Christmas in the 40's

What would the kids of today think of my first memories of Christmas morning?  I was 4 or 5 years old back in the 40’s during World War II, my oldest brother was in the Pacific aboard a fleet submarine off the coast of Japan. My family had many cousins and uncles in various theatres of operation from the South Pacific to Italy and beyond. My father disappointed being told he was too old to volunteer for duty became the air raid warden for our area.  It was his job to make sure everyone had blackout curtains and had taped the headlights to 1” slits on their automobiles.  Living in Seattle surrounded by Boeing Aircraft and the Todd Shipyards we were always aware of the chance for an attack.  My Dad was a carpenter by trade and during the day he worked for the Speedwall construction company building wooden wings for gliders that would be used to carry troops well behind the German lines into France.  Mom worked at Harrison Dye works operating huge boiling kettles of dye that were used for camouflage.   

Needless to say Christmas was a little different in those days, with rationing in effect most toys were homemade as were the clothes we received.  I remember my dad working many hours in his basement shop making gifts for everyone.  Mom did a lot of secret sewing after I was long in bed.  My older brother Rolland who was 14 or 15 had a job after school at the Bee Hive market and I didn’t see him for days as he was off to school before I got up and went straight to work from there.  Mrs. Drisco, (aunt Dell) we called her, took me to her house across the street when mom left for work.  Christmas morning was so exciting, I could hardly wait to get out of bed.  I had a stern warning not to come down from my upstairs bedroom until I was called in the morning.  I must have awakened around 3 AM and sat quietly on the top step until I heard them stirring around 6, I was sure daylight would never come.  I wasn’t disappointed, there was a homemade train for me and a bean bag clown that my dad had made and painted just like the ones in the store.  There was a sled for Rolland that had his name wood burned into the top and all kinds of new shirts and sweaters. 

About noon my aunt Mabel came by and brought me a present that she parked on the sidewalk by the front porch, it was a homemade jeep that looked just like a real Army Jeep with a big star on the hood and pedals that I could drive it with.  In spite of the snow I raced it up and down the street all day letting a few friends drive as well.  My beautiful Aunt Mabel was special for all us kids in the family, she always brought that special treat whatever the day.  As we became adults we later found out that my wonderful aunt Mabel was the owner of a house of ill repute, in other words a Madam.  It didn’t matter a bit, I know in my heart that the day she died she went straight to heaven.

My first Christmas memories were really a sad time as so many of our family was off fighting a war and so many of our friends in town had already lost son’s, husbands and daughters to the conflicts.  Our house was a gathering spot for all the family and Christmas was a drop by day that kept the house full of people for most of the day and night.  Many tears were shed as the talk would of course include word of the war and the casualty lists that were constantly published in the paper.  Dinner was set at the big table with an empty plate in the spot where my brother would be when he came home.  I don’t know how they managed, but there was always plenty of food for all who stopped by.  Dinner always started with my dad saying a grace in Swedish a tradition he carried on for years.  A few of our aunts and uncles had farms where they raised vegetables and animals and dad would trade building outbuildings and whatever they needed for the things we couldn’t raise in our own victory garden.  I remember going to the meat locker at the ice plant where we kept venison, Turkey and whatever my dad could hunt or trade for.  I wonder if many people today could survive times like those.  Just think, people like my parents had already gone through the Great Depression and survived, no wonder they were called the Greatest Generation.