What if Father Christmas had Parkinson’s? This is the question posed in a festive poem written by UK TV comedy writer, Paul Mayhew-Archer MBE, performed for charity by Parkinson’s community members including British quiz host and broadcaster Paul Sinha and former England rugby star Mike Tindall.
Mayhew-Archer, the co-creator of iconic British comedy ‘The Vicar of Dibley’, wrote the poem as part of a Christmas appeal for UK charity Cure Parkinson’s.
Shown in the video below, ‘When Santa got Parkinson’s’ was performed online by members of Parkinson’s community at the virtual Christmas concert, ‘Carols for a Cure’.
The poem imagines a Christmas where Santa Claus is diagnosed with Parkinson’s, in a humorous and touching story that ends by encouraging the public to help in the search for a cure for the condition.
Speaking to Parkinson’s Life, Mayhew-Archer shared a special Christmas message with the Parkinson’s community that perfectly reflects his legendary humour.
“To all Parkies – treasure the funny moments,” he said. “One morning it took me ten minutes to get my jumper on, and I finally managed it just as my wife came into the bedroom. ‘Oh no, not that jumper’, she said and whipped it off in an instant. Remembering that moment still makes me laugh, even when I’m feeling low.”
Performing the poem
Mayhew-Archer was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2011. He was appointed a Member of the Order of the British Empire for his services to people with the condition in 2020.
Joining Mayhew-Archer to virtually perform the poem were other notable figures from Parkinson’s community, including Parkinson’s Africa founder Omotola Thomas and British journalist Rory Cellan-Jones.
Watch ‘When Santa got Parkinson’s’:
Paul Mayhew-Archer’s Parkinson’s Christmas poem: ‘What if Father Christmas had Parkinson’s disease?’
Santa Claus has super powers,
Which mean that in a matter of hours
He can travel the world and deliver a toy
To every girl and every boy.
But a while ago he felt less well.
He found he’d lost his sense of smell.
When Rudolph had the squits in the spring,
Santa couldn’t smell a thing.
His writing got smaller, harder to read
He couldn’t walk at considerable speed,
and when he began to wobble and freeze
a doctor diagnosed Parkinson’s Disease.
This shocked Santa through and through.
But he knew straightaway what he had to do.
If he wanted to deliver a toy,
to every girl and every boy
he had to start that afternoon
Till his wife said “Santa, it’s the middle of June.
Please wait until Christmas Eve –
you might be amazed at what you achieve.”
So Santa did as she suggested, and
on his Christmas Eve, fully rested,
he climbed aboard the golden sleigh, and
was very, very quickly away.
At first all went wondrously well,
Across the world he cast his spell.
Into homes he quietly crept
and left a toy as children slept.
And if he found a Santa treat,
He’d quickly drink and quickly eat.
So he was feeling very merry.
As he downed his 100th sherry.
By merry of course, I mean elated –
Santa was never intoxicated.
But sadly, as the night went on,
his Parkinson’s made things go wrong.
Because his writing was very small,
he could barely read some words at all,
which meant that often he was not able
to read what he’d written on every label.
And so not every girl and every boy was
being given the right toy.
Then as he was passing Dover,
a customs official pulled him over.
“We’ve taken back control,”
said the officer on patrol.
“You’re passing through a UK border,
so I hope your paperwork’s in order.
I’ll need to see what’s in those sacks,
and check you’ve paid the right amount of tax.”
At that point Santa began to wobble and sway,
so he was asked if he’d been drinking that day.
When he said how much he’d swallowed,
as you can imagine, his arrest quickly followed.
They took the reindeer, they impounded the sled.
The contract for Christmas went to Amazon instead.
But Christmas without Santa just wasn’t the same.
Millions continued to whisper his name.
The only man loved in every nation,
adored by every generation.
He gave the world a sense of wonder.
And so the world now undertook to get Santa back,
by giving Parkinson’s the sack.
So every nation worked hell for leather,
even the French and the English worked together.
And today we got the gift we’ve been longing for.
We got the news they found a cure!
So I was grinning ear to ear
when I told my love “I’m in the clear!”
And my love said “Ah, my dear,
that was just a dream, I fear.”
So my moment of exhilaration
was thanks to a Parkinson’s hallucination.
And I, like others, must endure
this thing for which there’s still no cure.
Unless, that is, all of you,
can help to make our dream come true.
“Meanwhile, Santa of course is fine and dandy.
Just don’t leave him a sherry – he’s moved on to brandy.”
