"FATHER CHRISTMAS IS ON THE ROOF..." (My poem about BEING Father Christmas...)

 “Father Christmas Is On the Roof…”

The red-suited, white-bearded Santa

Mounted a ladder onto a school’s roof;

He stepped cautiously across the gravelly asphalt,

Whilst the Headteacher remained quite aloof…

He peered through a long and narrow window

Into the school’s assembly hall below-

Agitated, as if puzzled or confused- then

He was spotted by the kids, row on row…

The pointing! The gasps! The yelling began!

The gesticulating Santa waved in vain;

“Father Christmas is on the roof!” the kids bellowed,

As his sack swung about under the strain…

The Headteacher and pupils then pointed the way

Towards the entrance to the school;

Santa acknowledged, then quickly disappeared to the ladder

And descended like a demented old fool…

In the safety of a classroom Santa stripped off his suit,

The school’s Site Manager took over the role;

He settled down quickly inside his grotto,

Whilst the imposter out into the chaos stole…

He had seen his daughters sitting in the hall,

They’d not recognised their Santa dad,

But excitedly told him that Father Christmas had been on the roof,

Leaving their dad feeling frustrated and sad…

I tell this tale now, for I was that Santa

And neither Lucy, nor Wendy then knew;

They had reacted in ignorance to my disguise

And simply hadn’t had a clue…

Pete Ray

My kids attended Bromford Infants’ School, Birmingham… The school is now known as Hodge Hill Primary.

The school’s caretaker had been ill and was unable to climb his long ladder to the roof, although being seated in his grotto was acceptable, so I was asked to cover his physical duties and do the roof bit.

It was strange to peer through the windows and see the children below, even spotting my two daughters but the race to get changed and act as if nothing had happened was hairy…

It’s what you do though…