Christmas 1945

Christmas 1945 was many years ago, let Bob's memories take you back there...

By Bob Burdick, GA

When Mom told me the hostilities of WWII had ceased, and America had prevailed, she also said, “Maybe our lives will now get back to normal.”

Her tone was vibrant and filled with happiness as she uttered these words, and while caught up in her euphoria, I tried to be happy too. Trouble was I had no idea what she meant by “back to normal.”

This was 1945, and I was still several years shy of being a teenager. Most of my adolescence, then, had taken place while America was at war. Air raid drills, blackouts, rationing, and simply doing without, had been a way of life. This was the only life I’d known, so, if this wasn’t the normal life Mom spoke of, it must have occurred before the war, which was a time I had no memory of.

But none of this mattered, really, as Dad would soon be coming home. Mom was happy and that was good enough for me. The day of Dad’s arrival, however, bore no resemblance to the lyrics of the old song about when Johnny would come marching home again. On this day there was no parade, confetti, or streets lined with cheering crowds. No. It was just Mom and I and my brother on a sweltering summer afternoon waiting at the train depot when Dad arrived with only his duffle bag in tow.

After multiple rounds of hugs and kisses, we boarded the city bus for the first portion of the return trip to the cottage we had called home during the war years. From the stop where we stepped from the bus, we still faced a long walk to reach home, but, again, I saw this as normal. After all, this was life as we’d been living it. So we strolled toward home with Dad shifting the weight of the duffle bag from shoulder to shoulder as he again gave hugs to Mom, my little brother, and me.

Dad’s return home from the war was a precious event I’ll never forget, but the normal life Mom had mentioned did not settle in on us overnight. This worried me, especially after overhearing snippets of conversation between Mom and Dad. “Things were tight,” as Dad put it. He needed to find a job. We’d also need to find a larger dwelling, and acquire a vehicle for transportation. All these needs required money, and my parents were clearly worried.

During the remaining months of 1945, our outlook brightened. Dad found a job with a fuel oil company, we moved into a slightly larger two-bedroom house, and acquired a 1937 2-door Chevrolet for transportation.

If this were the beginning of normal life, I loved it, but, as the final days of 1945 waned, I learned things were still tight.

My brother and I were too old for the Santa Claus routine, so we had hinted at an array of items we wanted for Christmas, like a pair of Roy Rogers cap pistols. It was not to be, at least not on this Christmas. On Christmas morning my brother and I each had two gifts under the tree: a hunting knife and a Boy Scout hatchet. My disappointment was short-lived, as before the day was over, I considered these gifts the best I’d ever received.

Dad spent Christmas day with my brother and me. With his guidance, we learned how to select the correct forked branch to make a slingshot. The shot pouch came from pieces cut from an old leather belt, the bands from inner tubes, and our ammo from the plentiful gravel lining the ditch in front of the house.

Then, with our newly built slingshots, we were able to shoot a line over a tree limb and hoist a long rope. With this line tied off on one end and an old tire on the other, we had a swing every bit as good as the vines Tarzan swung on in the movies. And, before Mom called us all in for supper, Dad had taught us how to build a snare for catching rabbits, how to build a bow and to make arrows, and how to properly sharpen our knives and hatchets.

I’ve enjoyed many Christmas seasons since then, but despite the difficult nature of that time, no Christmas has been more memorable than the one of 1945. -- Bob Burdick, a novelist and short-story writer, is the author of Wrap-Up, The Margaret Ellen, Tread Not On Me, and the award winning Stories Along the Way.