As odd as this year’s Christmas will be (given the pandemic), it’s not the first time history has gifted parents with holiday challenges.

For example, wartime.

I can only imagine how my grandparents went to extra effort to keep those Decembers jolly for their young children. In 1943, staples such as sugar, meat, and coffee could only be obtained via food ration books – and even then, only when the items were available. Even after the world war was over, shoppers needed ration stamps to purchase sugar through 1947.

In a 1943 letter, below, Mom mentions she received a War Bond for Christmas.

And what’s a War Bond? It was a way for “ordinary people” to help to pay for World War II.

The marketing outreach was immense. And intense:

With an investment of $18.75, as one example, a patriotic American would receive a $25 war bond. After ten years, the bond could be cashed in for the full $25.

This next poster makes me think about a conversation I had with Dad recently:

We were talking about his memories of being a young teen during World War II. Dad mentioned food and gas rationing, Victory Gardens, and “scrap drives” for families to contribute copper, brass, and even fat drippings from cooking to the war effort. I commented how I wished that selfless patriotic spirit was around now, during the pandemic.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong – people bitched all the time back then.”

When I was a kid, Mom told me stories about Christmas in the 1930s and ’40s. She told me how she, Bunny, and Ray didn’t see their decorated tree until Christmas morning. In the early years, the tree was lit with candles, so it wasn’t decorated until late on December 24. It remained in their house for only a few days and the candles were only lit for a short while. (Apparently, when he was a child, Grandpa’s Christmas tree caught fire. It was quickly extinguished. But still.)

The tree was a glorious sight.

Here’s Mom’s letter to her aunt, whom I always knew as Sister Amabilis, written in late December of 1943:

Here’s the poem Mom included in the letter:

Wild Fury

From out the bleak and frozen North
A chilling blast came sweeping forth,
And turned green life to frosty white,
And left a trail by day and night.

The tumbleweed came rolling past
When prairie sands were whirling fast,
Despair clutched every creature’s mind
For nature’s choice had not been kind.

Leaves flew as birds o’er dusty plains,
And settled down in far-off lanes,
The wind blew on, wild, free, and fierce –
And thrust her mighty strength to pierce.

As if to bring relief, the snow
Now covered landscape high and low;
Though day grew mild and calmness reigned.
Afflicted hearts still greatly pained.

~ Joan Cassidy, December 31, 1943

How I wish I could ask Mom what inspired her to write this poem. She was only 13 years old. Maybe it was early teenage angst. Or war worry. Perhaps there’d been a swirling snowstorm that had caught her imagination.

I’ve searched and searched, but can’t seem to find a family photo from 1943 other than one already used in an earlier blog post. It finally occurred to me that maybe film was scarce during the war? (Farmer Gary, my resident military-history buff, doesn’t think that was the case.) Maybe another family member has a stash of photos from 1939-1946 that I don’t know about?

Here’s that photo again:

Now that we’re showing cousins, here’s a colorized photo from May 22, 1938. Grandma Cassidy wrote teeny-tiny notes on the back, so I’ll try to identify everyone correctly in the photo caption.

It’s good to know the Cassidy family on Chatham Street in New Haven was able to enjoy that wartime Christmas so long ago.

Oh, how Mom loved Christmas!

Let’s throw in an extra photo from a dozen years later. Here she is in 1955, with her firstborn, my older brother Harry.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all. Let’s hope 2021 is a kinder, healthier, more light-hearted year.

“Wild Fury” © 1943 Joan Cassidy. All rights reserved.

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