Astoundingly, Who Killed Father Christmas? (2023) is the fifth collection of seasonal mysteries collated by Martin Edwards for the British Library Crime Classics range. And, with the BL kind enough to provide me with a review copy, it seemed like the perfect excuse to start some Christmas reading a little earlier than planned.

We open with ‘On the Irish Mail’ (1931) by Garnett Radcliffe, a delightful tale of obscured identity as a young chartered accountant, on his way back to his family for the festive season, is suspected — along with the others in his train compartment — of being a bank robber. I do so love stories of identity, and, of all the possible outcomes that occurred to me, I’m delighted to say that I overlooked the eventual direction of this one, which uses its setting and the desire we all feel to get to our destination while travelling very keenly. A superbly strong opening, more than vindicating the decision not to anthologise these stories chronologically as has been done previously in this series.

The frank earnestness of ‘The Christmas Thief’ (1911) by Frank Howel Evans, in which two bright-eyed young men facing destitution at Christmas foil a robbery and get drawn into something bigger as a result, feels rather like a juvenile mystery in tone and content, and not an especially good juvenile mystery at that. It’s no surprise that Evans wrote for the brobdingnagian Sexton Blake library, because all the peril here is about at that level and resolved with the degree of clarity you’d expect — indeed, call one of these young men Tinker and it could be from the Blake universe. The way Evans writes about the economic catastrophe facing our young heroes is interesting, but in almost every other regard this early 20th century British pulp writing at its least essential, and easily passed over.

Christmas and ghost stories go hand-in-hand — blame Charles Dickens, I suppose — and ‘The Christmas Spirit’ (1964) by Anthony Gilbert provides such a tale. I’m still not sure how I feel about these non-criminous stories in British Library Crime Classics anthologies (there was one in Crimes of Cymru (2023) earlier this year, too) but this is undeniably atmospheric, as the spirit after which a pub is named walks during a Christmas party and…well, that’s about it. You could argue that distressed spirits always seem to have been rendered thus as a result of murder and so this fits the theme in that way, but I’ll reserve judgement on that myself.

I’m not sure I quite understand the premise of ‘Among Those Present Was Santa Claus’ (1952) by Vincent Cornier. Having suffered various thefts over the course of a year, Lord Betwode throws a party, as part of which three people will disguise themselves as burglars and steal the finery of those present. If the ‘thief’ is identified in the process of their thievery, their go is up and the next person tries. And this will catch the real thief somehow. Do I have that right?

Also present is ex-Scotland Yard man John Burnicle who…coincidentally happens to know that one of the men pretending to be a thief has some previous form, and so identifies him as the actual thief. Problem solved. If this indicative of Cornier’s fiction, I’m afraid I can’t share the view of Mike Ashley, supported by Edwards in his introduction, that he’s “something of a secret treasure”. The man had a talent for creativity — ‘The Duel of Shadows’ (1934) is ingenious, though Ashley’s introduction to that in another anthology managed to spoil it for this reader — but this barely passes muster.

Catherine Aird‘s superbly-titled ‘Gold, Frankincense, and Murder’ (1995) is really more about the atmosphere of Christmas gatherings where all manner of people can be drawn together than the death that occurs — possibly the result of food poisoning, but soon established as something more deliberate than that. Aird always writes well, and deserves kudos for working in two legitimate clues, making this one of the more successful endeavours in this very enjoyable collection. I really should get back to more of her novels.

Edwards is correct in his introduction to ‘Secrets in the Snow’ (1942) by J. Jefferson Farjeon to point out the similarities it shares with the author’s earlier novel Mystery in White (1937) — a bus stranded in the snow this time, and people leaving it to seek safety in an isolated house. I find Farjeon a better wrangler of surprises than a detective author, but a couple of good reversals here are foreshadowed well, and things move briskly and with a strong atmosphere behind them. Best of all is the excellent final line, though, which sets these fairly generic shenanigans apart as something a little more interesting.

The bustle of a busy department store provides the background for ‘Who Killed Father Christmas?’ (1980) by Patricia Moyes, with a stand-in Santa stabbed in the back while waiting in his grotto. In a way this highlights the flaw of most detectival short stories, in that a few small touches would make it fairer for the reader and yet putting them in would make the eventual destination perhaps too obvious. But, well, that’s the challenge of writing in this format, and Moyes so nearly does a brilliant job here.

I quite like my Christmas ghosts as they appear in ‘Death at Christmas’ (1959) by Glyn Daniel: theoretical up to the point of actual existence, then left to the reader’s imagination. This story of a college don whose wife died two years previously is creepy, takes a delightful turn two-thirds of the way through, and leaves the reader with questions that it both answers and yet provides no concrete explanation for — reminiscent of the best ghost stories from my youth, and superbly memorable for that exact reason.

The Maestro himself, John Dickson Carr, gets ‘Scotland Yard’s Christmas’, a.k.a. ‘Detective’s Day Off’ (1957) off to a magnificent start:

[M]en and women throughout London were celebrating the season of joy and goodwill by elbowing and pushing each other ferociously through every shop and department store.

This dual impossible vanishing is perfectly fine, though it relies on a principle I detest (rot13: ‘Ohg jr’ir ybbxrq rireljurer!’) and, interestingly, a paragraph added by Carr expert Douglas G. Greene is fitted in seamlessly to fill out the solution; mainly it’s notable for the lightness of Carr’s tone, especially where six year-old Tommy is concerned (“Privately, he thought this Father Christmas business was all a gag. But you couldn’t be sure, and it was too close to Christmas to take any risks.”).

It’s perhaps appropriate given its seasonal setting that ‘The Bird of Dawning’, a.k.a. ‘The Craven Case’ (1956) by Michael Gilbert is a distinctly chilly affair, containing not a single human emotion. I greatly enjoyed Gilbert’s WW2 novel The Danger Within, a.k.a. Death in Captivity (1952), but have found everything else by him wanting, and this is no exception. All his characters seem to be medicated past the point of feeling anything at all and, apart from one deliberately hilarious reflection on suicide there’s not a recognisable reaction in this tale of stuffed shirts suspecting financial malfeasance. Gilbert is highly respected and enjoys a fabulous reputation, but, honestly, the man isn’t for me.

In my house, Will Scott is best known for his very entertaining Giglamps stories, but ‘The Christmas Train’ (1933) features another series character, ‘The Laughing Crook’ Jeremiah Jones, who wishes to avail himself of some jewels a certain person will be carrying upon themselves on a train journey on Christmas Eve. The only problem? Detective Inspector Beecham of Scotland Yard is providing an escort, and is onto Jones and his tricks.

This is perhaps less clever than its publication dates suggests it should be, but Scott’s writing is, to my experience, more about the effect than the ideas, and the effect he achieves here is very neatly done. Jones endears himself to the reader by the sheer open-eyed innocence of his behaviour, as well as his particular set of morals about the conduct of criminal actions, and I’d be intrigued to see more of him if his other adventures fit the theme of any future BL anthologies.

‘The Grey Monk’ (1934) is the first of Gerald Verner‘s short fiction I’ve encountered, and reinforces the impression I have of an author who wrote perhaps too much with perhaps too little concern for quality. A ghostly monk shoots the butler of a wealthy businessman who was never told that the letter ‘h’ exists (“…I made him put on a ‘eavy coat of mine that was ‘anging in the ‘all…”), and Superintendent Robert Budd does some off-page detection and wraps it up with very little to engage the brain. It’s fine, and one doesn’t get the impression that Verner was aiming for greatness in his writing, but I can’t help but wish the man showed a little more promise.

‘Who Suspects the Postman?’, a.k.a. ‘In the Bag’ (1958) by Michael Innes is a very short little story about the theft of a three-foot tall, post-bellied vase of inestimable value from the home of Lord Partington during a party at which he played the role of Santa Claus. It’s easily-digested and won’t live long in the memory, except that it does rather make one yearn for a time when politicians’ probity could be taken for granted. Aaah, happier days,

Too broad to be taken seriously as a crime story, the Sherlock Holmes pastiche ‘Herlock Sholmes’ Christmas Case’ (1916) by Peter Todd will appeal to those of you who enjoyed Arsene Lupin vs. Holmlock Shears (1910) by Maurice Leblanc. It’s fluff, nonsense, and completely vapid, but, damn, is it also savagely funny:

“I had to make a call to the Chinwag Department of the War Office…every official [there] is far above suspicion of being skilled in any manner whatsoever.”

Not the usual, but all the more welcome for it.

Finally, there’s ‘A Present for Ivo’ (1959) by Ellis Peters, which — having been divided over two issues of a magazine for initial publication — is about twice as long as it needs to be. But, in fairness, this length does allow space for some good writing and the placement of some decent clues (though if you can’t spot the guilty party at first appearance, contact me about a bridge in London I think you’d be interested in buying). Short stories that go on too long are perhaps more frustrating than those that don’t go into enough detail, but the overall tone is enjoyable and the Christmassy goodwill of this wins through.

I typically elect a top five from longer anthologies, and here they would be:

1. ‘On the Irish Mail’ (1931) by Garnett Radcliffe
2. ‘The Christmas Train’ (1933) by Will Scott
3. ‘Death at Christmas’ (1959) by Glyn Daniel
4. ‘Herlock Sholmes’ Christmas Case’ (1916) by Peter Todd
5. ‘Gold, Frankincense, and Murder’ (1995) by Catherine Aird

It can’t be an easy job picking stories to fit a theme from the sheer range of work that exists over the century-plus this genre has been in existence, and Edwards and the coterie of helpers he generously pays credit to in his introduction deserve plaudits for their magnificent genre awareness, especially when it comes to digging out less heralded titles and writers, as these BL collections always manage at least a couple of times per volume. However, I applaud the range of selections and the different approaches taken to tellng Yuletide tales of mystery and murder — the lineup here might not be the strongest, but I always finish these BL collections wanting to read more…and that’s no mean feat!