I was listening to Gib Forrester on C.J.O.B. talking about Christmas from the past. My mind started to wander back to my own childhood. It was a wondrous simple time, at least to a kid. Certainly, there were wars raging all over the globe. The future was very much in doubt. But to us kids, it was Christmas. A time of hope, peace and wonderment.

The tree was always put up the day before Christmas. It was always a real tree. As far back as I can remember, it was always brought to our home by family friends Paul and Bill Taraschuk. They owned a farm at Silver, Manitoba. For reasons unknown to this day, it was always a “Charlie Brown” tree. Mother would turn that tree until your head was going to spin off into space trying to find the tree’s good side. To get another tree was unthinkable. Mother always said trees are like people. They have a good side. Sometimes it takes just a little time to find it.

Then came the precious decorations. They had been secreted away in the attic from last Christmas. The tinsel was still there. As was the glass candy cane candles and Santa. One string of lights which had been given to my parents during the depression miraculously worked. One or two homemade cardboard stars covered in silver paper recycled from a cigarette package completed the ornaments. The stars were coveted as they were made by fishermen for our tree at Albert’s Point on Lake Winnipeg some Christmas from the past.

Christmas Eve day came and we all went to school, then home to a sumptuous supper. We dressed in our Sunday Best and went with the other kids to the Lutheran Church. The bells could be heard all over town. They were being rung with gusto by the Stevens and Thompson boys. We sat more or less still while the choir sang. The Minister offered the blessing, after which we all received a small paper bag. It contained a cookie, some hard candy and a Japanese orange. Now this was war time. How did they manage to get an orange for every kid attending? It remains one of life’s mysteries.

On the half mile walk home we listened for sleigh bells in the snow. After all this was rural Canada. Horses and sleighs, even dog teams were a common everyday occurrence. Mostly we were secretly hoping that fishing had been good. Would the toy we had picked out of the Eaton’s catalogue back in the summer be under the tree? Most kids received one toy. We were lucky to have grandparents who owned a clothing store. We always received clothes at Christmas. But what counted most, was would that coveted steel truck be there under the sparse tree?

On our arrival home, Mother and Dad had milk and cookies. As we madly tore off our parkas, we noticed the presents. My Buddy-L truck was there. The rest of the evening was a blur. I was a truck driver building the Alaska highway single-handedly. Those were the days of Christmas past I love.

Ken Kristjanson
December 2011