J.R.R. Tolkien's 'Letters from Father Christmas'

Unless you’ve been hoarding a powerful ring in a deep cavern under a mountain for the past 100 years, you’ve probably heard of J.R.R. Tolkien. (That was a Gollum joke—feel free to laugh, precious.)

But while many Tolkien-ites know him as the Oxford professor who penned the epic Lord of the Rings trilogy, The Hobbit, and The Silmarillion, as well as his membership alongside C.S. Lewis in the literary pub club known as The Inklings, few are probably aware that Tolkien is the also author of a very special collection of letters.

You see, Tolkien was a huge fan of Christmas. So much so, in fact that, every holiday season he would write a letter to his beloved children from Father Christmas (that’s Santa Claus, for those who don’t speak British). Which became, of course, the magical Letters from Father Christmas.

Tolkien wrote the first letters in 1920, when John, his eldest son was three years old. For over 20 years, through the childhoods of Christopher, Michael, and Priscilla, the letters from the North Pole came every Christmas. Written in the shaky handwriting of a nineteen hundred and twenty-four (no, twenty-seven!) year old, the letters describe old St. Nick’s house, friends (including Polar Bears and elves, of course), and life in the North Pole.

“SOMETIMES THE ENVELOPES, DUSTED WITH SNOW AND BEARING POLAR POSTAGE STAMPS, WERE FOUND IN THE HOUSE ON THE MORNING AFTER A VISIT.”

According to the introduction of Tolkien’s collected letters, “Sometimes the envelopes, dusted with snow and bearing Polar postage stamps, were found in the house on the morning after his visit; sometimes the postman brought them; and the letters that the children wrote themselves vanished from the fireplace when no one was about.”

That Tolkien, creator of perhaps the most richly textured fictional universe of all time, also created inventive stories and characters for his Father Christmas letters is not altogether surprising. But what is remarkable is the fact that he wrote them not for a worldwide audience or commercial gain, but simply for the pleasure and delight of his children. Not to mention the fact that he kept up the tradition for over 20 years.

THAT TOLKIEN CREATED INVENTIVE STORIES AND CHARACTERS FOR HIS FATHER CHRISTMAS LETTERS IS NOT ALTOGETHER SURPRISING. BUT WHAT IS REMARKABLE IS THE FACT THAT HE DID IT SIMPLY FOR THE PLEASURE AND DELIGHT OF HIS CHILDREN.

At Press On, we believe in the power of the handwritten letter. We believe also in the power of those special messages penned by mothers and fathers to their sons and daughters. One can only speculate as to what Tolkien’s Father Christmas letters meant to his children. But I wouldn't be surprised if they were deeply cherished—perhaps even above those Middle Earth tales which are revered all over the world, for the letters themselves convey something far more magical—the love of a father.

Christmas House
North Pole
22 December 1920

Dear John,

I heard you ask daddy what I was like and where I lived. I have drawn me and my house for you. Take care of the picture. I am just off now for Oxford with my bundle of toys—some fore you. Hope I shall arrive in time: the snow is very thick at the North Pole tonight. Your Loving Father Christmas

North Pole
Christmas Eve, 1923

My dear John,

It is very cold today and my hand is very shaky—I am nineteen hundred and twenty-four (no! seven!) years old on Christmas day,—lots older than your great-grandfather, so I can’t stop the pen wobbling, but I hear that you are getting so good at reading that I expect you will be able to read my letter.

I send you lots of love (and lots for Michael too) and Lotts Bricks too (which are called that because there are lots more for you to have next year if you let me know in good time. I think they are prettier and stronger and tidier than Picabrix. So I hope you will like them.

Now I must go; it is a lovely fine night and I have got hundreds of miles to go before morning—there is such a lot to do.

A cold kiss from

Father Nicholas Christmas

Cliff House
Top of the World
Near the North Pole

Xmas 1925

My dear boys, 

I am dreadfully busy this year — it makes my hand more shaky than ever when I think of it — and not very rich. In fact, awful things have been happening, and some of the presents have got spoilt and I haven't got the North Polar Bear to help me and I have had to move house just before Christmas, so you can imagine what a state everything is in, and you will see why I have a new address, and why I can only write one letter between you both. It all happened like this: one very windy day last November my hood blew off and went and stuck on the top of the North Pole. I told him not to, but the N.P.Bear climbed up to the thin top to get it down — and he did. The pole broke in the middle and fell on the roof of my house, and the N.P.Bear fell through the hole it made into the dining room with my hood over his nose, and all the snow fell off the roof into the house and melted and put out all the fires and ran down into the cellars where I was collecting this year's presents, and the N.P.Bear's leg got broken. He is well again now, but I was so cross with him that he says he won't try to help me again. I expect his temper is hurt, and will be mended by next Christmas. I send you a picture of the accident, and of my new house on the cliffs above the N.P. (with beautiful cellars in the cliffs). If John can't read my old shaky writing (1925 years old) he must get his father to. When is Michael going to learn to read, and write his own letters to me? Lots of love to you both and Christopher, whose name is rather like mine.

That's all. Goodbye.

Father Christmas