| Here is the first chapter of The Santaview, the story of Maxwell's adventures after he writes to Father Christmas to ask how Christmas actually works. Please email me and tell me if you enjoy it. |
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Chapter One Most nine-year-old boys have plenty on their minds during the weeks before Christmas: how close the end of term is, what presents they are going to nag their parents for (they are much too grown up to believe in Father Christmas), how scruffy they can be at the school Christmas party, how many times they will have to put their best clothes on to go and visit relatives. The list goes on and on. But Maxwell Mason was different. He didn’t worry about any of those things. Maxwell spent his time finding out how things worked. He liked to stand by the gates at the level crossing and watch the trains so that he could see how the electricity from the wires made the motor turn the huge wheels. His dad’s best friend, who owned a bicycle shop, sometimes gave him old bike parts, and Maxwell would spend hours in the garage taking his bike apart and putting it back together again with different combinations of wheels, saddle, handlebars and forks. And in his bedroom, which looked just like a workshop, he dismantled watches and radios and electronic games just to know what was going on inside them. One Saturday afternoon at the end of November, Maxwell was hunched over the desk in his room as usual. In the centre of the tools, fastenings and unidentifiable pieces of scrap metal which littered the top of the desk, Maxwell was studying the workings of a broken old alarm clock, which he had found in the garden shed just that morning. He’d already removed the face and back of the clock, and tossed them onto the floor where they were already lost amongst the bits of valuable (to Maxwell) junk that covered most of the carpet. And he had replaced the hands with the propellers from an old toy helicopter; he was hoping to make a clockwork flying machine. Now he was steadying the clock mechanism using a large pair of pliers in his left hand whilst holding the mainspring in place with a screwdriver in his right. Using a pair of tweezers held between his teeth, he was trying to slot the end of the spring back into place. It was nearly there. If he could just twist the tweezers round a little … “Maaax, can I come in?” Maxwell rolled his eyes. He could see his little sister Jo out of the corner of his eye. She was standing at the open door, peering at him. “Maaax, what are you doing?” Maxwell bit down on the tweezers so that they wouldn’t move. “Go a-uay, I’n izzy.” “You’re what?” Maxwell tried to say, “busy”, but he only got as far as “b” before the tweezers slipped off the end of the spring, which twanged towards his face. Instinctively, he lurched backwards, letting go of the tools and tripping over an open toolbox on the floor. The mainspring unwound with such force that the clock exploded in a shower of springs and cogs. As the remains of the broken clock landed on the carpet so did Maxwell, with a painful thud. He could hear his sister giggling on the landing outside his room. “JOANNA!” he yelled at the top of his voice. She was already half way down the stairs by the time he reached the landing. As he leapt down the first four steps in one go he saw his mum standing at the bottom of the stairs. She was looking up at him with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. “WHAT … IS … GOING … ON?” “I only wanted to ask Max a question, but he shouted at me and chased me down the stairs.” Jo was using her best sweet-little-sister voice, but Maxwell was determined to have his say. “She distracted me when I was trying to make something and it all went wrong and now it’s ruined.” Maxwell was angry and getting quite upset. “All right, calm down,” his mum said. “Jo, you come and help me in the living room. Max, go and find your dad, I think he’s in the garage. I’m sure he can help you to rebuild your … thing.” Maxwell thrust his hands into his pockets and stomped down the rest of the stairs, along the hallway and into the kitchen. By the time he reached the door from the utility room into the garage his forehead had wrinkled into a deep frown and his mouth had become an enormous pout. “Hello Max,” said his dad as he turned to see who had come into the garage, “why so glum?” Maxwell told him about the clock and his dad shook his head. “It is dangerous to try and fix things using your mouth. You should have come down here and used a vice, and then you would have had both hands free to fit the spring. We’ve talked about this before. You must work safely.” Maxwell saw his dad glance past him towards the utility room door. “I think someone wants to talk to you.” “I’m sorry about your clock, Max.” Jo walked timidly across the garage towards them. Maxwell scowled. “Did you want to ask Max a question, Jo?” His dad’s calm voice stopped Maxwell replying, and the stern look on his face told Maxwell to listen to his sister. Jo fidgeted nervously and looked up at the ceiling. Taking a big breath she began. “Last week at school Sarah Morris said that Father Christmas can’t be real because nobody can deliver presents to every house in the world in one night, so I said that he could do it because he was magic, but she said that even with magic there were too many houses in the world and not enough time, so I said that I’d write to him and ask him to explain it to me, and she said that Father Christmas wouldn’t tell me because I wasn’t clever enough to understand how the magic works, so I said I’d get you to write to him, Max, because you are very clever and know how lots of things work.” She stopped and looked up at him. “So will you … please … if that’s all right?” Her voice trailed off and she blushed bright pink. Maxwell grinned. He knew only babies thought that Father Christmas was actually real, but his sister thought that he was clever and that made him happy. All the boys at school thought Maxwell was a geek. He decided that he didn’t mind about the clockwork flying machine. “Come on,” said their dad, “let’s all go inside where it’s warm. You can use my computer and write the letter together.” They both followed him back into the house. By teatime they had written this (with a lot of help from their dad): 57
Earl’s Road 24th November 2006
I hope you are well, and all is going according to plan at what must be, for you, a very busy period. All year I have been very well behaved. I've hardly been naughty at all, and the only times I've been in trouble were due to unfortunate accidents. Dad had no trouble fixing his car again after I’d taken the carburettor apart to learn how it worked. And the broken kitchen window just proved my theory that bungee chords make very strong catapult elastic. So this year I’d like a very special present. I’d like you to tell me how Christmas works. You see, for ages I have been taking things apart and putting them back together and reading book after book about engines and radio waves and electronic circuits. So now I understand how a train runs and how a clock ticks, what makes a fridge cold and how to drive a car, but what I don’t understand is how you can deliver all of those presents to everyone in the whole world in only one night, and how you get all of the letters, and sort them out, and make all of the toys and … well, you get the idea. My Mum and Dad say that you are magic and that’s that, but I want to know more. They used to tell me that a car runs because it has petrol in, but that didn't explain how it worked. I hope you will tell me so that I can have a happy Christmas knowing how it all works. Yours sincerely Maxwell Mason (age 9) PS.
Some new screwdrivers would be nice as well, thanks. They put the letter into an envelope and on the front Maxwell wrote: To
Father Christmas On
the way to school on Monday morning Maxwell stood by the post box
with the letter in his hand. ‘What if there really is a Father
Christmas, and I get to see how Christmas works? That would be brilliant.’
He shrugged his shoulders and posted the letter. |
