Saint Nicholas and the Secret Gifts a personalised book with your child as the hero

Long, long ago, on the sunny coast of the Mediterranean Sea, there was a town called Myra. It stood in the land of Lycia, among olive trees and old stone houses, with a busy little harbour where the fishing boats bobbed on the blue water. Today the town is called Demre, and it lies on the southern coast of Turkey. And in Myra there lived a boy called Theo.

Every morning Theo ran down to the harbour to watch the boats come in. And very often, down by the harbour, he saw the bishop of Myra, a kind man with a grey beard whose name was Nicholas. Nicholas was always giving things away. He gave bread to the hungry, cloaks to the cold and coins to the poor, and he never wanted anyone to thank him.

One morning, Nicholas was handing out loaves from a big basket. When the basket was empty, he looked at Theo and smiled. "You have sharp eyes and quick feet," he said. "I need a helper who can keep a secret. Would you like to be that helper?"

Theo nodded so hard that his curls bounced. "I can keep a secret," he said. "I promise."

That afternoon, as they walked through the narrow streets, they passed a small stone house. Through the open window, Theo saw a father and his three daughters sitting at an empty table. Nobody was talking. The father had his head in his hands.

"What is wrong with them?" whispered Theo.

"Their father has lost everything he had," said Nicholas quietly. "He has no money to give his daughters a good start in life, and they are afraid there will be no happy future for them at all."

"Can't you just give them some money?" asked Theo.

Nicholas shook his head. "A proud man does not like to take gifts in front of his neighbours," he said. "And a gift is best when nobody knows who gave it. So we shall do it in secret."

That evening, in the bishop's house, by the light of a little oil lamp, Nicholas and Theo sat at a wooden table and filled small leather purses with shining gold coins. Then they tied the purses tight with string.

Late at night, when everyone in Myra was asleep, they slipped out of the house. Theo carried the lantern, and Nicholas hid a purse under his cloak. The moon shone on the white walls and the silver olive leaves, and their footsteps were soft on the stones. At the poor family's house, the window was open to let in the cool night air.

"Now," whispered Nicholas. "Throw it, Theo. Gently!"

Theo swung his arm and tossed the little purse through the window. It landed with a soft clink on the floor inside. Then he and Nicholas hurried away into the shadows before anyone could see them.

In the morning, Theo could not keep away. He crept back and peeped in at the edge of the window. The eldest daughter had found the purse on the floor, and the gold coins lay shining in her hands. "Father! Father, look!" she cried. The whole family gathered round, gasping and laughing and hugging one another. "Who could have done such a kind thing?" asked the father. But nobody knew.

A few nights later, Nicholas and Theo went out again with a second purse of gold. This time a curious cat sat on a wall and watched them with big yellow eyes, so they crouched behind the wall and waited until it lost interest and padded away. Then Theo tossed the second purse through the window, and again they ran off unseen.

But the father was determined to find out who his secret friend was. So on the third night, he closed the shutters tight, and he sat up beside the door to watch.

When Nicholas and Theo came, they found the window shut. "What shall we do now?" whispered Theo.

Nicholas looked up at the roof and smiled. "There is always another way," he said. Quietly, they climbed the steps onto the flat roof, and Nicholas dropped the third purse down the chimney.

Down below, by the fire, the daughters had hung their stockings to dry. The purse tumbled down the chimney, burst open, and the gold coins went spilling into the stockings, clinking and glittering in the firelight.

The father heard the sound and ran outside. There, at the bottom of the steps, he found the bishop and the boy. "Nicholas!" he cried. "It was you all along!" He tried to kneel and thank him, but Nicholas only raised a finger to his lips.

"Please," he said kindly. "Tell no one. Thank God, not me."

The father nodded, with tears of happiness running down his cheeks, and he promised to keep the secret.

As Nicholas and Theo walked home under the stars, with the sea shining below the town, Theo said, "I will never tell either. Not ever." And the secret felt warm inside him, like a little fire.

Not long afterwards, the whole town celebrated as the three daughters began their new, bright lives, with music and flowers in the courtyard. Theo stood at the edge of the crowd and smiled, because he knew something nobody else did.

But secrets like that have a way of shining through. Many years later, people did learn who had left the gold, and they loved Nicholas for it. After he died, they called him Saint Nicholas, and they told the story all over the world. In some lands his name became Sinterklaas, and in others Santa Claus. And to this day, on the night before his feast or on Christmas Eve, children hang up their stockings by the fire, hoping that someone kind will come in secret and fill them, just as Nicholas of Myra once did.