A Dickensian Santa in Saddleworth
In the event that the query pertains to the festive season of Christmas, the response is invariably one of enchantment.
In days of yore, my troupe of thespians have brought forth modest Yuletide performances for the delight of children not exceeding the age of eleven winters. In the year of our Lord 2008, I penned a rendition of ‘The Elves and the Shoemaker’, with a duo of actors assuming every character. Our stage was the Civic Hall in Uppermill, a congenial hamlet in Saddleworth, a stone’s throw from the bustling city of Manchester.
The winter of 2008, as some may recall, was a harsh mistress. As Christmas approached, the heavens opened and bestowed upon us a relentless flurry of snow. The snowfall was so severe that we were on the brink of cancelling one of our performances. You see, one of our actors, a gentleman by the name of David, resided in Leeds. Leeds, in favourable weather, is a good hour’s journey from Uppermill, so when the snow began to fall, all was slowed to a crawl.
David, from his position on the motorway, telephoned to relay the state of affairs. “I’m advancing,” he declared, “but I fear I shall be tardy. My apologies.”
On that fateful morning, we were expecting a party of 60 schoolchildren who had traversed the half-mile from their place of learning to the Civic Hall. Upon their arrival, I informed the schoolmistress of our predicament and proposed that we introduce Santa Claus first. As part of the Christmas spectacle, I would make my entrance at the final curtain as Santa Claus and distribute sweets to all. A charming gesture, but far too brief for the 40 minutes we needed to occupy. “Why don’t you,” a teacher proposed, “inquire of each child what they desire for Christmas? That will consume a considerable amount of time, and they will be thrilled.”
With haste, I donned the beard and hat, stuffing a cushion up the inexpensive red costume, although I likely had no need for it. The Civic Hall housed a room known as the Council Chamber, where the parish council convened, and at the head of the table was an ornate throne where the mayor presided. Myself, garbed as Santa Claus, and the other actress, Claire, attired as an Elf, relocated the throne to a small alcove beneath the stairs, for we deemed it the most Christmassy spot in the building.
Beneath those stairs, I listened to the wishes of approximately 60 schoolchildren, who confided in me, as Santa Claus, what they desired and felt they deserved for Christmas. Their requests ranged from a High School Musical 3 Musical Dance Mat to a Rescue Pals Swim To Me Puppy. I was unfamiliar with these items, but thankfully, Santa Claus was not.
“Hello, what’s your name?” Santa would inquire. For reasons unknown, I always adopt a refined accent when I portray Santa. By rights, he hails from Finland and should sound more akin to Borat, but one shudders at the thought. “Hello, what’s your name?”
Some of the children would shriek, most were apprehensive, and a few were thrilled by the prospect of meeting a refined, rotund, heavily bearded gentleman in a red suit.
Towards the end of this lengthy queue was a child named Monika. Monika hailed from Poland and had migrated to the UK in 2006 when the Polish people were finally granted their full EU rights and permitted to travel in the Schengen areas, including our humble England. Monika had never encountered Santa Claus before. She had heard tales of him, of course, but this encounter, with me in a small alcove beneath the stairs, was her very first experience.
Monika appeared quite confident as the teacher guided her towards me. “Hello,” I greeted, “What’s your name?” “Monika,” she responded. “Hello Monika, I’m Santa Claus. What would you like for Christmas?” She gazed up at me as a large tear trickled down her cheek. “Don’t cry,” Santa comforted. “I have just come from Poland and we didn’t inform you before we left that we were coming to England and I’m afraid that you don’t know where we live.” Santa smiled and glanced at the teacher, then looked at the little girl. “Witaj,” Santa greeted. “jak się masz?” The girl beamed. “Dobry,” she replied. I winked at the teacher. “I am Santa Claus,” I declared, “I am privy to the whereabouts of every boy and girl in the world, and I certainly know where you reside now, Monika. Now, what shall I bring you for Christmas?
With Santa’s duties fulfilled and David, the actor, hastily donning his costume, I stowed Santa away in the large black bag and resumed my role as the sound and lighting technician, and the show proceeded.
I have written and produced over a decade of Christmas shows for Uppermill, from Red Riding Hood to Babushka to Pinocchio, but the most extraordinary tale of them all was Monika, when Santa spoke to her in Polish.
Now, a little secret about myself and my theatre company that neither Monika nor the teacher were privy to. Prior to Christmas, I had journeyed to Poland to pen a new play titled ‘Poles Apart’. And in this play, we utter some basic Polish phrases. Monika encountered the right Santa at the right time, in the right place.
Witaj – Hello
jak się masz? – How are you?
Dobry – Good
Wesołych Świąt Bożego Narodzenia – Merry Christmas