Hoping the magic of Christmas brings out the best in everyone

I know I’ve written a column like this before, but if there’s ever a time of year to forgive a fat old guy with good intentions, this is it, writes Fergus Finlay.

There’s snow on the ground after all. Not a lot in Dublin, not yet anyway, but the Midlands and the Wicklow mountains have just about the right amount.

I know I should say be careful out there (and I do mean that), but you know what snow means? It means that Christmas is just around the corner.

It means that I can go up to the attic and make sure my red suit is fit for work. From now until we break up for the holidays, I’ll be wearing it 12 times, at different Barnardos projects and in a few other places.

On inspection, the suit is in good order, and so are the boots, the belt, the beard, the wig and the gloves.

I think I might have mentioned before that when the suit arrived — and it’s a top of the range job —there was extra padding in the box, lest it needed filling out. The padding is still in the box — I fill it out just fine, thanks.

The only bit of the suit I’ve had to replace over the years is the belt. It was a plastic thing, and didn’t stand up to the kind of wear and tear my stately figure gave it.

A year or so ago, I searched for a proper Santa belt, and now have a broad black leather one with a nickel-plated buckle.

When I put it altogether, it means I look the part. I do know, in my heart of hearts, that no matter how much I dress up and how careful I am that the beard is on straight, I’m still a pale imitation of the real man in the red suit.

But I’ll tell you what — my experience of standing in for him over the years, while he gets ready for his biggest night of the year, has taught me to believe in his magic.

I don’t know how he manages to reach every child in such a short span of time, but somehow he does.

I don’t know how he manages to read the minds of so many children, but somehow he does. There are years when I really worry that there are some children that are really hard to find — like the children living in hotel rooms this year — but somehow he gets there.

That’s only part of the magic. As part of my stand-in routine, I’ll be giving loads of kids a brand new Irish book that was given to me by Children’s Books Ireland.

It’s funny sometimes when you give a kid a book, and tell them this is just for now, to keep them going until Christmas Eve. They’re often disappointed at first — “I was promised that Santa would give me a tablet” one five-year-old told me last year.

But when the gifts are all given out and you take off the suit and you’re back in civvies and you wander in to the room where they’re having orange and biscuits, you see them all, without exception, completely stuck in the books.

A book can be a disappointment all right — but only till you open it, or until you’re snuggled in to your mum’s lap and she starts to read.

There’s another company that had a great idea this year. Careplus they’re called — they operate a chain of independent pharmacies throughout Ireland, and they’ve started a thing called Operation Mam and Dad, where they’re giving us a load of gift sets that children can give to their parents. We know exactly the kids that would love to do that, but for whom it can be really difficult.

When I talk about us, of course, I mean Barnardos. I don’t often plug the work we do, but this is a time of year when I see all of the people who work in the organisation really going the extra mile, to try to ensure that we can guarantee a happy Christmas for the thousands of children we work with.

We work hard all year long at making childhood meaningful for children, but in the next couple of weeks all efforts are redoubled.

And they will get enormous help, as they always do, from the thousands of individuals and hundreds of companies who go to huge lengths to ensure that our projects have personalised presents for the children we work with.

Many of them have been doing it for years, with only one thing in mind — a happy Christmas for somebody else.

We can pretty well guarantee, as a result, that we will have enough toys to ensure a well-stocked sleigh when the real Santa arrives on Christmas Eve.

That’s why this year we’re asking people, if they haven’t made up their minds what to give, to think of something different.

Pyjamas, slippers, duvets, books, a bag full of bathroom essentials like toothpaste and soaps — these are the kind of things that we always struggle to make sure families have enough of. So we’re asking people to think this year about what we call “gifts for good” (you can find out all about it on the Barnardos website).

And we’re always on the lookout for ways to ensure that families stay warm at this time of year too, and we’re often amazed at how many people are willing to contribute towards that.

We’ll be making a special effort this year — a sort of over-and-above effort — to try to ensure that the children who are living in homelessness will have the sort of Christmas they need.

There’s some things Santa can’t bring — like a new home for a family that has lost theirs — and sometimes as a result he can meet children for whom hope is a very distant thing.

Organisations like Focus Ireland, Simon, and the Peter McVerry Trust are in the frontline when it comes to building homes and rebuilding hope. And they need all the help they can get.

For our part, we work alongside many of the children and their families, advocating on their behalves, helping them to cope with the day-to-day, and trying to keep the hope of a better future alive.

I know if you’re a regular reader of this column, you’ll probably know that I spend more of my time angry at the state of the world than I should. But I can’t help allowing optimism to creep in at this time of year.

I’ll see generosity, kindness and decency all over the place for the next few weeks. And I’ll see twinkles of happiness in thousands of young eyes.

There’ll be several days in the weeks ahead when I’ll be galloping from one project to the next — still in the suit and the beard and the hat.

I won’t be in a sleigh, just my battered old jalopy. There’s every chance you’ll see me at a traffic lights, or driving down the M50.

Give me a wave if we pass — of course I’m not him, but it sure feels great to pretend!