Strawberry-Filled Candy

Size: 4 ounces in a 3x6" bag

Sugar, Corn Syrup, And Less Than 2% Of The Following: Citric Acid, Dried Apples, Artificial Flavor, Artificial Color Red #40, Red #40 Lake, Red #3, Blue #1.

The Unexpected Reasons Grandmothers Gave Kids Candy 

Grandmothers and grandfathers, too, gave candy for a few surprising – and poignant – reasons. First candy had long been used as a treat, a medicine, or both. So, grandparents considered those strawberry-filled candies, Lifesavers, and other hard candies good for sore throats. Canada Mints, once known as “soft paste” medicines, were considered good for upset stomachs – my Grandfather used them to treats his ulcers. Chewing gum, from Teaberry to Double Mint, freshened the breath, cleaned the teeth, and also alleviated stomach distress.  Others, such as Circus Peanuts, were made for fun, fun, fun (later to be morphed into Lucky Charm cereal!).

Another reason: People living in the first half of the 20th century had to deal with sugar shortages due to the Great Depression and two World Wars. No sugar – no candy. When candy returned after years of absence, it became a symbol of affluence, well-being, and a sign that all was right in the world. When grandparents gave their grandchildren candy it was a gift of all that and a symbol of love.

A Brief Memoir from Susan

 Sour Balls, Strawberry-Filled, and Lifesavers  - The Candy in My Grandmother’s Purse

  I remember trips to visit my grandmother and her sisters in Boston. We usually started at my great-Aunt Eunice’s, whose  apartment was on the third floor of a brick building, an immense and wonderfully sophisticated amount of steps for a suburban kid such as me.  My grandmother and her sisters would sit on a couch, knitting and chatting, while the kids - my cousins, my brothers and me - did our kid things, frequently involving comic books, bubble gum, and secrets. 

 The living room, actually the living room couch, was the place to visit. Without exception, I’d ask my Grandmother and her sisters for candy. The response was always the same: “Get my purse.” The purse was inevitably black, with a clasp, and within it a handkerchief, wallet and plenty of who-knows-what’s, and, more to the point, sour balls, Starlight Mints, and Lifesavers. They’d reach in and hand us as much as we wanted, with one, of course, for each of them. Then, candy in mouth, I would snuggle in beside my Grandmother or my great-Aunt Helen. The knitting would stop so she could rub my back, my arm, or smooth my hair. And all in the world was right and all in the world was good.