The Bribie Islander

Christmas 2020 will be a Christmas like no other. Come with me for a visit to Santa’s household in lockdown. With toys and supplies increasingly hard to come by, cranky, bored elves are playing mean little tricks on each other. Imagine the indignant howls … ‘He started it!’ ‘Ouch! Stop pulling my hair!’ Then there are the taunts and insults of disaffected helpers and the predictable responses. ‘YOUR ears are pointy!’ ‘Give me back that vest!’ And the usually genial Santa having to arbitrate. ’Now Gandalf. Leave Thimble alone! Chrystal, stop shredding the tinsel!’ ‘Felicity, have you looked at your own ears lately?’ ‘Bobbit … that wood is for toy trains … do NOT make me come over there!’ As for the reindeer, they too are without purpose, restless and bored. Donner has never been more doleful and depressed. Blitzen has become belligerent and baleful.

And Rudolph has been listlessly sobbing for weeks and complaining about the other reindeers. HIs nose? Bright red of course. With the COVID curfew in place, there have been no test runs of the sleigh to look forward to, and frankly who can be bothered with reindeer games? The barn smells. There’s precious little hay and I’m afraid it’s become pretty unsanitary in there. Santa is not his normal cheery self. Idle hands you know. He’s smoking too much (a pipe of course) and getting stuck into the Christmas plonk every evening.

And as if the fat man wasn’t already a prime candidate for a cardiac event, he’s been pigging out on Christmas pudding like there’s no tomorrow. Santa’s considerable and growing girth is straining his red suit to buttonpopping. Santa’s wife, Mary has already had to let the seams out twice. She’s at breaking point. Maddeningly cheerful carols have been playing relentlessly on the Spotify app for months in the normally busy workshop with no Christmas chores to break the monotony. She’s nagging Santa more than usual. ‘ God, Claus why don’t you DO something for heaven’s sake!’ ‘Why don’t you use this time … to … get fit/ fix the lathe/ bake some sourdough bread!’ We all know how the virus has wreaked havoc on the mail systems around the world.

Letters from children to the North Pole have been sporadic to say the least and Santa’s become totally uninterested in answering them, especially after he’s had a few too many egg nogs. His usual affability has deserted him. His hitherto positive prism no longer in place, he views what meagre letters from kiddies that trickle in to his mailbox as grasping and downright demanding. His growing cynicism plus the drinking is worrisome.

‘Lishen to thish one Mary … “I’ve been good and could I please have a doll’s house?” Sheesh. Does she think I can just flick my clingers and come up with a hollsdouse?’ You think things are bad in your neck of the woods? Spare a thought for Santa and all his helpers at the North Pole. So let’s all be kind to each other this Christmas. We deserve it.

WHEN I WAS SIX YEARS OLD I WAS MOVED INTO MY FINAL FOSTER HOME. I WAS TOLD TO CALL MY NEW FOSTER PARENTS NAN AND GRAMPY. THEY UNDERSTOOD THAT I WAS TRAUMATISED BY THE PHYSICAL ABUSE I’D RECEIVED FROM MY PREVIOUS CARERS.

During these times, most people had three outfits. One to wear, one in the wash and one for best. Occasionally I received second-hand clothes from my real family. They were always expensive and of good quality but not new and not mine. During a bed-making session, Nan asked me to describe my dream dress. I dreamily replied it should be a floor-length blue taffeta dress. I wanted the opposite of the industrial-strength hard-wearing clothes I normally wore. I knew about the Lord Mayors annual junior ball and wanted to attend, but knew it would never happen. There was no money for such extravagances and anyway I had no ball gown. I forgot about the conversation and carried on with the bed making and dusting.

The long-awaited Christmas day arrived. I wasn’t allowed in the big front room until Christmas morning, then I saw the ceiling height Christmas tree loaded with tiny presents, fairy lights and baubles. Big, beautifully wrapped presents lay on the floor around the tree. On the tables and sideboards were once-ayear bowls of fruit and dishes of chocolates and a roaring fire would burn all day. It was a magical Christmas Cavern.

I asked Nan what I should wear for Christmas lunch. She told me to wear the horrible heavy wool green pinafore dress and blouse donated by my real family. This made me feel glum and took the shine off the day but I did what I was told and changed into the hated second-hand clothes.

After a huge roast lunch and Christmas pudding with thruppence in it, we went into the front room to open the big presents under the tree. I tore the wrapping paper and ribbon off my biggest present. I took the lid off the box, pulled the tissue paper aside and sew some clothing. I pulled out the dress and more and more kept coming out until I realized it was a floor-length dress. It was my beautiful blue taffeta dream dress with a Peter Pan collar and a big bow on the back. It was perfect and exactly how I’d previously described it to Nan. I eagerly asked if I could change into my dream dress and was given permission. I was indescribably happy. I felt like a princess, a brand new dress specially made for me. I never imagined that Nan had listened so carefully to my requirements and then had it made up for me.

All the family came over on Christmas afternoon to play traditional games like passing an orange down a line of people but using no hands. We also played charades. In the evening 33 rev. records were put on the record player so we could dance. A favourite was the Blue Danube Waltz, which Grampy danced with me whilst I stood on his feet and he carried me around. I felt very grown-up and happy in my new dress. On Boxing Day the family always took a box at the theatre to see a pantomime, so that was the first public outing for my dream dress. I never did make it to the Lord Mayors ball, but I got so much pleasure from wearing a dress that for once wasn’t sensible and hard-wearing. It was and still is the best present I’ve ever received.