Free Child from Home by John Wright Page B

we had collected during our forest walks. We were lucky, but many families had to do without Christmas trees that year, as all timber was now badly needed for the war effort. We painted Christmas scenes and Kitty pinned them up on the walls and we repeatedly asked her, ‘How many days is it to Christmas?’ We were so excited and impatient for Father Christmas to come.
    When Christmas Eve, which was on a Sunday, arrived at Sutherland Lodge, Mam paid us a short visit, but Dad was not able to get leave from the army and, unseen by us, she left presents with the nursery staff. At bedtime we excitedly climbed the wide, plush-carpeted staircase to our dormitory and hung our woollen socks from the mantlepiece above the fireplace. A small glass of ginger wine and a sugared mince pie were left on the tiled hearth for Father Christmas but, due to an excess of excitement, it took much longer than usual to get to sleep and we tried too hard. Kitty had said, ‘The sooner you go to sleep the quicker the morning will come,’ but to no avail. We had tried to be good in the days leading up to Christmas, as Miss Thorne had told us, ‘Santa Claus brings bags of cinders to children who have been naughty.’
    Eventually – on that night of all nights – he must have crept up on us unnoticed, for when we awoke on that most wonderful day of the year we saw that the glass and plate were empty. Santa Claus had been! What other proof did you need? Kitty rubbed our faces and wiped the remnants of gritty sand from our eyes with a warm, damp flannel and, full of childish glee, we emptied our bulging socks on the coverlets. George and I had a few sweets and nuts, an orange (still available at that time), a bar of milk chocolate and a big, shiny, rosy-red apple. Huddled over our presents, I found that I had a popgun and some brightly painted lead soldiers and George got a colouring book and crayons. Christmas morning’s magic never failed to thrill us.
    The rationing of food hadn’t started yet; therefore Dinner Lady was able to cook us a huge and delicious roast goose for our Christmas dinner and we had slices of it with roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, vegetables, and thick, rich, steaming gravy in the bothy. We sat on tiny, rail-backed chairs at low tables covered with green-checked gingham cloths where we pulled crackers and drank lemonade. The main course was followed by hot, rich plum pudding with lashings of steaming hot custard. But George and I missed our Mam and Dad terribly on this, our first Christmas away from home, even though the staff did their utmost to try to take our minds off it. It never entered our self-centred minds that the nursery assistants, who were also far from home, might also be missing their parents.
    We were too excited to sleep when we were tucked in for our afternoon nap and we were so delighted when Father Christmas came to our tea party. We never suspected that he was actually Lol Bentley, the chauffeur and odd-job man who was the husband of old Spaven’s daughter and lived in the big house across the field. The Christmas tree was now fully decorated. The staff had hung up the little parcels we had made earlier, along with shiny baubles and strings of silver tinsel, and under it were the presents from our parents.
    We were given presents from Santa’s sack and every child was handed a toy or a book. We wore paper hats and played games by the roaring log fire. We gorged ourselves on cheese and biscuits, hot mince pies, cakes, sweets and crisps, and had a slice of the white-iced Christmas cake, until we were near to bursting. We laughed and giggled uncontrollably when Eric burped loudly after drinking too much gassy lemonade. Old Spaven’s grandson and the two teenaged Ward girls who lived at Kelton Banks farmhouse came and joined in with our games and carol singing.
    Our photograph was taken, and I was all eyes when the man ejected the burnt-out flash bulb. We sat on