Wednesday, 21 December 2011


A glass of brown ale for Santa

Roger Noons

    “So John, how many times were you Santa?”
    “Both libraries, for six years, that would be a dozen times.”
    “You must have had a few unusual incidents?”
    “Yes Rosie, though it was mainly what you’d expect: a wet trouser leg: being sick over my Wellington boots. The kids were dead keen, until their mothers pushed them forward. Then shyness crept in, once the child was on my knee, it would often become dumbstruck, remain silent, need prompting, or immediately want to return to mum. I did get the odd smack on the nose.”
    “There must have been one event that stood out?”
    “Yes, but it didn’t concern a child: it was one of the mothers.”
    “The librarian always placed a chair for me in the centre of the room, and the parents, occasionally there was a dad, would stand around in a semi circle with the children in front of them. At my side, on the floor, I would put my sack. There was always a small gift for each child.”
    Rosie smiled and nodded.
    “The outfit was borrowed from the local fire station, and it was one size, so it was large: particularly the hood. If I turned my head, the hood stayed where it was, so I could only see what was in front of me. I said goodbye to a small boy and reached down into the sack and felt for a present, but what I located was a woman’s foot. I turned my head and whispered. ‘You’re standing in the sack.’ Either she didn’t hear, or chose to ignore me, as she didn’t move.”
    “Oh my God!”
    “So each time I put my hand in the sack, I ran my fingers up and down her leg, even above her stocking top, but she never budged. After the last child had received it‘s present, I stood up, but parents and children were milling around. I scanned the women’s faces, but saw nothing to indicate which lady‘s leg I had been caressing.”
    “So one of the mums got a gift as well?”
    I smiled.
    “Well, thank you John, I can get a good piece out of that.” We shook hands. “You have very soft skin,” she said. “I wish I’d worn a skirt, you could have given me a demonstration.” 

BIO - Roger Noons began writing in 2006, when he completed a screenplay, for a friend who is an amateur film maker. After the film was made, he wrote further scripts, then began short stories and poems. He occasionally produces non fiction, particularly memoirs from his long career in Environmental Health.

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