Peace On Earth
WARTIME SHORT STORY BY DAWN KNOX
It would be a thrifty Christmas – but when it came to family, a little make-do-and-mend was a small price to pay…
Sarah Robinson unravelled another row of her favourite blue cardigan and wound the crinkly wool around the ball.
She’d bought the garment prior to the outbreak of war – long before anyone had foreseen the issue of clothing coupons.
The cardigan had been cornflower blue, and when she and Bill had first been courting he’d told her how grand she looked.
Sarah had often thought of that after he’d been conscripted and sent abroad. It was funny how those tiny details stuck in her mind.
Now the cornflower blue wool was dull. So many nights in the Anderson shelter. So many hours helping neighbours rummage through the rubble of their homes, searching for treasured items. So much smoke, charred wood, plaster and dust. Of course, all traces of dirt had been carefully washed away after each wearing – but so many dips in the wash tub and friction against the washboard had leached the colour from the wool.
Sarah pulled the last length of the wavy wool and, with a final flourish, wound it onto the ball. The cardigan was now just a memory. She smiled and looked down at her collection of reclaimed yarn with satisfaction. It would be more useful than a cardigan.
She had a practised eye and could accurately judge how many smaller items could be made from one unpicked woollen garment. Now she was sure she had enough to knit a gift for everyone who would be at their Christmas dinner.
Christmas dinner. What a challenge that was going to be with rationing! Sarah ran through the ingredients she needed to buy, as well as those she’d already gathered. The family had pooled their food coupons but even so, the best she’d be able to make would be mock turkey, potatoes and vegetables. She’d already prepared the Christmas pudding.
It was unusual this year in that it contained more vegetables than fruit – with carrots and potatoes, even a little swede, to bulk it out.
“Mock” this and “mock” that. Sarah smiled as she remembered her mother joking that the meal was going to be a “mockery”.
Well, it couldn’t be helped. She hadn’t been able to get hold of a real turkey for years. As for the mock version…
Spam, a little mince if she could get it, a lot of bread crumbs and plenty of herbs. The only similarity between the mock turkey and a real bird would be the shape. And even then…
She nibbled her lower lip. Her neighbour had promised her some eggs to bind the mock turkey ingredients, but suppose she let Sarah down?
Well, there was nothing she could do. Sarah had learnt not to fret over things like an absence of eggs. It was the absence of people that mattered.
In her mind’s eye, Sarah positioned each person at the table. Her mother, with her Hollywood film star tastes, would add sparkle to the meal. She’d look glamorous as ever, her outfit undoubtedly featuring an ostrich feather or two.
Sarah thought of her sparse wardrobe. At least she still had some clothes, even if they were plain and well-worn.
But really, what did it matter? A thrill ran through her, and she tingled with excitement at the thought of Christmas Day.
Having run through the menu, now she ticked off items on her list of presents. She’d already knitted several gifts and bought a wooden car from a neighbour for her younger brother, Jack. Now that children’s toys were prohibited from being made from materials necessary for the war effort, it was hard to buy anything exciting for a child. But Jack had a good imagination. He’d grown up with cotton reels, saucepans and spoons for toys. The car would be perfect.
The whole day would be perfect.
For the first time since the war began, the entire family would gather in her parlour. Her husband, Bill, would sit at the head of the table once again. He’d arrived home a few months before – painfully thin and walking with a stick.
But home! How precious had been the sight of him at the railway station when she’d met him after so long in the prisoner-of-war camp.
Her parents, sister and brother had endured the bombs of the Blitz. And this first family Christmas of peacetime would herald many more, she was sure.
Once they’d eaten and toasted the King, she’d hand out her gifts, saving the best until last. The news that next Christmas, the Robinson family would have a new member. A child born to peace and perhaps, one day, prosperity.
But for now, peace would do. Yes, it was going to be a perfect Christmas.
