There is a village, Shoreham,
in the south east of England which stands alone in many ways. None more so than
during the years of World War 2 when every building sustained some bomb damage.
In this little hamlet, the folks were, and are, made of stouter stuff and for
every injury inflicted on the village, the hearts and minds of the villagers
came back twice as strong.
I have to say that the place
which I write of, is nestled in hills below the metropolis that is London, and
like a little brother standing under the protection of an older one, sometimes
the punches thrown at the city also landed on the village.
The village had waved
farewell to many souls over the war years, and some of those had not returned,
some would never return, and some saw the village through sadder hearts and
eyes. Some would never speak of what they had seen, except to nod to a fellow
soldier on the way to church on a Sunday morning, and in that nod they knew
what each was thinking. In their minds there was no point in fighting a war for
freedom then burdening loved ones with stories of hate and guilt.
In the month of December
1944, the inmates of this little village were beginning to tire of the constant
war and had decided to hold a Christmas party in the village hall. Food was
rationed, but the fields and gardens of the hamlet had been used to grow some
treats for such a party. Each of the villagers sacrificed a little food here
and there and a local farmer donated two chickens to the affair.
There was talk and hope in
everyone’s hearts that this would be the final Christmas they spent at war. The
enemy were beginning to withdraw from all areas of Europe and there was a
feeling that the end would be coming soon.
The men of the village were
few and far between, and so one of the older residents Old Harry, who had been
to two wars in his day, was chosen to be Father Christmas.
Residents had made gifts from
all sorts of scraps of material, wood, dried flowers, and even old presents no
longer needed. It was the children who were important and it was for the
children for which the toys and gifts were made.
That afternoon, the afternoon
of the party in the village hall, a little flurry of snow started to fall. The
Cross on the hill, which had been covered over for the period of the war, could
be seen in outline as the snow rested on it.
The children were given one
sweet each and as they excitedly sucked on them, they sat in a well-behaved
line waiting on Santa. Old Harry was meant to arrive at 2pm but by 2.15 there
was still no sign of him. Gladys, who had taken it upon herself to organise the
party (it kept her mind off her son who had been taken prisoner in the Far East)
decided to send Edith to fetch Old Harry as she didn’t want the children to be
disappointed.
The snow was beginning to
fall heavily and the village sky grew darker. Soon the warden would be doing
his rounds and expecting the village black-out curtains to be pulled tight
shut.
At 2.30pm there was still no
sign of Santa, and Gladys wondered if perhaps she could get away with dressing
up as Santa, herself.
Just then Santa arrived in the
village hall, covered in snow and with a bag full of colourful presents. One by
one the children sat on Santa’s knee and told him what they wanted for Christmas.
Nearly all of them said the same thing: they wanted their daddy, or brother, or
mother to return home for Christmas day.
Each child took a toy, and
each child seemed to enjoy what they had been given.
At 3.10pm, Santa said goodbye
and told the children that he’d parked his sleigh up by the Cross and that his
reindeer would be missing him. Gladys made a little speech and the children
were all made to say ‘thank you, Santa’ – even although they were more
interested in their gifts.
At 4pm, Gladys had just finished
tidying up the hall, when Edith came running in. She said she was sorry about
what had happened, that she had got no answer from Old Harry’s house and she had
asked the local constable to break in.
It seems that Harry had died
in his sleep and was stone cold by the time they found him. Edith asked if the
children were disappointed, and Gladys said that Harry had shown up and given out
the gifts.
“You mean these one?” Asked
Edith.
Sure enough, the presents they
had made for the children were still lying in the baskets at the back of the
hall.
bobby stevenson 2015
photo: http://www.artistsoncards.com/Complete-Card-Range/Landscapes-By-Country/UK/Shoreham-Valley-Kent.Html
www.randomactsstories.blogspot.com
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