WE'D found the forgotten video up on the shelf, among a collection of others from the early years...

The little boy, with dyed purple hair and wearing a black cloak, was in the garden, rehearsing for his big moment with a serious face.

"My name is Christopher The Great and I shall tell you the tricks that I shall do. There's only two so be good. There's Vampires and Coffins and The Assistant Disappears.

"And, as you all know, every magician has a wittle wabbit and this is mine. His name's Fluff and I love him very much.

"Oh, and this is my magic wand. I can turn a tree back into a seed or anything. And, of course, there's my magic cloak, one of the most important things for a magician."

With a flourish of his cloak, he was ready for the show. Inside the house, he began with an apology to his audience of five-year-olds: "I'm not very good, I've only got two tricks and I haven't been practising very much."

He then went through his routine, making vampires disappear and reappear inside their cardboard coffins, before turning his attention to his paper 'assistant' who vanished inside an envelope.

"Could I have a volunteer to check there are no holes in the envelope?" he announced, expertly. His little sister stepped up and confirmed there were no holes with a shy shake of her head.

All that was left was to produce Fluff, the wittle wabbit. "Would anyone like to stroke him?" asked Christopher The Great. They each took their turn, he took a bow and was gone.

The occasion was Hannah's fifth birthday party and her big brother, then aged seven, had volunteered to perform his magic show. We watched, entranced and disbelieving at how small and cute they were.

Christopher The Great is now as tall as me, towers over his Mum, and has just finished two weeks' work experience at the local primary school, where he thoroughly enjoyed helping out with the little ones, although he didn't dye his hair purple or wear a black cloak.

He was 15 the other day and, the night before his birthday, he came into the kitchen as I arrived home from work.

"Dad, I've got you a present - call it a belated Father's Day present - but it only arrived today."

He proceeded to hand me a book. Not just any book but, to me, the most special book in the world.

The Jolly Warreners, the enchanting story of Fairy the fox cub's adventures with a family of badgers, was the first book that captured my imagination as a child. I loved it, never forgot it, and have desperately tried to find a copy all of my adult life.

A letter to the publisher confirmed it was out of print. Countless bookshops, libraries, market stalls and jumble sales were searched in vain over the years.

But suddenly, there it was.

"I knew how much you wanted a copy," he said, handing it over: The Jolly Warreners by Joy Stewart, in hardback, with a picture of Fairy in a show-covered forest on the front. I nearly cried.

Unknown to me, he'd gone on to the Internet, registered an appeal on Amazon, and for more than a year, there had been no response. But then someone, somewhere, had left a message saying they had a copy for £2.50.

There comes a time when your children aren't small and cute, with funny mispronunciations, anymore. You suddenly realise they are nearly grown-up.

And when they turn into caring, thoughtful human beings, capable of doing wonderful things - like Christopher The Great conjuring up a long lost book like a wittle wabbit out of a hat - it really is magical.

Published: 30/06/2005