Before and during most of the war
years I attended high school in a small Missouri
town. This was mostly farm country with very little industry. I did not think
my hometown was very exciting, and there certainly were very few chances for
good employment.
I was the youngest of six girls,
and while I was still in high school, one by one my sisters started looking for
jobs. One worked in a 10-cent store, one in the office of a poultry-packing
plant and one in the law office. The others married and moved away. Most of the
jobs then only paid $5 a week, which wasn’t much even back then. I remember
baby-sitting for 10 cents an hour, and one summer I took care of a neighbor’s
three children, cleaned their house and cooked supper – all for the princely
sum of $1.40 a week. With this money, my mother purchased material to make my
school clothes.
Into this quiet little town the second World War
suddenly exploded. A military air base was built in the country near our town.
Now there were jobs to be had, and all of my sisters went to work for the base.
A USO center opened in our town, which became filled with servicemen on
weekends. It was heavenly to this teenage girl! All these handsome, lonesome
boys flirted with us, whistled at us, dated, fell in love and even married many
of the local girls. Some dance halls sprang up. At last there was a place to go
and a lot of partners to dance with. This did not sit too well with our elders,
but we young-uns loved it.
Upon graduation I was lucky enough
to secure a job on the air base, too. My whole family moved out to live on the
air base. All of us were now working for the government. The rent on the
housing units was low; groceries could be purchased cheaply in the commissary.
There was even a theater on the base, as well as weekly dances at the NCO or
officer’s clubs. The base was like a small town in itself. My salary was an
unbelievable $25 a week. I was rich! All my oId schoolmates thought I was the
luckiest girl in the world.
All the men in our family had been
called into service, and my poor mother would pace the floor night and day as
each one was sent overseas. I can well remember the day FDR came on the radio
announcing the bombing of Pearl Harbor – a day
that would go down in infamy. Here we were: simple people, church-going people,
learning first-hand about air raids, blackouts and the pain of separation from
our loved ones. Other countries had always seemed far away from us, and now we
were writing to and getting letters from all over the world as our servicemen
were shipped out.
I must admit, being as young as I
was I found it all terribly exciting. I thoroughly enjoyed all the activities
on the base and being driven to and from work in a jeep by some of the
servicemen I worked with.
There I was, a small town girl,
meeting people from all over the United States, hearing exotic, foreign
sounding names and all kinds of accents so different from our slow, Southern
drawl. Why, we even had German prisoners of war at this camp. They worked on
rubbish pick-up detail, and they would look through the trash and excitedly
talk among themselves. One of the drivers who could speak German told me they
could not believe the good things Americans threw away, things that would have
been much valued in their country.
Strangely, we were never afraid of
these prisoners, and all of them seemed like nice boys. They never treated us
as if we were their enemies either. We were all just people.
Like most young people, I avoided
the news on the radio, not wanting to hear or think about all the battles going
on in Europe and the South Pacific. My brother
was on one of the islands and sent me a silk-embroidered handkerchief from
there, which I still have carefully stored away. There was the pinch of
rationing for shoes, meat and gasoline. I still have a couple of ration stamps
that I found in an old wallet belonging to my mother. As for shoes, we never
had more than two pairs at one time, even when the War wasn’t on. We didn’t
have a car, so gas rationing was no problem. Since we had always lived
sparingly, rationing did not bother us as much as it did a lot of other people.
Had I been aware that the boy I was
to marry years later was involved in all the military landings, shipwrecked at
sea and experiencing untold hardships that would affect his health the rest of
his life, I could not have been as carefree as I was. Yes, those were happy
years for many of us. Talking to people in later years I found that those years
had made such an impression – be it happy or sad – that their lives forevermore
seemed to revolve around that time and their experiences.
I do hope there will never again be
such a war. However, I must acknowledge the fact that the War did bring people
closer together; it allowed people from many places to know one another. Many
people were relocated far from their families, and they never came back to
their hometowns to settle down. For the first time, people seemed to realize
that there actually was a big world out there; many of the returning servicemen
decided to look further than their home towns for a place to work and live.
Young brides, who met their husbands on military bases far from home, chose to
return to their husbands’ home states after the War. They had learned to be
independent and survive on their own; they no longer felt the need to stay
close to family and familiar places.
Looking back, I suppose you could
say that for some of us it was the best of times. For others it was the worst
of times, but it was a time in this country that will never be forgotten by all
of us.
We all had to grow up and live with
the aftermath of the War. Many men, such as my husband, were robbed of their
youth, their health broken. All of this took a great toll, but I never heard
any of them regret what they did for their country. They all retained full
patriotism and love for this great country of ours, and would have done battle
again if called upon.
My good husband died much too young
from complications of his war years, so it is very difficult for me to watch
pictures about the War or read stories of war experiences without being
terribly saddened. Sad for that girl who was so full of life and fun during
those years, sad for my friends who did not return home, sad for the men whose
lives were shortened by the effects of the War.
It was indeed the best and the
worst of times.
Helen Ward O’Key
Litchfield, Connecticut
Back in 1955 a call
went out from the editors of the then Capper’s
Weekly asking for readers to send
in articles on true pioneers. Hundreds of letters came pouring in from early
settlers and their children, many now in their 80s and 90s, and from
grandchildren of settlers, all with tales to tell. So many articles were
received that a decision was made to create a book, and in 1956, the first My
Folks title – My Folks Came in a
Covered Wagon – hit the shelves. Nine
other books have since been published in the My Folks series, all filled to the brim with true tales from Capper’s readers, and we are proud to
make those stories available to our growing online community.
