Father Christmas Comes Knocking
written by: Ginny Swart
Weighed down with shopping bags, Anna Martens plodded up the cold cement staircase to the third floor in Jubilee Mansions. The walls of the stairwell badly needed a coat of paint and the graffiti, which Anna washed off as often as she could, reappeared within a day or two. Loud voices from daytime TV shows followed her up the stairs from the second floor, and she thought longingly of her peaceful, neat little flat, her oasis just one flight further up.
Three small boys sat on the top step blocking her path. One she recognised as four-year-old Darren Watson, who lived on the landing opposite. The other two, older red-headed twins who lived in the block across the courtyard, seemed to be teasing Darren.
“Good afternoon, Darren,” she said cheerfully. “And how are you today?”
“I’m fine,” the little boy whispered miserably.
Something was wrong.
Anna unlocked her door and put her bags on the floor inside, listening while the older boys resumed their conversation.
“You’re such a baby,” said one. “Do you believe everything your mum tells you?”
“But I know he’s true,” said Darren uncertainly. “I’ve seen him.”
“And you think the tooth fairy is true as well?” One of the twins poked him in the ribs. “Well, cry-baby, there’s no tooth fairy, it’s just your mum puts the money under your pillow. And there’s no Father Christmas. It’s just your dad dressed up.”
“No, it isn’t. My daddy’s gone to heaven. But I saw Father Christmas in the shop and he said if I’m good he’ll bring me just what I want.”
“He’s just fooling you…he’s only a…”
“Darren!” called Anna crisply. “I wonder if you could come and give me a hand with my shopping? Help me unpack?”
“Yes, Miss Martens.” Darren scrambled up thankfully.
“And I think you two had better go on home. I’m sure I heard your mother calling you.”
The twins sauntered downstairs and one of them turned and stuck his tongue out at her. I don’t know what children are coming to, thought Anna angrily.
Darren heaved up one of her bags and carried it to her kitchen triumphantly.
“I always help my Mum carry stuff,” he volunteered. “But she’s in bed with flu today. She can’t go to work and she can’t go to the shops.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
Anna believed in keeping herself to herself, and since moving into Jubilee Mansions a few months ago, had only greeted Mrs Watson briefly. The younger woman seemed friendly enough and although she appeared to be on her own, she had raised her son to be a delightful, well-behaved little boy. To her pleasure, Anna had discovered Darren had an enquiring mind and the two of them had long and serious discussions whenever they met in the courtyard. Things like why ants walked one behind the other in a line, and what shadows were and why the wind blew.
Before she came to live in England, Anna had been a Biology teacher in Holland and she enjoyed answering all his questions.
Darren’s really the only person I’ve had a conversation with since I moved in here, she thought suddenly, looking down at his curly head. It’s my fault, I should make more effort.
But all the other tenants seemed so young and busy, always hurrying about and shouting at their children. Anna simply didn’t know what to say and had never got beyond a vague smile of greeting.
“I really needed a strong pair of hands to help me with these,” she continued. “Thank you, Darren. Can I pour you some orange juice? And I bought a nice ginger cake. Perhaps you’d like a slice?”
“Okay!” Darren settled himself on the kitchen chair, then he blurted, “Miss, the twins were wrong, weren’t they? Father Christmas is true, isn’t he?”
“Father Christmas. Well now…” Anna wasn’t sure how to handle this one.
“You know? The old man with a beard and a red suit? He comes the night before Christmas and he brings you a present,” explained Darren confidently. “Whatever you want. My friend Henry says he comes down the chimney and puts your present in your sock, but we haven’t got a chimney so I expect he’ll just knock on our door.”
Anna was not familiar with small boys, although she had two grown-up nephews. She tried to remember the Christmas traditions her sister had adopted when she married her English husband… there was something about writing a letter and posting it to the North Pole…
She slipped easily into her Teacher mode.
“Do you know, Darren, when I was a little girl in Holland, I never had a visit from Father Christmas, because he didn’t come to children there. But every year we had a visit from Sinterklaas who wore long blue robes and a tall blue hat.”
“Not red?”
“No, blue. Sinterklaas is what we called St Nicholas. He used to come a week or two before Christmas Day, on St Nicholas Eve and knock loudly on the front door. And he had a helper called Black Pieter. I was always rather scared of Black Pieter because my mother told me he knew all the naughty things I’d done during the year and he wrote them down in a very big book. And if he told Sinterklaas that I hadn’t been a good girl, I’d get a big black lump of coal instead of a present!”
“And did you ever? Get a lump of coal?”
Darren’s eyes were round.
“No, I always received a present. I used to put my shoe out and he would leave his gift there for me to find when I woke up.”
“Just like Father Christmas! He comes in the night too!”
“I remember when I was your age, he brought me something I wanted very badly, a fairy doll with a sparkly dress.”
My parents must have saved every penny to buy me that, she thought affectionately, remembering how short of money they’d been during the war years.
“A fairy doll?” Darren wrinkled his nose doubtfully. “Well, I really, really want a red truck. With doors that open and that little crane thing on the back that winds up.”
“Oh.” Anna smiled. “A tow-truck.” This didn’t seem like such a difficult present to find. “Have you written and told him this?”
“Written to him? No,” said Darren. “I can’t write properly. Only my name. And I can write one to ten.”
“Well, why don’t you sit down and I’ll show you how to write a letter to Father Christmas? Then you show it to your mother, and she’ll post it to him.”
“But how does she know where he lives?” Darren was a practical child.
“Mothers know everything,” said Anna firmly. “Come on, let’s find a paper and pencil. What would you like to say?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never written a letter before. My Mum sometimes gets letters from my auntie in Canada but I don’t write to her. I drew a picture for her once, though.”
“Well, let’s start by saying Dear Father Christmas.” On a second sheet, Anna wrote the words in a large firm hand. “Now, see if you can copy this.”
Slowly, the tip of his tongue sticking out with the effort, Darren managed a wobbly three lines:
“Dear Father Christmas
Pleas bing me a red tow trick.
Thank you love fron Darren”
“That’s not bad,” said Anna judiciously. “Now we’ll find an envelope for this, and you take it to your Mother, so she can post it. And if you’re lucky, he might bring you just what you’ve asked him for.”
“What about my Mum, though?” Darren hesitated. “Can’t I ask him to bring her something too? She never gets presents from anybody.”
“I’m not sure if he brings things for grown ups,” said Anna, amused. “What do you think she’d like?”
“Mum needs a coat. And some boots with warm inside. And she’d like a new cooker ‘cos ours doesn’t work and she wants a holiday but she says pigs will fly before she gets one.” He giggled. “My Mum’s funny.”
“I’m pretty sure Father Christmas wouldn’t have room in his sack for a cooker,” said Anna. “But you could make your Mother a present, as a surprise. I’m sure she’d love that.”
“What sort of present?”
“How about…” Anna racked her brains, trying to remember things she’d made during the long nights in her mother’s kitchen on the farm. “A paper lantern with a little candle inside?”
“Okay.” Darren sounded dubious. “But we haven’t got a candle. We switch on our lights.”
“Sometimes on Christmas Eve it’s fun to read a story by candlelight,” said Anna, remembering how she and her sister had snuggled next to their father as he read the Christmas story by the light of an oil lamp, the snow falling outside and covering their farmyard in a thick white mantle. She couldn’t remember a Christmas in Holland when it hadn’t snowed.
She rummaged through a drawer and found some stiff card and coloured pencils.
“You can start making it today,” she said. “And I’ll help you cut out pieces from the sides. Then I’ll buy some glue and red cellophane and you can finish it off here tomorrow.”
She measured and cut the shape for a lantern and Darren helped her fold it along the lines she drew. His smile of satisfaction told her he was enjoying this project.
“I won’t tell my Mum,” he said. “It will be a secret surprise.”
“Good,” said Anna. “Mothers like surprises.”
Well, everyone does, she thought. Although it’s been a very long time since I had a surprise, secret or not.
They were just finishing when there was a light tap on the door.
“Is Darren here, by any chance?”
Mrs Watson stood on the doormat, wrapped in a blanket and looking white-faced and drawn. “Oh, there you are Darren. I thought you were playing with the twins. Come on home now and stop bothering Miss Martens.”
“No, really, he’s absolutely no trouble,” protested Anna. “I invited him in to give me a hand unpacking my shopping.”
“And to make a secret surprise,” said Darren, grinning at his mother. “But I can’t tell you.”
She smiled wanly, swaying on her feet. “Thanks, Miss Martens. But we’d better get back, I’m not feeling very well.”
“I can see that, my dear,” said Anna, concerned. “You look as if you have a fever.”
Unbidden, her hand reached out and felt Mrs Watson’s forehead. It was burning hot.
“You go back to bed, Mrs Watson,” she said. “And take some aspirin. I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea.”
“Please don’t trouble,” croaked Mrs Watson. “I was just going to make myself one. I’ll be fine. Er – my name’s Emily, by the way.”
“I am Anna Martens.”
It felt strange, announcing her name like that. It was the first time she’d introduced herself to anyone in more than a year. When she’d come over to live near her sister, she’d imagined she’d be absorbed into her sister’s life and meet her friends.
But it hadn’t worked out like that because she was no sooner in her flat than her brother-in-law was transferred to Ireland and she was left on her own, not knowing a soul.
She watched as they walked across the landing and went into their flat, with Darren clutching his letter to Father Christmas.
Then she set about chopping some chicken and vegetables. Real nourishing chicken soup, the way her mother had made it, that’s what Emily Watson needed. None of this tasteless packet nonsense.
When she took it across that evening, Darren opened the door.
“Is that soup? It smells nice. Mummy!” he called. “Miss Martens is here.”
Emily came through from her bedroom, still wrapped in her blanket.
“For us?” She whispered. “Thank you. That’s very good of you, Miss Martens. It looks delicious.”
***
Emily stayed in bed for three days and Anna helped her as much as she could. She made sure Darren got to his playgroup, did the shopping for her as well as some of her own, and tidied the flat before she fetched him at midday. Then she made him a sandwich for lunch and let him play in her flat for the afternoon to give his mother some peace and quiet.
He made a very smart lantern and she found a small candle that fitted into the base.
“My Mum’s going to like this,” he grinned, surveying his handiwork. “I still haven’t told her about it. It’s quite hard not to tell a secret, isn’t it, Miss Martens?”
“It certainly is,” she agreed.
On the fourth day, when Emily was dressed and sitting on the old sofa, she mentioned the letter to Father Christmas.
“I meant to thank you for thinking of that!” said Emily. “It was so kind of you. Darren insisted that I post it. But I haven’t been well enough to brave the shops, and tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”
“Ah, but I did some shopping!” said Anna. She went across the landing to her own flat and brought back an enormous red tow-truck.
Emily clapped her hand to her mouth.
“That’s perfect! Exactly what he asked for! Oh, Miss Martens, you are clever!” Then she paused, looking a bit anxious. “You must tell me how much I owe you for this.”
“Not a penny. It will be my pleasure, just to see his face,” said Anna.
“How will I ever find a sock big enough to put this gorgeous toy into?” giggled Emily, stroking the shiny red metal. “We used to put out our father’s socks when I was little. But this needs a giant’s sock!”
“Well, in Holland, Sinterklaas used to bang on the door on Christmas Eve. If you like, I could do that, then run back into my flat,” said Anna, a gleam of mischief in her eye.
“Would you? Darren would love that!” Emily grinned. “I don’t know how to repay you for everything you’ve done for us this past week, Miss Martens.”
“I think you should start by calling me Anna,” she said.
“Anna,” Emily smiled.
Her name sounded so different with that strange English accent.
The following evening she waited in her flat until the time they’d agreed upon, seven o’clock. Then, the red tow-truck wrapped in gold paper with Darren’s name on it in bold black letters, she tiptoed across the landing, banged three times on Emily’s front door and dashed back into her own flat, leaving the ever so slightly ajar.
She heard the door open and Darren’s excited squeal.
“Mummy! Look, a present! For me!”
Emily’s voice came clearly across. “Goodness! Do you think maybe Father Christmas left it for you?”
Then Darren slammed the door shut and she heard no more. She went into her sitting room and switched on the TV, smiling in content.
Not for long. A minute later there was a knock on her door and she went to open it.
It was Darren, his face almost split in an ecstatic grin.
“Look what I got from Father Christmas, Miss Martens!”
“Well now, isn’t that wonderful? So he read your letter after all!” said Anna.
“Do you want to see how it works? I can show you with one of my other cars. Come on, Miss Martens!”
He took her hand and led her across the landing.
“Darren, I don’t think Mummy –”
“Ah, hello Anna!” Emily grinned at her conspiratorially. “Did you see what Darren found on our doorstep? Isn’t he a lucky boy?”
“He is indeed,” said Anna.
“And aren’t I a lucky Mum? Look what my clever son made for me!” She produced the paper lantern. “I think you might have had a hand in this!”
Darren obviously hadn’t been able to keep his gift a secret another minute.
“But we have a secret surprise for you, Miss Martens!” Darren was bursting, with excitement. “I made it! For you!”
“Really?” smiled Anna, taking the clumsily wrapped little gift from him.
It was a small clay figure, painted white and sprinkled with silver glitter, with real feathers stuck into the back.
“Those are wings. That’s an angel,” he said, importantly. “I made it for you at play group.”
“This is the most beautiful angel I have ever seen,” she said truthfully. “Thank you, Darren, I shall treasure this always.”
“And Mummy wrote the note,” he said. “Go on, read the note.”
Mystified, Anna glanced at Emily who was smiling shyly.
“Dear Anna, Please would you join us for Christmas dinner at 1 pm on 25th December?
Love from Emily and Darren.”
She swallowed, unable to speak for a second.
“Thank you, my dear, I’d love to have Christmas dinner with you,” she said.
“Good! I’m so glad you haven’t plans to go somewhere else,” said Emily.
“No, no plans,” said Anna.
But she decided to stay up late and bake some spicy ginger cookies as a contribution, the kind her mother used to make.
“I was wondering, Anna,” Emily continued. “Darren said when you were little you used to read stories by candlelight on Christmas Eve?”
“That’s right,” she said “A long time ago.”
“Well, we have the candle. And the book. So I was hoping you might feel like reading us a Christmas story?”
Anna suddenly had a lump in her throat.
“I could do that with pleasure,” she said.
So they switched off the lights, lit the candle in the little paper lamp, and Emily and Darren settled themselves on either side of her on the sofa.
By the flickering light, Anna started to read. “A long, long time ago, in a little town called Bethlehem, a very special baby was born…”
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