It was a few days before Christmas the year 1985, when I lived in the 20th Century still, in the middle of England. I was an "au-pair girl". I was looking after 4 adorable kids, one of whom was little Richard who was the quintessential little british boy with red hair and blue eyes and with a school uniform with shorts and long grey socks even in the winter. He was a dreamer that one, we had great fun together. The kids were from diferent mariages and had diferent fathers. Richard 's father never came to take him out the way the other father did. As we approched Christmas, he drew countless little drawings of Santa and his helpers, which was a new concept for me since we don't have those in french culture. (french pere Noel is on his own!) There was
never a fan of Father Christmas greater than this boy. And so we were walking thus together in the little town we lived in on that cold winter day. The street was empty. Not a soul in sight. We walked up the street and at the turn of the curb we fell upon an unbelivable sight.
Santa himself,
the Real Santa, was there, laid across the large sidewalk was his beautifull sleigh, with all his reindeers - not the plastic ones - as if he had just landed there for a cookie break on his way to somewhere else. We were both little Richard and I dumfounded. We walked to him both very shyly and said Hi Santa! ...He smiled and had a beautiful white beard on him and gave us both a candy. Richard was paralized with awe, where I was in a state of confusion. Then, feeling that perhaps I
might have had a chance to fly in Santa's sleigh and missed it, we moved on and still there was not a soul in sight as we walked away. I realy wonder if little Richard still remembers this, this many years since.
