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CHRISTMAS EVE
By Lilian Ducie

During the war years Christmas Day and Boxing Day became just another day.
Losing the traditional celebrations, and equally, if not more importantly for some people, also the religious significance of Christmas Day. This was a small price to pay.

People who had to work at The Munitions And Aircraft Factories were working non-stop to provide the essentials for the armed forces here and abroad. The latter who were facing unbelievable hardships, not really known about in those pre-television days.

As The Day drew nearer, our thoughts turned to the subject of presents. The shops decorated their windows as best they could, and inside Xmas decorations were strewn across the ceiling. It was a commendable effort, but nothing could disguise the fact that they had nothing to offer. The war years had completely depleted their stocks, as it had all the other shops whatever their merchandise.

But as always, there’s someone who could do something to overcome this dilemma and those who could knit did so. They sacrificed some of their precious clothing coupons to buy some wool and made some mittens. These would take less wool than gloves — it was really an act of love. Another friend cut up some old felt hats, and we contributed - the more colourful the better. These she cut up and made into daises, and the green felt made the leaves. They were sewn onto coloured cord and secured at the back like a necklace, and were very popular as gifts.

But it was the children who were the most deprived . The dolls, teddies and mechanical toys that so delighted our own childhood were no more. This was a dilemma for many parents whose children wanted Santa to bring them something that was no longer being made. The only solution to this problem was to say what many parents had to resort to…that Santa would bring them something that he knew they would like. And he always did.

It was such a situation that led to the strangest Xmas Eve that I have ever spent and will certainly never experience again. One of the messengers who took documents to all the offices wanted a dolls house for a neighbours little girl as a gift from Santa. She was adamant that he would bring one. So a desperate plea for anyone with one that their child had outgrown was circulated round the offices, and as luck would have it, someone had. It would be brought in Xmas Eve. (But as subsequent events turned out the little girl nearly missed out).

When we arrived at work we were presented with a notice to warn us that no alcohol was to be consumed on the promises. However at lunch time we all made our way to the local pub. This being Xmas Eve we all indulged and the wine flowed freely. Some brought a bottle or two back with them. When I walked down the corridor I was not very steady. I was trying to walk straight and keep within the lines of the floorboards, not successfully obviously, when I heard the door of the admin office open and someone said, ‘not quite Miss Robinson.’ It was the boss who had issued the instructions about not having liquor on the premises. In due course we went home.

Jimmy the messenger lived not far from me so we travelled together. First by bus and then along a steep winding road (in the black-out). Usually it was straight forward, but as we lurched all over the place, singing as we went, a dense fog suddenly enveloped us. We became disorientated and lost contact with each other. What had happened to Jimmy I wondered? He had only one arm due to some accident, and was carrying the dolls house. Had he put it down to rest? Most unlikely, he wouldn’t risk loosing it because it was too precious.

After what seemed like eternity the fog began to slowly clear I started to call him again, and this time there was a response. Like a ghost he appeared carrying his precious dolls house. Mission accomplished. Jimmy was happy to have brought a little girl what she wanted most. And as for the recipient her faith in Santa was assured.