CHRISTMAS STORY # 1

Remembrance Day is past now, but the wreaths still hang proudly at the Cenotaphs all over the Island, and indeed the country.

Since there are 6 Wednesdays now until Christmas, I've decided to shorten my Blog, but add one of my Christmas stories. Some I wrote while Momma was still alive, and some are more recent. Most of you will recognize some from having read them in the Guardian or Graphic when they were first published, but please indulge me. I'm weak.....

The picture of the rustic Old World Santa you see here is the latest in my collection, and he was personally escorted from the Sierra Madre Mountains in Mexico by one of my cousins. This work of art was found in an open air market where the Artisans proudly display their work for purchase and as soon as Harold saw this, he thought of me, and was gracious enough to take it North to his new home. Santa, that is. Not Harold, he already lives here. The Santa is hand carved from found wood, and this piece looks like a piece of petrified wood, very heavy and dense for its's size.

On the back is hand written "Pino de Sierra Madres" 2022, and it is a real treasure for me, both from an artistic point of view, and for the heart felt year round good wishes that such a gift brings. My heart is full as I prepare to display my beautiful Santa collection, and place this newest Santa among the others.

This first in my Christmas stories is called "Jack." Since it is about a fictional soldier in a made up story, it seems appropriate at this time of year to offer it first, right after celebrating Armistice. I hope you will enjoy it.

"JACK"

Christmas in the foxhole. It was their worst fear. Surely a letter would soon come, giving the family some hope that their young soldier would be on his way home. It was late in 1944, and the world was watching Europe, praying for peace to arrive. If a family was lucky, they owned a radio, and every evening, after the chores were finished for the day, they would sit listening for news of the war. Somehow, for some reason, it made them feel as if their sons and brothers were closer to home, if only for a while. In the broad light of day, they were a million miles apart. Letters were few and far between. The war effort was relentless, rationing went on, and people were becoming tired. Tired of doing without, tired of feeling the fear that their son might not be returning. Tired of the constant hopelessness.

In church on Sunday, the number of those missing was already apparent. Mothers and fathers doggedly went on, while the Priests and Ministers prayed for those boys lost, missing in action. Some had already returned, never to be the same again. At the ripe old age of sixteen or seventeen, the farm boys who had been so eager to fight, came back with their childhood missing.

And now it was Christmas. For one family, hope would not die. The mother was firm in her belief that her young son, her only son, would return safe and sound. Perhaps not for Christmas, but soon. That would be good enough, for she prayed that her bargaining with God would soon be heard.

Two weeks before Christmas, her husband, John, went out to check the old wooden mailbox at the end of their gate. It was a bitter, cold morning, with frost glistening on the crooked old rails that served as a fence. Yes, the mailman had arrived, but what was this? A letter! A letter from Jack! He could hardly run back to the house fast enough.

"Maggie, come quickl We got a letter from Jack! Oh, my God, I've got to sit down. My hands are shaking so bad, I can't open it. Here."

With that, Maggie's own trembling hands reached over to gently take the precious paper from her husband.

"Oh, John. Thank God! Thank God! A letter. Bad news doesn't come to the mailbox. They send that directly to your door. This must be good. Oh, I'm so nervous, it's been twelve weeks since the last one, remember?"

During her chatter, Maggie had ever so carefully opened the envelope, and removed the priceless sheets, as if her careful handling of them would somehow ensure her son's safe return.

With a trembling voice, she began. "Dear Mom and Dad, I hope this letter finds you both well. By the time it reaches you, I guess Christmas will be pretty close. Boy, I'd give anything, Mom, for a piece of your fruitcake. But I guess I won't get any leave for a while, the fighting is awful heavy, and no leaves have been granted. We had a cease-fire the other night, Dad. You'd hardly believe it. It was so clear that night you could read by the light of the moon. We were close to enemy lines when we got word of a cease-fire and you know what? The enemy is human too. When the smoke cleared, we could see their bunkers as clear as anything. They stood up, and some of our guys stood up, and before we knew it, we had crossed the battlefield. Only their commanding officer could speak a bit of English, but we understood the bottle of wine they offered us. In the middle of this war, on the very battlefield, we shared some chocolate and cigarettes we had, and they gave our unit all their wine. It was so unreal, Mom and Dad, I can hardly explain it. What is this war all about? We were all friends for as long as the cease-fire lasted, but I guess it didn't work. We got our orders to pick up our guns and get back to work. So we went back to our side, they went back to theirs, and we started all over again. It sickens me to think of the killing, now that the enemy has a face. They have families too, sisters and brothers and grandparents, same as I do. I just don't get it. "Winter is setting in, and the weather here is cold. We don't notice it much anymore, but sitting in front of that old wood stove sure would feel good, Dad. I hope you hired someone to help in the woods, because you shouldn't be trying to do that all by yourself anymore. God willing, I'll be home next year to do it. "How is Grampie Joe? Be sure to tell him I said Hello and take care. The light will be gone soon, so I'd better finish now. I love you both, and will write again when I can. Your son, Jack."

She pressed the letter to her chest, with tears streaming down her face. She looked at her husband, and he sat with his hands over his eyes, his cheeks wet with tears. "Oh, Maggie, when will it be over? I just want him home. Safe at home. All he's worried about is the folks here, you and I, his grandfather. He was always that kind of boy. No mention of how scared he must be. And cold and lonely and hungry. It must be awful." Maggie was silently re-reading the letter, soaking in every loop of Jack's hand-writing. For now it was all she had.

A few days later, John and Maggie were having tea and biscuits for breakfast. It was a dark, bleak morning, the kind that makes you think the sun will never shine. The little copper kettle whistled on the woodstove, and John got up to add a little more tea to his cup. "Well, girl, I guess we should think about a tree. What do you want me to do? I can go out to the back lot, we found some nice ones there this summer." "It doesn't matter to me, John. I guess we might as well put one up. Might as well keep on as normal as possible. I just miss Jack so much. I'm so scared. All I want for Christmas is for Jack to walk through that door. That's all." John didn't answer right away. What was there to say that hundreds of families all over the world weren't saying? The boys coming home safe was all that anyone thought of, on both sides of the conflict. "I'm done of my tea, Maggie. I think I'll go check on the mail, then I'll help you with the dishes before I take in some wood." John slipped his warm coat on over his bent old frame, and closed the door behind himself. He knew Maggie was lost in thought at the end of the kitchen table. How he wished he could do something, but war wasn't an old man's game. Back in the kitchen, the door burst in on Maggie's thoughts. She looked up in surprise, to see John's dear face lighting up with a smile. "Maggie, another letter. From Jack! Open it quick, for God's sake, I'm too excited." She was speechless. After going so long without any news from Jack, and now two letters so close together. This was going to make Christmas for her.

"Dear Mom and Dad,

"A quick letter, because I don't have too much time. As you can see by the date on this note, our letters to home aren't too regular, but passage is so unreliable right now. I only hope you get this in time. It looks like I am going to get two weeks' leave, to start immediately. I leave tonight. The excitement here in camp is indescribable. The whole company leaves tonight on board a plane bound for Canada. If all goes well we will arrive on December 23, then board another flight for PEl on Christmas Eve. What perfect timing, eh Mom? I sure hope you saved some meat pie for me, and some of your fruitcake. I can taste it now.

"Dad, the flight they have booked for us is flight 431 to arrive at 2:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve. Do you think the old truck will make it to town to pick me up? If I don't see you there, don't worry, I'll hitch a ride. I can't wait to see you both. Two weeks gives me plenty of time to get some work done around the place for you, and Grampie's, too. I know he misses Nanny, especially around Christmas.

"I'll close for now, and see you soon.

"All my love, Jack."

Maggie pressed the letter to her chest, too emotional to even cry. Her prayers, and other mothers' prayers too, were about to be answered. Jack would be coming home! Two whole weeksl

She didn't care if it was only two hours, she would be able to hold her son in her arms. It was enough.

John sat at the end of the table, his glasses off, with tears streaming down his weathered old cheeks. His Jack. Finally. If only he could stay, but maybe something would happen while he was on leave so that he wouldn't have to return. That would be a miracle. He and Maggie just sat and looked at each other for a while. They were so happy. No words were needed to express it.

It was already the twenty-third of December. It was like God answered a prayer, the timing was so perfect. All they could think of was that Jack was already in the sky somewhere over the Atlantic, on his way to Canada. Poor Maggie never stopped until that humble little house was shining! Jack's room was freshened up, with a new quilt that she'd been working on placed carefully on the bed. The windows were sparkling, the old woodstove gleaming, the floors all scrubbed. She was tired, but so happy. And John! Well, if he could whistle, he would have. He followed Maggie around, trying to help. But he finally went out to work on the old truck. He was darned if someone else was to take his son home. He would be at the airport hours early, to watch the plane land with his boy on board. Only a few more hours.

That evening, Maggie and John were glowing with happiness. As she set the table, he put more water in the kettle, and another stick in the stove. They could hardly sit still.

"John, I still can't believe it. All I asked for was that Jack walk in the door for Christmas.

Now he'll be here in time for Midnight Mass! There'll be no sleep tonight, do you think? And don't you dare cut any more of that fruitcake. That's for Jack. Turn the radio up a bit would you? I want to hear what the weather will be for tomorrow."

John did so, then sat back down to finish his cup of tea. And that's when the radio crackled a bit, and an unfamiliar voice interrupted the program.

"We interrupt at this time to bring you up to date on an earlier report of a plane crash over the Atlantic. It has been confirmed that a flight from Europe bound for Canada, with approximately eighty soldiers on board has gone down. We repeat, it has gone down. No other details are available at this time .........."

John's teacup hit the floor with a crash that startled them both. There must be some mistake. Surely it wasn't Jack's plane. His mind spun around until he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Maggie! No. It can't be. Not Jack's plane. Who can we call? How do we find out if......" She couldn't answer. She didn't even hear him. Her mind went numb.

If ever there was a time for God to strike her dead, this was it. After all this. Jack serving so much time in active duty overseas, just a boy, to die on his way home. It was unthinkable, impossible. And John. His heart would never stand it. Jack was their only child, their pride and joy. How would they ever deal with it? Her heart cried out in agony over the injustice of it all. Why Jack? Why not me?

As always, in good times and bad, it seemed the first thing to do was stoke up the old stove and boil the kettle for tea. With all the turmoil, it gave them something to do with their hands so that they could gather their thoughts.

"Well, if it's true, Maggie, I suppose I'd better go over to your father's place before he hears it on the radio, if he hasn't already. I don't know how I'll tell him; he loved Jack as much as we did." And with his voice breaking, he sat down in the old rocker and covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

Maggie got up from the table, and put her arms around him.

"John, it's so unfair. I know just what Dad is going to say, the same things we have. All those young men, what suffering they would have went through knowing their plane was going down. After all that fighting in Europe. What kind of sense is there in that? Did Jack suffer? Did he cry out? Oh, John, all I wanted was Jack home for Christmas. Now we have to make arrangements to...."

She couldn't finish her thought. There was such pain in her chest that she thought her heart was surely breaking. There would be no Christmas here, or ever again. Without Jack, there was no Christmas. Maggie was beginning to doubt there was even a God. If there was, how could he be so cruel? Eighty of the finest young men in the country. All dead. And for what? For catching a plane to try to be home with their folks for Christmas.

She couldn't deal with any more. John was already on his way out the door on his way to tell Jack's Grampie the sad news. As he went out she said, "John, I'll be in bed when you get back. When this hits the community tomorrow, everyone will be wanting to stop by. We'll have to see the Priest about the arrangements, and I imagine the papers will be full of the news. It'll be a circus. I just want to lie down. Every time I close my eyes, I see Jack, so handsome in his uniform. I guess we'll get to see it on him one last time."

By now she was crying so hard, John came back in. He wrapped his arms around her, and together they stood in the doorway, alone in their sorrow.

Somehow, they both became aware of a movement at the edge of the old crooked fence.

John peered out and said "Probably some neighbours heard already, and are stopping by. I've got to get over to your Dad's."

On his way over the threshold of the door, cold, fresh night air flooded into the little kitchen. Maggie stepped up to see which neighbour it was, and suddenly both she and John froze. A tall figure stood at the gate, his hand on the post. His stance looked so familiar, her heart nearly stopped. If she didn't know better, she could swear it was Jack. Her grief was so great, she was imagining him. But wait. Why wasn't John moving?

As the figure stepped into the light of the kitchen window, her hands flew to her face. "Jack? Jack, is that you?"

"Oh, Mom! Dad! There was no other way to tell you. I couldn't wait any longer, I had to get home. I was hoping to get here before the news hit the radio, but it couldn't be helped. You're not seeing a ghost, Mom, I'm really here! Let's get inside before you both catch your death."

"But how? What happened? I don't believe this. Is this all some kind of a dream? Are you really home?" Both John and Maggie were bewildered at this turn of events.

"I don't know what you heard on the news, I only assume you heard that a plane went down. And yes, a plane went down alright. But not mine. Somewhere over the Atlantic early this morning, an aircraft loaded with soldiers got into difficulty. She called a Mayday and ditched. Thank God a merchant Marine convoy was in the area and answered. She was able to pick up the guys who parachuted and the rest were able to get to the lifeboats. Everyone was saved, but what a lot of turmoil until it all gets straightened out. There's been no time to get in contact with anyone, and I can only imagine what you must have been thinking. But my company was dispatched on a different flight, arrived at a different time, and Dad, I hitched a ride home rather than try to reach you. It was the best way. And Mom, you can let go of my hands now, I'm not going to disappear."

Her smooth cheeks were wet with tears again, happy ones this time. Her boy was home! Home in time for Christmas. This was even more than she had asked. After the events of the last few hours, she wasn't sure if she should thank God, or be cross with Him. But she wasn't imagining it. Jack was here!

"John, fire up the stove. Fill the kettle, and I'm going to slice up a bit of fruitcake for our boy. He sure deserves it after this episode! Oh, I can't wait to hear all about your travels, and about your friends. In a few more hours it will be Christmas Eve and we never had a better reason to stay up all night."

"Would you believe I even had room in my bag to bring you each back a Christmas gift?

"Dad, I brought you a pouch of pipe tobacco from France, and Mom, I hope you like this. I was walking around a village in Holland and as soon as I saw it, I thought of you." He held up a fine gold chain with a tiny cross on it. Maggie reached over to take it, and her eyes met John's. Jack always put everyone else first.

"It's beautiful, Jack. It comes at a good time, too, because I was pretty well ready to give up on God tonight. But I guess He knows best, and I'm just so happy to have you home. I think that tea is about ready, let's sit down. As far as I'm concerned, Christmas has just arrived."

And with that, the happy little family sat down at the table in their humble home, where the woodstove crackled merrily, the snow fell softly outside the window, and Maggie sent up a silent prayer of thanks in the early dawn light of Christmas, 1944.