Turkish Delight and Narnia – C.S. Lewis’ Wartime Longing

The Evacuees Arrive: September 1939

In 1939, as Britain braced itself for war, a quiet Oxford academic named C.S. Lewis began drafting what would become one of the most beloved children's stories of the 20th century: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. That same year, as German bombs began falling on London and major cities, waves of child evacuees were sent to the countryside to escape the danger as part of Operation Pied Piper, a massive government evacuation programme that relocated 1.5 million people from vulnerable urban areas.

On September 2, 1939, just one day before Britain officially declared war on Nazi Germany, the first evacuees arrived at Lewis's home, The Kilns, a rambling house three miles east of Oxford city centre. Three schoolgirls — Margaret, Mary, and Katherine — stepped through the door, wide-eyed and anxious about living with strangers. Lewis, aged 40 at the outbreak of war, opened his home without hesitation. Over the following years, multiple groups of children would come and go, each staying for varying lengths of time as the war dragged on.

It was said that the first spark of Narnia came from a moment of pure, unplanned magic: a child playing at the back of an old wardrobe. That glimpse of innocence and wonder — of a world hidden just behind the coats — stayed with Lewis. One evacuee, Patricia Heidelberger, later recalled her arrival at The Kilns as moving "out of the shadows into the sunlight," describing it as two of the happiest years of her school life. Another evacuee, June Flewett (later known as Jill Freud after marrying Sigmund Freud's grandson), lived at The Kilns from 1943 to 1945 and is believed to have been the inspiration for the character of Lucy Pevensie.

But the story didn't emerge fully formed. Lewis jotted down his earliest notes for the book in late September 1939, writing on an odd sheet of paper: "This book is about four children whose names were Ann, Martin, Rose and Peter." Yet with the war raging on and daily life disrupted by grief, uncertainty, and shortages, Lewis set the manuscript aside. He worked quietly on other projects, and the story didn't come together until years later. The manuscript for The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe wasn't completed until the end of March 1949, and the book was finally published on October 16, 1950 — five years after the end of the war. You can read more about why Lewis chose Turkish Delight in our companion article: Why Was Turkish Delight Mentioned in Narnia?

A Sweet in Short Supply

By then, Britain had become a land shaped by scarcity. Sugar was one of the first commodities to be rationed, beginning in January 1940. But in 1942, confectionery — once a modest indulgence — was officially added to wartime rationing on July 26. Sweets could only be bought with coupons, and even then, only at shops where one was registered. The initial ration was just 2 ounces per week (roughly 57 grams), later increased to 3 ounces — the equivalent of about two small chocolate bars per week for an entire family.

Families queued in long lines for any treat they could get, often only to find the shelves empty when their turn came. Sugar was scarce, and imported luxuries like Turkish Delight became almost impossible to find. Authentic Turkish Delight, made with cornstarch and sugar, required precisely the ingredients Britain could no longer spare. For many children, the idea of a soft, fragrant sweet dusted in powdered sugar was the stuff of dreams — not something they could ever actually taste.

By the 1940s, Turkish Delight wasn't just rare; it was almost mythical, remembered fondly by adults and longed for by children who had never tried it. Even if the shops managed to stock some, it was far beyond most families' reach in both availability and cost. Many adults, particularly pensioners, would hand their sweet ration coupons "for the little ones" so that children wouldn't be turned away from the sweet counters entirely — though this still meant only a couple of sweets each day, and only if they were lucky enough to find them.

Narnia: Winter Without Christmas

This makes the Turkish Delight scene in Narnia especially poignant. When the White Witch offers Edmund a magical treat, Lewis doesn't name just any sweet — he names Turkish Delight. A luxurious, hard-to-find delicacy, exotic and nostalgic, wrapped in mystery and indulgence. To Edmund — and perhaps to Lewis himself — it represented both temptation and longing, a memory of joy in a joyless time.

Narnia, under the Witch's spell, is a land where it is always winter, but never Christmas — a chilling reflection of wartime Britain. Bombed cities. Dimmed lights. Empty stockings. Families apart. Rationed holidays with no sweets on the table. That emotional bleakness is woven into the fabric of Lewis's story. In this context, the Turkish Delight is more than a lure — it's a symbol of comfort denied, a forbidden pleasure that Edmund (and all of Britain) could only imagine.

Lewis himself grew up in early 20th-century Britain when Turkish Delight was at the height of its Victorian and Edwardian popularity — a special, exotic treat associated with sophistication and worldly travel. By the 1940s, wartime austerity had made even the memory of such luxuries painful. For a generation of children who had never known abundance, and for adults haunted by memories of better times, Turkish Delight became a potent symbol of everything the war had taken away.

The Long Wait for Sweetness

Confectionery rationing didn't end when the war did. In fact, Britain's resources were so depleted that rationing became stricter after the war in some areas. Bread was rationed in 1946 — something that hadn't even happened during the war itself. The government attempted to de-ration sweets in April 1949, and the announcement caused an immediate rush on sweet shops. Within months, demand had so far outstripped supply that rationing had to be reintroduced in August 1949.

Sweet rationing finally ended on February 4, 1953 — nearly eleven years after it began, and eight years after VE Day. That's longer than the entire duration of the war. A whole generation of children grew up without sugar as a daily part of life, and those early experiences shaped the national psyche. Sweets became symbolic: more than something you eat, they represented moments of celebration, reunion, and hope. When the announcement came in Parliament that afternoon, children across Britain broke open their piggy banks and queued outside sweet shops, finally able to buy toffee apples, nougat sticks, and liquorice without coupons.

Interestingly, the expected surge in demand never fully materialized — partly because confectionery prices had nearly doubled during the war years, but also because many adults had simply lost their "sweet tooth" after more than a decade of deprivation. Wartime children, who had never known abundance, often didn't develop the same cravings their parents remembered from before 1942.

Edmund's Choice: More Than Greed

This gives new meaning to Edmund's choice. When the Witch asks what he would most like to eat, it's tempting to think Lewis wasn't just writing for his character — he was writing from memory. From hunger. From longing. From a place in himself that missed Christmas, missed family, missed warmth. And so Edmund, the boy who betrayed his siblings for a box of enchanted Turkish Delight, wasn't just greedy — he was homesick for a sweeter world. He was reaching for comfort in a cold, frightening place, just as Lewis's own evacuees had done when they arrived at The Kilns in September 1939.

Today, companies like Sultan Delights are working to reintroduce Britain to the authentic Turkish Delight that Edmund might have imagined — soft, delicately sweet, made with traditional methods and real ingredients. With 10 natural flavours to choose from, a new generation can taste what made this confection so precious to wartime Britain: not just a sweet, but a symbol of hope, luxury, and the promise of better days to come.