Southend U3A

December 2022

Don't Stop believing - Pete Norman

‘There’s no such thing as Father Christmas.’

Philip spun around. ‘You mustn’t say that.’

Eddie laughed. It was an unpleasant laugh. ‘Who are you to tell me what I can or can’t say, you moron?’

Philip opened his mouth to reply but before he could answer he felt a strong push from behind and he tumbled forwards, scraping his hands against the playground tarmac. He looked around and saw Shaun, standing right behind him. Shaun might not be quite as bad as Eddie but he was never far apart from the bully.

Eddie raised himself to his full height. He might the shortest boy in the class – but then, you are never small when your constant shadow is a boy like Shaun.

‘Father Christmas don’t exist; he never has existed and he never will exist. It’s all just a fairy tale to tell to stupid little kids like you – and you must be really stupid if you still believe in it.’

With that he turned on his heel and walked off with a satisfied grin on his face, followed closely by the sycophantic Shaun.

Philip quickly stood up and walked away with as much nonchalance as he could muster, as if the fall had not hurt him – he knew that you should never show weakness to bullies – but his hands were hurting and he made his way to a spot which was out of sight of Eddie but within sight of Mrs Robertson, the mid-day assistant, just to be safe.

Mrs Robertson had Xray eyes, they always said, because she always saw every single thing that went on in the playground and she had seen what had happened here today. She walked over to Philip and took a quick glance at his hands. ‘What I want you to do right now, young man, is go to the office and ask Mrs Carter to ta

Philip started to protest but her outstretched finger brokered no argument.

As he walked to the office he was thinking hard. He knew that Eddie was only trying to wind him up but he also knew that he had given an awful lot of thought to the existence of Father Christmas himself. He was not quite convinced that he was for real but there was always a smidgeon of doubt in his mind and so he resolved that this year he would prove it to himself once and for all.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas he became extra vigilant. He had worked out that if it really was his parents who bought his presents then they must surely buy them well before the day itself and therefore they had to be hidden in the house somewhere, somewhere where they thought he was not likely to find them.

He spent some time wandering idly around the house, checking out potential hiding places, while trying not to look suspicious in any way – however, looking in places like the airing cupboard and the cupboard under the sink had to be done when his mum was at the shops, because he would never be able to justify that.

The same logic applied to the loft; he considered the possibility of saying that he was looking for some of his old toys up there but if the presents really were in the loft, then he knew that they would find some excuse to stop him from going up there.

Tricky, tricky, tricky.

The kitchen cupboard yielded sticky bottles, smelly cloths and a few things that he simply did not understand.

The airing cupboard was full of towels and bedclothes which very nearly toppled out all over the floor while he was rummaging behind them.

The wardrobes in their bedroom drew a blank, as did the shed . . . so, there was nothing else for it, it had to be the loft.

It was some time before he managed to get a chance to slip into the loft unnoticed. He took the pole from the airing cupboard and then had a fight to lower the loft ladder. His time was severely limited, so he had to work fast.

The loft was full of stuff he had not seen since he was small – so he tried to work his way methodically through the detritus looking for anything suspiciously Christmassy . . . something like . . .

. . . something like the large oblong box in the far corner. Alongside the tree and the boxes of tinsel and baubles was a huge roll of bright red wrapping paper covered in smiling Rudolphs and jolly Santas – the same paper that the presents were wrapped up in, every single year.

However, the most exciting thing he could see was the large sack half hidden behind it. He hesitated as he pulled the sack out, he did not want to spoil the surprise on Christmas morning but in the interest of serious research he thought that he could justify a cursory search. He reached into the sack and, without actually looking at the contents, he rattled and shook and squeezed every box and packet until he had a vague idea of what might be in them. He was a little disappointed that there was not as much as he usually got but then there were still a couple of weeks to go before Christmas and so, he hoped, the sack might by then have got a little fatter.

When the great day finally came, the tree was resplendent with all of the shiny baubles and the tinselly garlands and, after his dad had eventually managed to persuade all three sets to work simultaneously, the Christmas tree lights flashed impressively. The giant silver star graced the top, leaning at a slight angle – as it always did. The brightly coloured Christmas cards were hanging over the fireplace on long strings. The lounge had been hoovered and polished – and it wasn’t even a Thursday. The room was as good as it always was on Christmas Eve – it was perfect.

Underneath the tree was a scattering of presents, wrapped in bright red wrapping paper covered in smiling Rudolphs and jolly Santas – as they always were. He wanted so much to rummage through them but he had to wait until he had the room to himself before something so rigidly prohibited became possible.

Later that afternoon dad had been sent out for a last-minute shop and mum was busy in the kitchen. He quickly established which parcels were for him and from the shape and from a quick rattle and squeeze he was certain that this pile represented everything he had seen in the loft, with just a couple of unknowns as well.

On such a day – and quite out of character – he did exactly as he was told; he was a model child – he could easily be seen to be being ‘very, very good’ (he was, of course, hedging his bets just in case).

When it was finally time for bed he was absolutely buzzing with excitement. He was told in no uncertain terms to go to bed and to go straight to sleep or else Father Christmas wouldn’t come. It was crunch time.

Had he been good enough or not?

Did Santa exist or not?

Would he come or not? . . .

. . . or would it be dad?

He had made his plans carefully. Whether it was really Santa or whether it was just his dad, then, whichever it was, he would be pretending to be asleep – he wanted to hear him, he wanted to see him through half closed eyes.

He had also worked out that, if it was his dad, the best time for him to leave the presents was when they went to bed.

He lay, awake but struggling, for a very, very long time until, eventually, he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, the sound of the bathroom fan, then, finally the darkness as their bedroom light was turned off and a few minutes later the sound of his father snoring . . . and yet there was still no stocking!

He lay awake for as long as he could but, eventually, he drifted off into a deep sleep. He dreamed happy dreams, a kaleidoscope of every Christmas film he had ever seen, every Santa, every reindeer and hordes of different pixies and helpers swirled around in his head.

As the thin light of dawn crept through the gap in his curtains he stretched and opened his eyes. His befuddled brain was screaming out that it was Christmas Day and there were presents and there was a stocking and . . . but he was almost too frightened to open his eyes, to learn the truth . . . however, natural curiosity soon took control and he sat bolt upright and there, laying across the foot of his bed was a large stocking. It was bright red with white fur around the top. His name was written across it in gold letters. It looked as if it was bulging with delight.

He seized it and ran down the landing into his parent’s bedroom. ‘He’s been! He’s been!’ He squirmed his way between them and, despite their protests, he pulled out the first present . . . and stopped . . . the present was wrapped in pale blue paper with glistening white stars and . . . it was covered with silvery dust.

He shook it gently and the dust scattered through the air and twinkled and twinkled and then, it simply disappeared. They all stared in amazement as he pulled out a second twinkling present and the third . . . it was magic dust and none of them could explain it.

After he had ripped open every present and laughed at the disappearing magic dust and destroyed their bed with torn scraps of blue paper, he scrambled out of the bed and ran down the stairs.

He stopped outside the lounge door and drew in a deep breath, then he threw open the door. Everything was exactly as it had been when he had gone to bed – except that beside the Christmas tree there was a large sack, pale blue with glistening white stars and covered with silvery dust.

He ran through the room and grabbed the bag and flung it open. He was showered with silvery dust which scattered through the air and twinkled and twinkled and then simply disappeared.

As he ripped open the blue presents, he had only one thought in his mind – he did believe! It was Eddie who was the moron!