OUT of four children, there's only one left who still believes in Father Christmas. The others all know the truth but the little 'un, aged seven, is doing his best to keep the magic alive.

He's been up early every morning to open the windows on his advent calendar and to ask how many more days to go.

And, as a sign of his growing maturity, he's been particularly helpful with his list for Santa this year. Next to each item, he's put the Argos catalogue page number.

His sister was moved to whisper in my ear: "Dad, doesn't it ever bother you that Santa gets all the credit?"

It was a jolly good question but I came to the conclusion that it doesn't bother me at all - because I love the magic as much as anyone else.

In fact, the only thing about Christmas I don't like is the annual expedition to choose a tree.

It should be a five-minute job. After all, one Christmas tree looks like any other. But every year, we drive out to a nearby Christmas tree farm to find it packed with families going through the same ritual.

Mums are asking: "What do you think of this one?" Husbands are nodding obligingly and replying: "It's fine." And then mums are shaking their heads and saying: "No, I'm not sure."

It's no different to when women buy a new dress. They all look "fine" to men, but dozens have to be tried on before the right one's found. Likewise for wallpaper, carpets, or three-piece suites.

We must have looked at hundreds of Christmas trees. "What do you think of this one?" Fine. "Too small - what about this one?" Fine. "Too big - this one?" Fine. "Too bushy - this one?" Fine. "Too straggly."

Believe it or not, we know a mum in our village who went to the same farm and came home again without a tree because she couldn't find one she liked. They have thousands of Christmas trees - more than in the whole of Norway - so how could she not find one she liked? How perfect must the tree she ends up with be?

Her poor husband probably lost count of the number of times he said "fine" only to be dragged off elsewhere on the trail of the loathsome pine.

Eventually, after walking up and down endless rows of trees, at least we managed to make a selection.

Naturally, it looked exactly the same as the very first one we'd seen but it only cost £12 and it was just as big as those marked £20.

That was the clincher. If it's a bargain, my wife needs no persuading. "It must be a mistake," she beamed.

I drove home with the tree sticking in my ear, my car getting covered in pine needles, and listening over and over again to what a fantastic buy it was.

But I must admit, it looked great once it was decorated. I suddenly found myself in the festive mood and I decided to dig out my old Christmas hits LP.

The little 'un looked across the room in astonishment and shouted: "Cor, look, Dad's gonna play one of those giant CDs."

They have a knack of making you feel old and reminding you that time's passing quickly. It probably won't be long before there's another branch of the family tree to keep the magic alive.

Merry Christmas.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

AT the University of the Third Age (U3A) in Northallerton last week, it was great to meet Derek Grocott, who featured in the last Dad At Large book.

He was the teacher whose pupils had to write an essay about English mountain ranges and a little boy wrote the immortal line: "The penis is the backbone of England."

The story was passed on years back by Derek's wife Maggie, who has sadly just had to have a leg amputated.

Maggie was worrying about how grandson Alex would react.

"So what do you think about my leg?" she asked.

"Great," said Alex, six.

"Great?" inquired his gran, a little confused.

"Yeah, great," replied Alex. "You can enter the paralympics next year."

ELIZABETH Prime recalled the nativity play at Links Primary School, in Eaglescliffe. The children were a bit stiff so they'd been told to act as naturally as possible.

Mary tottered across the stage with baby Jesus in her arms and said: "Oh, you have the little bugger - he hasn't stopped crying all day."

AS has been noted frequently, dads are expected to be the fixers of the world. Alf Gaddas told of the day his daughter Lynn, aged two, was out in her pushchair.

"Oh, look, all the leaves are falling off the trees," said her mum.

"Never mind, Daddy fix it," replied Lynn.

JILL, who declined to give her surname, remembered her friend being pregnant and Craig, aged three, asking how the baby had got there.

The boy was told all about the daddy planting a seed and the baby growing inside mummy's tummy.

Weeks later, Craig was watching his dad working in the garden and he suddenly jumped up and ran down the street, shouting: "We're gonna have lots of babies because Daddy's busy planting lots of seeds."

AND another anonymous U3A member told of the alarming question a little girl asked her dad: "Has Mummy got a lady hole?"

The dad spluttered a bit and tried to give himself more thinking time by asking: "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was just wondering because you've got a manhole in the garage," came the reply.

* Peter Barron will be signing copies of the new Dad At Large book this Saturday between 11am and noon in the front reception of The Northern Echo's offices in Priestgate, Darlington. The book costs £5, raises money for the Butterwick Children's Hospice, and is a great stocking filler. Mince pies and sherry for all customers!

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