Dear Uncle Eugene,

Thank you for the magic and wonder you brought to us as little children, for the beautiful images you conjured up for us of Santa Claus landing on the hill where you lived on a foggy, misty Christmas Eve and giving you our Santa presents. Being children of the 1950s, you created our Lapland. Late afternoon on Christmas Eve with darkness descending, you cycled the three miles to our house with Santa’s presents in your twine woven message bag. Now in my 60s, I can still feel that awe and anticipation. Knowing that Santa was around we would hang our socks under the big, open chimney with the hope of getting an orange and bar of Cadbury’s chocolate — the long thin one with the royal blue wrapper — and perhaps some Dairy Maid toffees.

I loved my little red car with the blonde-haired doll in the driver’s seat and my younger sister got a motorbike with a blonde-haired doll whose hair was in a ponytail. Why oh why did my big sister get soldiers that year? Even to this day we have never reconciled that one. Children of the 1950s did not ask questions.

You set off with my father to collect holly. Christmas would not be Christmas then without the red-berried holly.

Years passed and eventually maturity set in and reflecting back one winter day with Christmas approaching, I decided that you were a kind and thoughtful uncle. This Christmas I would write you a long letter and send you a decent gift. Sadly, you dropped dead on November 8 that year. I could never say thank you now.

In death you taught me a lesson. There is no solution to regret. Don’t delay in saying thank you. Do it now as tomorrow may be too late. May you rest in peace and rise in glory. Thank you. Mary Mary Lyons, Claregalway, Co Galway