It will soon be Christmas Day.
Our tree is looking resplendent, bedecked with decorations, some of which have graced many a Christmas tree since I can remember.
Some are very delicate old glass baubles and bells that have the power to conjure up their spells of childhoods long past, yet this year there is one thing missing.
My sister Elizabeth was born in 1950, being delivered into this world by two lovely nurses, Margaret Atkinson and Gladys Punya at our family home in Thoroughsale Road, Corby.
These two ladies saw fit to commemorate the occasion by gifting a little plastic blonde-haired blue-eyed doll to my parents. They became close family friends, making a point of visiting us every Christmas that I can remember. It simply wouldn’t have been Christmas without Margaret and Gladys.
It soon became clear that this “toy” might serve us well by becoming the fairy on our Christmas tree; and so she was.
Throughout our childhoods that little fairy adorned the top of every festive tree and long after my sister had married and left home the fairy remained with my mum to carry on the tradition.
I inherited the fairy after my mother’s death in 1978 and it became almost a duty to ensure that the little doll, our family fairy, should continue to be the centre of attention atop our annual Christmas tree: until now.
The last time I saw the fairy was during the Christmas of 2011, when I lived at my previous address. Since then I have moved home and, for the life of me, cannot find the fairy, though it’s been suggested that she may have been packed into another box still languishing deep somewhere in my garage since the move.
I remain determined to find her.
So, next Thursday morning, if you see a little fairy under your tree looking a little confused and a tad lost, please show her the way home.