Christmas Writing 9: Hallelujah

 

Hallelujah

December 9, 2024

During her time in the London bomb shelter Dorice had listened to people calming their children, assuring them that Santa would still be coming tonight. There were a variety of suggestions as to how he was going to make his usual run. Some suggested he used radar. Others referred to the magic Santa possessed. Others invented wartime tales of a Santa who dodged the planes and bombs being dropped to make heroic deliveries. One young child provided some insight into his intellect when he asked if Santa could magically find ways to deliver gifts, how come he couldn't find a way to end the war? This one had some parents perplexed while others covered their children’s ears and asked if nothing was sacred anymore? Dorice chuckled inwardly. Their outrage was lost on the voices in the shelter. They could hear the distant rumble of the bombs if they listened carefully. Over in the corner a small group assembled to sing some Christmas songs. Even off key and without suitable accompaniment the songs filled their hearts with hope.

The bomb runs had ended for the night as she picked her way through the rubble, avoiding the craters that infected the street. As she turned the corner she sighed with relief that her cottage had been spared. She opened the door and hurried to the radio, turning it on. She then proceeded to the kitchen to make herself a hot chocolate and pick up a couple of her favourite cookies. 

As she returned to her chair the radio was delivering some of her favourite tunes. Dorice turned up the sound as loud as she dared so she could hear the voices clearly. For quite a while, she had been stirred by the hymns and old Christmas songs. They seemed to be felt right down to her bones when they were sung in the shelter and at the Church. Lately though she preferred some of the newest Christmas songs, like White Christmas, that new Judy Garland song Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas or that haunting new song I’ll Be Home For Christmas. It left her with a feeling of nostalgia, longing for the days when her parents and siblings would gather and make the most fun possible on Christmas Eve. Now that was impossible.

With the war raging all around them they were limited in their celebrations. Food was scarce. With companies focusing on the war effort, there was little in the way of supplies for Christmas gifts. Many people had taken to making their own. It afforded them something to do and they saved money for other items they might need to repair their homes or keep themselves warm in the winter. One had to support the war effort. Losing was not an option.

There were few pleasures in life these days as concern about the war was a daily occurance in her life. She made sure to wrap herself tightly in her blanket knowing that the announcers on the radio would take her places she could only dream of visiting. Their voices gave her comfort from the chilly wind. As she looked around she wondered what could be added to the fire to keep her warm tonight. 

After the King had given his stirring Christmas speech and Winston Churchill had spoken eloquently, she listened to the Christmas sermon from Winchester Cathedral. With her eyes drooping, she felt her mind slipping away as the words Hallelujah were repeated, filling her with a warmth from a summer's day. Her mind drifted into a peaceful sleep. Tomorrow she would deal with whatever came her way but for today, she was satisfied with how things had gone.