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A Wartime Christmas
by Pat Strowbridge
(reprinted from Voice for Island Seniors, with permission)
I was just a child in England when World War II broke out. As a safety precaution I, along with my brother
and sister, were evacuated to the Isle of Wight as Portsmouth, our hometown, was a prime target for the Luftwaffe as it
had a large dockyard.
My older sister was billeted with one family and my brother and I were billeted with Auntie Maud who
treated us kindly.
Like any child, Christmas for me was exciting and a visit from Mum, who was in the Wrens at the time, was
always great. She would visit us about once a month if the Channel was safe from drifting mines.
Close to Christmas she would arrive with bags full to the brim. I don't know how Mum did it, but on
Christmas Day we would receive "Rupert books" (a story book about an engaging little bear), colouring books and the odd
toy. Her greatest gift to us though was a real Christmas pudding. She would save sugar and raisins for months - even
dabbling in the black market; and when we were served a portion on Christmas Day, we would usually find a six-pence
buried in it. What a treat!
As soon as Auntie Maud saw Mum walking up the path, Ernie and I were sent out to play whilst the two
ladies closed the drapes in the front room to stop anxious children from peaking in and the front room was off limits
to us.
On Christmas Eve, we were sent off to bed, each carrying a pillow case which we placed at the foot of the
bed.
Ernie and I shared the same bed and we had a ritual each night of looking out the bedroom window to see if
Portsmouth was burning - for if they had a bad air raid, the flames lit up the sky and could be seen for miles. Christmas
Eve was no different. On this night, however, the sky was dark so we knew Mum was safe and that we would have a great
Christmas.
