Younger readers may not know that a wartime Morrison Shelter was a big metal box about 2 or 3 feet tall, designed for people who could not have an Anderson Shelter in their garden. Ours was in our front room and four of us slept in there, my mother, my two brothers and me. My father slept upstairs in my elder brother's room. I asked my mother what daddy would do if the bombs started falling. She replied that, if the siren went off, he would come down and join us in the shelter. That satisfied me. One memorable Christmas I woke up and saw that Father Christmas had left me a beautiful new doll's pram with a lovely new dolly in it. I was so thrilled I jumped up to go and look at them and- BANG- all I saw for the next few seconds were stars. Never jump up in a Morrison Shelter.
The doll's pram was actually a child's push chair, which my father had lovingly converted and the bedding was my mother's handiwork. The top cover was made of a beautiful piece of black and white fur. I loved stroking it. I did not realise some poor bunny must have laid down its life to provide it. I cannot remember which of my dolls came to me that Christmas, arrayed in a shiny dress of my mother's making. It may have been my china doll, Belinda. I was a careful child and Belinda is still with us. My daughter thinks she and her friends are much better then modern plastic dolls, because they feel more lifelike. Not that Sue ever played with dolls- she liked boys' toys and craft things much better.
Happy Christmas everyone and all your furry friends. I'm sure you won't be jumping up in confined spaces. xxxx
CHRISTMAS IN JULY
Cat rescue? What could possibly go wrong?
Christmas Story
