Michael Harding: How I discovered Santa was real

The annual winter trip to Dublin was my only chance to get a word in Santa’s ear

Arnotts at Christmas. Photograph: David Sleator

Arnotts at Christmas. Photograph: David Sleator

When I was a child everything closed down on December 8th and we went to Dublin in an Austin A40.  

The postal service in Cavan was a pure cod. That’s what my mother often said when the Christmas cards arrived on the second day of January. I used to drop my letter for Santa in the postbox outside the Market Square, but that was usually a day or two before Christmas Eve, so no one could convince me that a letter with no address would ever get to the North Pole. 

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