letter with three kisses. Emily had said that it must have been an imposter, as everyone knew that Santa ended every letter with thirteen kisses: one for each reindeer. Emily counted them carefully now.]
Apparently satisfied, Emily handed her father the letter with a sigh and thumped up to her bedroom. John grinned at June. "Well, that's that sorted!" he said. He hadn't yet actually thought of a "suitable substitute" but he still had time.
However, less than an hour later, Emily returned with a list covering four sides of A4 paper. "Just so he knows what I want" explained Emily. The added costs of the items on the list would come to several thousands of pounds, John immediately realised. However, he obligingly took it to the post box down the road nevertheless.
A week passed, and no solution hit John. Finally, on the 24th of December, a nice little Doll's House all wrapped up (courtesy of June), John opted for the money trick. He went to tuck Emily in, knowing her sleeping at all would be a miracle, and decided he had to explain.
"Umm..Emily."
"Yes Daddy?"
"Well, I'm not sure Santa's going to be able to afford everything you asked him for this Christmas."
"Why not? He's magic."
"Ah, but you see, magic always comes at a cost." This was a useful fairytale moral that Emily was bound to admit.
"But Santa has loads of money."
"Well, yes, but the recent economic problems have hit him hard. There's no money any more."
"Why isn't there any money?"
"Well..." And so John began explaining about America and Britain and Gordon Brown and many banks etc. etc. He hadn't even mentioned Greece when Emily was snoozing happily.
That night, John couldn't sleep. How would Emily react? Would she never talk to him again? He sat in the lounge in the armchair next to the fireplace pondering these unhappy thoughts until he finally drifted off...
Then he reawakened with a start. He could hear funny noises. Had someone broken into the house on Christmas Eve? No. It was closer, very close. Someone was coming down the chimney...
John leaped up and flicked on the light switch. He stared at the fireplace and saw a shiny black boot appear, then a red trouser leg, and then jumped down a plump man with a white beard and moustache, a shiny nose, a red suit and a red hat with a fluffy white bauble on the end.
"Who are you?" John asked aggressively.
"Who do you think?" the man replied, with the sound of someone who's had a long night.
"Well you look like...but you can't be...it's not possible that..."
"Why not?"
"Well...you don't exist!"
"That's the first I've heard. I feel fairly real to me."
"Then why haven't I seen you before?"
"You have. I'm on cards, books, window displays. You name it, I've done it."
"I mean in person."
"Ah, well that's a tricky business. I make all the presents for the children and then, by my magic, convince the parents that they bought the presents themselves."
"Aha! Then why is my bank balance significantly lower after every Christmas?"
"The job has to be done properly, otherwise the parents wouldn't be properly convinced. They'd have doubts. "
"Where does the money go then? Materials? Elves?"
"No. I'm magic. I don't need materials. And the Elves are a voluntary service. They can go as soon as they want. Some do, but not many. They have too good a life for ten months a year. As to where the money goes, well I give it to charities, as an anonymous donator, of course."
"Well, at least it goes to a good cause. Here, help yourself to a mince pie!" John held out the plate which had been sitting on the table.
"Oh no! I'm on a diet."
"Then where do they all go then?"
"Well, the parents usually eat them, don't they?"
John had to admit this. He certainly did. He indeed took one now.
"I will take the carrots, though." The man with the white beard and red suit pointed to the thirteen carrots on the table. "It's a struggle for the reindeer to keep it up all night. They'll appreciate those."
John nodded, and passed the carrots to the man who pocketed them. He then helped himself to a second mince pie.
"Did you get my daughter's letters?" John asked.
"I did yes."
"And did you make her a wand"
"Ha! If I had a mince pie for every time a child asked my for a wand, I'd never fit through a door let alone a chimney!"
"So you didn't?"
"No."
"Why not? I thought you were magic? Can't you do it?"
"I am, and I can. However, the Laws of the Elves forbid the creation of magical objects, and I don't have time to make them all myself. And anyway, all my workers would desert me."
This seemed like a fair enough explanation. Why didn't he think of that?
"However," the man continued, "I did make a few of the things on the second list, even with such short notice. Only a few, though. Can't go spoiling them too much, can we?"
Here the man dropped a sack that had been over his shoulder all this time, and opened it. There were a few Fairy Make-Up kits [don't ask] and various other items he knew Emily would like. John began to munch on a third mince pie.
"Will that be enough?" the man asked. John nodded. "I'll just go and put them in her sack, then." The man left the room at this point and John could hear him going up the stairs. Shortly after, the bearded man returned.
"All done. Well, better be off. Still have to do Scotland, and then that's it. I usually do Britain first, but I thought I'd change things around his year."
John grinned. Then a thought struck him. "Hang on, why did you appear to me when you don't normally let people see you?"
The man paused. "Ah well, I thought you needed a bit of convincing. But don't tell a soul, of course. It's quite convenient that most people think I don't exist. It makes for a quiet life where I can get on with my business. Anyway, cheery bye! "
"Goodbye." And with this, the man leaped up the chimney with inhuman strength and was gone. John ate the last mince pie and settled down back into the armchair. He heard a "Ho Ho Ho!" From far above, then slipped into dreams.
"It's Christmas, Daddy, it's Christmas!" John awoke. Emily was shaking him excitedly and June had come down looking bleary eyed.
"What time is it?" John asked.
"Seven." It could have been worse. Then he remembered what a weird dream he had had. It was only a dream, of course.
They began on the present opening immediately. When Emily opened the Fairy Make-Up set John looked at June quizzically.
"Got them ages ago," she answered. "Forgot I had them."
And so they continued, and Emily seemed very contented. John reflected on his merry dream and of how wonderfully Christmas had turned out. It would have been nice to have really met Santa, but there you go. It was only a dream.
Hang on. Where did the carrots go?
Santa And The Global Economic Crisis: A Troubled Parent's Story • Opuss № I