FATHER CHRISTMAS BOUNTIFUL GIVER IS KIDDIES’ IDOL

Manawatu Times, Volume LV, Issue 7412, 20 December 1930, Page 15

FATHER CHRISTMAS BOUNTIFUL GIVER IS KIDDIES’ IDOL

A Welcome Stranger

IS ONLY MAN "WHO SLIPS DOWN THE CHIMNEY

(By Uncle Charles.)

Christmas belongs to the kiddies; it is tho long looked for occasion and finalises twelve full months of weary waiting for tho beardcu man in rod and white, who takes the young folk unto himself and who is over ready to distribute liberally the wonderful “joygerms.” His huge bag is full of every conceivable thing that delights Die small mind—dolls, mechanical toys, tasty sweets, noisy rattles, sweet drinks, and —and a host of other articles too numerous to mention.

I was told in confidence t’other day that this stranger/who lives a hermit’s life until he feels the children arc waiting for the papers to announce his coming to “tho magic cave at so and su’s,” came to life some weeks ago. By this time he has probably made his toy selection and is now handing small tokens to the children in his cave, while his promises of absolutely laden stockings make them jump for joy. One small lad said that he had promised to fill as many pillow cases as the bedrail would hold; to another he promised a “stunning” railway station and train, while another boy, not so sure if last year’s result could bo taken as any indication, sniggered and said dryly, “Orl right, I’ll just wait an’ see before I believe what ya’ say.” I feel absolutely certain that he will regret what he said. However, don’t let that youth’s audacity worry you. Father Christmas is a real sport and, when in his fairyland of waterfalls and twinkling lights, is busy jotting down in a small notebook the names of tho happy children. The other day when I was visiting him—and he has a cheery word for grown-ups—l espied him smiling as he turned the pages over. What was he thinking of V Perhaps of the luvely things ho intended giving Jimmy who was so happy when he saw tho cave. Thus the slogan is “Wear all the smiles that will comfortably lit your bright face when Father greets you.” Boys and girls often think about this peculiar man. Who is be ’ Where docs lie come from ‘l Where does bo go? They are really puzlod. The presents aro always in the stocking or tbo pillow eases, if they are optimistic in expecting such a huge bag filled. I do not profess t,o know where Father Christmas’s hide-out is placed, or where he makes tlic numerous toys, but I Jo know that he is the most silent man in the world and that he is careful to see that no restless eyes pop out of tho sneets and listen to him silently selecting the good things. When all is quiet and the children are peacefully dreaming of tlio morning’s joy, of whistling trains, rosy cheeked sleeping dolls, and brightly coloured sweets, he is hurriedly driving towards the house in his sleigh. “My time is precious: I can’t stay long to watch the sweet children here,” he muses. So reining in his panting stags, he shuffles to the chimney and with his bag firmly held works liis way. No chimney sweep could be so silent or come through the descent so clean. Ah' He espies the children’s room —he never goes to the parents’ room—they a re smiling in their slumberings. Many yoars of such hurried distribution of toys have taught him the art of silent fast work; and with tho stockings well laden he makes a hurried exit to continue his rounds. Instinct tells hint where the good children sleep and as 99.999 per cent, are good ho has a large number of homes to visit before the sun peeps above tho horizon. Merry laughter and shouts of joy will soon be heard in all directions. Without missing any, his work must be finished. What a rush ho has, but his notebook is" always a sure guide and he can sigh and say, “Well, another good night’s work well done” when the sun’s rays come to tell him to lnirry back to his hermitage.

Mother and Father are given no chance to continue their peaceful rest for, before the dustman has really gone, the children hail them with joyous laughter mingled ' inliarmoniousiy with blaring trumpets, whizzing clockwork toys and silent dolls. “Lool; what I’ve got” they jubilantly cry a» they clamber to display what Santa Claus has bestowed upon them. Lie knew exactly what they wanted. Sister, in true paternal pride, nurses her inanimate and gaily-bedecked doll, while brother, eager to see just what pace his car or engine can make, sets it off at a rushing speed. Bump! it has struck the wall and skidded to again rush off on its hectic career. Excitement holds sway; tho silent bestower is forgotten when the products of his handicraft and thoughtfulness enter into the lives of those he loves so dearly.

Without endeavouring to tax the reader’s mind and credulity, the writer would point out that Christmas is the children’s season, solely, and that it is up to them to take advantage of it. Nevertheless, let them, w-hilc passing their plates in anticipation of extra helpings of steaming pudding and luscious turkey, think of the after effects they have such a habit of overtaxing their stomachs—and castor oil is never sweet.