Londonderry News

November, 1945. There was a knock on the door and I, closest to the front hall answered the call. My heart dropped, I had the sudden urge to urinate and my tummy fizzed with fear.

Standing before me were two men dressed in blue uniforms. They asked to speak to the lady of the house. Fearful that something bad had happened, I could only nod my reply.

Sounds of my mother’s footsteps echoed in my ears as she strode to my side. The baby she held in her arms was fussing and the atmosphere was thick with tension. I began to cry as the only thing I remembered about men in uniform is that one was to be feared if one was not an abiding citizen.

Fearful thoughts and a zillion questions filled my head.

What bad thing could Mama have possibly done? When would she have had the chance to leave the house for any kind of misdeed?

About the only time I saw mama out of the house was on Sunday mornings when we all attended services. Relatives and friends always came to our house to visit because it was easier for them to go about without a dozen children following behind them.

As the uniformed men spoke, mama began to cry. She did not make a sound but big fat tears ran down her face as she shushed the babe in her arms. My tears grew more intense and a bout of hiccupping followed.

Mama rubbed the top of my head and told me it was okay. Then she instructed me to go to the dining room and to clear the table that was covered with a sewing pattern.

My tears dried upon my cheeks as I folded the pattern and turned in time to see the two uniformed men wave to some one on the other side of the door. Mom stepped back and waited as the men left the hall.

I swallowed with relief when I saw them leave. Mama was not going to be going to jail. She was not in trouble. My heart pumped with joy and the fizzing in my stomach disappeared as if by magic. There was a song signing in my soul as I watched the men re-enter our home.

In their arms they carried large baskets filled with food. The first held a big turkey surrounded with fresh stalks of celery, bunches of carrots and bags of potatoes.

The second basket was filled with fresh fruit; oranges, tangerines, grapes and a red fruit that was unfamiliar to me. I came to know the tangy taste of the pomegranate and the sweet taste of love.

A taste of love from the people who will drop a coin into the black kettles carried by the salvation Army people. I learned that a man in uniform is not to be feared but respected for what they do for the people in their town.

I learned that many people, through hard times and good times have love flowing from their heart for their neighbors. They are lessons that are passed from generation to generations.

That is what Thanksgiving means to me; a day to be thankful for what we have and not to complain about what we do not have.
Lorraine

The Salvation Army, an international movement, is an evangelical part of the universal Christian Church. Its message is based on the Bible. Its ministry is motivated by the love of God. Its mission is to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ and to meet human needs in His name without discrimination.

Image Courtesy The Salvation Army, visit the website HERE.