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

1928

      My dear boys,

      Another Christmas and I am another year older—and so are you. I feel quite well all the same—very nice of Michael to ask—and not quite so shaky. But that is because we have got all the lighting and heating right again after the cold dark year we had in 1927—you remember about it?

      And I expect you remember whose fault it was? What do you think the poor dear old bear has been and done this time? Nothing as bad as letting off all the lights. Only fell from top to bottom of the main stairs on Thursday!

       Who’d left the soap on the stares? Not me!

      We were beginning to get the first lot of parcels down out of the storerooms into the hall. Polar Bear would insist on taking an enormous pile on his head as well as lots in his arms. Bang Rumble Clatter Crash! Awful moanings and growlings.

      I ran out on to the landing and saw he had fallen from top to bottom on to his nose leaving a trail of balls, bundles, parcels and things all the way down—and he had fallen on top of some and smashed them. I hope you got none of these by accident? I have drawn you a picture of it all. Polar Bear was rather grumpy at my drawing it:

       Of course, naturally.

      He says my Christmas pictures always make fun of him and that one year he will send one drawn by himself of me being idiotic (but of course I never am, and he can’t draw well enough).

       Yes I can. I drew the flag at the end.

      He joggled my arm and spoilt the little picture at the bottom of the moon laughing and Polar Bear shaking his fist at it.

      When he had picked himself up he ran out of doors and wouldn’t help clear up because I sat on the stairs and laughed as soon as I found there was not much damage done—that is why the moon smiled: but the part showing Polar Bear angry was cut off because he smudged it.

      But anyway I thought you would like a picture of the inside of my new big house for a change. The chief hall is under the largest dome, where we pile the presents usually ready to load on the sleighs at the doors. Polar Bear and I built it nearly all ourselves, and laid all the blue and mauve tiles. The banisters and roof are not quite straight…

       Not my fault. Father Christmas did the banisters.

      …but it doesn’t really matter. I painted the pictures on the walls of the trees and stars and suns and moons. Then I said to Polar Bear, “I shall leave the frieze (F. R. I. E. Z. E.) to you.”

      He said, “I should have thought there was enough freeze outside—and your colours inside, all purply- grey-y-bluey-pale greeny are cold enough too.”

      I said, “Don’t be a silly bear: do your best, there’s a good old polar”—and what a result!! Icicles all round the hall to make a freeze (F. R. E. E. Z. E.) (he can’t spell very well),

       Rot

      and fearful bright colour to make a warm freeze!!!

      Well, my dears, I hope you will like the things I am bringing: nearly all you asked for and lots of other little things you didn’t, and which I thought of at the last minute. I hope you will share the railway things and farm and animals often, and not think they are absolutely only for the one whose stocking they were in. Take care of them, for they are some of my very best things.

      Love to Chris: love to Michael: love to John who must be getting very big as he doesn’t write to me any more (so I simply had to guess paints—I hope they were all right: Polar Bear chose them; he says he knows what John likes because John likes bears).

      Your loving Father Christmas

       And my love, Polar Bear

      Boxing Day, 1928

      I am frightfully sorry—I gave this to the Polar Bear to post and he forgot all about it! We found it on the hall table—today.

      But you must forgive him: he has worked very hard for me and is dreadfully tired. We have had a busy Christmas. Very windy here. It blew several sleighs over before they could start.

      Love again, Father Christmas

       1929