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

Again this year, my dear Priscilla,
when you’re asleep upon your pillow; Bad rhyme!
That’s beaten you!
beside your bed old Father Christmas [The English language has no
rhyme
to Father Christmas: that’s why I’m
not very good at making verses.
But what I find a good deal worse is
that girls’ and boys’ names won’t rhyme either
(and bother! either won’t rhyme neither).
So please forgive me, dear Priscilla,
if I pretend you rhyme with pillow!]
She won’t.
As I was saying—
beside your bed old Father Christmas
(afraid that any creak or hiss must How’s that?
Out!
wake you up) will in a twinkling
fill up your stocking, (I‘ve an inkling
that it belongs, in fact, to pater.
but never mind!) At twelve, or later,
he will arrive—and hopes once more
that he has chosen from his store I did it.
the things you want. You’re half past nine; She is not a clock!
but still I hope you’ll drop a line
for some years yet, and won’t forget
old Father Christmas and his Pet,
the North Polar Bear (and Polar Cubs
as fat as little butter-tubs),
and snowboys and Elves—in fact the whole
of my household up near the Pole.
Upon my list, made in December,
your number is, if you remember,
fifty six thousand, seven hundred,
and eighty five. It can’t be wondered Weak!
at that I am so busy, when
you think that you are nearly ten,
and in that time my list has grown
by quite ten thousand girls alone,
even when I’ve subtracted all
the houses where I no longer call!
You all will wonder what’s the news;
if all has gone well, and if not who’s
to blame; and whether Polar Bear
has earned a mark good, bad, or fair,
for his behaviour since last winter.
Well—first he trod upon a splinter, Just rhiming nonsens: it
was a nail—rusty, too
and went on crutches in November;
and then one cold day in December
he burnt his nose and singed his paws
upon the Kitchen grate, because
without the help of tongs he tried
to roast hot chestnuts. “Wow!” he cried, I never did!
and used a pound of butter (best)
to cure the burns. He would not rest, I was not given a chance.
but on the twenty-third he went
and climbed up on the roof. He meant
to clear the snow away that choked
his chimney up—of course he poked
his legs right through the tiles and snow
in tons fell on his bed below.
He has broken saucers, cups, and plates;
and eaten lots of chocolates;
he’s dropped large boxes on my toes,
and trodden tin-soldiers flat in rows; You need not believe all this!
You need!
he’s over-wound engines and broken springs,
and mixed up different children’s things;
he’s thumbed new books and burst balloons
and scribbled lots of smudgy Runes
on my best paper, and wiped his feet
on scarves and hankies folded neat—
And yet he has been, on the whole,
a very kind and willing soul.
He’s fetched and carried, counted, packed
and for a week has never slacked: here hear!
I wish you wouldn’t scribble
on my nice rhyme!
he’s climbed the cellar-stairs at least
five thousand times—the Dear Old Beast!
Paksu sends love and Valkotukka—
They are still with me, and they don’t look a
year older, but they’re just a bit
more wise, and have a pinch more wit.
The GOBLINS, you’ll be glad to hear,
have not been seen at all this year,
not near the Pole. But I am told,
they’re moving south, and getting bold,
and coming back to many lands,
and making with their wicked hands new mines and caves. But do not
fear!
They’ll hide away, when I appear.
Christmas Day
Now Christmas Day has come round again—
and poor North Polar Bear has got a bad pain!
They say he’s swallowed a couple of pounds
of nuts without cracking the shells! It sounds
a Polarish sort of thing to do—
but that isn’t all, between me and you:
he’s eaten a ton of various goods
and recklessly mixed all his favourite foods,
honey with ham and turkey with treacle,
and pickles with milk. I think that a week’ll
be needed to put the old bear on his feet.
And I mustn’t forget his particular treat:
plum pudding with sausages and turkish delight
covered with cream and devoured at a bite!
And after this dish he stood on his head—
it’s rather a wonder the poor fellow’s not dead!
Absolute ROT:
I have not got
a pain in my pot.
Rude fellow!
I do not eat
turkey or meat:
I stick to the sweet.
Which is why
(as all know) I
am so sweet myself,
you thinuous elf!
Goodby!
He means fatuous
No I don’t, you’re not fat,
but thin and silly.
You know my friends too well to think
(although they’re rather rude with ink)
that there are really quarrels here!
We’ve had a very jolly year
(except for Polar Bear’s rusty nail);
but now this rhyme must catch the Mail—
a special messenger must go,
in spite of thickly falling snow,
or else this won’t get down to you
on Christmas day. It’s half past two!
We’ve quite a ton of crackers still
to pull, and glasses still to fill!
Our love to you on this Noel—
and till the next one, fare you well!

Father Christmas
Polar Bear
Ilbereth
Paksu and Valkotukka

1939

Cliff House,
NORTH POLE
December 24th 1939

My dear Priscilla

I am glad you managed to send me two letters although you have been
rather busy working. I hope your Bingo family will have a jolly
Christmas, and behave themselves. Tell Billy—is not that the father’s
name?—not to be so cross. They are not to quarrel over the crackers I
am sending.

I am very busy and things are very difficult this year owing to this
horrible war. Many of my messengers have never come back. I haven’t
been able to do you a very nice picture this year. It is supposed to show
me carrying things down our new path to the sleigh-sheds. Paksu is in
front with a torch looking most frightfully pleased with himself (as
usual). There is just a glimpse (quite enough) of Polar Bear strolling
along behind. He is of course carrying nothing.

There have been no adventures here, and nothing funny has happened—
and that is because Polar Bear has done hardly anything to “help”, as he
calls it, this year.

ROT!

I don’t think he has been lazier than usual, but he has been not at all
well. He ate some fish that disagreed with him last November and was
afraid he might have to go to hospital in Greenland. But after living only
on warm water for a fortnight he suddenly threw the glass and jug out of
the window and decided to get better.

He drew the trees in the picture, and I am afraid they are not very good.

Best part of it

They look more like umbrellas! Still he sends love to you and all your
bears. “Why don’t you have Polar Cubs instead of Bingos and Koalas?”
he says.

Why not?

Give my love to Christopher and Michael and to John when you next
write.

Love from Father Christmas.

1940

December 23rd 1940

Dear Priscilla

Glad to find you are back! Message came on Saturday that your house
was empty. Wos afrade you had gon without leaving any address.
Ar having verry DIFFICULT time this year but ar doing my our best.
THANK YOU for explaining about your room. Father Christmas sends
love! Please excuse blots. Rather bizzy.

Yours

Polar Bear

Cliff House,
near North Pole
Christmas Eve 1940

My Dearest Priscilla

Just a short letter to wish you a very happy Christmas. Please give my
love to Christopher. We are having rather a difficult time this year. This
horrible war is reducing all our stocks, and in so many countries children
are living far from their homes. Polar Bear has had a very busy time
trying to get our address-lists corrected. I am glad you are still at home!

I wonder what you will think of my picture. “Penguins don’t live at the
North Pole,” you will say. I know they don’t, but we have got some all
the same. What you would call “evacuees”, I believe (not a very nice
word); except that they did not come here to escape the war, but to find
it! They had heard such stories of the happenings up in the North
(including a quite untrue story that Polar Bear and all the Polar Cubs
had been blown up, and that I had been captured by Goblins) that they
swam all the way here to see if they could help me. Nearly 50 arrived.

The picture is of Polar Bear dancing with their chiefs. They amuse us
enormously: they don’t really help much, but are always playing funny
dancing games, and trying to imitate the walk of Polar Bear and the
Cubs.

Very much love from your old friend,

Father Christmas

1941

Cliff House,
near (stump of) North Pole
December 22nd, 1941

My Dearest Priscilla,

I am so glad you did not forget to write to me again this year. The
number of children who keep up with me seems to be getting smaller: I
expect it is because of this horrible war, and that when it is over things
will improve again, and I shall be as busy as ever. But at present so
terribly many people have lost their homes: or have left them; half the
world seems in the wrong place.

And even up here we have been having troubles. I don’t mean only with
my stores: of course they are getting low. They were already last year,
and I have not been able to fill them up, so that I have now to send what
I can instead of what is asked for. But worse than that has happened.
I expect you remember that some years ago we had trouble with the
Goblins; and we thought we had settled it. Well, it broke out again this
autumn, worse than it has been for centuries. We have had several
battles, and for a while my house was besieged. In November it began to
look likely that it would be captured and all my goods, and that
Christmas Stockings would all remain empty all over the world.
Would not that have been a calamity? It has not happened—and that is
largely due to the efforts of Polar Bear—

N.B. That’s mee!

but it was not until the beginning of this month that I was able to send
out any messengers! I expect the Goblins thought that with so much war
going on this was a fine chance to recapture the North. They must have
been preparing for some years; and they made a huge new tunnel which
had an outlet many miles away.

It was early in October that they suddenly came out in thousands. Polar
Bear says there were at least a million, but that is his favourite big
number.

There wer at leest a hundred million.

Anyway, he was still fast asleep at the time, and I was rather drowsy
myself; the weather was rather warm for the time of the year and
Christmas seemed far away. There were only one or two elves about the
place; and of course Paksu and Valkotukka (also fast asleep). The
Penguins had all gone away in the spring.

Luckily Goblins cannot help yelling and beating on drums when they
mean to fight; so we all woke up in time, and got the gates and doors
barred and the windows shuttered. Polar Bear got on the roof and fired
rockets into the Goblin hosts as they poured up the long reindeer-drive;
but that did not stop them for long. We were soon surrounded.

I have not time to tell you all the story. I had to blow three blasts on the
great Horn (Windbeam). It hangs over the fireplace in the hall, and if I
have not told you about it before it is because I have not had to blow it
for over 4 hundred years: its sound carries as far as the North Wind
blows. All the same it was three whole days before help came: snowboys,
polar bears, and hundreds and hundreds of elves.

They came up behind the Goblins: and Polar Bear (really awake this
time) rushed out with a blazing branch off the fire in each paw. He must
have killed dozens of Goblins (he says a million).

But there was a big battle down in the plain near the North Pole in
November, in which the Goblins brought hundreds of new companies
out of their tunnels. We were driven back to the Cliff, and it was not
until Polar Bear and a party of his younger relatives crept out by night,
and blew up the entrance to the new tunnels with nearly 100lbs of
gunpowder that we got the better of them—for the present.

But bang went all the stuff for making fireworks and crackers (the
cracking part) for some years. The North Pole cracked and fell over (for
the second time), and we have not yet had time to mend it. Polar Bear is
rather a hero (I hope he does not think so himself)

I DO!

But of course he is a very MAGICAL animal really,

N.B.

and Goblins can’t do much to him, when he is awake and angry. I have
seen their arrows bouncing off him and breaking.

Well, that will give you some idea of events, and you will understand
why I have not had time to draw a picture this year—rather a pity,
because there have been such exciting things to draw—and why I have
not been able to collect the usual things for you, or even the very few
that you asked for.

I am told that nearly all the Alison Uttley books have been burnt, and I
could not find one of ‘Moldy Warp’. I must try and get one for next time.
I am sending you a few other books, which I hope you will like. There is
not a great deal else, but I send you very much love.

I like to hear about your Bear Bingo, but really I think he is too old and
important to hang up stockings! But Polar Bear seems to feel that any
kind of bear is a relation. And he said to me, “Leave it to me, old man
(that, I am afraid is what he often calls me): I will pack a perfectly
beautiful selection for his Poliness (yes, Poliness!)”. So I shall try and
bring the ‘beautiful selection’ along: what it is, I don’t know!

Very much love from your old friend Father Christmas and Polar Bear

1942

Cliff House,
North Pole
Christmas Eve 1942

My dear Priscilla,

Polar Bear tells me that he cannot find my letter from you among this
year’s piles. I hope he has not lost any: he is so untidy. Still I expect you
have been very busy this autumn at your new school.

I have had to guess what you would like. I think I know fairly well, and
luckily we are still pretty well off for books and things of that sort. But
really, you know, I have never seen my stocks so low or my cellars so
full of empty places (as Polar Bear says).

I am hoping that I shall be able to replenish them before long; though
there is so much waste and smashing going on that it makes me rather
sad, and anxious too. Deliveries too are more difficult than ever this year
with damaged houses and houseless people and all the dreadful events
going on in your countries. Of course it is just as peaceful and merry in
my land as ever it was.*

We had our snow early this year and then nice crisp frosty nights to keep
it white and firm, and bright starry ‘days’ (no sun just now of course).
I am giving as big a party tomorrow night as ever I did, polar cubs
(Paksu and Valkotukka, of course, among them) and snowboys, and
elves. We are having the Tree indoors this year—in the hall at the foot of
the great staircase, and I hope Polar Bear does not fall down the stairs
and crash into it after it is all decorated and lit up.

I hope you will not mind my bringing this little letter along with your
things tonight: I am short of messengers, as some have great trouble in
finding people and have been away for days. Just now I caught Polar
Bear in my pantry, and I am sure he had been to a cupboard. I do not
know why.

He has wrapped up a mysterious small parcel which he wants me to
bring to you—well not exactly to you (he said): “She has got a bear too,
as you ought to remember.”

Well my dear here is very much love from Father Christmas once more,
and very good wishes for 1943.

*No battles at all this year. Quiet as quiet. I think the Goblins were
really crushed this time. Windbeam is hanging over the mantelpiece and
is quite dusty again, I am glad to say. But Polar Bear has spent lots of
time this year making fresh gunpowder—just in case of trouble. He said,
“wouldn’t that grubby little Billy like being here!” I don’t know what he
was talking about, unless it was about your bear: does he eat
gunpowder?

You’ll find out about the pantry! Ha! Ha! I know wot you like. Don’t let
that Billy Bear eat it all! Love from Polar Bear.

Messige to Billy Bear from Polar Bear Sorry I could not send you a really
good bomb. All our powder has gone up in a big bang. You would have
seen wot a really good exploashion is like. If yould been there.

1943

Cliff House,
North Pole,
Christmas 1943

My dear Priscilla

A very happy Christmas! I suppose you will be hanging up your stocking
just once more: I hope so for I have still a few little things for you. After
this I shall have to say “goodbye”, more or less: I mean, I shall not forget
you. We always keep the old numbers of our old friends, and their
letters; and later on we hope to come back when they are grown up and
have houses of their own and children.

My messengers tell me that people call it “grim” this year. I think they
mean miserable: and so it is, I fear, in very many places where I was
specially fond of going; but I am very glad to hear that you are still not
really miserable. Don’t be! I am still very much alive, and shall come
back again soon, as merry as ever. There has been no damage in my
country; and though my stocks are running rather low I hope soon to put
that right.

Polar Bear - too “tired” to write himself (so he says)— I am, reely
sends a special message to you: love and a hug! He says: do ask if she
still has a bear called Silly Billy, or something like that; or is he worn
out?

Give my love to the others: John and Michael and Christopher—and of
course to all your pets that you used to tell me about. Polar Bear and all
the Cubs are very well. They have really been very good this year and
have hardly had time to get into any mischief.

I hope you will find most of the things that you wanted and I am very
sorry that I have no ‘Cats’ Tongues’ left. But I have sent nearly all the
books you asked for. I hope your stocking will seem full!
Very much love from your old friend,

Father Christmas.