WHAT WAS YOU MOST FAVORITE OF ALL CHRISTMAS EVE? Let me tell you about mine...
This is about the first Christmas eve that I can recall.
Though we could not know it, it was in the middle of the Second World War. That year (1941) our family had moved into the little town of Clare, about 80 miles north of Adelaide in South Australia. Previously we had lived on our farm but manpower shortages had forced my father to give up life as a farmer; he had rejoined the Army. So we were just my mother and my two sisters living in what seemed to be a quite grand house overlooking the town, nestled in the Clare Valley. The elder of my two brothers was in the Navy and the younger was living in Adelaide with my Grandfather, getting ready to join the Air Force. Most of the male friends of our family were off in the armed forces.
Our mother would get us off to bed around sunset. Christmas in Australia is in the middle of summer, so that would be around 9 in the evening. Then she would go around all the windows making sure the blinds were down and the curtains drawn. The air raid wardens would be patrolling the streets checking that not a ray of light escaped any window. The peaceful little town was nonetheless in the grip of war. With less than a dozen cars to be driven about, due to severe fuel rationing, the town was hushed and dark. Occasionally, there would be the sound of a train from the nearby rail station (steam locomotives in those days).
At the foot of my bed was my Christmas stocking. Hugging my dear Teddie bear and comforted by the dim light from my night lamp, I drifted off into slumber land.
But then a strange thing happened.
It seemed much later but the house had not its accustomed quiet. I awoke to the sound of low conversation from the direction of the kitchen. My mother was talking to someone! Who could it be? I got out of bed and crept towards my bedroom door. I opened it a crack to look and listen. Then I knew that the sound I could hear was the voice of my father!
He had come home unexpectedly on leave. The last passenger train up from Adelaide had brought him home. My parents seemed to be busy with the sound of things being wrapped in paper. It seemed wise to return to bed and to sleep. I felt very happy, knowing I would see my father in the morning.
When I awoke, at the foot of my bed was a large paper-wrapped object. Of course, we were not allowed to unwrap presents until after breakfast. I sat on my father's knee, his strong arms around me and the sweet smell of him all about me. Later, when the unwrapping began, I found, beneath the brown paper, a large, red tricycle! It was somewhat bigger than my proper size; so my father made wooden blocks to fit on the pedals so my feet would reach!
Such a happy Christmas morning; my father was home for a few days.
May your Christmas this year be as happy as was mine then.
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