Second World War: Engagement Ring Given on Furlough

Ferdie and I were not married when
the second World War started. But we were in love; he gave me my engagement ring on one
of his furloughs home.

The days he was in the Army were
long and lonesome, but our letters helped. We planned our future home via our
letters, knowing that someday we would live in it together. He drew the floor
plans; I added details such as, “a white house with a blue roof.”

Many friends were getting sad news about their loved ones. I
was concerned about Ferdie’s safety too, of course, and prayed for him night
and day.

He was wounded in the fighting in Germany. He was
sent to France and then England for
healing and therapy. Then back to the front. He was sent all over Europe trying to find his company, or one that could use
him.

It was a frustrating time. He moved
so often that he never had an address to send me so that I could keep writing
to him. I wrote almost every day. He received some of them in bunches. The rest
eventually found their way back to my parents’ home months after we were
married.

Heartbreaking letters went to some
of my friends: “I don’t love you any more,” or “I’m not waiting
for you.” Never once in all those years of waiting and uncertainty did I
doubt Ferdie’s love and faithfulness. There would never be a “Dear
Jane” letter for me.

The first year Ferdie was gone, I worked as assistant to the
postmaster in the little town of Iliff, Colorado. There I
learned the importance of letters to other people. When someone received a letter
from their special serviceman or woman, it was opened immediately in the post
office waiting room. Both good and bad news was shared with us; we kept up with
what was happening to the young people in Uncle Sam’s service who were from our
community.

It was months after the War was
over before Ferdie finally got home. I’d quit my job three months previously to
stay home with Mother and Daddy and do some sewing for my hope chest.

Ferdie had decided he was not going
to be a casualty of war nerves – mental or emotional. He didn’t like to talk
about the War; and he didn’t – the really bad parts anyway. He sometimes told
of interesting or humorous incidents. Neither did he want to meet and become
friendly with any other ex-servicemen. “They’re all crazy or liars,”
he said. Then he’d do or say something goofy to prove his point.

There were a few times, though,
when he’d wake up at night and think he heard someone outside. He’d take the
flashlight and go all around the house checking – remembering, I’m sure, what
night noises had meant not too long before.

Mary Ann Kunselman
Longmont, Colorado