Christmas Eve will find me
where the love-light gleams.
I’ll be home for Christmas,
if only in my dreams.
KIM GANNON & WALTER KENT, 1943
This Christmas, as you read these pages, it is likely that you will be surrounded by those dearest to you—with fathers, brothers, sons, and nephews close by. Take them not for granted, for merely two generations ago, Christmas marked a trying time for most families—a time of sacrifice and endurance—a time when many faces were missing. These were the Christmases of World War II, and this chapter is about those years.
President Roosevelt declared war shortly before Christmas 1941 with the following words: “Yesterday, December 7, 1941—a date which will live in infamy—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the empire of Japan.”
The President’s words changed the lives of millions over the next several years, dividing families. A complete upheaval of American society followed the announcement.
The United States participated in the worldwide conflict from 1941 until 1945. It was a war that ultimately claimed the lives of over 54 million persons—an incomprehensible number. Many soldiers were unable to spend a single Christmas with their loved ones during the whole of this period.
Six million Americans volunteered to serve in World War II and enlisted on their own, accepting Uncle Sam’s urging: “I want you!”
Ten million more were inducted into service through the draft. Draftees included single men and married men—and fathers. Men between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-six were initially required to register, but as the military ranks grew thin, the breadth of the draft registration spanned men from eighteen years of age all the way up to sixty-five. Young fellows who unwrapped baseball bats and Monopoly games underneath Christmas trees only a single year prior were now considered “men” and ordered into neat, buttoned-down uniforms, boarding outbound trains and buses destined for faraway battlefields.
The holiday season of 1941 came before most were forced to ship out to fight, so there was still time for one more “almost normal Christmas” before the difficult years began. The memory of peaceful holidays helped carry soldiers through the less-than-comfortable Christmases that soon transpired—celebrations that were not red and green, but rather red, white, and blue. The Christmases of World War II were more about duty, honor, country, and sacrifice than they were about wrapping paper, evergreen trees, and the North Pole.
Empty trains pulled into towns, and loved ones said their emotional goodbyes at depot stations. Fathers gave sons parting handshakes. Lovers embraced in a final kiss. Teary-eyed mothers hugged boys they had given life to. Those same trains, filled with as many able-bodied men as they could hold, rolled out, leaving behind only a dissipating cloud of steam, hovering over bare tracks. Whistles sounded in the distance, as if to echo a last farewell to those still standing at the edge of the platform, gazing out.
These scenes were only the beginning of what families—and an entire nation—endured. Mothers wished their sons would come home safely almost immediately after they departed. Family members on the homefront listened intently and nervously to every detailed report of the conflict transmitted over radio broadcasts as they paced back and forth. President Roosevelt attempted to ease fears with regular broadcasts to the public. His “fireside chats” began with the words “My fellow Americans” or “Good evening, friends,” and his calm, confident voice proved to be a steady pulse for the nation. (President and Mrs. Roosevelt knew, first hand, the pain of being separated from loved ones. Four of their own sons served in World War II.)
Maps of Europe were hung on kitchen walls by mothers and fathers, and attempts were made to locate distant places, far from home—locations they couldn’t even pronounce. It was a way to keep abreast of battles as the latest news from the frontlines became available. Family members desperately tried to grasp the geography a son, father, or brother trekked.
Flags were hung in front windows of homes, displaying blue stars. Each star represented one family member serving his or her country. If a blue star was replaced by a gold star, it meant that your loved one had perished.
World War II became expensive quickly and brought lean years for those on the homefront. An unprecedented shortage of food and supplies made it necessary for the U.S. government to impose rations. Shortages during the war included coffee, butter, cheese, meat, shortening, canned goods, and sugar. Families planted “victory” gardens—twenty million of them!—to help supplement the food supply. Other shortages included fabric, clothes, and shoes, as well as coal, rubber, plastic, and heating oil. These were some of the products in desperate need, not only for soldiers fighting in foreign trenches, but for factories building war supplies, as well. The manufacturing of many consumer luxuries, such as new automobiles, came to a halt, their assembly lines diverted to the production of trucks, planes, tanks, and bombs.
“Fill ‘er up” became a phrase of memory, as fuel rations left every gas tank shallow. Most people walked everywhere they could, or rode their bike.
With set rations, Americans were forced to adjust their habits. They ate less (or more) of certain foods. Rationed food was eaten more slowly so it would last longer. Americans drove less, and even drove more slowly. With only four gallons of gasoline allotted to each individual per week, the national speed limit was reduced to forty miles per hour to preserve the precious fuel further. (The gas ration was later lowered to three gallons. Christmas visits were cancelled if the trip required more than that.)
Ladies did not wear nylons to Christmas parties during World War II because pantyhose and silk stockings were also in short supply. (These items were collected and sewn into parachutes and gun powder bags.)
Milkweed pods were collected from fields and ditches so the fluffy white seeds inside could be used to stuff life preservers.
Metal was in such short supply that the production of new appliances was halted. (The production of new homes was also halted.) Empty cans and scrap metal were collected at recycling drives. Paper, lumber, and steel were also collected.
Production of Lionel trains stopped. (The metal was needed for the war effort.) The U.S. government regulated conveyor lines, restricting the manufacture of many goods, including new bicycles. The government determined “what was needed and who would produce it.” Trains and bicycles were two of many items removed from “Dear Santa” letters during World War II. (The purchase of a new bike required special permission from the rationing board.)
Children weren’t alone in amending their Christmas lists. Soldiers, aching for the comfort of home, wished for “a good meal, a glass of milk, a haircut by a barber, a tiled bathroom with hot and cold water, a bed with springs and clean sheets, a plush-lined trench, a 60-day furlough with their wife and children” and, of course, “an end to the war.”
American soldiers, scattered around the globe, yearned to return to their own beds, under the same roofs as their families. They spent their nights dreaming of “the thoughts, the feelings, the sights, and the smells of home” as they gazed upward at the twilight. Some found comfort in the thought that loved ones back home looked up at the same starry skies. Soldiers closed their eyes and suddenly they weren’t an ocean away from those they cared about, but in their midst, home again, “if only in their dreams.” Christmas reunions were both “real and imagined,” with many of these reunions taking place only in hearts and minds.
Those fighting in tropical locations missed the snow as they marched on during those hot, humid Christmases. Others in northern trenches, with frozen fingers and limbs, missed the warmth of a family-room fireplace.
Although the troops were unable to experience the luxuries of home firsthand, they could gain a bit of satisfaction through long-written descriptions in letters arriving from the States. The postal service proved to be the most important communication device between soldiers and their families during the long and brutally-lonely war years. It was a time before the internet, e-mails, and cellular telephones, making communication difficult and time-consuming. Many unfortunate captives even sent word from behind the barbed-wire gates of P.O.W. camps in an attempt to comfort worried loved ones back home.
Packages and gifts sent overseas for Christmas were the only link between soldiers and their families during the holiday if a furlough had not been granted. Folks back home shipped their gifts plenty early so they would make it to—well, dots on a map most people had never heard of.
Copies of local newspapers were shipped to those stationed in far-off places. Nothing quite told of life back in your neighborhood like hometown headlines and photos taken by local reporters. Though thousands of physical miles distant, a soldier, in his heart and mind, felt as if he were back; and there was no feeling in the world quite like reaching for the doorknob attached to the front door of your home, even if it could only be in a passing thought.
Although a large number of citizens were abroad—both men and women serving as soldiers and nurses—life on the homefront went on. Radios blared with The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet and The Roy Rogers Show. Carolers sang Jingle Bells. Bing Crosby recorded White Christmas. Gifts were purchased and wrapped—even though there was a paper shortage. (Bottles of perfume were wrapped in hankies, and kitchen items were wrapped in embroidered towels. Gift-givers were creative in their packaging choices.)
At times, Christmas took a toll, requiring great effort to force a happy holiday, which was evident in the music and print media of the time, like Bing Crosby’s recording, I’ll Be Home for Christmas. Families gathered around tables to celebrate, although empty chairs were quiet reminders of missing faces. It was a sacrifice of separation.
Families, although thinner than usual, met and celebrated as best as they could, with children and stockings and toys and cookies. The magic was not lost, just temporarily displaced.
Besides a lack of goods, there happened another obvious shortage—a shortage of men. As the male population was deployed and shipped off to serve on battlefields, factories began to fill their assembly lines with women. Ladies, laboring tirelessly, took on roles in production previously reserved only for the masculine members of society. “We’re all in this together” was a common phrase of World War II. Efforts were united for victory—whether those efforts were on the frontlines or in a non-combative way. The “army back home” served in manufacturing plants and on ration boards. These “soldiers without uniforms” included kids collecting metal scraps and people buying war bonds with every coin they could spare. (The war was largely financed by members of society, both adults and children, who voluntarily gave the government their money in exchange for a war bond—a promise made by the government to pay the money back with interest. Many employees deducted a ten-percent dollar amount every week from their paycheck for a war bond purchase. The program was a remarkably successful means of raising capital for war efforts.)
With a lack of men, women needed to adjust to running a household alone, which popularized such books as So, Your Husband’s Gone to War and The Navy Wife. The simple act of waiting—enduring unending days of unmatched loneliness—was considered a feat of individual courage. Suffering went beyond the battlefield—it was personal, as well.
Female Santas appeared in department stores, although they received considerable resistance at first. Many people felt it was taking the gender replacement practice a bit too far.
Christmases abroad were certainly nothing compared to the longed-for celebrations back home. Some soldiers were more fortunate than others in their holiday experiences, dining on special mess-hall meals on Christmas Eve and singing carols by candlelight. Others made due with what they had, eating the same monotonous meal they had eaten the day prior, the same meal they would eat the next day. Military personnel huddled together closely in foxholes and inhospitable trenches dug into the frost-hardened European soil, safe from the whizzing bullets overhead. Fighting knew no holiday.
Soldiers stationed away from frontlines decorated their shelters with makeshift Christmas trees and trimmed them with ornaments cut from flattened tin cans and package-wrappings taken from food rations. Doctors and nurses used rubber gloves as ornaments on their trees in the hope of bringing a little cheer to the dismal scene of wounded men dying in the season of peace.
Back home, loved ones continued to make Christmas wishes that had nothing to do with shopping bags. They wished for the battle to end, and they wished for their sons, brothers, and fathers to remain “safe and sound” and “warm and dry” until that time arrived. Homecomings were longed for—not just for Christmas, but for good.
Eventually, many of these wishes came true, but the nature of war would not allow all of them to. Countless soldiers who served did not return, and the lives of their family members were changed forever.
Those who survived boarded crowded trains so they could arrive home by Christmas where their loved ones were waiting, the same loved ones who had kissed them goodbye years earlier. They were now ready to hug and kiss them hello—not with an “X” or an “O” written at the end of a letter, but for real.
Steam whistles blew, and the most treasured gifts of Christmas 1945 were exchanged on depot platforms.
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