THE SANTABLOG SERIES, DAY 6. (The Many Faces Of Santa, And How The World Turned One Kind Man Into A Thousand Stories)

THE SANTABLOG SERIES

DAY 6

_{Press play before you scroll. Let’s get into that Christmas spirit. Let’s go ho ho (see what I did there)}

There is something comforting about sitting down on a winter night and talking about origins. Not the dry kind you hear in a documentary, not the textbook version that squeezes all the magic out of things, but the kind you feel. The kind that reminds you that stories have survived longer than most civilisations because people needed them. People needed warmth, they needed hope, they needed something to look forward to when the world felt cold and dark. That is how all of this began.

Yesterday we spoke about Saint Nicholas, the man behind the myth. The real bloke who lived, breathed, helped people and sparked something bigger than he ever knew. If you missed that one, it’s here
THE SANTABLOG SERIES, DAY 2. (The Real Saint Nicholas… The Man Who Started It All), so I don’t need to go into that too much… and honestly, it sets the foundation for everything I’m about to talk about today. Nicholas wasn’t just a story. He was the match. The spark. The first domino that tipped and somehow created a wave of traditions across the world that changed shape depending on who carried the tale.

Because the truth is, Santa is not one person. He never has been. Santa is a story the world keeps retelling. Every culture picked up the same seed of kindness and shaped it into something that made sense for their people. And it’s mad when you think about it, how the same idea travelled through oceans, through wars, through famines, through religions, through languages and centuries… and survived.

Not many things survive like that.
But kindness does.
Stories do.
Especially winter stories.

There’s something about winter that makes people cling to hope harder. Maybe it’s the darkness closing in early. Maybe it’s the cold that settles in your bones. Maybe it’s the loneliness December brings. But whatever it is, humans everywhere built winter traditions as a way of saying, “Stay warm. Stay hopeful. Stay here with us.” And the idea of a gift giver, a winter spirit, a kind visitor who appears when the world is harsh, is older than most of us realise.

Let’s start with the version closest to Nicholas, one that probably looks familiar to anyone from the Netherlands or Belgium. Sinterklaas. Even saying the name feels cosy. You can feel the connection straight away. Sinterklaas. Saint Nicholas. The roots are right there. This is the version that kept the bishop’s robes, the long beard, the book of names and the idea of rewarding good behaviour. But he wasn’t carried by reindeer. He arrived by boat. A big old steamer boat from Spain, which still makes people laugh when they hear it, but back then it made perfect sense. Trade routes. Stories slipping between countries like postcards.

Sinterklaas rides a white horse instead of a sleigh. He knocks on doors. He walks the streets. He feels like a visiting elder rather than a magical being. And he comes earlier in the month, around the sixth. Kids leave shoes by the fire or the door, hoping for small treats. He feels closer to earth, more human. And that’s the interesting part. As the story travelled, it adapted. It changed clothes. Changed dates. Changed companions. Every culture dressed the idea differently because every culture needed something slightly different.

And America, being the melting pot it is, grabbed this version directly through Dutch settlers. Sinterklaas travelled across the ocean and slowly evolved into Santa Claus. Not instantly. Not magically. Slowly. Bit by bit. Clothes changed. Transport changed. The horse became reindeer. The boat became the North Pole. The bishop’s robes became the red suit. And you can almost track every change by asking yourself, “What did the people of that time need? What did they want Christmas to feel like?”

Stories always adapt to the emotional needs of the people telling them.

Meanwhile, here in our corner of the world, England had something different. Father Christmas. And he wasn’t originally a gift giver at all. That surprises a lot of people. Father Christmas wasn’t there to bring toys. He was the spirit of celebration. Literally, the personification of feasting, laughter, joy, eating too much, drinking too much, forgetting your troubles for one night. He wore green. Not red. He represented midwinter merrymaking long before Christianity wrapped itself around him.

If you picture old paintings, he looks more like a gentle forest guardian than anything else. He wasn’t checking lists. He wasn’t flying around the world. He was a reminder to take a break from hard labour and enjoy what you had. That alone tells you everything about how traditions are shaped. England didn’t need a caring bishop. England needed a reason to smile. So that was the version that stuck.

Over time though, Father Christmas met Nicholas. When cultures collided, so did stories. The celebration spirit merged with the kindness figure. By the Victorian era, the British version had turned into a warm, joyful, gift bringing old man dressed in green or red depending on the painter. And you can almost feel the story breathing as it grows. Not rigid. Not fixed. Alive.

Move east and you find a very different energy. Ded Moroz. Grandfather Frost. If Nicholas is compassionate and Father Christmas is festive, then Grandfather Frost is winter itself. He isn’t gentle. He isn’t soft. He is more like an ancient winter wizard, wrapped in long coats, carrying a staff, and walking through forests so cold you can hear the snow crack. He wasn’t always kind either. Early Slavic legends painted him as someone you had to respect. Fear a little. Appease. The sort of figure that reminds people how fragile life is in deep winter.

But like all winter spirits, he softened with time. Cultures warmed him. People turned him into something more generous. Less threatening. He brings gifts now, often with his granddaughter Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden. And this is where you see something beautiful. Even the harshest winter stories eventually find a way to weave kindness into them. Because humans refuse to let winter win. Even in the coldest places, people turn survival into celebration. That alone is incredible when you think about it.

Head south a little and Italy gives you something completely different again. La Befana. The old woman who sweeps the sky on her broom, travelling from house to house giving gifts to children. And she isn’t just a quirky character. Her story is soaked in emotion. She turned down the chance to go with the Magi to visit the Christ child because she was too busy sweeping her home. Too busy tidying. Too wrapped up in the life she knew. When she realised she made a mistake, she ran after them with gifts but never found them. So she keeps searching. Every year. Every night before Epiphany.

There is something heartbreakingly human about her. She isn’t magical like Santa. She isn’t powerful like Grandfather Frost. She isn’t celebrated like Nicholas. She is a woman who regrets missing a moment of wonder and tries to make up for it forever. That is one of the most relatable things I’ve ever heard wrapped in a Christmas tradition. She represents second chances. Searching. Making up for lost time. Trying to do good even if you feel like you’ve missed your own shot at magic.

And she’s proof that not all winter stories were meant to be cheerful. Some were meant to comfort people who felt like they weren’t enough. Or who felt like they’d missed something important. Or who carried regret through the darkest months. Every culture poured its fears and its hopes into their winter figures. La Befana is one of the most emotional examples of that.

Travel further north again and things get smaller. I mean that literally. The Nordic countries have Tomte and Nisse. Little household guardians with long beards, red hats and the temperament of someone who has had one too many bad days. These little creatures protect the home. Help with chores. Keep farms safe through winter. But they expect respect. They expect warmth. They expect food, usually porridge on Christmas Eve. Leave them out and they help you. Forget them or annoy them and they cause chaos.

Sound familiar?
That mischievous but helpful energy.
That tiny figure with the long hat and cheeky behaviour.
Yeah. That is exactly where the idea of Christmas elves quietly comes from.

Not magical toy makers.
Not perfect little helpers.
Little independent spirits who keep the home warm and safe in winter. The kind of characters who feel more like neighbours than mythical beings.

It’s interesting how every culture built its own version of the same idea. Because if you strip them all back, every one of these figures is about the same thing. Protection. Kindness. Warmth. Getting people through the coldest, darkest time of the year. Whether it’s a bishop giving gold to save a family from ruin, a forest spirit encouraging feasting, an old woman flying through the sky to make amends, or a winter wizard guiding people through snowstorms… they all carry the same message.

You are not alone in winter.
Someone is looking out for you.
Even if it’s just in story form.

And that’s the part I always come back to. Why winter stories hit differently. Why they feel old. Ancient. Important. Why they survive when so many others fade. Humans have always been terrified of the dark. Terrified of the cold. Terrified of going through life alone. So they created stories that said, “You aren’t facing this on your own.” And those stories drifted through time, reshaping themselves to survive each generation.

You can trace Santa’s story like a map through human emotion.
Fear becomes protection.
Protection becomes warmth.
Warmth becomes generosity.
Generosity becomes tradition.
Tradition becomes comfort.
Comfort becomes nostalgia.
Nostalgia becomes culture.

And suddenly the world has a thousand versions of the same idea.
All born because people needed hope.

That’s the part I love most.
You can travel anywhere, any continent, any climate, any background, and you’ll find some kind of winter gift giver, helper or spirit. Some kind of figure who arrives when the nights are longest and life is hardest. Because deep down, no matter where we’re from, humans cling to the idea that kindness will always turn up. That help always arrives eventually. That the cold doesn’t win.

When you understand that, you start seeing Santa differently.
Not as a story for kids,
but as proof that people believe in something good even in the bleakest times.

Nicholas started it without knowing.
He wasn’t trying to become a legend.
He wasn’t trying to create a holiday.
He wasn’t trying to spark a global tradition.
He was helping people.
Quietly.
Secretly.
Without ego.
Without expecting anything back.
Just a man doing good because good needed doing.

And every version that came after him carried that same message.
Do good when you can.
Help where you can.
Protect the vulnerable.
Bring warmth into dark places.
Share what you have.
Make someone’s burden lighter.

Santa isn’t one person.
Santa is a global echo of human kindness.

It’s mad how a story can travel that far. But it makes sense too. Stories survive when people need them. And winter is a time when people need a lot more than they admit. They need comfort. They need reminders that there is good in the world. They need something to look forward to. Something to pass down. Something that makes sense when life doesn’t.

And here’s the part I think people forget.
Santa isn’t supposed to be realistic.
He’s supposed to be reassuring.
He’s meant to remind us that kindness doesn’t need logic.
It just needs heart.

And the world clings to that idea harder than anything else at this time of year.

Every culture tailored the story to fit what they needed emotionally.
Some needed a gentle bishop.
Some needed a guardian of feasting.
Some needed a protector from winter.
Some needed a symbol of regret turned into generosity.
Some needed small helpers to remind them that home is sacred.

But they all needed something.

And when you put all these versions together, you get this unbelievable tapestry of human resilience. Everywhere you look, people turning the harshest time of year into something warm. Something meaningful. Something magical. Something that survives long after the original storytellers are gone.

So maybe the real magic isn’t in flying reindeer or elves or chimneys.
Maybe the real magic is in the fact that humans, no matter how broken or tired or stressed, always find a way to create hope.
Always.
Even in winter.

Especially in winter.

If Nicholas could see what he started, I think he’d be speechless.
But proud.
Not because he became famous, but because people took his quiet kindness and carried it through centuries, reshaping it, adapting it, and passing it along like a lantern in the dark.

That’s what stories do.
They light the path for the next person.

And that’s why Santa will never fade.
Because kindness never does.
Stories never do.
Hope never does.

Even if it changes shape.
Even if it wears different clothes.
Even if it arrives on a horse, or a boat, or a sleigh, or a broom, or through the cracks between worlds.

Santa isn’t one man.
Santa is every story of kindness told in winter, but he’s also something even closer than that. Santa is all of us. Every single one of us carries the ability to make someone’s day lighter, warmer, better. A smile, a bit of kindness, a moment of care… those things last longer than any gift ever will. When you choose to do something good, no matter how small it seems, you become part of that story. You become part of Santa. And that is the magic people remember.

And honestly… that is the most magical thing about all of this.

🎅THEPLAINANDSIMPLEGUY🎅

THANK YOU FOR READING PEEPS, MAKE SURE TO FOLLOW OR SUBSCRIBE TO THE EMAILS. LIKE, COMMENT AND SHARE WHEREVER YOU CAN, INTRODUCE YOUR FAMILY AND FRIENDS AND HAVE A WANDER AROUND MY WEBSITE, CHECK OUT MY OTHER BLOGS AND PAGES, AND PLEASE I BEG YOU KEEP COMING BACK.

👉BUY ME A COFFEE/DONATE👈

Thank you

To get in contact (either just for a chat or to discuss a guest blog, one off or a regular thing) contact me at any of the below links.

IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY, PLEASE SUBSCRIBE (BELOW) TO GET AN EMAIL EVERYTIME I POST A NEW BLOG, JUST SO YOU DON’T MISS ANYTHING.