WE are in the dying embers of our time at primary school.

By next Christmas, our youngest will be in his first year at big school, our eldest will be settling in at university, and the other two will be somewhere in between.

All of which means I have served my time attending primary school Christmas shows. It's over. The final curtain has descended.

All those years watching the four of them perform as shepherds, angels, innkeepers, donkeys, sheep and kings are nothing more than memories on video cassettes shoved in a dusty cupboard somewhere.

It is 13 years since my first appearance as a nativity dad, when our first-born made his debut as a rosy-cheeked shepherd, wrapped in his Ladybird dressing gown and wearing a blue and white checked tea-towel on his head.

He lasted just a few minutes before running into the audience to find his mum, just as a fight between a sheep and a donkey brought the stable crashing to the floor.

It's been a nerve-wracking and painful experience at times, but glorious fun too, and I know I'm going to miss the wideeyed innocence of it all.

Given that it was going to be the last one, I was really looking forward to this year's primary school production of A Christmas Carol last week.

"What part has Max got?" I asked my wife when she told me what night it was on.

"Well, he's er" She sounded hesitant.

"Is he Scrooge?"

"No."

"Tiny Tim?"

"No."

"Jacob Marley?"

"No."

"Bob Cratchit?"

"No."

What the Dickens was going on? I couldn't understand it. He's got loads of money and never spends any of it so I couldn't help thinking he'd have made an excellent Scrooge.

"So, what part's he got?" I repeated.

"Well, he hasn't got a part as such,"

she conceded. "He's a scene-shifter."

A scene-shifter? Is that what it had come to after 13 years of Christmas shows? I'm desperately trying not to be a theatrical snob, but it's not the most glamorous role in showbusiness, is it?

My wife spotted the crestfallen look on my face and launched into an immediate lecture: "I think he's a bit sensitive about it, so don't let him think you're disappointed."

She was right, of course. Not everyone can be a star so, when he came into the kitchen a little while later, I did my best to drum up some enthusiasm: "Hey, I hear you're a scene-shifter on Thursday night. Wow! Well done - that's a really important job. I bet you have to be big and strong to do that."

He looked down at the floor, shuffled his feet a bit, and mumbled something I couldn't quite catch.

"What did you say?"

"I'm not doing it, Dad," he said, a little louder.

"You're not doing it? Why not?" I asked.

"I got the sack," he replied.

This was going from bad to worse.

Under close interrogation, it transpired that he'd been relieved of his duties by the teacher for messing about during rehearsals.

So that was it. My last ever primary school Christmas show and I wasn't even the father of a scene-shifter - I was the father of a sacked scene-shifter.

The End.

THE THINGS THEY SAY (ABOUT CHRISTMAS) DAD, you know I don't believe in Father Christmas anymore?

Well, can you give me some money so I can buy some presents because I know it all comes from you."

- Our Max, aged ten. I told you he should have been Scrooge.

"I STOPPED believing in Santa Claus when I was six. My mother took me to see him in a department store and he asked for my autograph."

- Shirley Temple.

"I ONCE bought my kids a set of batteries for Christmas with a note on it saying, toys not included."

- Bernard Manning.