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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 12, Issue 9 (December 1, 1937.)

The Heart Buoyed Up

The Heart Buoyed Up.

If you can chaffer in the market-place, bargain in the basement, buy on the ground floor and sell out on the roof, and still retain a secret belief in Father Christmas you are one up on yourself.

You don't believe in Father Christmas?

Well, all we can say is that you ought to be tickled with goose feathers and prodded with wish-bones. You should be rolled in pudding rinds and trounced with turkeys' giblets. You should be pickled in wassail and soaked in sac. You should be put back on the bottle until temporary infancy brings you back to rompers.

But of course. you believe in Father O'Christmas. Everybody does, but some are afraid to confess for fear of forfeiting the respect of their children.

For Father O'Christmas is Irish. He's a lad. He's the man who brings the moonshine; the magician who makes incredibility the hallmark of validity so that things are as they seem and believing is seeing. He it is who casts Reason's mumbled “mumbo”, to Logic's limbo where everything is sensible and dull.

“Afraid to confess a belief in Father Christmas for fear of forfeiting the respect of their children.”

“Afraid to confess a belief in Father Christmas for fear of forfeiting the respect of their children.”