Christmas Stories

Father Christmas' Headache

It was Christmas Eve and Father Christmas had a sore head. It was so sore he knew he would not see straight enough to fly his sleigh.

"Ooooooohhhhhh," he groaned, loudly. "Just the worst time of year to get a headache." And he groaned again.

"It's times like these," he grumbled to himself, "that I wish my magic was different:

My magic helps me fly through the sky
I can travel the world in the blink of an eye
I can talk to the animals and hear what they say
But I can not magic this headache away!

He stomped to his desk and looked at his big list. So many deliveries to make. And now he saw two lists where there should be just one.

"Ooooooohhhhhh my head," he groaned.

There was worse to come. Tap! Tap! Saw! Saw! Bang! Bang! Tap! and Tap!

It was the elves in the workshop. Hammering, sawing and painting all the toys for the evening's deliveries.

"Terrible noise!" mumbled Father Christmas. "But maybe those elves can help."

In the workshop, the elves stopped work when Father Christmas trudged in. He went to the chief elf and asked him to help.

"Our brothers and sisters the mountain elves can help. They are wise and kind and know all the right spells," said the chief elf.

"It's too far," said Father Christmas. "I'm very busy. I just don't have time to go all the way to the mountain." His sore head was making him very grumpy.

The elves replied, "Then use your magic and magic it away!"

Father Christmas sighed. "It will do no such thing:

He stamped out of the workshop. The elves started hammering, sawing and painting again.

"Ooooooohhhhhh my head," he moaned.

Worse still for his sore head: high voices were singing outside his front door. "Deck the halls with boughs of holly!"

It was the carollers. Singing for all the poor animals of the woods.

"Dratted racket!" griped Father Christmas. "But maybe they have someone who could help."

At the front door Father Christmas waited while the carollers finished their singing. It was wise old owl who had brought them to his house, as she did every year. He asked the wise old owl if she could help him.

"I can help feathery heads and furry ones too-hoo-hoo, but not yours I fear. The mountain elves are wise and kind and know the spells you need, hoo-hoo!" said the wise old owl.

"It's too far," said Father Christmas. "I'm very busy. I just don't have time to go all the way to the mountain." His sore head was making him very grouchy.

All the animals then replied: "Then use your magic and magic it away!"

Father Christmas groaned. "It will do no such thing:

He passed them all hot cocoa and presents for the poor animals of the woods, then stormed away before they started singing again.

"Ooooooohhhhhh my head," he moaned.

Even worse was to come: no sooner had the carollers left but there was a rat-a-tat! at the door and a band struck up. Flute! And drum! And fiddle as well!

The elves had finished their present-work now and opened the door to the mummers! Shouting and sword-fights and music and who knows what else.

"Pesky clatter!" carped Father Christmas. "And they're early too! I do not need this!"

But when he came to the hall where the players stood, it was the mountain elves who had come in early with their mumming play!

The head elf stood forward with a smile. "Poor Father Christmas has a sore head:

"Aaaaaaahhhhhh my head," sighed Father Christmas.

He could see perfectly straight.

His head didn't hurt.

And when he looked at his list there was only the one.

"Come elves! Come reindeer! - there is work to be done!"