Shane Hegarty
Every Christmas, as reliable as the winter's easterly gales, an ad blows onto the radio. It is, I think, for teabags. You'll know it. You can probably recite it. It's the one in which a father remembers his childhood present of a train-set, his memories recounted over a recreation of that day (Choo choo. "I didn't dare hope..."). He goes out and buys one for the kids, and when his wife complains he orders her to put the kettle on. I think the ad was first made in 1959.
And yet . . .
That kid in the golden glow of nostalgia was me once. Over three decades ago. Bursting into the sitting room, where Santa traditionally deposited the presents, to find a note from him telling me to check in the Dining Room. And what did I find in there? Choo choo. I didn't dare hope.
Nailed onto a huge MDF board were winding tracks, and on top were the carriages and engines. There were stop lights. Shrubs. Track switches. It was a proper old-fashioned train-set. Hornby. A name that once had as much resonance as Subbuteo. Which once had as much resonance as Meccano. Which once had . . . please stop me when I get to a reference someone under 25 will get.
It was wonderful, and I spent so many hours of my childhood rearranging track layouts, adding other figures to this mini-world and (because it's what boys do) creating horrific tiny train disasters.
Santa had once again done a mighty job. He had smuggled a massive present down the chimney using magic only he is capable of, then disappeared into the night. He had even written the note on a local rugby club disco ticket, in my mother's handwriting, to cover his tracks. Isn't Santa the smart one?
Shane Hegarty is author of the forthcoming Darkmouth (HarperCollins).
Johnny Ward - actor
I remember my best Christmas present by a mile – it was about 20 years ago now, or more, I was only six, in our family home in Walkinstown. We came downstairs and Santa had been so good to us, he brought loads of stuff and we were happy out. Then my Mum sat in the corner, she asked “isn’t it sad he didn’t bring the Nintendo you asked for?” We had no inkling of what was to come. “Wait, what’s that big box over there?” she said. It was an Super Nintendo entertainment system! Myself and my sister Susan thought it was amazing.
We had Super Mario, Street Fighter and Sonic all in our own home – this was the stuff of dreams. We were used to playing those games on holiday in Mosney, where they had them in the arcades; now we had them all to ourselves. It was unbelievable – isn’t Santa a little legend, we thought.
I also remember the Christmas I got my Batmobile. I was only about five, and I used to think I actually was Batman – so much so that I tried to jump off a balcony on holiday once, thinking I could fly. The Batmobile formed part of a larger obsession with the superhero, and was soon to become part of the “Battic” – our converted attic, a shrine to all things Batman and a haven for Batman memorabilia. I still think it’s really cool, and I wish I could hang out there more often.
Thinking back, those were definitely the two Christmas presents I remember most fondly.
Johnny is starring in the Gaiety panto Peter Pan and also plays Paulie in Love/ Hate.
Peter Kelly, aka Franc - wedding planner
My favourite toy that I got from Santa was a chopper bike. It was bright yellow, with a large two-seater black leather seat and a red stripe. It had two chrome wing mirrors, a tiny wheel at the front and a large wheel at the back – making it perfect for wheelies.
I was eight that year and I had asked for a surprise. When I got up that morning I ran down the stairs into the living-room with my brothers and sisters and nearly fell over in shock at the size of my present. I stared at a huge triangular wrapped box in amazement; I had no clue as to what my gift was.
All I remember is ripping the wrapping paper off as quickly as I could and finding lots of shiny chrome and canary yellow paintwork and still I didn’t know what I had. When I discovered a wheel I screamed to my family, “I got the coolest bike ever!”. I couldn’t wait to get outside and take it for a test drive – by the end of that Christmas day I had managed to do my first wheelie.
I’m a lot older now and I feel like that wheel has still not touched the ground. I’m a child at heart and Christmas has always been my favourite time of the year.
Peter is this year’s Aldi Christmas Expert.
Mairéad Farrell - presenter
I’m torn between two toys that were equally responsible for me having the best Christmas ever.
In 1985, Santa brought me a toy that my parents had warned me to “be very good” if there was even the slightest chance of me getting it.
It was the A la Carte kitchen.
A bulky plastic kitchen on two wheels, one side had a wash-up area, the other had a hob and oven. It came with pots, pans and my own utensils. That kitchen kept me occupied for hours after school and for a five-year-old I was very precious about it (I never let Martina Keogh, my next-door neighbour, play with it . . . ever!)
The other super toy from Santa was on Christmas 1986. I’d asked him to bring me a baby doll. I woke up that morning to find lots of toys and books but couldn’t see the one thing I’d asked him for. Santa had forgotten to leave the doll.
“Maybe he has put it somewhere else,” mam said calmly. But I remember feeling what I now know as disappointment. After mass we went through the usual routine of going to see my nana. She took me aside and said Santa had dropped in to see her the night before. On his way back to the North Pole he realised he’d forgotten to leave a baby doll and as he was running late he didn’t have time to go back over to Finglas.
Clever clogs Santa knew I was going to my nana’s straight after mass so he dropped it in to her house.
Rob Doyle
Scalextric! There were two cars: a black Lamborghini Diablo and a red Ferrari. I preferred the Lamborghini. It was fierce. The name of the set was ‘Road Racer’ or ‘Street Racer’ or ‘Street Speeder’, something like that. Unique among Scalextric tracks, it did not depict professional sports racing - Formula 1, Indy 500 or what have you. The Diablo and the Ferrari were street cars, not pro-sports cars, but they did go really really fast. Basically, what we had was a car-racing set rigged out for the re-enactment and celebration of joyriding. What a Christmas present!
Do they even make Scalextric any more? Is it something that kids still do, or has it become solely the preserve of middle-aged hobbyists, their sheds and basements kitted out with elaborately snaking tracks, lovingly adorned with grandstands, roadside banners, bridges, chicanes and all the rest of it? Whatever - my brothers and I got one when I was ten or eleven, and it made our Christmas. Until I started writing this piece, I hadn’t thought of that Scalextric set in a couple of decades. Back then it delighted us.
For anyone who has never had the pleasure, let me run you through the basics of Scalextric. You piece together the track, which tends to be large enough to fill a room, and place the competing cars side by side at the starting line. The cars are set in motion by way of electronic controllers connected to the track by wires; each controller consists of a plastic shaft adorned with a single red trigger – the accelerator, of course! If applied with just the right amount of pressure at all the right moments, the trigger will send your Lamborghini Diablo zooming gracefully round the track, the smell of sparks and hot metal in your nostrils as you humiliate your older brother yet again with a resounding victory. If pressed too forcefully, however, the trigger will send the car hurtling forward and hitting the bend way too fast. The car will then fly off the side of the track, roll catastrophically, and slam into the sitting-room wall, sustaining severe damage. Christmas Day will be spoiled by tears and bitter recriminations. But wait - your Da might know someone with a reputation for diagnosing bust Scalextric sets, and it might not be deemed inappropriate to call him up there and then, Christmas Day notwithstanding, and have him put things to right over the phone. Now, put the Diablo and the Ferrari back in place behind the starting line: it’s time to race.
Rob Doyle’s novel Here Are The Young Men is published by Bloomsbury
