Letters From Father Christmas by J.R.R. TOLKIEN

Cliff House, near the North Pole
December 21st 1933

My dears

Another Christmas! and I almost thought at one time (in November) that
there would not be one this year. There would be the 25th of December,
of course, but nothing from your old great-great-etc. grandfather at the
North Pole.

Goblins. The worst attack we have had for centuries. They have been
fearfully wild and angry ever since we took all their stolen toys off them
last year and dosed them with green smoke. You remember the Red
Gnomes promised to clear all of them out. There was not one to be
found in any hole or cave by New Year’s day. But I said they would crop
up again—in a century or so.

They have not waited so long! They must have gathered their nasty
friends from mountains all over the world, and been busy all the summer
while we were at our sleepiest. This time we had very little warning.
Soon after All Saints’ Day, Polar Bear got very restless. He now says he
smelt nasty smells—but as usual he did not say anything: he says he did
not want to trouble me. He really is a nice old thing, and this time he
absolutely saved Christmas. He took to sleeping in the kitchen with his
nose towards the cellar-door, opening on the main-stairway down into
my big stores.

One night, just about Christopher’s birthday, I woke up suddenly. There
was squeaking and spluttering in the room and a nasty smell—in my
own best green and purple room that I had just had done up most
beautifully. I caught sight of a wicked little face at the window. Then I
really was upset, for my window is high up above the cliff, and that
meant there were bat-riding goblins about—which we haven’t seen since
the goblin-war in 1453, that I told you about.

I was only just quite awake, when a terrific din began far downstairs—in
the store-cellars. It would take too long to describe, so I have tried to
draw a picture of what I saw when I got down—after treading on a
goblin on the mat.

Only ther was more like 1000 goblins than 15.

(But you could hardly expect me to draw 1000). Polar Bear was
squeezing, squashing, trampling, boxing and kicking goblins skyhigh,
and roaring like a zoo, and the goblins were yelling like engine whistles.
He was splendid.

Say no more—I enjoyed it immensely!

Well, it is a long story. The trouble lasted for over a fortnight, and it
began to look as if I should never be able to get my sleigh out this year.
The goblins had set part of the stores on fire and captured several
gnomes, who sleep down there on guard, before Polar Bear and some
more gnomes came in—and killed 100 before I arrived.

Even when we had put the fire out and cleared the cellars and house (I
can’t think what they were doing in my room, unless they were trying to
set fire to my bed) the trouble went on. The ground was black with
goblins under the moon when we looked out, and they had broken up
my stables and gone off with the reindeer.

I had to blow my golden trumpet (which I have not done for many
years) to summon all my friends. There were several battles—every
night they used to attack and set fire in the stores—before we got the
upper hand, and I am afraid quite a lot of my dear elves got hurt.

Fortunately we have not lost much except my best string, (gold and
silver) and packing papers and holly-boxes. I am very short of these: and
I have been very short of messengers. Lots of my people are still away (I
hope they will come back safe) chasing the goblins out of my land, those
that are left alive.

They have rescued all my reindeer. We are quite happy and settled again
now, and feel much safer. It really will be centuries before we get
another goblin-trouble. Thanks to Polar Bear and the gnomes, there can’t
be very many left at all.

And Father Christmas. I wish I could draw or had time to try—you have
no idea what the old man can doo! Litening and fierworks and thunder
of guns!

Polar Bear certainly has been busy helping, and double help—but he has
mixed up some of the girls’ things with the boys’ in his hurry. We hope
we have got all sorted out—but if you hear of anyone getting a doll
when they wanted an engine, you will know why. Actually Polar Bear
tells me I am wrong—we did lose a lot of railway stuff—goblins always
go for that—and what we got back was damaged and will have to be
repainted. It will be a busy summer next year.

Now, a merry Christmas to you all once again. I hope you will all have a
very happy time; and will find that I have taken notice of your letters
and sent you what you wanted. I don’t think my pictures are very good
this year—though I took quite a time over them (at least two minutes).
Polar Bear says, “I don’t see that a lot of stars and pictures of goblins in
your bedroom are so frightfully merry.” Still I hope you won’t mind. It is
rather good of Polar Bear kicking, really. Anyway I send lots of love.

Yours ever and annually

Father Nicholas Christmas.

1934

My dear Christopher

Thank you! I am awake—and have been a long while. But my post office
does not really open ever until Michaelmas. I shall not be sending my
messengers out regularly this year until about October 15th. There is a
good deal to do up here. Your telegram—that is why I have sent an
express reply—and letter and Priscilla’s were found quite by accident:
not by a messenger but by Bellman (I don’t know how he got that name
because he never rings any; he is my chimney inspector and always
begins work as soon as the first fires are lit).

Very much love to you and Priscilla. (The Polar Bear, if you remember
him, is still fast asleep, and quite thin after so much fasting. He will soon
cure that. I shall tickle his ribs and wake him up soon; and then he will
eat several months’ breakfast all in one).

More love, your loving Father Christmas

!! To messenger: Deliver at once and don’t stop on the way!!
At once Urgent Express!

Cliff House,
North Pole
Christmas Eve. 1934

My dear Christopher

Thank you very much for your many letters. I have not had time this
year to write you so long a letter as 1932 and 1933, but nothing at all
exciting has happened.

I hope I have pleased you with the things I am bringing and that they
are near enough to your lists.

Very little news: after the frightful business of last year there has not
been even a smell of goblin for 200 miles round. But, as I said it would,
it took us far into the summer to repair all the damage, and we lost a lot
of sleep and rest.

When November came round we did not feel like getting to work, and
we were rather slow and so have been rushed at the end. Also it has
been unusually warm for the North Pole, and the Polar Bear still keeps
on yawning.

Paksu and Valkotukka have been here a long while. They have grown a
good deal—but still get up to frightful mischief in between times of
trying to help. This year they stole my paints and painted scrawls on the
white walls of the cellars; ate all the mincemeat out of the pies made
ready for Christmas; and only yesterday went and unpacked half the
parcels to find railway things to play with!

They don’t get on well with the Cave cubs, somehow; several of these
have arrived today and are staying here a few nights with old Cave
Brown Cave, who is their uncle, granduncle, grandfather, great
granduncle, etc. Paksu is always kicking them because they squeak and
grunt so funnily: Polar Bear has to box him often—and a ‘box’ from
Polar Bear is no joke.

As there are no Goblins about, and as there is no wind, and so far much
less snow than usual, we are going to have a great boxing-day party
ourselves—out of doors. I shall ask 100 elves and red gnomes, lots of
polar cubs, cave-cubs, and snowbabies, and of course, Paksu and
Valkotukka, and Polar Bear and Cave Bear and his nephews (etc.) will be
there.

We have brought a tree all the way from Norway and planted it in a pool
of ice. My picture gives you no idea of its size, or of the loveliness of its
magic lights of different colours. We tried them yesterday evening to see
if they were all right. If you see a bright glow in the North you will
know what it is!

Behind the tree are snowplants, and piled masses of snow made into
ornamental shapes—they are purple and black because of darkness and
shadow. There is also a special edging to the ice-pool—and it is made of
real coloured icing. Paksu and Valkotukka are already nibbling at it,
though they should not—till the party.

Polar Bear started to draw this to help me, as I was busy, but he dropped
such blots—enormous ones. I had to come to the rescue. Not very good
this year. Never mind: perhaps better next year.

I hope you will like your presents and be very happy.

Your loving

Father Christmas.

PS I really can’t remember exactly in what year I was born. I doubt if
anyone knows. I am always changing my own mind about it. Anyway it
was 1934 years ago or jolly nearly that. Bless you! FC PPS Give my love
to Mick and John.

Polar Bear LOVE BISY THANKS

1935

December 24 1935
North Pole

My dear Children

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!

(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.

1936

Cliff House
North Pole
Wednesday Dec. 23rd 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, llbereth, Secretary to Father Christmas

Very sorry. Been bizy. Can’t find that alphabet. Will look after Christmas
and post it. Yours, Polar Bear.

1937

Cliff House,
North Pole
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 llbereth. 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

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.

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.

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, “l
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, the ladder slipped on the snow, and Polar Bear fell
into the tree and caught on some wire; and his fur got caught on fire.

Poor joke.

Luckily he was rather damp or he might have fizzled. I wonder if roast
Polar is good to eat?

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 EÍvish better:

That is some - but Father Christmas says I write even that too spidery
and you would never read it.
Love IÍbereth.

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

1938

Cliff House,
North Pole
Christmas 1938

My dear Priscilla and all others at your house Here we are again! Bless
me, I believe I said that before—but after all you don’t want Christmas
to be different each year, do you?

I am frightfully sorry that I haven’t had the time to draw any big picture
this year, and Ilbereth (my secretary) has not done one either; but we
are all sending you some rhymes instead. Some of my other children
seem to like rhymes, so perhaps you will.

We have all been very sorry to hear about Christopher. I hope he is
better and will have a jolly Christmas. I only heard lately when my
messengers and letter collectors came back from Oxford. Tell him to
cheer up—and although he is now growing up and leaving stockings
behind, I shall bring a few things along this year. Among them is a small
astronomy book which gives a few hints on the use of telescopes—thank
you for telling me he had got one. Dear me! My hand is shaky—I hope
you can read some of this?

I loved your long letter, with all the amusing pictures. Give my love to
your Bingos and all the other sixty (or more!), especially Raggles and
Preddley and Tinker and Tailor and Jubilee and Snowball. I hope you
will go on writing to me for a long while yet.

Very much love to you—and lots for Chris—from Father Christmas