That first Christmas Day sticks in my memory. We had gone home from the party, carrying 2 sleeping children wrapped in blankets, at about 4 a.m. but we were all up bright and early to see what Santa had brought.
Outside, the world was white and sparkling. After breakfast we had to shovel snow away from the front door as we set off to go to the phone box to ring Nana and Grampa in Blackburn. We didn't have a phone in the house, at the time, and the mobile wouldn't be invented for about another 20 years so we had to use the public box near the local shops. The snow was about 6" deep, not easy for little legs, and poor Joanne fell down outside the phone box and hurt her knee. We all talked to my parents then walked back to make a snowman with the snow we'd shovelled earlier. It was to be the last Christmas Day for a few years when daddy would be there all day. Shift patterns meant he was "in" for the next 3.
That New Year's Eve we threw a party ourselves. It was normal, on the estate (or, as we called it, The Patch), for the hosts to provide the food and the guests to bring the booze. Mike brought more of his home-made elderberry wine and promised the recipe for next Summer.
Grete brought a large bowl of dough, some flour and icing sugar and asked for the loan of a deep pan and some cooking oil. She was going to make a Dutch delicacy, always eaten at New Year, Ollie Bollen. At 11.30 we duly heated the oil, in my kitchen, and dropped balls of the dough in to sizzle. They came out as similar to small, puffed up doughnuts which were rolled in the sugar and eaten hot just after the New Year came in.
Our next door neighbours, Margaret and Dave, moved to the Midlands later that year and were replaced by Martha and Larry Mogck. Martha was from Montana, an attractive girl but a tiny bit dowdy. She had been born and bred on a ranch, had broken her own horse when she was 14, had a brother who had been Sheriff and had only lived with electricity, at home on the ranch, since 1961. Before that it was oil lamps. Larry was from North Dakota, every bit as much of a "hick" as martha (but wouldn't admit it) and short in stature, about which he had a bit of a complex.
It became a regular Friday night date for us to go next door for a pizza and a few Jack Daniels and cokes. For just the 4 of us Martha would make a pepperoni pizza the size of a car tyre and we'd play music and chat.
After a while Larry bought a little red MG sports car and Martha began to take in British fashion - this was the Swingin' 60s of course. She grew her hair long, started wearing make up and her skirts got progressively shorter. When she went home to visit her parents, after about 3 years, her mother walked right past her, at the airport, as she didn't recognise her.
The Mogcks invited us to a 4th July picnic at the USAAF country club, just a bit inland from Whitby. That was when I found out that Americans know how to enjoy themselves and don't skimp on hospitality. We got to know quite a lot of USAAF people and they were all the same, always generous and friendly.
Meanwhile we were also joining in a great many activities in the town...........
Outside, the world was white and sparkling. After breakfast we had to shovel snow away from the front door as we set off to go to the phone box to ring Nana and Grampa in Blackburn. We didn't have a phone in the house, at the time, and the mobile wouldn't be invented for about another 20 years so we had to use the public box near the local shops. The snow was about 6" deep, not easy for little legs, and poor Joanne fell down outside the phone box and hurt her knee. We all talked to my parents then walked back to make a snowman with the snow we'd shovelled earlier. It was to be the last Christmas Day for a few years when daddy would be there all day. Shift patterns meant he was "in" for the next 3.
That New Year's Eve we threw a party ourselves. It was normal, on the estate (or, as we called it, The Patch), for the hosts to provide the food and the guests to bring the booze. Mike brought more of his home-made elderberry wine and promised the recipe for next Summer.
Grete brought a large bowl of dough, some flour and icing sugar and asked for the loan of a deep pan and some cooking oil. She was going to make a Dutch delicacy, always eaten at New Year, Ollie Bollen. At 11.30 we duly heated the oil, in my kitchen, and dropped balls of the dough in to sizzle. They came out as similar to small, puffed up doughnuts which were rolled in the sugar and eaten hot just after the New Year came in.
Our next door neighbours, Margaret and Dave, moved to the Midlands later that year and were replaced by Martha and Larry Mogck. Martha was from Montana, an attractive girl but a tiny bit dowdy. She had been born and bred on a ranch, had broken her own horse when she was 14, had a brother who had been Sheriff and had only lived with electricity, at home on the ranch, since 1961. Before that it was oil lamps. Larry was from North Dakota, every bit as much of a "hick" as martha (but wouldn't admit it) and short in stature, about which he had a bit of a complex.
It became a regular Friday night date for us to go next door for a pizza and a few Jack Daniels and cokes. For just the 4 of us Martha would make a pepperoni pizza the size of a car tyre and we'd play music and chat.
After a while Larry bought a little red MG sports car and Martha began to take in British fashion - this was the Swingin' 60s of course. She grew her hair long, started wearing make up and her skirts got progressively shorter. When she went home to visit her parents, after about 3 years, her mother walked right past her, at the airport, as she didn't recognise her.
The Mogcks invited us to a 4th July picnic at the USAAF country club, just a bit inland from Whitby. That was when I found out that Americans know how to enjoy themselves and don't skimp on hospitality. We got to know quite a lot of USAAF people and they were all the same, always generous and friendly.
Meanwhile we were also joining in a great many activities in the town...........