SANTA AND HIS BIG BOOK

A stupendously obvious moral in a little story of mean theft followed by generosity.

Let us all take our minds back to the wonderful mystical past when men were heroes, women were damsels either in or out of distress and everyone wore a big smile on their faces. Let us, in fact, retreat to a never-never time. And let us see the leafy glades in ancient forests and taste the nectar of honey on the gentle breezes. And let us be taken to a magical kingdom, the sort we half-believed in when we were little children and, since then, have forgotten all about.

For if we believe in something hard enough, they say, it will come about, and if enough of us believe in our gentle fairyland, then, out of the blue, it will appear and be a haven for us to retreat to when days and times are hard.

Didn't we all, once, believe in Father Christmas and don't we wish, here and now, that we still did?

But we do!

Think, for a moment, of his icy wonderland, a castle hewn out of timeless ice as tough as granite. In it are halls, great spaces, where his elves work away fulfilling orders sent on fairy breezes in childish handwriting. They are whistling as they work, not in the chirpy way of Disney dwarves but in the honest, free and noble way of the ancient race of elves. They have ledgers before them, great tomes in which are written a world full of Christmas requests, each one neatly copied from the original and each one cross-indexed with the Great Big Book of Good and Bad Behaviour.

And that book is the most important of all.

In the good old, bad old days children were thrashed to within an inch of their lives if they were naughty, but in these more enlightened times there is the Great Big Book of Good and Bad Behaviour instead. No more black bruises on cheeky bottoms, thank goodness, no more stripes of pain on sweet young flesh. Instead there is an entry in that book. And the entry is quite telling. It translates naughtiness into deprivation. So if Amelia Foxheart did something dreadful, like stealing her brother's sweets and denying it, word would somehow find its way to the Ice Castle and into the Great Big Book of Good and Bad Behaviour. It would read:

Amelia Foxheart stole a roll of tongue-tingling refreshers and, a hundred years ago, would have been beaten with a stick until her bottom was red raw but now she will lose a whole precious present from her Christmas Pile unless something is done about it.

And what could be done about it? How could Amelia Foxheart make amends for her dreadful sin? After all, everyone knows that tongue-tingling rolls of refreshers have powerful medicinal properties, and without them her brother might fade away and die. Amelia, the little wretch, would have to make powerful amends if she was to get away with that one!

And, worse than the thought of losing a Christmas Present was the actual fact that Amelia Foxheart thought she had got away with the theft of that wonderful tongue-tingling roll of refreshers. She knew nothing about the Great Big Book of Good and Bad Behaviour and the things that get written in it. But she did know how spine-chillingly delicious and medicinal Refreshers are, pink ones, green ones, yellow ones and orange ones. She particularly loved the orange ones, even if they were stolen.

Then, quite unexpectedly and out of the blue, her brother fell ill. He caught a bug, a nasty toxic bug, and fell very ill indeed. He coughed and spluttered all night long, vomited all over the bedroom floor and wanted to die.

“I'm worried about your brother,” Amelia's mother said to her, all white of face and wringing her hands. “I fear he may die, and all he wants is his roll of Refreshers. He says they will make him better, though he's delirious, of course �" but they are lost.”

“Mummy, I've got some pocket money, I'll buy him some,” said Amelia Foxheart, suddenly feeling terribly guilty that she'd stolen her brother's sweets.

And she ran to the shops and bought not one, not two, not three but four rolls of tongue-tingling Refreshers, and ran back home with them. She ran right up to her brother's bedroom and ploughed her way through a frightful amount of rancid vomit until she stood by his bed.

“Brother of mine,” she whispered, “I've been a very naughty girl, for I stole your refreshers when you weren't looking. But see here, I've bought you not one, not two, not three but four rolls all for yourself if you absolutely promise that you will get better.”

The brother smiled wanly and accepted the gift.

Meanwhile, the doctor knocked the door downstairs.

“I've come to see what I can do, but I offer little hope,” he said, shaking his head. “There is no known cure for the lurgy he's been laid low by, and I fear he may die,” added the doctor, shaking his wise old head. “You must prepare yourself for the worst, I'm afraid. Shall I give orders to the Undertaker for you?”

Mother started crying and gnashing her teeth and her face was drained of blood until it turned almost blue.

“It's bad I know, but pull yourself together, woman,” growled the doctor, and he went upstairs in order to take the boy's temperature before he pronounced him dead.

“You'd better stay down here,” he said to Amelia Foxheart, patting her head. “This might be quite unpleasant,” he added.

But when he arrived at the boy's room it was to find there had been an unexpected turn of events. Amelia's brother was not only still alive but he was scrubbing his bedroom floor until it shone, and all trace of his nasty vomit was gone and a light shone from his eyes.

And in one hand was an open roll of tongue-tingling refreshers, and on his lips was a smile of life.

And, far, far away, in the Ice Castle, an elf was scribbling a brand new note:

Amelia Foxheart gave her brother four rolls of tongue tingling Refreshers, which stopped him dying and made him very well. A hundred years ago she may have had her back patted but now, in these enlightened times, she will have her Christmas gift restored...