A World War 2 Christmas

Since the Christmas season is upon us I thought that I would give you all a break from politics and come to the centre of our Christian calendar: CHRISTMAS.
I have been recalling with my sister Anne, some of our shared recollections of our Christmas days spent in York in England during W.W.2.
In 1944  it was a "ration book" Christmas, but there again, all days were "ration book" days: a coupon for so much sugar, two coupons for so much coal, two coupons for so many eggs and so on. 
Nevertheless, the Wilson family always ate well at Christmas. My mother had a chicken house at the end of the garden and also tended a lame duck called Matilda. This duck had been rescued from the mouth of a weasel by a local farmer and given to my mother to nurse back to health. Matilda did not realize that she would be headed for the oven at Christmas 1944, along with a couple of her friends from the chicken run. We also had other goods that escaped Emmanuel Shinwell's ration book regime. My aunt  ran a bakery and had raisins, sweet mince and other ingredients that magically appeared from under-the-counter for our special pudding. We ate well, for not only did we have vitals but also Aunt Annie was the best cook in the city.
As for toys the fare was less abundant. My Uncle Harry was an engineer in a munitions factory and managed to turn out a spring loaded submarine and an exploding battle ship for my banner gift that year. Along with two handkerchiefs, three post office savings bonds and a Waddington's jig saw puzzle.
That night I was allowed to stay up until nine-o-clock and as I walked back home with my parents from the bakery, I looked into the starry sky and felt that I was the happiest kid in the world.

Jubilate .

Ian