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Christmas
1945
by Linna Blevins
A native Pennsylvanian, now residing in Florida,
remembers old fashioned Christmases.
Christmas has always been a time of twinkling colors, warm familiar
rituals, singing, cookies with faces, and love. The earliest Christmas, I can
remember is 1945. That was the Christmas, my brother and I received a big
homemade sled from my Dad. That was the Christmas after World War II ended. That
was the Christmas before my sister was born. That was the Christmas before my
Dad died.
World War II changed everything, even Christmas. Sugar was on a
long list of rationed items, which could only be purchased in allotted amounts
with tokens or coupons. Most folks saved sugar for months to make cookies with
faces, fudge, caramel popcorn and fruit cake. These sweet pieces of home were
squeezed and poked into boxes, wrapped with brown paper and sent to the "boys
overseas".
Christmas lights were scarce because wiring and fixtures were
needed for the war. Women wore bobby socks with fancy holiday dresses, hoping to
receive stockings made of a new material called nylon. There were no silk
stockings because silk parachutes were needed for the war. Some traditions were
set aside like slices of fruit cake to be savored later. In their places was the
reading of letters from far away places, all bearing A.P.O. post
marks.
Evening Christmas preparations and celebrations were sometimes
interrupted by air raid sirens. Heavy dark green window shades were quickly
drawn, lights turned off and candles blown out. Everyone cuddled close and
softly sang about baby Jesus and peace on earth.
This Christmas will be
different. Uncle Pete, Uncle Paul and Uncle Wilbur will all be here tomorrow. We
made gingerbread cookies today. Mommy let Bucky and me eat three, because they
broke. Bucky smashed his finger with the hammer, trying to crack black walnuts.
He is only six, but he tries hard for a little brother. Two bottles of Grandma's
homemade wine are cooling in the spring house. We all took turns basting the
turkey, I think it is the biggest turkey in the whole world. We all laughed when
Daddy said it was almost as big as Bucky. Grandma said the turkey weighs
twenty-eight pounds and will have to bake all night.
The Christmas Eve
wind sings a moaning song. The big tree scratches at the window. I can almost
hear Santa's boots crunching the snow. I love looking outside at night, somehow
in the moonlight, all the snow looks blue. My feet are cold, Bucky takes all the
covers.
The radio is playing, I bet Mommy and Daddy are dancing. I can
peep down the register if I'm real quiet. Yep, they are dancing. My Daddy is so
tall that Mommy puts her head on his chest instead of his shoulder. The slow
song is finished and they are back to decorating the tree. There were no
Christmas lights in the stores this year because of the war. It sure does take a
lot of stuff for a war. Daddy had to take little bitty pieces of wire and
sockets from the old lights to make lights for the tree. Bucky and I helped; one
red, one white, one blue, one white, round and round the tree. It looks so
pretty. I wish I could see what is on the other side of the tree.
It
sounded like Mommy asked Daddy how he is going to wrap the sled; Oh, I hope its
a sled.
Mommy says, "time to get up, wash your face and brush your hair
and lets go see what Santa brought." I wonder how I got these marks on my face?
I must have fallen asleep on the register and Daddy put me back to
bed.
It is Christmas morning! Christmas 1946 was a joyous time for most
of the people in the coal mining towns of Pennsylvania. The war was over and all
of us were reminded of how precious life and love are.
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