The time I was Santa

Some years ago, I took on the role of Father Christmas. You no doubt think I would make an unlikely choice and you would be right.

It happened when a teacher friend told me there was an emergency at her primary school because their regular Santa had been taken ill. Too much gin I bet, I thought somewhat unkindly. She eyed me up and said I would do.

‘I’m not fat enough,’ I said.

‘Yes you are,’ she declared.

‘I don’t smell of booze like most Santas,’ I replied plaintively.

‘Yes you do,’ she responded.

‘What would I have to do?’ I asked hoping there might be a way out of it.

‘You will just need to ring the bell and say Ho, HO, HO in the hall where the children will be. That’s all.

I wasn’t sure she was being entirely truthful, but I agreed and turned up an hour before I was due to make my grand appearance.

My teacher friend and a colleague were dressed as a pair of demonic elves, and they proceeded to set about transforming me into a Santa – of sorts. My Santa outfit was way too big.

‘I told you I wasn’t fat enough,’ I said triumphantly.

‘Stuff this cushion up,’ said one of the elves.

‘Have you got any Scotch?’ I asked hopefully.

‘No’ came the stern reply.

‘How about a sherry then?’

‘Maybe later if you behave yourself.’

The time arrived and we made our entrance to the hall full of little kids who stared at me wide-eyed. As we made our way to the front of the hall, I noticed a slightly older boy staring at me suspiciously. I recognized him. He was a treble in the choir we both sing in.

I stopped, bent down and whispered: ‘If you grass me up, you’re dead. Savvy?

He grinned at me.

All the children then said, as one: ‘Hello Santa,’ followed by the head teacher saying a dozen ‘lucky’ well behaved kids had been selected to meet me and ask what they would like for Christmas. That all went swimmingly until it was the turn of a bossy little girl.

‘Now Santa, this is what I want, she began looking me straight in the eye and then proceeded to list all the things she wanted.

‘That’s rather a lot,’ I murmured. ‘I’m not sure my sack is big enough and I have all the other boys and girls to consider.

‘Hmph,’ she said unimpressed. I was evidently a disappointment. She would no doubt go through life denouncing Santa and Christmas.

The last hopeful to get to see me was a shy little boy who stared at me with wide, watery eyes. ‘What would you like me to bring you on Christmas morning,’ I said smiling.

He sidled close to me and whispered: ‘My dad Santa.’

What could I say to that. I could have burst into tears for the little lad who evidently loved his missing dad.

All I could think of was: ‘I will pray and hope that he comes back to you soon.’

He brightened up at that and almost smiled.

That stayed with me all through the following days of Christmas.

I often wondered if his dad did.