I’m going to Christmas

Adrian Gibb

I say to you now, if I may be so bold,
That the wind in my face is colder than cold
And this night, a night so blessed by the world
Is unfolding before me like a flag unfurled

I was nine at the time my destiny was revealed
I sat on his knee with my joy just concealed
I had no idea that many shops had Santas for fun
I looked at this man as if he was the ‘one’

‘What would you like little girl?’ he asked with a smile
I had thought of my request for a very long while
I wasn’t going to waste such a huge sweet chance
To be given what I want without a thought or a glance

‘Santa, I want something big, but not just for me,
I want lots of presents, and lights, and some trees.
I want, with all my heart, a wish you can provide,
I want every single child to experience a Yule-tide!’

This Santa was taken aback, and looked a quizzical look,
And laughed a hearty laugh, even his fake belly shook.
‘And to whom do I speak, whose wish puts others to shame?’
‘Oh,’ I said quickly. ‘Nick Midwinter is my name!’

The face behind the beard turned an ashen white
And he pushed me off his lap as if so full of fright
He jumped down to his knees and reached beneath his chair
And pushed a small red button that I noticed under there

‘Please stay where you are!’ he asked, his palms raised high
‘You have to stay, please, they will come from the sky!’
‘I can call your parents if you like on my phone?’
‘No need,’ I said sadly, ‘I’m from a children’s home’

‘Excellent!’ this Santa said, clapping his hands together
‘O, I mean, how very sad, but perhaps it won’t be forever!’
This last sentence was said with such a glint in his eye,
That I began to seek escape, or at least to have a try.

‘No don’t go, please, I know they won’t be long!’
Storeroom Santa begged in a high-pitched song
‘Thanks but this is getting strange’, I said as I left
This man was obviously a fake, and I felt so bereft.

I made it back to the dreary place I called ‘home’
A grey and lifeless shell, with a grey and lifeless dome
I opened the front door, looking for a free comfortable chair
To be met by the superintendent, and two woman, and a male to spare

‘Nick, these people wish to see you, though I can’t think of why,
They are from a lottery, called the Lotto Sky’
The two women, and one man, looked at me with a smile
While I started backing away, ready to run a mile

‘Please don’t be scared Nick, we just want to chat,
We may have some good news, great news in fact’
‘Um, okay’ I said, with a nervous inflection
And with that the Superintendent lost all attention

‘Our first question Nick, and this won’t take long,
Is where does your interesting surname come from?
Is it a family name, present for generations?
Did your family collect it in previous incarnations?’

‘No’, I said, ‘Well, I don’t really know you see,
My name was on a card, left when they abandoned me.’
‘Who is ‘they’?’ they asked, their excitement very clear
‘Well, whoever left me, I just, have no idea!’

‘And this is very important, so please try to recall,
Was your first name Nick, was it Nick and that’s all?’
They were inching forward now, their keenness almost insane
‘No, it wasn’t just Nick,’ I said. ‘I believe Nichola is my name!’

Their faces beamed with joy, though I simply knew not why
And they embraced one other, one had a tear in her eye
‘Right, now Nick, I want to get back to the wish you expressed
To the storeroom Santa, whom you charmed and so impressed.’

‘What about it?’ I said, now genuinely confused
‘I just want a joyous Christmas for blessed or abused
‘I don’t think I asked for anything special,
Just to show the love of Jesus, with Santa as his vessel!’

‘Nichola, I don’t think you can have answered that better
So now, it is our joy, to pass you this letter!’
I took the envelope, slightly crumpled, coloured light blue
And took out a note with writing I could barely construe.

‘Dear Nick,’ I could just make out. ‘What a joy this is to me,
To find you where I find you fills me with such glee.
You see, dear Nick, every few centuries, or more
An incredibly special person called Nick Midwinter is called.

‘She, or he, whose lives they thought were frozen,
Discover that, instead, they are now to be the chosen.
Their hearts, their faith, their name all attest
That they are the one through which Christmas power will vest.

‘In an orphanage in Baltimore, two hundred years ago, at this hour
I was given a similar note, and informed of my considerable power
For I can’t put it, Nicola, in any other way,
You will now become Santa, from this moment, this very day!’

I looked at the three people who handed me the note
And asked them, with a guffaw, if this was a joke.
‘Oh no Nick, this no joke at all I fear,
Now, I had better tell the Superintendent you no longer reside here.’

He walked off quickly to go and break the news,
The other two hugged me, warming me to my shoes.
Then they look around, with all the drama they could impose
And placed one finger on their lips, the other on their nose

Then I was standing before a cottage, lit against a freezing night
When out of the door appeared a magical, stunning sight
With a broad grin, hands on his hips, and a presence to make you pause
Was the vision I had always known, the one called Santa Claus

‘Welcome Nicola, with all my heart, to your first day in the snow
You have much to learn, much to see, and I have much to show
But for now, let’s get inside, a fire and hot chocolate will do the trick,
Oh and, from now on Nicola, please do call me Nick!’

Was that a hundred years ago, I really can’t recall
Indeed, with this freezing wind, it is hard to think at all
But I plough on through the night, visiting girls and boys,
And setting up trees, and presents and spreading toys and joy

I don’t know how much longer I will have this glorious task
To do what I do is literally all I could really ask
But if you come across a girl or boy whose life seems in a splinter
Just check, that in their sorrow, they aren’t really Nick Midwinter!