There Should Be a Law About This Father Xmas Business!

Radio Record, Volume VIII, Issue 24, 21 December 1934, Page 12

There Should Be a Law About This Father Xmas Business!

By the Editor

NE morning this week I awakened feeling that everything was all right with the world. The sun was shining brightly, the harbour looked bluer than usual, and the almanac on my wall told me that it was just one week to Christmas. I felt that I wanted to do someone a good turn-a whole flock of good turns. Perhaps I could taken an orphanage out for the day? Buy it lunch, take it to look at the toy shops, let it talle to Father Christmas, buy it presents. "But on second thoughts I decided that I would

connne iny generosity to nephew Peter. I rang my _ sister. She treated my invitation with enthusiasm. Peter would be ready at 11, and I would be careful not to destroy any of the little darling’s illusions, wouldn’t I? The first blow fell before we ever reached town. In the door"way of a suburban toyshop sat a Father Christmas — a rather seedy specimen, I'll admit, but undeniably a Father Christmas. "There’s — Father Christmas," shouted Peter. "I want to see Father Christmas." I lied bravely-told Peter that that wasn’t Father Christmas, but just an old man with white whiskers, who always sat in the doorway of that shop. We reached town with our relationships slightly strained. In a _ big store was the real thing-a rotund, jolly Father Christmas,

who looked as if he ‘could be discreet in the matter of Christmas Eve promises. I led Peter up:to him on his red plush thtone. "We saw you in: the door of.a toy. shop when we were coming to town, and you didn’t look nearly so fat," were Peter’s first words. Even Father Christmas was slightly disconcerted. "Ah, my little man, " he said, "but I’ve had a big dinner since then." "But it’s too early to have dinner," persisted Peter. ,

We changed the subject, and Peter had soon plunged into a list of Christmas stocking requireiments which began modestly with a bicycle and an electric train, and ended with a miniature yacht and a: Meccano set. Father Christmas cocked an inquiring eye at me, and I prayed for George Robey’s eyebrows so that I could wiggle them with meaning. "Perhaps Daddy will-" began Father Christas. "This isn’t my daddy," said Peter with tones of contempt in his voice, "only my uncle."

. Oniy uncle" decided that lunch seemed about the safest idea, and to a restaurant we went, where Peter was soon demolishing a young mountain of ice cream and strawberries. My feeling of safety was suddenly swept away when I saw another Father Christmas advancing down the room talking to the children at the various tables. I prayed Peter wouldn’t see him, but he did, and hailed him like an old friend. Peter remembered a _ few things he’d forgotten from the first list, and proceeded to tell this new Father Christmas, who acted up to the part very nobly. _ When he had gone Peter inquired in a stage whisper, "Why’s he got so thin, uncle?" "He’s — er — been sick,’ I ventured lamely. "Like I feel now," replied Peter. I hurried him out

into the fresh air, and we were confronted by seven Father Christmases in ‘a line! They were all shapes and sizes, and wore sandwich boards advertising a film that was coming. Peter’s eyes bulged. "There’s five-six-seven of them. How could there be seven Father Christmases, uncle?" I tried to explain that little boys who eat lots of ice cream and strawberries on hot days invariably see things, and there was really only one (Continued on. page 50.)