This particular year stands out in my mind because mum wore a skirt, and I believe it was the very first time I had seen her wearing black stockings.

She also wore a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer jumper – it had a huge red glittery nose.

We opened our presents. Everything I had asked for was there – I was a lucky little boy!

There was a brief moment when I was kneeling on the floor.

Mum was leaning towards my dad, and her leg brushed against me.

I was that close to her lap, and I so much wanted to just lie across her knee and stay there

I wondered whether my brother had been in that very position the night before.

At that time, I particularly enjoyed colouring books, and among my presents were a new, 100-page bumper book and new colouring pencils.

Dad was sitting on the floor, helping my brother set up a new toy he had received, so I decided to take my colouring set to my room and work in peace.

I sat at my desk, colouring, but my head was very much elsewhere.

Mum came in to see how I was doing, and just having her in the room at that moment set me off.

Tears welled up in my eyes.

Mum did what most mothers do naturally.

Standing behind me, she slipped her arms around me to see what I was colouring.

Her face was right beside mine, and at that very moment two big tears dropped on to the page below.

Mum was instantly concerned. “Oh, Bruce! What’s wrong?”

There were more tears as I explained that I hadn’t had a letter.

It took Mum a moment to catch on.

“You mean the elves’ letter we made up for Tommy?” I nodded.

Mum was mortified.

She explained that she had thought I was too grown-up for a letter like that and that I would think it was childish!

“That letter was just a bit of nonsense to get your brother to go to bed on Christmas Eve!” she said.

I wiped my face on my sleeve, and Mum squeezed me and kissed my cheek.

“Come along, stop crying,” she encouraged me.

“It’s Christmas Day! And your colouring book is getting wet!”

She left for a moment, then came back with a towel to wipe my face.

“Mum,” I asked, “did you really smack Tommy’s bottom?”

“Yes!” she laughed.

“Just to make sure the elves could tell Santa he could bring Tommy’s presents.

That letter worked, I can tell you –

I got your brother into bed double-quick!”

She smiled, as if confiding in me – all I could do was nod.

As Mum straightened up, she cupped my face with her hands and asked:

“Am I forgiven?” I nodded.

Still cupping my face, Mum asked one of those rhetorical questions.

“You are a bit old for a letter from Santa, really, aren’t you?”

She hugged me, then whispered in my ear:

“A big boy like you shouldn’t be crying on Christmas Day.

With my face buried in my mums Christmas jumper and her arms around me,

I told Mum that even though it was a silly game,

I would have liked a letter and a smacked bum too – it sounded like fun.

Mum held me back at arm’s length for a moment, her hands on the sides of my shoulders, and gave me a quizzical look –

I’m guessing she had me worked out right there!

Then, bless her, she came up with a plan to save the day.

“Maybe your letter got lost in the post?

The elves’ rules are that if a letter has gone missing, as long as the boy in question has his bottom smacked before lunchtime on Christmas Day, he can keep his presents.

If not, they must all be returned to the North Pole!”

I looked at her and offered up a weak smile.

I asked her if I would be getting a smacked bum, the same as Tommy – because I wanted to keep my pressies!

Mum played along.

“Don’t be so silly!

You’re bigger and older than your brother –

so I’m afraid your bottom will have to be smacked much, much harder!”