The Letter Dennis walked home from work, the snow crunching pleasantly under his boots, memories of childhood filling his mind—sliding down hills on his school bag, snowball fights, eating icicles, those golden days… Suddenly, he heard a child crying. Looking around, he spotted a boy in a brown coat and grey hat, sobbing loudly on a bench, tears streaming down his cheeks. Dennis approached him. “Are you lost? Why are you crying?” “I lost my letter… I was carrying it in my pocket, then looked—and it was gone,” the boy wailed again. “Don’t cry, let’s look for it together. What letter is it? Did your mum give you something to post?” “No, I wrote it… to Father Christmas. Mum doesn’t know…” “Oh dear… But don’t worry, you can always write another.” “But it won’t get there in time now…” “Tell you what, you run home—it’s getting dark—and I’ll look for your letter. Deal?” “Alright… If you find it, will you really post it?” “I promise! And don’t worry—Father Christmas always knows what children write to him. Even if I can’t find it, I’m sure he’ll still bring you something…” The boy wiped his face on his coat sleeve and ran off. Poor lad. He’d tried so hard, only for this to happen… Dennis smiled, remembering the days he’d find gifts under the Christmas tree, convinced Father Christmas had read his letters. That was so long ago… Soon his own son would be writing Christmas letters—though for now, at just four, he couldn’t write yet. Dennis walked on, peering carefully at the ground, but there was no sign of the letter. Poor kid, he must have been hoping for something… Then he spotted the corner of an envelope poking from a snowdrift. He pulled it free—it was the letter! The paper was wet, but carefully, Dennis tucked it into his bag to avoid tearing it. At home, his wife Valerie was making dinner, and little Max played with his toy cars. Dennis cherished his family, so happy to come back to their warm home. “Valerie, you’ll never believe this,” he began. “I was walking just now and saw a boy, about eight, sobbing his heart out on a bench. He lost his letter to Father Christmas. And I found it! Let’s take a look…” Dennis pulled the envelope from his pocket. In a child’s handwriting it read: To Father Christmas, from Alex Leonard. “Shall we open it and see what he’s wishing for?” “Let’s, it never would have made it past the post anyway…” Dennis gently opened the envelope and unfolded a squared exercise paper, reading aloud: “Dear Father Christmas! It’s Alex Leonard, living at 97 Churchill Road. I’m nine and in Year 4. I love playing football and running around with my friends. I live with Mum Vera and Granny Lydia. We just moved into a little old cottage, kindly lent to us by people who wanted to help. We used to live with Dad in another town, but he drank vodka and hit Mum—a lot, and sometimes me, too. Mum and Granny (who’s Dad’s mum) would always cry, and so would I. It was awful with Dad, so we ran away and brought Granny with us. Father Christmas, please help Mum find a new job. She cleans floors, but she really shouldn’t be bending—her back’s bad. And please, give her a new dress, hers is all torn now. Mum’s tall, slim and so beautiful! For Granny, please bring medicine for her knees—she struggles to walk, though she’s not very old. Granny always dreams of a warm thick dressing gown, she gets cold a lot. My gran’s tiny and thin. And for me… I just wish for a beautiful Christmas tree, with lights and colourful baubles. Mum always put one up before, and we celebrated—until Dad got too drunk and knocked it over… I’m really looking forward to seeing you, dear Father Christmas. Alex Leonard” Dennis finished and glanced at Valerie, who had tears in her eyes. “Oh, how moving… That poor boy—ran from a drunken father, and now they’ve nothing left. What a truly lovely request, you hardly ever hear children wishing for gifts for Mum and Gran these days—except for a Christmas tree, he asked for nothing for himself…” “They’ve clearly suffered a lot… And she took her mother-in-law with her, didn’t leave her behind. Good people, I’d say. Valerie, what if we make Alex’s Christmas wish come true? What do you think?” “That would be wonderful, Dennis. You know I grew up in a family like that; my father would terrorise us when he was drunk… My mum never found the courage to leave, not till he died did we have any peace…” “My work’s looking for an admin staff, we could offer the job to Vera—decent pay and no floor cleaning,” said Dennis. “Let’s ask the Simmons for their Father Christmas and Snow Princess costumes, pay Alex a visit. Let him believe in miracles… Let’s give them a real Christmas! I’ll buy Nana’s arthritis tablets—same as Mum’s—and find a soft pink dressing gown and a new dress for Vera; she’s about my size I think, shouldn’t be expensive, it’s sale season with Christmas coming…” “We’ve got a bit of money, no reason not to do a good thing, right, Dennis?” “I’m with you! You’re such a kind soul, Val…” Dennis hugged his wife. What happiness, to share these thoughts and so much understanding. The next day, Valerie bought a simple but beautiful dark green dress, a soft pink dressing gown, Nana’s medicine, chocolates, satsumas, ornaments, and fairy lights. Dennis added a cheap but cheerful smartphone—surely Alex didn’t have one. They borrowed the costumes, bought a little Christmas tree, and loaded the gifts into a big red sack. Dennis and Valerie dressed up and set off for the address from the letter, while their son Max stayed with his granny. An ancient, crooked cottage, a wonky garden fence. Lights on inside—they were home… Dennis took the tree, Valerie the sack, and they quietly knocked on the door. “Who is it?” called a tall, fair-haired woman in her mid-thirties—Vera, surely. Seeing Father Christmas, she hesitated. “Oh, we haven’t booked any visits… You must have the wrong address.” “Does Alex Leonard live here?” “Yes, he’s my son…” “Mum, who is it?” cried a boy, dashing from the living room. “Oh—Father Christmas!” “Hello, Alex! I got your letter, and here we are—with my granddaughter, the Snow Princess! May we come in?” “Mum, he got my letter! The man found it and posted it like he promised! Brilliant! Come in!” cheered Alex. Vera smiled, showing them inside. Granny, a petite, slim woman, peeked into the hall. Alex’s eyes lit up at the sight of the Christmas tree. “That’s ours? It’s beautiful, it smells like Christmas…” “That’s for you, Alex. Every child should have a beautiful tree. And here are the decorations and fairy lights. Now, I’ve got presents—but you’ll need to tell us a poem or sing a song. That’s my rule as Father Christmas…” Dennis spoke in a jolly, deep voice. Alex was too excited to think of anything, gazing at Father Christmas’s red suit and white beard in wonder. “Alex, I know you’re a good lad; the birds have told me so. You love your mum and gran and are good at school. Now, help yourself—take the gifts from the sack.” Alex looked at his mum for permission. She nodded, and shyly he reached in: a boxed, ribbon-tied dressing gown for Granny. Excitedly, he handed it over. “Granny, this is for you! I wrote for it in my letter!” “For me? Oh my—It’s beautiful!” said Granny, slipping it on, beaming. Next, Alex handed his mum the new dress, then Granny her medicine. Both women looked on in disbelief. Then, a huge bag of sweets and satsumas, and—on top—a box with a new smartphone. “For me? My own phone? Wow… Father Christmas, thank you so much for the presents! I knew—I believed you were real, and you didn’t let me down!” Alex cried overjoyed. “Wishing your family health and happiness! Now, we must go…” Dennis and Valerie packed the empty sack, ready to leave. Alex inspected his new phone. In the hall, Vera and Granny appeared. “Please—tell us, who are you? How do you know Alex?” “I found his letter—and my wife and I wanted to bring some Christmas cheer to your boy. He’s a wonderful lad. Here’s his letter back, and a business card—if you’re interested, do give me a call, we’re looking for an admin at my office, and you sound perfect for the role.” “Thank you so much… This is all so unexpected… Alex is over the moon, he believed so much, and thanks to you, his miracle came true…” Dennis and Valerie drove home in silence, hearts full of joy for the Christmas magic they’d brought this lovely boy and his family. Giving gifts is so often more rewarding than receiving—especially when you see that pure joy sparkling in a child’s eyes. The money spent meant nothing—they’d earn more soon enough. But the emotions, those are priceless…

A Letter

David was walking home from work, the snow beneath his boots crunching pleasantly, and for some reason, he found himself reminiscing about his own childhood: sliding down hills on old satchels, snowball fights, licking iciclesthose golden days.

Suddenly, he heard a child crying. Looking around, he spotted a boy sitting on a bench, dressed in a brown coat and a grey woolly hat. The lad was sobbing, wiping his tears along his cheeks with red, cold fingers.

David approached him.

Hello there, have you lost your way? Why are you crying? he asked gently.

“I’ve lost my letter… I had it in my pocket and then suddenly it was gone,” the boy replied, breaking down in tears again.

Dont worry now. Let’s look for it together. What sort of letter was it? Was it for the post?

I wrote it myself. To Father Christmas… Mum doesnt know

Oh, dear Well, dont fret. You can always write another one

But theres not enough time for it to get to him

Tell you what, youd better run along home now; its getting dark. I’ll have a search for your letter and see if I cant find it. Deal?

All right But will you really send it if you find it?

I promise. I know that Father Christmas hears all the children, whether or not their letters reach him. Even if I dont find it, hell still remember you

The boy wiped his face with his coat sleeve and scampered off into the dusk.

Poor lad, David thought. All that effort, and then this mishap

David couldnt help smiling, recalling how hed discover presents under the Christmas tree in the morning, convinced Father Christmas had read his letter and brought just what hed hoped for. Those days seemed so long ago.

Soon, his own little boy would be writing letters too, though at four years old, he was still too young for that just yet

David continued on, eyes scanning the snow for signs of the letter, but nothing appeared. He felt for the poor childwhatever it was he was wishing for must have meant something.

Then, suddenly, he spotted the corner of an envelope poking out from a snowdrift. He pulled it out gingerly. It was damp, but inside miraculously dry. Delighted, David carefully tucked it into his satchel.

At home, his wife Alice was making supper, while their son Matthew played happily with his toy cars. David loved his family fiercely; coming home to their cozy London flat was always the highlight of his day.

Alice, fancy thisI was walking home and saw a boy of about eight, tears streaming down his face. Hed lost his letter to Father Christmas. And guess what? I found it! Lets have a look, shall we?

David withdrew the envelope. Childish handwriting declared: To Father Christmas, from Jamie Webster.

Well, shall we see what he wanted? said Alice.

Lets. The letter would have never made it past the sorting office anyway

David opened the envelope carefully and took out a folded piece of lined notebook paper. He read aloud:

Dear Father Christmas, My name is Jamie Webster and I live at 23 Wellington Road. I am nine years old, and Im in year four at school. I like playing football and running about with my mates.

I live with my mum, Emma, and my gran, Hazel. We recently moved into a little old cottage where some kind people let us stay.

We used to live with Dad in another city, but hed drink a lot and sometimes hurt Mum. Sometimes me too. Mum and GranGran is Dads mumused to cry all the time, and I cried with them. It was very hard with Dad. So we ran away, and took Gran with us.

Father Christmas, I want to ask you if you can help find Mum a new job. She cleans floors now, but she shouldnt really bend with her bad back. Could you give Mum a new dress please? Her old one is torn now. Shes tall and slim and really pretty!

For Gran, could you bring some medicine for her knees? She struggles to walk but shes not old really. Gran would also like a warm fluffy dressing gownshes always cold now. Shes small and thin, my gran.

And I dream of a beautiful Christmas tree with lights and colourful baubles. Mum used to get us a tree, and then wed all have a lovely time. Until Dad got drunk and knocked the tree over

Thank you, Father Christmas. Im waiting for you.

Jamie Webster

David finished the letter and looked at his wife, who had tears shimmering in her eyes.

Oh David, that is so touching That poor boy. Ran away from a drunk father, and now they can barely get by What a lovely, gentle wish. He hardly asked for anything for himselfjust the tree.

Had a rough time with his father, clearly And good of Mum to bring her mother-in-law along. You can tell theyre good people. Shall wewhat do you think, Alice? Shall we try to make his wish come true?

That would be wonderful, David. You know how it was with my dad; how hed come home drunk and how hard things were. Mum could never bring herself to leave him, though. Not many have that strength. But I remember how I longed for a bit of magic at Christmas…

At work, we still need a receptionist, and the pays quite good. No floors to clean either, David replied thoughtfully.

We could borrow Father Christmas and Snow Fairy costumes from the Smithsand pay Jamie a Christmas visit? Let him believe in miracles Give them a real celebration!

Ill get gran the arthritis tablets mums GP recommended, they should be the same formula. And a nice warm dressing gown, and a dress for Mum. She sounds about my size from the letter. Shouldnt be hard to find something smart and not too dearthere are all those Christmas sales.

Weve got enough money, thankfully. Why not do a little good, David?

Im in! Youre a real kind soul, Alice.

David embraced his wife. There was nothing better than when your thoughts matched, when there was true understanding in the home.

Next day, Alice picked up a simple but smart dark green dress, a soft pink dressing gown, medicine for Gran, chocolates, satsumas, and some colourful baubles. David decided to get Jamie a basic smartphonea safe assumption there wasnt one at home.

Their friends lent the Father Christmas and Snow Fairy costumes for the evening. David also bought a small artificial Christmas treeone for Jamie, one for them.

Alice and David dressed up, packed a large sack with all the gifts, and loaded the tree into the car boot. Their son Matthew was staying with his gran that evening.

They found the little run-down cottage, a crooked fence outside. Light shone through the windowsomeone was home.

David picked up the tree, Alice the gift sack, and they quietly made their way up the garden path and knocked on the door.

Who is it? The door was opened by a tall, fair-haired woman of around thirty-fivesurely Jamies mum, Emma.

On seeing Father Christmas, she looked taken aback.

Oh, Im afraid we havent booked any visits You must have got the wrong address

Is there a Jamie Webster here?

Yes, thats my son

Mum, whos at the door? Jamies voice sounded inside, and he darted out in tracksuit bottoms and a jumper.

Wow its Father Christmas!

Hello, Jamie! Got your letter, and here we arewith my helper, right from the North Pole! May we come in?

Mum, he really got my letter! That man found it and sent it on, just as he said! This is brilliant! Please, come in! Jamie beamed.

Emma smiled, holding the door open. Gran came through from the sitting rooma slight, wiry woman. Jamies eyes lit up at the sight of the little Christmas tree.

Is that for us? Oh, it smells just like Christmas!

It is, Jamie. Every boy should have a splendid Christmas tree. Here are some lights and baubles; you and your family can decorate it together. AndI have some more gifts. Theres a tradition among us Father Christmases: you have to say a poem or sing a song to receive your presents

David deepened his voice, doing his best Father Christmas impression.

Jamie was too excited for words; he gazed up at the man in the long red coat and white beard with awe.

Jamie, I know you’re a good boy. The robins told me so. You help your mum and gran, and work hard at school.

Now, come and see whats in our sack

Jamie glanced at his mum for approval. She nodded.

He untied the ribbon and reached inside. Firsta box with a bright red ribbon, and inside a soft dressing gown.

Gran, this is for you! Just like I asked in my letter!

For me? Oh my thank you! Gran smiled shyly, wrapping the gown around herself and tying the sash. Perfect fit.

Thank you, Father Christmas and your helper. Ive never had anything this lovely before.

Next, Jamie gave his mum the dress, and his gran the tablets. Both women looked stunned, hardly able to believe it.

Jamie found an enormous bagfull of sweets and satsumaswith a smartphone on top.

For me? A phone? My very own? Brilliant Father Christmas, thank you so much! I knewI knew you were real! You kept your promise! Jamie cried, tears of joy running down his cheeks.

Wishing your family health and happiness! Now, we must be on our way

David and Alice gathered up the empty sack and got ready to leave. Jamie was already fiddling with the phone, trying to open the box.

Emma and Hazel came out into the hallway.

Excuse me, may I askwho are you? How do you know Jamie?

I found his letter and, well, my wife and I wanted to make a little magic for him. From the bottom of our hearts. You have a wonderful son. And, if you dont mind, heres your letter back and my business card. Were looking for a new receptionist at work, and I think youd fit right in. If youre interested, give me a ring.

Thank you so much All of this it was so unexpected. Jamie is over the moon, hes been longing for a bit of magicand you made it happen, the both of you

David and Alice drove home in silence, filled with warmthhappy that they could bring some joy to that brave little boy and his family.

There are times when giving is far sweeter than receiving, especially when you see the pure, genuine happiness in a childs eyes.

They never once regretted the money spent on those gifts. Money, after all, could always be earned again. But moments like thesetheir tendernessno amount of money could ever buy.