Father Christmas, Can You Hear Him”

The little Girl aged five

fragile and trusting

sat on her Mummy’s lap

this Christmas Night

the Sitting room was dark

apart from the glow

of the large Coal fire

In the corner of the room

sat a lonely little Christmas Tree

its needles dropping

her Mummy complaining

but tonight Christmas Night

dressed in little nightie and dressing gown

warm plain slippers adorned her feet

her Daddy sat in the other chair

reading his paper, smoking as he did

and suddenly the little Girl’s mummy said

“ssh can you hear it, there it is”

the little girl shrugged her head

“listen carefully” said the Mummy

“can’t you hear the bells, its Rudolf and Father Christmas”

“where” the child squealed “where is he”

her mother was trying to keep the child on her lap

as she was bouncing up and down “where is he” she said

“there” said the mother

“there you can hear him on the roof,

Aunt Jeannie’s roof, now come on bed and go to sleep

and when you wake, Father Christmas will have come

to see you” said mummy

the little child took her mother’s hand

and went to bed, excited but still

could not hear the bells

Christmas morning and she woke

“Father Christmas” she shouted

as she opened her present

a Teddy Bear, soft cuddly Teddy Bear

but not just any Teddy Bear

he was her Teddy Bear, her friend

a Bear that would hold the tears of the Child

as she grew from Child to Woman throughout the years

“Peter” she called him and still has him

he has worn patches now but he’s still here

she even gave the name “Peter” to her first Son

who is “Jonathan, Peter, David”

“where did you get Peter from his friends would ask

“My mother named me after a bloody

Teddy Bear would you believe” he would say

Now as the woman reflects on this day

this day full of memories

she recalls “that was one of the few times

I remember my mother sitting me on

her knee and being really nice”

the little girl

if you have not guessed

was Me

and the Teddy Bear is still precious

still a friend

still cry to him

and now with more years behind than in front

he is still the comfort when needed

 

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Below, me with my fragile blond hair and big “Cork” (as in Ireland’s second City) Bow as they were known.  My Auntie Hannie, the woman who taught me how to love and showed me so much, she would send them from Cork to England.

 

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4 thoughts on “Father Christmas, Can You Hear Him”

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