A sub-optimal aspect of Christmas as a child was writing thank you letters. Here are twelve such letters invented by John Julius Norwich and published in his Christmas Crackers, 2000 – 2009.
25th December
My dearest darling – that partridge, in that lovely little pear tree! What an enchanting, poetic, romantic present! Bless you and thank you. Your deeply loving Emily.
26th December
My beloved Edward – two turtle-doves arrived this morning and are cooing away in the pear tree as I write. I’m so touched, and grateful. With undying love, as always, Emily.
27th December
My darling Edward – you do think up the most original presents; whoever thought of sending anyone hens – and French ones at that? Do they really come all the way from France? Unfortunately we have no hen-coops, but I expect we’ll manage. Thank you anyway, they’re lovely. Your loving Emily.
28th December
Dearest Edward – What a surprise! Four calling birds arrived this morning. They’re very sweet, even if they do call rather loudly; they make telephoning awfully difficult. But they’ll probably calm down when they get used to their new home. Anyway I’m very grateful – of course I am. Love from Emily.
29th December
Dearest Edward – the postman has just delivered five most beautiful gold rings, one for each finger and all fitting perfectly. A really lovely present – lovelier in a way than the birds, which do need rather a lot of looking after. The four that arrived yesterday are still making a terrible row, and I’m afraid none of us got much sleep last night. Mummy says she wants to “ring” their necks, which I didn’t think vey funny – though I know what she means. But I love the rings. Bless you for them. Love, Emily.
30th December
Dear Edward – Whatever I expected to find when I opened the front door this morning, it certainly wasn’t six socking great geese laying eggs all over the doorstep. Frankly, I rather hoped you had stopped sending me birds; we have no room for them and they have already ruined the croquet lawn. I know you meant well, but – let’s call a halt shall we? Love, Emily.
31st December
Edward – I thought I said no more birds; this morning I find seven swans all trying to squeeze into our tiny goldfish pool. I’d rather not think what has happened to the goldfish. The whole house seems to be full of birds – to say nothing of what they leave behind them. Please, please, STOP. Your Emily.
1st January
On balance, I prefer the birds. What on earth do you expect me to do with eight milkmaids – and their cows? Is this some kind of a joke? If so, I’m afraid I don’t find it very amusing. Emily.
2nd January
Look here, Edward, this has gone far enough. You say you’re sending me nine ladies dancing; all I can say is that judging by the way they dance, they’re certainly not ladies. This village just isn’t accustomed to seeing a regiment of shameless hussies cavorting around the Green with nothing on but lipstick – and it’s Mummy and I who get the blame. If you value our friendship – which, I may say, I do less and less – kindly stop this ridiculous behaviour at once. Emily.
3rd January
As I write this letter, ten disgusting old men are prancing about all over what used to be the garden – before the geese and the swans and the cows got at it; and several of them, I notice, are taking inexcusable liberties with the milkmaids. Meanwhile the neighbours are trying to have us evicted. I shall never speak to you again. Emily.
4th January
This is the last straw. You know I detest bagpipes. The place has now become something between a menagerie and a madhouse, and a man from the Council has just declared it unfit for human habitation. At least Mummy has been spared this last outrage; they took her away yesterday afternoon in an ambulance. I hope you’re satisfied. Emily.
5th January
Sir – Our client, Miss Emily Wilbraham, instructs me to inform you that with the arrival on her premises at half past seven this morning of the entire percussion section of the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra and several of their friends she has no course left open to her but to seek an injunction to prevent your importuning her further. I am making arrangements for the return of much assorted livestock.
I am Sir, Yours faithfully, G Creep, Solicitor at Law.
Happy Christmas.
Tku for all the perfectly punctuated pleasure you give every day, please keep it up!
As always we can rely on JJN to supply some impeccable satire. This work would very much lend itself to being acted out at one of those ‘celebrity’ Carol Services the author is inclined to frequent.
Seasons Greetings CJB, and thank you for continuing to write with characteristic vitriol and vigour.