It was a pretty cheerless sort of existence. Food was scarce and still rationed, kids were often seen in hand-me-down clothes. The war may have been over but for most people times remained hard.
And that’s why in those post-war years Christmas to us youngsters became so much more special. No TV and computer games then, you were lucky to get a game to share. But there was always the Christmas treat a generation came to expect – an orange and a packet of nuts in the bottom of your stocking.
At school they did their best to make it something special. Father Christmas came with (if you were lucky) sweets to hand out and even though everyone knew it was really the headmaster dressed up they pretended it wasn’t him really.
There were carol concerts at school on which weeks were devoted to rehearsal with scores of young voices bellowing out those favourite songs, only to finish school for the day and bawl them out yet again on neighbourhood doorsteps.
Some were selected for stage stardom and plucked out of class to take part in the nativity play which necessitated wearing a tea towel on the head and admiring someone’s favourite doll wrapped in a cut-up sheet.
Christmas was also a time of roast chestnuts, often bought from street sellers for those rich enough to be able to afford a couple of pence for a bag and of course a time of rising excitement as Christmas Eve approached and everyone went round wishing each other – even total strangers – “all the best.”
Christmas Eve for kids meant a flurry of anticipation and speculation over just when HE would arrive down the chimney (no thought seemed to be given to the fact that he would have to negotiate a blazing coal fire or if he was late one of those all night burners which relied on smashed up coal brickettes to keep them going until morning.)
In true Christmas spirit you left him a drink and mince pie and off you went to bed, but not to sleep. How many parents must have reflected on that before tip-toeing into bedrooms armed with presents they could not really afford.
Sleep, when it finally came, did not last long and those who were wide awake by the early hours would be found scouting round looking to see if “HE “had been. If he had few could not resist taking a look, un-wrapping the paper and usually waking the rest of the house in the process.
Then, finally, dawn broke, the family made its way downstairs and mum began cooking the Christmas dinner.
Contrary to what some would have us believe turkeys were not plentiful in those years immediately after the war, particularly for those who did not have access to the spivs who ran the black market.
Even chickens were hard to come by for us “townies” and it was the lucky household which managed to acquire one for Christmas dinner.
Youngsters would look on eagerly as the bird was carefully carved, desperately looking for the wish bone which would be pulled while secret wishes were made.
Most people, though, seemed to plump for roast beef – if they could get it.
As for Christmas pudding the lucky (and more well off) were able to afford fruit to put in theirs. Others resorted to what they could find and some are said to have tried carrot as a substitute. Mum would throw in a couple of three-penny pieces in traditional fashion. Unhygienic probably and it didn’t do much for young teeth either when you bit into them.
Christmas trees were hardly seen unless you lived in the country and rooms would be decorated with home-made paper chains. These were often glued by mixing flour and water into paste.
It was simple, it was all a bit Spartan, but it was terrific fun.