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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by a volunteer from Oxford ´óÏó´«Ã½/CSV on behalf of Wendy Becker and has been added to this site with her permission.

The Food Parcel

As I remember it, my younger brother and I were just finishing our tea and mummy was at the table with us. She would eat later with daddy when we were in bed. The table was always properly laid, with a damask white linen table cloth, similar linen napkins which were kept each rolled and tucked into our own silver napkin rings. The cutlery was silver plated with bone handles from a mahogany canteen which stood on legs. Except for daddy’s napkin ring, they had all been Christening gifts. Mummy’s was more decorative than my brother’s or mine, but then ours had been purchased just after the war when there was still the requirement for simplicity of design. I imagine they must have been bought ‘on points’.

So much was still in short supply even though the war had been over for a while now.

As we sat finishing our meal we heard the bus pull away from the nearby bus stop. Daddy should be on the bus — yes, he was! That was him coming through the front door now. He came into the dining room to join us. But today was one of those special days — he was carrying something extra today and this only happened occasionally — Yippee!!

He put the priceless object he had brought home by train and bus onto the table and took his pocket knife to start to undo the cube shaped parcel. It was a probably about 9 or 10 inches in each direction. First the black metal bands had to be removed, then string which contained the double layer of brown paper, inside which was a box. Then the box itself was opened to reveal its precious contents - food!! Yes, it was a food parcel!

We were so lucky that daddy had worked all his life for the London branch of a Canadian bank, and periodically Head Office in Montreal used to arrange for food parcels to be sent to their British staff.

The next few minutes were spent seeing what was in this particular parcel. They varied a bit from one to another. They would often contain a tin of ham — the sort with jelly around it. I still love that jelly today. I’m sure it has to do with how much we valued these extras that our rations couldn’t provide for us. We might find a tin of sausages. There was nothing ‘fresh’ of course, because of the time it took to get from Canada to England by boat. I can remember there being tinned fruit and tinned cream, also dried milk. I think there was tinned salmon, and quite extraordinarily there was tinned butter. Again this was because of the transit times. There was usually a selection of tinned vegetables as well.

It really didn’t matter what was in the parcel. We were so grateful for every single item and they would all be eaten with relish in the coming weeks.

I think it was as much to do with being remembered and cared for by the Canadians that made it so special. Yes, of course we were glad to have some items that we couldn’t normally get hold of. But my mother was a very good cook, and she imaginatively made the very best of what she had available to her. We never went hungry — and I don’t think she and daddy did either.

If those food parcels meant so much to us, living at home in England without undue deprivation, just think what the Red Cross parcels must have meant to those of our servicemen who had been Prisoners of War…

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