Letters from Father Christmas by JRR Tolkien. 1935-36
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Christmas 1935
Here we are again. Christmas seems to come round pretty soon again: always much the same and always different. No ink this year and no water, so no painted pictures; also very cold hands, so very wobbly writing.
Last year it was very warm, but this year it is frightfully cold-snow, snow, snow, and ice. We have been simply buried, messengers have got lost and found themselves in Nova Scotia, if you know where that is, instead of in Scotland; and PB, if you know who that is, could not get home.
This is a picture of my house about a week ago before we got the reindeer sheds dug out. We had to make a tunnel to the front door. There are only three windows upstairs shining through holes—and there is steam where the snow is melting off the dome and roof.
This is a view from my bedroom window. Of course, snow coming down is not blue—but blue is cold: You can understand why your letters were slow in going. I hope I got them all, and anyway that the right things arrive for you.
Poor old PB, if you know who I mean, had to go away soon after the snow began last month. There was some trouble in his family, and Paksu and Valkotukka were ill. He is very good at doctoring anybody but himself.
But it is a dreadfully long way over the ice and snow-to North Greenland I believe. And when he got there he could not get back. So I have been rather held up, especially as the Reindeer stables and the outdoor store sheds are snowed over.
I have had to have a lot of Red Elves to help me. They are very nice and great fun; but although they are very quick they don’t get on fast. For they turn everything into a game. Even digging snow. And they will play with the toys they are supposed to be packing.
PB, if you remember him, did not get back until Friday December 13th—so that proved a lucky day for me after all!
BEAR: (HEAR HEAR!)
Even he had to wear a sheepskin coat and red gloves for his paws. And he had got a hood on and red gloves. He thinks he looks rather like Rye St Anthony. But of course he does not very much.
Anyway he carries things in his hood—he brought home his sponge and soap in it!
He says that we have not seen the last of the goblins—in spite of the battles in 1933. They won’t dare to come into my land yet; but for some reason they are breeding again and multiplying all over the world. Quite a nasty outbreak. But there are not so many in England, he says. I expect I shall have trouble with them soon.
I have given my elves some new magic sparkler spears that will scare them out of their wits. It is now December 24th and they have not appeared this year-and practically everything is packed up and ready. I shall be starting soon.
I send you all-John and Michael and Christopher and Priscilla—my love and good wishes this Christmas: tons of good wishes. Pass on a few if you don’t want them all! Polar Bear (in case you don’t know what PB is) sends love to you—and to the Bingos and to Orange Teddy and to Jubilee. (O yes I learn lots of news even in Snowy weather). My messengers will be about until the New Year if you want to write and tell me everything was all right.
I hope you enjoy the pantomime
Your loving
Father Christmas
PS Paksu and Valkotukka are well again. Only mumps. They will be at my big party on St Stephen’s Day with other polar cubs, cave cubs, snowbabies, elves, and all the rest.
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Christmas 1936
My dear Children
I am sorry I cannot send you a long letter to thank you for yours, but I am sending you a picture which will explain a good deal. It is a good thing your changed lists arrived before these awful events, or I could not have done anything about it. I do hope you will like what I am bringing and will forgive any mistakes, and I hope nothing will still be wet! I am still so shaky and upset, I am getting one of my elves to write a bit more about things.
I send very much love to you all.
Father Christmas says you will want to hear some news. Polar Bear has been quite good—or had been-though he has been rather tired. So has Father Christmas; I think the Christmas business is getting rather too much for them.
So a lot of us, red and green elves, have gone to live permanently at Cliff House, and be trained in the packing business. It was Polar Bear’s idea. He also invented the number system, so that every child that Father Christmas deals with has a number and we elves (learn them all by heart, and all the addresses. That saves a lot of writing.
So many children have the same name that every packet used to have the address as well. Polar Bear said: “I am going to have a record year and help Father Christmas to get so forward we can have some fun ourselves on Christmas day.”
We all worked hard, and you will be surprised to hear that every single parcel was packed and numbered by Saturday (December 19th). Then Polar Bear said “I am tired out: I am going to have a hot bath, and go to bed early!”
Well you can guess what happened. Father Christmas was taking a last look round in the English Delivery Room about 10 o’clock when water poured through the ceiling and swamped everything: it was soon 6 inches deep on the floor. Polar Bear had simply got into the bath with both taps running and gone fast asleep with one hind paw on the overflow. He had been asleep two hours when we woke him.
Father Christmas was really angry. But Polar Bear only said: “I did have a jolly dream. I dreamt I was diving off a melting iceberg and chasing seals.”
He said later when he saw the damage: “Well there is one thing: those children at Northpole Road, Oxford (he always says that) may lose some of their presents, but they will have a letter worth hearing this year. They can see a joke, even if none of you can!”
That made Father Christmas angrier, and Polar Bear said: “Well, draw a picture of it and ask them if it is funny or not.” So Father Christmas has. But he has begun to think it funny (although very annoying) himself now we have cleared up the mess, and got the English presents repacked again.
Just in time. We are all rather tired, so please excuse scrawly writing.
Yours, Ilbereth, Secretary to Father Christmas
Very sorry. Been bizy. Can’t find that alphabet. Will look after Christmas and post it. Yours,
Polar Bear.