Letters from Father Christmas by JRR Tolkien. Part 1937
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Christmas 1937
My dear Christopher and Priscilla, and other old friends in Oxford: here we are again!
Of course I am always here (when not travelling), but you know what I mean. Christmas again. I believe it is 17 years since I started to write to you. I wonder if you have still got all my letters? I have not been able to keep quite all yours, but I have got some from every year.
We had quite a fright this year. No letters came from you. Then one day early in December I sent a messenger who used to go to Oxford a lot but had not been there for a long while, and he said: “Their house is empty and everything is sold.” I was afraid something had happened, or that you had all gone to school in some other town, and your father and mother had moved. Of course, I know now; the messenger had been to your old house next door! He complained that all the windows were shut and the chimneys all blocked up.
I was very glad indeed to get Priscilla’s first letter, and your two nice letters, and useful lists and hints, since Christopher came back. I quite understand that School makes it difficult for you to write like you used. And of course I have new children coming on my lists each year so that I don’t get less busy.
Tell your father I am sorry about his eyes and throat: I once had my eyes very bad from snow-blindness, which comes from looking at sunlit snow. But it got better. I hope Priscilla and your Mother and everyone else will be well on Dec. 25. I am afraid I have not had any time to draw you a picture this year. You see I strained my hand moving heavy boxes in the cellars in November, and could not start my letters until later than usual, and my hand still gets tired quickly. But Ilbereth – one of the cleverest Elves who I took on as a secretary not long ago – is becoming very good.
He can write several alphabets now – Arctic, Latin (that is ordinary European like you use), Greek, Russian, Runes, and of course Elvish. His writing is a bit thin and slanting – he has a very slender hand – and his drawing is a bit scratchy, I think. He won’t use paints – he says he is a secretary and so only uses ink (and pencil). He is going to finish this letter for me, as I have to do some others.
So I will now send you lots of love, and I do hope that I have chosen the best things out of your suggestion lists. I was going to send ‘Hobbits’ – I am sending away loads (mostly second editions) which I sent for only a few days ago) – but I thought you would have lots, so I am sending another Oxford Fairy Story.
Lots and Lots of Love, Father Christmas Dear Children:
I am lIbereth. I have written to you before. I am finishing for Father Christmas. Shall I tell you about my pictures? Polar Bear and Valkotukka and Paksu are always lazy after Christmas, or rather after the St Stephen’s Day party. Father Christmas is ringing for breakfast in vain. Another day when Polar Bear, as usual, was late
BEAR: not true!
Paksu threw a bath-sponge full of icy water on his face. Polar Bear chased him all round the house and round the garden and then forgave him, because he had not caught Paksu, but had found a huge appetite.
We had terrible weather at the end of winter and actually had rain. We could not go out for days. I have drawn Polar Bear and his nephews when they did venture out. Paksu and Valkotukka have never gone away. They like it so much that they have begged to stay.
It was much too warm at the North Pole this year. A large lake formed at the bottom of the Cliff, and left the North Pole standing on an island. I have drawn a view looking South, so the Cliff is on the other side. It was about mid-summer. The North Polar Bear, his nephews and lots of polar cubs used to come and bathe. Also seals. North Polar Bear took to trying to paddle a boat or canoe, but he fell in so often that the seals thought he liked it, and used to get under the boat and tip it up. That made him annoyed.
The sport did not last long as the water froze again early in August. Then we began to begin to think of this Christmas. In my picture Father Christmas is dividing up the lists and giving me my special lot -you are in it.
North Polar Bear of course always pretends to be managing everything: that’s why he is pointing, but I am really listening to Father Christmas and I am saluting him not North Polar Bear.
BEAR: Rude little errand boy.
We had a glorious bonfire and fireworks to celebrate the Coming of Winter and the beginning of real ‘Preparations’. The Snow came down very thick in November and the elves and snowboys had several tobogganing half-holidays. The polar cubs were not good at it. They fell off, and most of them took to rolling or sliding down just on themselves. Today—but this is the best bit, I had just finished my picture, or I might have drawn it differently.
BEAR: And better!
Polar Bear was being allowed to decorate a big tree in the garden, all by himself and a ladder.
Suddenly are heard terrible growly squealy noises. We rushed out to find Polar Bear hanging on the tree himself
“You are not a decoration,” said Father Christmas.
“Anyway, I am alight,” he shouted.
He was. We threw a bucket of water over him. Which spoilt a lot of the decorations, but saved his fur. The silly old thing had rested the ladder against a branch (instead of the trunk of the tree). Then he thought, “I will just light the candles to see if they are working,” although he was told not to. So he climbed to the tip of the ladder with a taper. Just then the branch cracked, theladder slipped on the snow, and Polar Bear fell into the tree and caught on some wire; and his fur got caught on fire.
BEAR: Poor joke.
Luckily he was rather damp or he might have fizzled. I wonder if roast Polar is good to eat?
BEAR: Not as good as well spanked and fried elf.
The last picture is imaginary and not very good… But I hope it will come true. It will if Polar Bear behaves. I hope you can read my writing. I try to write like dear old Father Christmas (without the trembles), but I cannot do so well. I can write Elvish better:
That is some – but Father Christmas says / write even that too spidery and you would never read it.
Love Ilbereth.
BEAR: A big hug and lots of love. Enormous thanks for letters. I don’t get many, though I work so harrd. I am practising new writing with lovely thick pen. Quicker than Arctick. I invented it.
Ilbereth is cheky. How are the Bingos? A merry Christmas. North Polar Bear