‘Tis the night before Christmas

And all through the shed,

Everyone’s working

No one’s in bed.

I still think of this as my “shed” although it’s far removed from my humble work-shed at the bottom of the garden. There I used to spend the year making wooden toys and puzzles for the boys, and dolls and small dolls’ houses for the girls. Oh, the pleasure I had from my labours.

Today my little shed has expanded century by century till now it’s the largest building on Earth and takes me nearly fifteen minutes to traverse the length of the building on my new electric scooter. Now a whole complex of workshop-factories has been built nearby to make the huge range of items now wanted as gifts. In the last few years we’ve even had to construct our own electronics division for making all the new-fangled gadgets that the young kids are demanding. No longer can I make the toys for the good little boys and girls, but I have to rely on an ever increasing army of elves and have even had to engage managers and foremen for the various divisions. Now I’ve become the manager of a mammoth organisation which employs so many elves that I no longer remember their names and, in fact, there are many that I have never seen.

Over the past eleven months, the shed has been a hive of activity with forklifts whizzing silently with their pallets of items from the outlying factories and then stacking them on the massive storage racks which reach from floor to ceiling. I’ve even had to have elves specially trained to handle the automated conveyor systems which are all computer operated to enable the correct selection of items for the various countries. It’s strange to see that only a handful of elves controls this massive sorting system as the gift containers whirl around the shelves and automatically select the correct items and stack them ready for loading.

However, tonight sees the culmination of the year’s work with just the finishing touches being put on the sleigh and reindeer, although this year we’ve had to add a large trailer to the sleigh because of the volume of gifts. Also, four extra reindeer have been undergoing training so that we can double-harness them with our experienced Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen. I may add that they are not particularly pleased with this arrangement as Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen have been placed ahead of them in the traces. Young Rudolph still retains his place as leader, not only because he’s the youngest, but also because he leads the way with his bright red nose. All the reindeers’ hooves have been polished and their hides brushed till they absolutely shimmer in the moonlight and I can sense that they are ready for their one excursion for the year.

The other night, my wife, Angelique, and I were sitting by the blazing log fire reminiscing about the past.

Actually, she began the conversation by saying, “Nick, it’s a real shame the way things have changed from those days when you used to wander the streets of Myra in Turkey. You used to have so much pleasure in looking for really deserving people and leaving them unexpected gifts of things they really needed. Nowadays everyone seems to expect some sort of gift or gifts at Christmas. You used to look for young children, but now even the adults expect a host of gifts and so many of them are extravagant and unnecessary.”

I’d looked at Angelique (who really is an angel) and thought about the way in which I’d make the wooden dolls and carve their faces, while she’d spend hours sewing their dresses. Now we order in bulk supplies of everything all ready-made, boxed and wrapped. We don’t even have a chance to see some of the items that are loaded into the sleigh. My days of being recognised as Saint Nicholas are long gone, although it took a number of centuries before even my name was changed. Gradually my fame had spread across Europe and in Germany I became Sankt Niklaus, but was still quite recognisable with my mitre and cape. In Holland I became Sinterklaas and in England I was Father Christmas, but in every country I was still regarded as only someone of far lesser importance than the Christ child whose birthday was being celebrated.

When the Dutch sailed across the ocean and settled in New Amsterdam, they took me with them to continue their Christmas tradition; and there I’ve remained, although New Amsterdam has long been known as New York. Of course, typically of the new country, in which the correct pronunciation of so many words has been altered to suit themselves, the Americans found Sinterklaas too difficult to pronounce correctly, so I became Santa Claus. With the influence this country has had, it looks as though I’m going to be known by that name throughout the WorId. Even in England, Father Christmas is becoming a fading memory. But even then, Christmas was still all about recognising the religious significance of the season and I played only a very minor role with small gifts of toys, dolls, books and sweets.

I looked nostalgically at the old paintings and drawings which adorned our large, cheery lounge room, and there I was in my mitre and cape, then later, dressed in green, be-whiskered and smoking a pipe. Although I loved my green garments which leant such a contrast with the white expanses of the North Pole, some artist about 1869 decided that he preferred red, so I was suddenly shown in cards as wearing a red suit trimmed with white. Then with the massive advertising power of that soft drink company starting eighty years ago, I’ll guess I’ll always be depicted as that rotund, jolly old fellow with the flowing beard, bedecked in red, with long black boots and a stupid cap replacing my treasured mitre.

Now, instead of walking around the deserted streets of my home town and distributing gifts to the needy, I am driven at immeasurable speeds around the World. My sleigh is now equipped with a GPS system and the gifts have been sorted automatically into their correct time zones, countries, towns, streets and homes and they are ejected into the homes ready for the children in the morning. A troop of elves follows to make sure that the food left for the reindeer and me is appropriately disarranged, because there is no way that we could possibly eat and drink all that is left for us.

I looked wistfully at Angie as I said, “You know dear, I’ve seriously thought about retiring. Christmases are becoming just so hectic since those so-called helpers have begun appearing in the department stores and taking all those extra orders. It wasn’t any problem when we received letters by mail, but then we started receiving telegrams, then e-mails and now we’re being bombarded by last-minute SMS messages. Some of the kids are even sending in photographs of the exact items they want. No longer is it sufficient to receive a bike – now it has to be a certain colour with independent front suspension, multiple gears and with a specific helmet. It’s all becoming just so hard.”

Angie came over to where I was sitting and placed her hand on my arm as she gently reassured me, “Now dear, I know how you must be feeling because it’s been such a busy year. But think of the pleasure you have when you hear those excited squeals of the youngsters as they awaken to their gifts. You wouldn’t give that up would you? And just think of all those parents who are carrying on your tradition. I’m sure that most of them don’t know how Saint Nicholas started off this whole tradition, but they enjoy the giving, just as you did. So go to bed now and have a good night’s sleep because you are going to be extremely busy tomorrow night.”

As usual, she was right. So maybe I’ll postpone my retirement for a few more years to come.