It was mid December in the mid-1960s, and my brothers and I were on our way home from a rehearsal for the annual Christmas concert when we noticed a glow in the western sky. It didn’t appear to be far away, so we continued down the road to check it out.
It wasn’t long until we knew the cause of the glow. Our neighbours’ house was engulfed in flames. We joined the long row of vehicles parked along the edge of the road, where I stayed in the truck while my brothers went to see if their help was needed.
The voluntary fire crew was already there. We had arrived in time to see the last wall go down. But nobody at the scene knew if husband, wife, or any of their eight children had been at home. It was a silent but devastating thought to my young adolescent mind, that three kids with whom I had ridden home from school on the bus that afternoon had lost everything and may not even be alive.
The following day the news came through that the family had been visiting relatives and were all safe. They would temporarily be staying with extended family. The fire was deemed to have started at the Christmas tree, presumably from lights left on, and all the gifts had been destroyed with the house.
Our small community sprang into action with arrangements for donations to this family who had nothing. My grandmother, who lived with us, spent hours remaking unused fabric into useful household items. She also made a rag doll, thinking that one of the children may enjoy it.
When school resumed after the Christmas break, the neighbours were in their “new” home, that being an old house they were able to move to their farmyard. The kids were back on the school bus.
One morning while I was riding along to school, I noticed one of the girls showing off her doll. She had become so endeared to it she would not leave it at home. To my amazement, it was the rag doll that Grandma had made! I was sure the child could sense that the doll had been made with love, the unconditional kind of love she needed at that time.
I have no recollection of what gifts were under our Christmas tree that year. But the lesson quietly displayed in an act of kindness is forever etched in my memory.
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