‘Dear Santa…’
Every issue, Yours writer Marion Clarke will be reliving the best bits of our lives. This fortnight she recalls the thrill of Christmas past when we still believed in Santa
Istill have my first letter to Santa which I wrote when I was four. The handwriting is my father’s so I must have dictated it to him. Among my requests are a blue handkerchief for my dolls and a fairy for the Christmas tree. Concerned about his risky descent down the chimney, I reassured Santa that the fire would not be lit on Christmas Eve! Wilma Hart followed tradition by putting her letter to Santa up the chimney. “Later that evening, our neighbour came in to see us and I told her about my letter. She said, ‘That must have been what I saw fluttering on your chimney top as I came along the street’. I was very excited that she had actually seen it and, hopefully, so would Santa.”
Teresa Campbell
remembers the thrill of believing in Father Christmas as well as the disillusion later. “The eager anticipation and preparations – leaving out a carrot for the reindeer and a drink and mince pie for Santa – then coming down the next morning to see if they had gone were probably even more magical than the gifts.” But her faith was shattered when she went to a Christmas bazaar. “A man we knew had taken on the role of Santa and my friend’s cousin suddenly exclaimed, ‘Santa, don’t you own the pub across the road?” It was Jo Minett’s grandfather who accidentally gave the game away when she was a little girl. “Santa had come and I dived into my sack and pulled out a doll, beautifully dressed in a knitted blue matinee jacket and trousers with a spare yellow dress and a white cape, only to hear my
‘The eager anticipation was even more magical than the gifts’
sleepy granddad say to my nan, ‘Aren’t they the dollies’ clothes you knitted, Betsy?’ Christmas was never the same again!” Our high hopes of Santa were all too often dashed, as Sharron Radford recalls. “I desperately wanted a Sindy doll and put her at the top of my list. When the big day came I was deeply disappointed that I did not get her. Instead I got a huge doll that ‘talked’ when you pulled a cord in her back. My dad tried to convince me that her name was Sandy and she was Sindy’s older sister. I was not impressed!” It was a shiny new bike that Margaret Rymer longed for. “My granddad said he would see what he could do. I was beside myself with excitement. On Christmas morning I came downstairs to find my granddad’s heavy old black bicycle in the living room. I was shocked, but pleased that at least it was a bike – and he did eventually get me a better one when I learned to ride it. Even that one was second-hand, but I was happy nonetheless.” Like most of us, Ann Swain was blissfully ignorant of the pressure on our parents who often struggled to find the right present. “When I was six I asked for a twin dolls’ pram. When I eagerly dashed downstairs on Christmas morning, there was a beautiful Silver Cross pram with my favourite doll, Rosemary, looking very pretty in new clothes, all made by my mum. But it wasn’t a twin one! “Years later I discovered that after weeks of being upset with herself for not being able to fulfil my dream, she had come across an advert for a second-
hand pram which had a dent in it. Mum told me the dent happened as Santa struggled to get it down the chimney. “I cherished that pram until I was 24 when I moved into a tiny flat and reluctantly gave it away to charity.” Jean Gee grew up in the war and toys were scarce. When she was five, her family escaped from bombed-out London to rural Essex where a children’s party was held in the squire’s barn. “There was a huge Christmas tree supplied from his estate and the local ladies had made sure there was a present on it for every child. “I spotted a teddy bear and hoped he would be my present. He was ‘preloved’ of course and a lady who was handy with her needle had used flowered material to hide the wear and tear to his ears, paws and feet. He sported a tie in the same material. “To my delight, he was handed to me! He became my dearest toy for many years.” Sadly, Jean’s beloved teddy was lost when they moved house, but Elizabeth Richards nearly lost hers in a different way. She and her family lived in a freezing farmhouse so she asked Santa for a warm blanket and a hot water bottle as well as a teddy. But, as they were opening their presents, disaster struck. “Mum said she could smell burning and rushed out of bed to find the electric heater was sparking and a cloth had caught fire. My dad got the flames under control, but I kept sobbing that my all my presents would be burned. “Mum soothed me with a big hug and made us all hot chocolate, then we resumed unwrapping our presents. I still have my teddy bear which I named Andrew. All my grandchildren are allowed a cuddle but they are not allowed to play with him!”
‘We were blissfully ignorant of the pressure we put on our parents’