You have to remember I am writing about the 1960s a time of true innocents for a young child. The story how I innocently found out that Father Christmas was not real didn’t destroy me neither was I traumatized it just made me wise up.
I may have been seven or eight when I found out or better still worked out the secret. Some of my friends may have already known but no one told me so maybe that is another secret keeping the truth secret. So how did I find out – easy really, it was down to carrier bags, it was that simple.
We would go shopping with Mum and Dad have a great time with that Christmas feeling in the town centre, all the lights, decorations and window displays. We were shopping and maybe a visit to Father Christmas and I never asked why I was sitting on Santa’s lap in the C&A store while in another shop some other kid was doing the same. I was just happy to get a photo and a toy.
We would go in and out of shops and at some point Mum with say wait has she would disappear coming back with a carrier bag. This would happen a few times before we would head home on the bus with Dad loaded down with shopping bags. When we were home, bags would disappear! If we came in with six, there would be four on the table if you mention it you would be fobbed off with some story.
I did scout around a little and try to find the disappearing shopping bags but they alluded me. However, I didn’t lose any sleep over it. Then one day the big cupboard on the landing upstairs door was a jar and on looking in there was Santa’s grotto staring me in the face. Some of the presents in there were already wrapped in Christmas paper with my name. Therefore, it was easy to conclude Father Christmas was my parents.
I don’t remember rushing out to tell the world and my friends that Santa was not real. I think I played along for a few years until Mum and Dad figured out I knew. I never told my brother or my sisters it was up to them to suss out the secret either way it was for them to find out for themselves.
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