Sear’s Wish Book was a magical passport to childhood wonders

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Long before Amazon and Temu came Sears’ Christmas Wish book. A magical passport to all the wonders of childhood, it was eagerly awaited by all youngsters penning their letters to Santa.

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On the exciting day of its arrival I would pore over each page, unable to choose from all the gifts showcased in its pages. I remember finally marking my favourites for convenient parental reference, then changing my mind numerous times, with each new discovery. Although well aware that St. Nick was highly unlikely to bring all of the gifts I had chosen, imagining them under the tree was almost as much fun as receiving them.

Catalogue shopping was both common and practical in my childhood days. The T. Eaton Company and Simpson-Sears (later Sears) had order offices on Picton’s Main Street. Eaton’s order office was located in its department store where Bocado is now located and Simpson’s had headquarters in a small storefront near County Sunshine. Both companies produced two large catalogues annually, in addition to smaller sale flyers. The Christmas Wish Book was a holiday special.

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Both the Spring and Summer and Fall and Winter publications featured everything from the proverbial soup to nuts. In the 1960’s I admired the latest fashions, then turned the pages to saddlery. Each item was described and priced and could be ordered without risk. If the merchandise for whatever reason was not satisfactory, it could be returned. Ordering was simple. By just picking up the phone or making a quick stop at the order office, it was easy to set the wheels in motion for free delivery a few days later.

Catalogue shopping was a favourite pastime for young children and teens. It was fun to browse without spending a penny, imagining purchases of appealing toys or trendy clothing. There were fashion tips for teens which readily could be gleaned simply by looking at the models’ hairstyles and accessories and it was always interesting to peruse the home furnishings pages while making imaginary choices for the imaginary homes in our futures. Much of the magic of the catalogue came from its ability to transport us into an imaginary life which placed the world at our fingertips. We could browse and dream, free of charge, to our hearts’ content.

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In recalling childhood days, I remember two special dresses my mother ordered for me from the catalogues. One was a crisp, blue and white cotton pin-stripe with a full skirt, which was my “Sunday School dress.” The other was a full-skirted yellow dress with three-quarter sleeves edged in generous quantities of white lace. It was one of my favourites, until my teenage beau chanced to remark that it made me look like Alice in Wonderland. The yellow dress was relegated to the back of the closet, seldom to be worn again.

For children of the ’50s and ’60s, catalogues were books filled with dreams. The Christmas Wish Book opened the entire contents of Santa’s pack for our admiration. Many years later, I would discover that my late husband, Alan Capon, worked on the first-ever Christmas Wish Book, at his first job, shortly after his arrival in Canada from England. Soon afterward he would go on to a long career in journalism, but remained proud of the fact that he had once played a part in bringing the magic of Christmas to the wide-eyed youngsters thumbing the pages of the first Wish Book.

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