WE ARE coming to that time of year when I have a joyful, yet solemn duty to undertake. I am to become a representative, a vicarious presence, almost a temporary incarnation of a great mythical figure; for, soon, I shall stand in for the venerable and joyful Father Christmas.

I am to appear, to manifest Father Christmas himself, and, in that person, to read Christmas stories to very young children, in North Walsham Public Library. It is a great responsibility, but I am glad to undertake it. There was a time when I had to resort to disguise: to sprinkle flour on my hair and beard to make them white, to pad myself with pillows so as to appear to be of greater girth.

But now, I have only to don the red robe, trimmed with white fur; for my hair and beard are already snowy, and my waist, alas, needs no further augmentation. Indeed, at this time of year, even without costume, or any hint of disguise, I notice that toddlers, when they see me, tug their mother’s sleeve and point at me, and remind the grown-ups that they have been very good.

I am entering into a venerable tradition, far older than the supposed Victorian invention of Christmas. Indeed, here in Norfolk, we know that, as early as 1443, the happily named John Gladman appeared in a pageant in Norwich as “King of Christmas”, “disguysed as the seson requird”.

The gradual association of Father Christmas with St Nicholas, which came to be pronounced, and then spelt “Santa Claus”, is a later 19th-century development coming from the United States via Holland, where they venerate the saint and associate his day with gifts to children.

But his gift-giving and sense of generous plenty is certainly in the spirit of the original Father Christmas; so it is a happy fusion of the two figures. In the same week that I become, as it were, Father Christmas’s Vicar on Earth, our own vicar and our whole church will be celebrating St Nicholas; for he is our patron saint. And I have written a poem in his honour, remembering some elements of his legend:

St Nicholas

St. Nicholas, protector of the poor,
Gift-giver, wonderworker, patron saint,
Renew our generosity, and pour
Afresh on us your spirit without stint,
That we, like you, might notice, might respond
And rescue those whom we’ve ignored, whose plight
Cries out for our redress: near neighbours bound
By poverty and debt, the out of sight
And out of mind, the children of the poor,
All the exploited, those whose lives are wrecked
By others’ greed, indifference, and neglect,
Those overboard and floundering for the shore.
Help us make others merry with our wealth
And joy, like you, in doing good by stealth.