SANTA CLAUS IS BACK IN TOWN...

Hail, the returning hero

                                           And now a timely tale to tell

                                           from childhood days of long ago,

                                           with echoes deep, peal mem'ry's bell

                                           to fill hearts with a joyous glow.

******

Raymond Bennie was his name - and still is, I presume.  He was one of my classmates in primary school, whose family emigrated to Australia around 1968 or '69.  Ironic then that our school's name was Canberra, and it struck me years later when I saw him in an old class photo that he 'looked' Australian.  That's to say, he looked just like what I assumed a typical Australian boy would look like as I've always felt that many Australians have a distinct physiognomy.  I wonder if either his father or mother might've been an Ozzie who decided to return to the place of his or her birth, hence Raymond's immigration way back then.  Not that any of that's important, but you're not being charged for any extraneous detail so no need to panic.

However, just before I get to the point, I also sometimes wonder whether Raymond ever returned to Scotland for a visit over the years, as surely he and his parents would've had friends and (assuming they were of UK origin) relatives with whom they'd want to keep in touch?  All I know is that last time I saw him was around 55 years ago when we were still primary school pupils, and 55 years is a long, long time.  To think that he may have returned on occasion yet I never ran into him is a bit sad, as he was part of my youth - and you all know how important my youth is to me.  As yours is to you also, I'm sure.

Raymond in September 1967

So what's the deal with Raymond to warrant a mention here?  Simple.  We weren't particular pals who hung about together, but one day he invited me back to his house after school.  I've no idea why; perhaps he was just at a loose end and wanting someone to talk to, or maybe he was simply trying to expand his circle of friends, but I accepted his invitation and accompanied him home at four o'clock.  All I remember of that visit is me expressing a liking for a small stuffed cloth Santa Claus lying on his room floor.  "Take it" he said, generously, so I did, and Santa returned home with me for the rest of his existence.  I assumed him to be a cat's play-toy, a notion reinforced a few short years later when I saw his double in a garden across the back lane from a friend of my mother's we were visiting that day.  I was sorely tempted to nick him, but resisted.

Poor Santa took a bit of a drubbing over the coming weeks and months (maybe even a year or two), due to the fact that my brother and me played 'dodgeball' with him.  My sibling's bed ran along one side of our shared room and my bed ran along the opposite side, so we'd hurl Santa at one another while we each tried to evade being hit by him - not that it was painful when Santa found his target as as had no weight to him.  Eventually, Santa was in a sorry state due to the rough-handling he'd received and started to come apart, so I carefully undid the stitching holding him together and separated the cloth segments into their individual pieces, intending to sew him back up more securely to better withstand his 'dodgeball' adventures.

Alas, it just wasn't to be as, due mainly to the dawning enormity of my ambitions, I repeatedly procrastinated from remedial administrations until, eventually, at least one of the six cloth pieces was mislaid and never seen again.  I kept what remained for a few years, but eventually disposed of them after flitting to a new house and deciding to rid myself of childish things in an attempt to be more 'mature'.  (That never quite happened, eh?)

Seller's photo of cloth Santa

Still, I never quite forgot Santa, and while keeping an eye out for a doppelganger replacement over the years (and decades), I bought other Santas to act as 'stand-ins' until such time as I could locate one.  Not that any of the others were ever used for dodgeball, but I liked to dig them out at Christmas to brighten up the living-room in a festive fashion.  Recently, however, I saw what looked to be the same Santa I had as a kid on eBay, though with one significant difference.  My Santa had been manufactured 'ready-to-go' as a complete item, whereas the eBay one had clearly been a 'do-it-yourself' kit version that hadn't been sewn together too well.  As you can see from the seller's photo, the edges were all frayed, and it needed a bit of a clean.

No problem for the big man.  (Yes, that's me - why are you laughing?)  I carefully removed the stitching, applied a thin coating of PVC glue to the frayed ends, and then stitched Santa back together again, all the while being fully aware that I was finally completing the task I'd set for myself over 50 years earlier, but had left undone.  It felt almost like I'd simply dug out the pieces of my original Santa given to me by Raymond and picked up where I'd left off all those years before, making my feelings of accomplishment even greater than I'm probably entitled to.

He still needs a bit of a clean, but it's good to see yet another once-familiar face from my childhood back in the fold, along with all the other replacement items I've managed to secure over the years.  Honest, hard as it may be for you to believe (or appreciate), it's almost feels like they've never been away.  And, take it from me, that's a good feeling.  So here's to Raymond for being the source of happy memories of days gone by.  Hope he's doing okay for himself over in the land of Oz, though I'd be surprised if he even remembers me - or Santa.

Another snap of Santa after a little work by yours truly

Okay, this post has been a little off the wall, but feel free to comment if you so desire, even if it's only to tell me I'm bonkers.  And if any of you have ever managed to replace a cherished item you once had after so long a time, tell us all about that as well.