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PAGE 14. THE CITIZEN, MONDAY, DECEMBER 23, 1985.
BY DOROTHY L. THORNTON
I do not recall, during the bleak
years of the depression and hungry
30's, as I approached my teens, any
feelings of being deprived or
depressed.
Growing up on a farm in the rich
agriculture area of south-western
Ontario, had many advantages.
We always had plenty of plain food,
grown on our farm; an abundance
of firewood to keep us warm, from
our own wood lot; and an endless
supply of imagination and self-
made fun and games that made
each day an interesting experi-
ence.
However, I soon became aware
that not all Canada nor the world
was this fortunate. We heard about
continued crop failures in the
western provinces. This plight,
plus low prices brought forth
shocking stories of starving fami-
lies who were in dire need. Ontario
communities responded with rail-
way cars loaded with food and used
clothing, shipped to the western
stations in long, special trains.
During many chilly autumn
evening by the warm fireside in our
kitchen, we listened to a neighbour
who had given up and returned
from the prairies to live with his
family who lived beside us. He told
us about the struggles families had
to survive and how they tried to
outwit the plagues and cruel
western elements and weather,
only to fail.
On an evening in early Decem-
ber as we all sat talking our friend
said, "It will be Christmas before
we know it and I'm wondering
about the Mucalysk family. they
were my nearest neighbours -- lost
their old home by fire and were
living in two converted granaries
when I left last summer."
As the wind howled outside and I
sat beside the warm fire, doing my
homework, Ifelt a deep pang of pity
for this unknown family. Iasked
how many children there were,
their names and ages and hoped
that perhaps we found some gifts to
send to them.
That Saturday, we got a box and
began looking. There was at least
one warm item of clothing in good
condition, outgrown by my broth-
ers and my sister and myself that
would fit each of the eight
Mucalysk children. But we wanted
to give more -- a book, a game, a
string of beads, a new jack-knife. I
knew the kind of gifts we.liked to
get on Christmas morning and
these children could be no diffe-
rent.
Money was scarce and a problem
to come by. We remembered that
Mother had left 12 scrawny
roosters in the box stall in the
stable after picking the others and
dressing them for market, earlier.
She said we could have them,
divided among us to do our
Christmas, shopping. The money
from those 12 roosters seemed to
be the answer to our problem.
The next Saturday afternoon we
planned to drive to our local town to
do our Christmas shopping. My
brothers crated the roosters and we
hitched old Billy to the cutter for
our two-and-a-half-mile trip to the
local Farm Co-op. The five of us
and the crate of roosters made a
heavy load but old Billy trotted
along the well-worn snowy road as
f he too was anxious to do his bit for
The Citizen sponsored a contest for
the best story of "My favourite
Christmas" for this special Christ-
mas issue. The story judged for
first prize is written by Dorothy L.
Thornton of R.R. 1, Bluevale.
Second prize goes to Nicolene
Thompson Aitken of R.R. 3,
Wingham. A very close third is the
story by Evalena Webster of Biyth.
An honourable mention goes to
Heather Thompson of Grey Cent-
ral Public School. [This story is
printed on page 27.]
Christmas and the Mucalysk fam-
ily.
We delivered our load to the
Co-op and then drove to the church
shed, where Billy was warmly
covered with the robe and secretly
tied beside another farm horse and
cutter. I returned to get the results
of the chicken grading and the
money. Mother had warned us that
they were of a poor quality and we
wouldn't need to expect much.
However, the boys had taken pity
on the birds and had fed them
generous troughs full of chop and
warm separator milk twice daily,
.,along with some household scraps.
They had responded very well to
their extra care.
To my great surprise, they had
graded A, weighed well and as if
"our cup hadn't runneth over
enough", the price had gone up.
Prices just never rose during the
depression but they had this time.
We were wealthy.
Outside the office we held a
family conference, as I divided the
money and we decided which
members of the Mucalysk
each of us would be responsible
for. We had decided that each child
should have something warm to
wear (we already had contributed
that much), something educational
and something that was pure fun.
Two hours later we met at the
shed laden with gifts. It had been
one of our happiest shopping
expeditions. We seemed to have
purchased the kind of presents we
liked ourselves for my two younger
brothers had several little models
of cars and tractors while my little
sister had a doll in a miniature bed.
As the shadows of the early
winter evening fell across the
snow, Billy arrived home with five
happychildren, a cutter full of gifts
and an empty chicken crate.
After supper, we finished pack-
ing our box for Saskatchewan. The
boys had a good play first with the
toys and my sister lovingly tucked
blankets around the doll.
Monday, my Father took the box
to the station to be shipped. We
had been reminded to enclose a
stamped and addressed envelope
so they could reply.
Following Christmas, winter
passed along with the usual fun of
skating on the creek and sleigh
riding down the gravel pit hill. We
had forgotten about Christmas and
the parcel we had sent. Bringing in
the mail, on my way home from
school one day, I noticed my own
handwriting oil an envelope and
then I remembered the parcel we
had sent the Mucalysk family.
It had been a struggle with the
English language but Mrs. Mucal-
ysk gave us her warmest thanks as
she told her story.
The day before Christmas in
Saskatchewan had been extremely
cold and blustery. The smaller
children talked about Santa Claus.
Mrs. Mucalysk knew there would
not be presents, not even enough to
eat, but how do you explain to little
children that Santa will notibe able
to find them this year.
After the evening meal, she and
her husband had discussed their
problem and he had decided to
carry a sack of grain to the store
that evening and exchange it for
some food. All store keepers took
grain or any farm produce in
exchange for their goods during
these hungry years. It was the only
form of currency most farmers had.
After a long, cold walk, Mr.
Mucalysk dropped his sack on the
scales. As in most small villages,
the local post office was also
housed in the general store.
Looking up, the proprietor said,
"Glad you got in to-night, Lars,
there's a box here for you from
Ontario, likely for Christmas."
Lars looked surprised, "Don't
know nobody in Ontario", he
answered.
A miraculous Christmas morn-
ing, 1932, in Saskatchewan arrived
and with it a complete renewal of
faith in God, in Canada, the
Mucalysk's adopted homeland,
and the dawn of a new lease on life
for the Mucalysk family. Surely
God was in His Heaven and all was
right in this depressed world. We
five children from Ontario had just
learned an age-old lesson, it is
more blessed to give, even when
you have very little to share.
My favourite Christmas
k
Let voices join in
joyous song
exulting in the
glory of this festive
season and all it
holds dear
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