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You may remember, as reported last year, that, in 1907, Father Christmas nearly made a terrible mistake when he crashed his old racing car on Christmas Eve. Santa was rescued by his good friend, Fred Lonsdale. The racing car was recovered, and then put away in a corner of the workshop and Santa promised his wife, he called her Mrs. Claus, that he would not let that sort of thing happen again. “Never, ever again”, he promised, but he did have his fingers crossed behind his back when he said it.
Santa did keep his word, well, more or less, he stopped talking about enormous noisy racing cars and settled in his comfortable routine, as he had always done, getting ready for Christmas. He had kept in touch with his old friend, Fred, who, after a while, suggested that Santa should start using his car again; Mrs. Claus was not too happy about this but agreed that it did make some sense as a car in the corner of a workshop was not a lot of use. Fred helped Santa to repair the car and start using it again. Naturally, the two old friends talked about all the new inventions that were being made at that time; they were particularly interested in the development of the ‘flying machine’.
In those early days of the last century, more and more people were experimenting with aeroplanes, many of them building their machines from bamboo canes joined together to make a frame that was tensioned with steel wire and then covered with un-bleached linen; lightweight engines and spindly bicycle wheels were used and, up and down the country, brave, but often foolish, men risked their lives and, in many cases, a great deal of money, each hoping to become a ‘flyer’. Fred Lonsdale was very keen to fly.
Santa drove round to see Fred one weekend early in December; he hadn’t seen him for quite a while and, as his preparations for Christmas were well in hand, he thought that a day off would be good and would set him up for the final concerted effort in preparing for his ‘big day’.
Santa was very impressed when he found Fred in his workshop; it wasn’t Fred that impressed him, he had known him for too long for that, it was the flying machine that Fred was working on. It was magnificent, it was enormous, it was like nothing he had ever seen, it was ...., Santa was speechless and Fred just stopped what he was doing and smiled at him; after a moment, Fred said, with a grin, “Well, what about that then?”
Santa just stood there with his mouth open and it was several minutes before he could speak at all; eventually he spluttered, “But, ... but, ... what, ... what, ... Oh Fred, it’s, ... it’s magnificent, it’s , I don’t know, ... it’s a flying machine, it’s absolutely magnificent.” He soon got back to normal and Fred showed him all the little details and explained what he had done and why he had done them. “It’s just about ready for my first test flight, probably tomorrow if the weather’s right and I think it should be; do you want to come and help me?”
Santa was tempted but thought better of it and replied, “I’d love to, but I think not, Mrs. Claus would be none too pleased; she keeps reminding me that Christmas Day is getting nearer and that she will sanction nothing that might jeopardise that.” Fred replied, “But what’s she worried about, you fly all over everywhere on the night before Christmas? You wouldn’t come to any harm.”
“She’s certainly very serious,” Santa replied, “but, I suppose, she’s probably right; Christmas Eve is the most important day in our year, everything we do is for that one day and I know that when I crashed the car, a couple of years ago, she was frantic with worry, worried for me and for the delivery run. No, we can’t blame her, she IS very serious; we will have to be extremely careful.”
“Does that mean,” Fred asked, “does that mean you will help me with the tests and that we must be careful, or that we must be careful that Mrs. Claus doesn’t find out about them?”
Santa didn’t answer immediately, he was deep in thought, but, after a minute or two, he mumbled, “Whatever,“ and then continued, “D’you know Fred, I’ve got an idea; for the last year or two, in fact its more than that, ever since Wilbur and Orville Wright made those first flights and people in Europe started flying, I’ve had a lot of letters from children asking for flying machines for Christmas. I’m sure that they mean little ones, you know, little models, model flying machines they can make themselves. I think that you can help me here, a model of your machine would be just perfect, and designing one would give me a good excuse to come over to see you and help with the test flights.”
Santa wanted to know all about the flying machine and Fred told him about some friends he had met in France, “I met a Brazilian man, Alberto Santos-Dumont who introduced me to a Yorkshire man called Robert Blackburn; both were building flying machines and we got on really well together. By the time I got home, I had already decided to make my own, they shared some of their ideas with me and gave me a lot of advice; Robert even gave me drawings of his new machine and we agreed that mine would be quite similar. Alberto’s still in France but, sadly, he crashed a flying machine a few months ago and is badly injured; Robert is back home and has set up a workshop in Leeds.”
Santa said that he thought that flying was a dangerous pastime; Fred replied, “It’s not the flying that’s dangerous, it’s the crashing, if you get it wrong.”
Fred walked over to his ‘quiet corner’ and put the kettle on, it was a heavy cast iron kettle and the heat came from a gas-ring. He lit the gas-light above his workbench and said, “I wish they would find a way to get electricity to us, it’s only the very rich who can afford it, it would be so useful. I’m sure that someone would design and make electric tools, drills and things, and decent lights.”
Santa replied, quietly, so quietly that Fred wasn’t able to hear what he said, “One day there will be every sort of electric tool in the workshop, drills, routers, planes and things; and in the home, food mixers, vacuum cleaners and even calculators, sewing machines and computers, scanners and mobile phones. My job will be so much easier, there will be so much to choose from; people won’t need to ask, ‘what can I buy you for Christmas?’.”
Fred was aware that Santa was talking and tried to hear what he was saying; he heard only the last few words and responded, “You don’t need to buy anything for me at Christmas.” Santa replied, “Of course not, what made you say that?”
“Never mind,” Fred replied, as he made a pot of tea; he then fished out the working drawings for his flying machine, “now, if I scale these down and make a few adjustments, we can have them printed as a cut-out model, you know, scissors and glue, for the little ones to make; and their dads, perhaps?”
Santa was delighted and agreed with his friend that making the model would be a very good idea, “We could have it printed on card, and the instructions on a sheet of paper and put it all in a plastic wallet ....”
“What’s a ‘plastic wallet?” Fred questioned, “I’ve got a leather wallet but I’ve no idea what plastic is?” Santa replied, “Oh, it’s like computers and mobile phones, things that someone will invent one day.” Fred didn’t understand, he was bemused but chose not to pursue the matter and poured them both a cup of tea.
When Santa got home, he told his wife all about the model flying machine and she agreed with him that it was a very good idea; she thought, however, that it was probably “a bit late for this year, there won’t be enough time, will there?”
Santa replied, “Well, maybe not for a full scale thing but we really do need to do a test run, to see how it works out; I suggested to Fred that we work on it tomorrow. The elves have got everything in hand here; I can drive over to Fred’s for an hour or two,” Mrs. Claus was not too sure and reminded him about the panic they had when he crashed but, when he pointed out that it was only the middle of December, she reluctantly agreed.
When Santa arrived at Fred’s place, the flying machine was sitting outside the workshop and Fred was nowhere to be seen; Santa parked his car and went into the workshop. Fred was sitting at his work-table and had a very fine model in his hand. When Santa walked in, he turned and held out the model. “I hope you like this,” he said, “I stayed up nearly all night to get it finished.”
Santa was thrilled to see it, “That’s brilliant,” he said, “couldn’t be better; this will be a lovely present for all those Christmas stockings; what about the printing?” Fred promised Santa that he would get the instruction sheet sorted out that evening and would take the work to the printers the next morning. “But now,” he said, “let’s see about flying.”
Santa was quite excited and was pleased to help and, after a lot of adjusting and just looking at ‘things’, Santa swung the wooden propeller and the engine started. “I can’t hang about now,” he shouted above the roar, “I need to get air around the engine to keep it cool.”
Fred bounced along the track in the field, slowly gaining speed until the flying machine lifted of the ground and soared, gracefully into the sky; it was a magnificent sight, swooping and banking above the tree tops. Fred appeared to be a very good flyer, even though he had had no training and had, in fact, never even seen a flying machine and certainly not one that was actually in the sky.
Santa was keen to ‘have-a-go’ but the opportunity did not arise and, when he next went to see his friend, the weather was atrocious and, as Christmas Eve was now only days away, he would probably have to wait until after the holiday. Santa was disappointed, naturally, but he was very busy; a couple of days before Christmas, Santa went to Fred’s to collect the printed card models. They were not ready and the printer had sent an apology, saying that he would deliver the work on the morning of Christmas Eve. Santa agreed to collect the work from Fred. “Will you have time?” Fred asked. “Yes,” Santa answered, “everything will be ready and I usually get a bit agitated, waiting for nightfall; it’ll give me something, do me good, I’ll come over at about mid-day
On the morning of Christmas Eve, Santa had some difficulty persuading Mrs. Claus that he was not heading for trouble; she wasn’t happy, but he set off anyway. it was a glorious morning, a bit cold but quite bright and, as Santa approached Fred’s place, he could see the flying machine, sitting outside the workshop. Fred was fiddling with the machine and explained to Santa that he was making some adjustments and was going to have another test flight.
 The man from the printers arrived in a pony and trap and Santa took the package from him and put it on his car’s passenger seat. The delivery man stayed to watch as Fred made another very impressive flight and then landed safely. Fred started explaining the controls to his friend and then said, “D’you want to have a go?” Santa said, “No, I’d love to, but , best not....” It didn’t take Fred long to help him change his mind.
At about half-past two, Fred had given Santa full instruction on everything he should do and helped him squeeze into the driver’s seat. Santa put on his leather flying helmet, pulled down his goggles and gave the signal that he was ready. Fred swung the propeller and the engine roared into life; Santa took a quick look around him and set off across the field. After a moment he was circling around overhead, getting to know the controls. As his confidence grew, he became more daring and applied full throttle as he headed away from the field.
Suddenly, there was a loud ‘crack’ from the machine; Santa was bigger and heavier than his friend and the extra weight had proved to be too much for the flimsy frame. As the frame broke, Santa dropped deeper into it and became jammed; he couldn’t move his arms or his legs and could not do anything to control the machine. As Santa flew into the sunset, Fred realised that he was in trouble and started shouting, “Come back, Santa, turn round and come back.” It was futile, Santa couldn’t hear him and, if he could, he could do nothing about it.
Fred ran over to his car started the engine and jumped on board; he roared off, in the failing light in the direction that the flying machine had taken. It was completely out of sight and the roads did not go in quite the same direction. Fred thought that there was probably enough petrol to fly the plane for about half an hour and he was very worried that it would be getting quite dark when the fuel ran out and the flying machine would fall to the ground.
Meanwhile, in the sky, Santa was completely at the mercy of the flying machine, he couldn’t move, he could do nothing to change its direction and he could do nothing to get it back on the ground. Without any warning, it started to snow and, after quite some time and, as the light was fading rapidly, the engine started to splutter and the machine began to lose height. Santa peered out of the cockpit and all he could see was the snow-covered earth rushing towards him. In the distance he thought he could see a farm house, a building with a dim light flickering in a window. He got nearer to the ground and, as it came up to meet him, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.
There was a bumping, graunching sound as the machine hit the ground and started to slide. Fred kept his eyes firmly closed and was then aware that he was rising up again; he then felt himself rolling forward and thought that the machine was doing some sort of cartwheel. As the movement stopped he opened his eyes and realised that he was hanging upside-down, still trapped in the machine but slowly sliding out of it. A minute or so later, he slipped out with a slow ‘plop’ and landed on his head in the mud. He checked his arms and his legs, they were all there but a bit numb with the cold; he sat on a snow covered bump in the ground for a minute or two and then set off, walking towards the cottage.
 Santa was cold and miserable when he knocked on the cottage door and wasn’t thinking properly when he said to the man who opened the door, “Good evening,” he said, “I’m Santa Claus, and I’ve just crashed my flying machine in your field.” The man said, angrily, “Of course you are and of course you have, now go away, you nutter”, as he slammed the door. The door opened again almost immediately and the man peered out and said, “Say that again, what be you wantin?”
Santa told the man who he was and outlined his problem; for some odd reason, the man believed him and said that he would get his little cart out, harness his pony and take Santa home. After about another ten minutes, the pony and the little trap set off down the road at a steady trot. They had not gone very far when they were confronted by a big old car, thundering towards them. The car screeched to a standstill but the pony had bolted and broken free from the cart. The big old car was driven by Fred. The reunion was rather difficult; the helpful cart man was not very pleased about his cart being damaged and his horse running away. Fortunately the situation was resolved when Fred promised to repair the little trap and the horse came trotting back, apparently none the worse for the experience.
Fred drove Santa home as fast as he could; it was a hair-raising ride in the dark as the lights were of very little use. As they thundered into Santa’s yard and screeched to a standstill, Mrs. Claus was waiting. She was absolutely furious; Fred was very apologetic but he could not pacify her. There was so little time left; Santa had to have a good wash and change his clothes and, by now, he should have already been on his way. While Santa was getting ready, the elves were busy hitching up the reindeer and, at last, Santa set off on his wonderful magical journey.
He had to agree with Mrs. Claus, to leave the ‘inquest’ until he returned from making his important annual deliveries.
m©mviii Peter Fairhurst, www.OldFred.com
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