anymore. Ration stamps were essential. Those small sheets of colored paper printed with numbered squares became a treasure. They could not be replaced, should they be lost. If a person found a ration stamp and returned it to the address printed on it, it was a noble gesture, for many of us had become selfish and rude.
Each type of food had a different color of ration stamp. Meat stamps were blue, those for bread or other baked goods were red, milk stamps were pink, stamps for staple goods were orange, and vegetable stamps were, of course, green. Each member of a family received one set of ration stamps monthly.
Every year the ration amounts became smaller. In 1940, the amount of meat per person was four pounds per month. By 1945, the amount diminished to one pound per person. Bread had been cut to less than half the amount issued five years before. Some commodities, such as bananas, oranges, and other tropical fruits, had long vanished from the markets, and only on holidays like Christmas or Easter was a special distribution arranged.
Getting these rations involved long hours of waiting in line. Not only the special issues, but also even the smallest item sometimes demanded hours in line. You would often wait only to be told that the person in front of you got the last one. It was a strain to stand in line, and on hot days it was not unusual to see someone in the crowd suffer heatstroke or faint from exhaustion.
Electric refrigerators were unknown in those days. Perishable items had to be bought on a day-to-day basis. But even staple goods were rationed in such a way that daily shopping was necessary because some ration stamps were only valid on certain days.
We preserved food only by the means provided by nature. In cold weather we would set the pot of milk, after it had been boiled, outside the window. By the time it was needed, it usually had to be defrosted, and sometimes we just sucked on pieces of frozen milk that we had chipped off with an ice pick.
In the summertime we used the coal cellar to keep our food cool. It was a chore for my sister and me to bring food down to it and back up from it. Nobody ever volunteered, so we had to take turns, and sometimes, when both of us were too stubborn to go, we flipped a coin.
Equipped with a pot and a metal spoon, I would make my way to the dusty hole beneath the house. I would bang the spoon against the pot to produce a deafening noise. This was to scare the rats away.
Not everybody was lucky enough to have such a cellar, so they had to find other means of preservation. Many used wooden boxes lined with tin and then filled with ice—another item to stand in line for.
One of our tenants thought up a scheme to save hours of standing in line, not only for ice, but also for bread and meat. Supermarkets were unheard of then, so every shop specialized in different products. It was at the store that sold ice, though, where her scheme was uncovered.
After this lady learned that expectant mothers did not have to stand in line, she showed sudden signs of pregnancy. But her condition lasted only a few days. On the day she bought ice for her cooler, which she usually did once a week, she must have worn a loosely fitting dress. As she bent over to load a block of ice onto her cart, she suddenly “delivered” a pillow.
“There was a scene!” she recalled as she related the incident to my mother. “I was lucky they didn’t beat me up!” Curious inquirers who noticed her quick change to a shapelier waistline were casually informed that she suffered a miscarriage.
So the struggle dragged on day after day. If it wasn’t over a block of ice, then perhaps it was over a space in line at the butcher shop or the vegetable market.
There were three types of butcher shops. One was the regular butcher shop, which sold roasts of beef or pork. But one such roast cost most of the month’s meat ration stamps. If one wanted to stretch one’s meat rations, then one shopped at the second
Each type of food had a different color of ration stamp. Meat stamps were blue, those for bread or other baked goods were red, milk stamps were pink, stamps for staple goods were orange, and vegetable stamps were, of course, green. Each member of a family received one set of ration stamps monthly.
Every year the ration amounts became smaller. In 1940, the amount of meat per person was four pounds per month. By 1945, the amount diminished to one pound per person. Bread had been cut to less than half the amount issued five years before. Some commodities, such as bananas, oranges, and other tropical fruits, had long vanished from the markets, and only on holidays like Christmas or Easter was a special distribution arranged.
Getting these rations involved long hours of waiting in line. Not only the special issues, but also even the smallest item sometimes demanded hours in line. You would often wait only to be told that the person in front of you got the last one. It was a strain to stand in line, and on hot days it was not unusual to see someone in the crowd suffer heatstroke or faint from exhaustion.
Electric refrigerators were unknown in those days. Perishable items had to be bought on a day-to-day basis. But even staple goods were rationed in such a way that daily shopping was necessary because some ration stamps were only valid on certain days.
We preserved food only by the means provided by nature. In cold weather we would set the pot of milk, after it had been boiled, outside the window. By the time it was needed, it usually had to be defrosted, and sometimes we just sucked on pieces of frozen milk that we had chipped off with an ice pick.
In the summertime we used the coal cellar to keep our food cool. It was a chore for my sister and me to bring food down to it and back up from it. Nobody ever volunteered, so we had to take turns, and sometimes, when both of us were too stubborn to go, we flipped a coin.
Equipped with a pot and a metal spoon, I would make my way to the dusty hole beneath the house. I would bang the spoon against the pot to produce a deafening noise. This was to scare the rats away.
Not everybody was lucky enough to have such a cellar, so they had to find other means of preservation. Many used wooden boxes lined with tin and then filled with ice—another item to stand in line for.
One of our tenants thought up a scheme to save hours of standing in line, not only for ice, but also for bread and meat. Supermarkets were unheard of then, so every shop specialized in different products. It was at the store that sold ice, though, where her scheme was uncovered.
After this lady learned that expectant mothers did not have to stand in line, she showed sudden signs of pregnancy. But her condition lasted only a few days. On the day she bought ice for her cooler, which she usually did once a week, she must have worn a loosely fitting dress. As she bent over to load a block of ice onto her cart, she suddenly “delivered” a pillow.
“There was a scene!” she recalled as she related the incident to my mother. “I was lucky they didn’t beat me up!” Curious inquirers who noticed her quick change to a shapelier waistline were casually informed that she suffered a miscarriage.
So the struggle dragged on day after day. If it wasn’t over a block of ice, then perhaps it was over a space in line at the butcher shop or the vegetable market.
There were three types of butcher shops. One was the regular butcher shop, which sold roasts of beef or pork. But one such roast cost most of the month’s meat ration stamps. If one wanted to stretch one’s meat rations, then one shopped at the second
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