He is well again now, but I was so cross with him that he says he won’t try to help me again. The pole broke in the middle and fell on the roof of my house, and the N.P.Bear fell through the hole it made into the dining room with my hood over his nose, and all the snow fell off the roof into the house and melted and put out all the fires and ran down into the cellars where I was collecting this year’s presents, and the N.P.Bear’s leg got broken.
I told him not to, but the N.P.Bear climbed up to the thin top to get it down - and he did. It all happened like this: one very windy day last November my hood blew off and went and stuck on the top of the North Pole. In fact, awful things have been happening, and some of the presents have got spoilt and I haven’t got the North Polar Bear to help me and I have had to move house just before Christmas, so you can imagine what a state everything is in, and you will see why I have a new address, and why I can only write one letter between you both. I am dreadfully busy this year - it makes my hand more shaky than ever when I think of it - and not very rich. For added substance, Tolkien, an adept artist, illustrated his stories. The work was compiled in the Letters From Father Christmas (1976). Stories revealed that Father Christmas didn’t work just one day a year, but spent a good deal of energy fighting off goblins, watching the lights turn on an off (what we call the Northern Lights) and hanging out with his helper, North Polar Bear, and his cubs Paksu and Valkotukka.
The letters were sometimes delivered by a postman who graciously included them with his usual deliveries. His tales from the North Pole arrived in envelopes bearing his handmade, official-looking North Pole postage stamps. Beginning in 1920, Tolkien would write every Christmas until 1943. Before he wrote The Hobbitt (1937) and the Lord of the Rings trilogy (1953-55), the English writer, poet, philologist and academic wrote letters from Father Christmas to his four children, John, Michael, Christopher and Priscilla. Tolkien (3 January 1892 – 2 September 1973) might have been better than most parents at keeping the fantasy of Santa Clause alive, or at least embellishing it.
I have tried to draw a picture of it: but I am too shaky to do it properly and you can’t paint fizzing light can you?” You have never heard or seen anything like it. “Isn’t the North Polar Bear silly?… turned on all the Northern Lights for two years in one go.
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