大象传媒

This story is by Thelma Sheil, and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions. The story was collected by Joyce Gibson, transcribed by Elizabeth Lamont and added to the site by Bruce Logan.
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Remembering Christmas in wartime brings the smell of muscatel raisins. They were packed tightly around our Christmas Cake to keep it secure and undamaged on its long journey across the world from New Zealand to Ireland.

The arrival of the Christmas cake heralded the beginning of Christmas. The shiny tin was sewn into its wrapping of white cotton material with our name clearly marked in black ink and the stamps stuck on the cloth.

The cake was unbelievably rich with a great variety of dried fruit and a quite unique taste. We rationed the slices and it was a sad time when the last crumb was eaten and all we had was the smell of the muscatel raisins in the tin to keep us going until the next Christmas.

One year the postman brought a mysterious shiny black object shaped like a club and decorated with New Zealand stamps. What on earth was it? It was ham, encased in black pitch, which had to be cracked open with a hammer! It also had a unique and wonderful taste.

As children, we took these Christmas treats for granted, but now we look back with amazement at the thought of the food being sent such a distance in those difficult times.

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