大象传媒

This story is by Gerald Sawyer

Christmas in Wartime was far different from today. For instance food was rationed. The regular allocations of fats, meat and sugar etc. did not change, but everyone usually had extra 鈥榦ption points鈥� for the occasional luxury. Option points could be used to buy tinned goods, dried fruit or any other food in short supply.
One Christmas, the family put their points together to get a four pound tin of American pork sausage meat. This was similar in texture to the British product, but had the subtle hint of SPAM in flavour. Grandma had scrounged a bit of beef fat from the butcher and the resultant dripping was used to make a savoury piecrust. The pie, made from Anglo-American cooperation, was to be Christmas Eve supper for the entire family.

Grandma cooked the pie on December 23rd. The aroma, which came from the oven, provided a tempting foretaste of the earthly banquet to which we looked forward. Once cooked, it was put on the floor of the pantry to keep cold until the time for it to be re-heated just before supper.

Christmas Eve came. Mum, Dad, Auntie Elsie, Uncle Jim, Uncle Charlie, little Charlie, Beryl and myself went carol singing with the Chapel choir. Grandma went with Granddad to the Working Men鈥檚 Club, one of the few occasions when ladies were allowed into what was a Masculine domain. Auntie Mary was left in charge of her six month old first-born and preparing the supper, of roast (jacket) potatoes home grown vegetable pickles and 鈥楾HE PIE鈥�.

It was a wonderful crisp, clear night, the full moon lighting our path, despite the Black Out. Every carol was sung with gusto as we moved steadily down the village, row by row. It was as if 鈥楢ngels from the realms of glory鈥� had joined the mighty chorus of us 鈥楽aints along the top row singing鈥�. As we sang 鈥榃hile Shepherds watched鈥� we dreamed of 鈥楩ood, glorious food鈥�. The more we sang, the greater our appetites grew. As the time neared half past nine, hunger won the battle between it and chapel funds. By a quarter to ten, we were on our way.

As we entered number155, the welcome heat met us. We drank hot cups of fluid and prepared ourselves for the feast of feasts. Grandma and granddad arrived back and supper commenced.
Gathered round the table, the food was brought in. Forks and knives drove into the longed for, hoped for pie. As the first mouthful was chewed, the smile of anticipation turned to disgust. In the re-heating process, the pie had been warmed in a too cool oven, with the result that it had turned sour. Auntie Mary, being young and inexperienced began to cry. Leaving the others to comfort Aunt Mary, Grandma went to see what she could find to save the situation. Taking the now offensive pie from each plate in turn, she replaced it with a wafer thin slice of cold corned beef, a treat she was saving for a rainy day. Potatoes, pickles and corned beef were finished off with jam tarts all round.
I still wonder to this day, what that pie would have tasted like. As the very old song went, 鈥淵ou can鈥檛 stop me from dreaming鈥�

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