This weeks WoW Sunday comes from a story that was written by my Great-Great-Great-Great Grandma. She was a woman that left the lap of luxury in England to migrate to the United States. There is no date on when this Christmas took place, but she wrote the story later in life.
The recent famine experience had taught me economy, and the little I could procure from the sale of some clothing enabled us to live. I could have made our conditions known and received help, but delicay forbade; so I made the best of the situation, exerting myself unceasingly for the helpless little ones.
Christmas Eve came, and my darlings, with childish faith, hung up their stockings, wondering if Santa Claus would fill them. With aching heart, which I concealed from them, I assured them they would not be forgotten; and they fell asleep with joyful anticipation for the morrow.
Not having a sweetening, I knew not what to do. They must not, however, be disappointed. I then thought of some squashes in the house, which I boiled, then strained off the liquid; that when simmered a few hours, made a sweet syrup. With this and a little spice, I made gingerbread dough, which when cut into every conceivable variety of design and baked in a skillet (I had no stove) filled their stockings and pleased them as much as would the most fancy confectioneries.
I sometimes wonder if the children of today enjoy the costly Christmas presents of toys and rich candies with which they are surfeited any more than my little ones did their gingerbread toys.