Christmas in the War
Although the war dragged on for us as children, nothing could spoil Christmas. Though the presents were few, it did not spoil the magic, as Grandma Lawrence, Auntie Maud and Aunt Lucy always made Christmas Day teatime special.
Earlier in the morning I would have awoken in darkness, immediately feeling for the pillowcase at the bottom of my bed and the rustle of paper and lumpy objects inside. Santa Claus had been! Barbara would wake up and though it was still dark, we would beg Mum to put the light on so we could see the surprises. There was a sewing set and a shiny new book for me, as well as a rag doll made by Auntie Lucy, which lay in a painted doll’s bed. Barbara had a similar doll, books and paints. These things were treasures to us.
Christmas dinner was often a small chicken or a rabbit, and, no matter how hard-up we were, Mum always made a pudding. About 4 o’ clock me and my sister would get ready to spend the afternoon at Grandma Lawrence’s, putting on our best freshly ironed frocks, each of us wearing a hair ribbon to match our dress. New clothes were in short supply, so we took great pride in our white socks and polished shoes.
When we arrived, the living room would look festive, with decorations and paper chains that Grandma had dusted off and hung up, used year upon year, Christmas after Christmas. Auntie Maud and Lucy would have been busy most of the day making jellies, sandwiches, sausage rolls and mince pies for the big spread we always looked forward to. After a blowout of a huge tea, and refusing the offers of another piece of Christmas cake, we flopped down on the sofa wishing we had not eaten so much.
Maud and Lucy organised games for us, one of them being called the ‘Bishops Hat’, which began with Grandma sitting on a chair wearing a wide brimmed hat. We would be told to wait outside the door while the brim of the hat was filled with water and Grandma draped herself in a curtain. After the light was turned off and two candles lit, we were summoned one at a time and told to confess our sins while kneeling on a cushion in front of Grandma. She then bent over to bless us, and as she did so we were dowsed in the water from the hat, amid laughing in the background.
Then, a jelly game, as two uncles were blindfolded and a teacloth put around each of their necks. Sitting on chairs opposite each other, they tried to spoon the jelly to each other. What a laugh! We thought we would die laughing at the mess.
Later in the evening, the uncles and Dad went to the pub, sometimes accompanied by Aunt Maud and Lucy. There would be a quieter period of a time, spent eating nuts, crisps and drinking lemonade while Grandma talked about old times. Then the revellers returned from the pub, the radiogram was turned on, and the party would go with a swing, the air thick with tobacco smoke. One Christmas we stayed the night, sleeping in Grandma’s feathered bed. Because some of the uncles were away in the Army, there was plenty of room.
My Auntie Barbara—Dad’s youngest sister—was a lovely person, about eighteen towards the end of the war, fair-haired, attractive, and always kind to us girls. Once, when we were at Grandma’s, an early evening air raid began, so Barbara, thinking of how to distract us from feeling nervous, found some scrap books and drawing paper to occupy our minds.
When the war was over she went out with a sailor called Lucky, but Norman Crumpton was the man she fell for and married. They went to live at Wembley Park in London where they had three children, Jeffrey, Susan and Tessa. Jeffrey became a guitarist, working in television and often travelling with bands supporting famous singers.
In 1943, a day or two before Christmas Eve, Auntie May and Betty stayed the night with us while Dad was away in the Army. I was half asleep, when I heard the front door open and a strange tinkling sound. Peeking through half-closed eyes I saw Mum and Auntie May carrying a small Christmas tree into the bedroom, gingerly placing it onto a small table by the fireplace.
They had kept it a secret, but when I awoke in the morning I pretended to be surprised. Mum had sewn little bags out of crepe paper and filled them with sweets, while Auntie May had hung on some Christmas tree ornaments, handed down from Uncle Pete’s mum. It really did look wonderful to me and my sister.
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