Oranges

In the very early 1800's, a young boy about 14 years old named John lived in an orphanage in Old England along with several other children.

Orphanages were dreaded. Orphan meant unwanted and unloved. The orphanage was administered by a master and his wife who were results of meagre backgrounds themselves and were short on love but high on discipline. No childlike play, no expression of compassion, no understanding.

Every day of the year was spent working. They worked in gardens, cleaned, sewed, and cooked sometimes for wealthy children. They were up at dawn and worked until dark and usually received only one meal a day. However, they were very grateful because they were taught to be hard workers. John had absolutely nothing to call his own. None of the children did.

Christmas was the one day of the year when the children did not work and received a gift. A gift for each child - something to call their own. This special gift was an orange. John had been in the orphanage long enough to look forward with delight and anticipation of this special day of

Christmas and to the orange he would receive. In Old England, and to John and his orphan companions, an orange was a rare and special gift. It had an unusual aroma of something they smelled only at Christmas. The children prized it so much that they kept it for several days, weeks, and even months - protecting it, smelling it, touching it and loving it. Usually they tried to savour and preserve it for so long that it often rotted before they ever peeled it to enjoy the sweet juice. Many thoughts were expressed this year as Christmas time approached. The children would say, "I will keep mine the longest."

They always talked about how big their last orange was and how long they had kept it. John usually slept with his next to his pillow. He would put it right by his nose and smell of its goodness, holding it tenderly and carefully as not to bruise it. He would dream of children all over the world smelling the sweet aroma of oranges. It gave him security and a sense of well being, hope and dreams of a future filled with good food and a life different from this meagre existence.

This year John was overjoyed by the Christmas season. He was becoming a man. He knew he was becoming stronger and soon he would be old enough to leave. He was excited by this anticipation and excited about Christmas. He would save his orange until his birthday in July. If he preserved it very carefully, kept it cool and did not drop it, he might be able to eat it on his birthday. Christmas day finally came. The children were so excited as they entered the big dining hall. John could smell the unusual aroma of meat. In his excitement and because of his oversized feet, he tripped, causing a disturbance.

Immediately the master roared, "John, leave the hall and there will be no orange for you this year." John's heart broke violently wide open. He began to cry. He turned and went swiftly back to the cold room and his corner so the small children would not see his anguish.

Then he heard the door open and each of the children entered. Little Elizabeth with her hair falling over her shoulders, a smile on her face, and tears in her eyes held out a piece of rag to John. "Here John," she said, "this is for you." John was touched by her youth and innocence as he reached for the bulge in her hand. As he lifted back the edges of the rag he saw a big juicy orange all peeled and quartered. . . And then he realized what they had done. Each had sacrificed their own orange by sharing a quarter and had created a big, beautiful orange for John.

John never forgot the sharing, love and personal sacrifice his friends had shown him that Christmas day. John's beginning was a meagre existence, however, his growth to manhood was rewarded by wealth and success. In memory of that day every year he would send oranges all over the world to children everywhere. His desire was that no child would ever spend Christmas without a special Christmas fruit!

Author unknown. If anyone has a proprietary interest in this story please authenticate and I will be happy to credit, or remove, as the circumstances dictate.

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