Sacrifices of Freedom

 (My father home on leave in WWII,

after being injured in France.)

(My father and his company)

July 4th is upon us and it has me thinking

in patriotic tones.  My father served in WWII

and stormed the beaches of Normandy in the second wave.

He is the handsome one - bottom row - left.  I wanted to

do a patriotic post for July 4th.

If you have been following me you know

that I have spent the last year writing family

history books.  I have created seven of them,

ranging from 100 to over 200 pages, so a

large part of my spare time has been taken

up doing that.  

(In front of his barracks.)

My sisters, Joni and Jean have been helping me

on the last book, my Aunt Ionia's.  Ionia never married

and was like a grandmother to us.  

(Ionia through the years)

Joni had quite a few travel books and pictures

of Ionia.  Included in some of the history she had

was this wonderful radio program that my Ionia

and my grandparents were involved with.  An article

had come out in the local paper about how they were

getting along on the farm (over 300 acres) without 

my dad, their oldest son.  It was picked up and they

were asked to travel from Madison, Wisconsin, to

Chicago to do a live radio broadcast (like you see 

done in the musical Annie).  Joni had the entire

script.  It was a fascinating bit of history to me.  Maybe

you will enjoy it too.

The program began with a soldier that was supposed to be Frederick J. Culp writing a letter back home to his folks.  Then the program transitioned to a script about what the businessmen in Sycamore, Illinois were doing to help the short-handed farmers, because so many farmers were now enlisted soldiers.  The program then transitioned to a scene where Fred Culp (Ionia's father) was talking to Ionia, Mary, and Bob about helping on the farm while Frederick J. Culp was a soldier over in Iceland.  These were all actors, not the real Fred, Mary, Ionia, and Bob.  The show then continued with a scripted interview with the real Ionia, Bob, and Mary.  The show transitioned to a message from a pastor, and then concluded with an actor playing Frederick J. Culp, finishing up his letter to the folks back home.  They consistently spelled Ionia's name as Iona.

(My dad, far left)

THE HOME FRONT

Saturday, July 18, 1942

9:30 – 10:00 PM

Opening: (Fife and Drum) “The Girl I Left Behind Me” (Once then fade) Announcer: Mr. and Mrs. America at home! This is YOUR war! Prairie Farmer – WLS respectfully dedicates this program to, THE FOLKS AT HOME. Those of you who fight on...THE HOME FRONT!!

ORCHESTRA: (FULL) “THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME” (Fade as B.G. For Bugle: (ON CUE) “TAPS” (DISTANT) SUSTAIN SOUND: PEN SCRATCHING ON PAPER

SOLDIER (AS HE WRITES) : Dear folks at home. It's time for lights out here at Camp. I can hear Johnny Bugler blowing taps over near the parade grounds but thought I'd drop you a line before I hit the hay. Thanks for that box of fudge Mom....it was swell. I enjoyed your last letter. When I stop to think what you folks at home are doing to help us boys win this war, it makes me prouder than ever to be just where I am tonight. The kids are doing a great job at home aren't they. Iona Mary and Bob. I'd sure get a kick seeing Bob and Iona driving that big tractor!

Guess you folks are lucky to have the kids with you on the farm. I don't know what Dad would do without them, but then I guess the folks on the home front are ALL doing their part. In the city, the town and on the farms. It's a tough job but with you folks and us fellows fighting together, well...just give us time and we'll show this old world a thing or two. (FADE IN MUSIC). The thought of how the folks at home are pulling together with the boys in uniform, does us more good than a top sergeant's command to put pep in the ranks. (FADE) We're mighty proud of you and ….(OUT)

ORCHESTRA: (FULL) “THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME” (TO FINISH) DRUM: START BEATING MARCH TEMP (SUSTAIN) SOUND: MARCHING FEET (SUSTAIN)

ANNOUNCER: The sound of marching feet! Our sons march in uniform! The khaki and the blue! And the folks who remain at home are also on the march. And those marching feet know the sound of the tractor and the sound of the farm...where food will win the war and write the peace! Marching feet on the home front respond to the shrill blast of the factory whistle and the roar of machinery where men, yes...and women too work hard night and day to supply Uncle Sam with essential materials for winning this war! The sound of marching feet is accompanied by the sound of our railroads on which men labor at all times to rush vital supplies and materials to that vital destination! Yes! This is America going to work! (FADE DRUM AND MARCHING FEED SOUND)

That is the song of the folks on the HOME FRONT! And in the heart of every loyal man, woman, boy and girl at home beats the song of VICTORY! The Home Front has heard the call and is on the alert!

BUGLE: ASSEMBLY!

ORCHESTRA: FULL “KEEP THE HOME FIRES BURNING” (FADE ON CUE)

WOMAN: Fred, you've been standing by that window ever since you finished your breakfast. What are you looking at?

FRED: Just watchin' those clouds Mother...sure as shootin' we're gonna have rain before nightfall and plenty of it.

WOMAN: Rain! Oh my goodness...what about that alfalfa out there!

FRED: That's just what I was thinkin'...it's all cut, and cured and ready for the haymow too.

WOMAN: Oh dear! It's just one thing after another Fred...you can't get all that alfalfa in by nighttime.

FRED: Nope I can't...alone..but I know where I can get help.

WOMAN: Get help! Well I'd like to know where ...with Johnny in the army, and the fired men working in a defense plant...you're going to get help?

FRED: Yep..and I'll betcha next week's egg money I do, too.

WOMAN: Now look Fred, you can't call on the Whitmore's to come over and help cause they're short-handed on their place.

FRED: No mother I got another way. Guess I didn't tell ya...but when I was in town the other day I heard that the businessmen there are...well just a minute I'll get on the phone right quick and show ya.

WOMAN: Well I never!  Now look Fred, I'll let the house work and the chickens go and get out there and help you...we can get some of that crop in and maybe we can...

FRED: Just a minute mother. (RINGS PHONE BELL) ( LOUD)...hello...hello operator, get me the Chamber of Commerce at Sycamore, will ya please...yeah,,,that's right. (TO HER) Ya know mother, if those fellows know what they're talkin' about I might get out of this jam before that rain starts comin' down toward evening.

WOMAN: But WHAT fellows, Fred?

FRED: Hello! Chamber of Commerce?  Well this is Fred Prentis out on Route 6. I gotta crop of alfalfa all cut and cured and ready for the haymow. We're gonna have a hard rain by nightfall and I was wonderin' about that “businessman-on-the-farm” idea you were talkin' to me about when I was in there...you see I can't handle this alone and I...what's that?...Well I'll need about six men most all day long (FADE)...Ya will?...in an hour?...say that's great! Thanks a heap! (RECEIVER)...Well mother, we're gonna get that alfalfa in before nightfall...Ya see it's this way... (OUT)

ORCHESTA: (SNEAK IN WITH FADE-OUT ON DRAMA: “KEEP THE HOME FIRES BURNING” (½)

ANNOUNCER: Well neighbor...Fred Prentis got that valuable crop of alfalfa in the barn all right...yes he was in a jam, shorthanded like so many other farmers, but there was a way.  You see a certain tractor salesman at Sycamore, Illinois, John Judson Farmer, had an idea not so long ago...a typical “AMERICAN” plan to help the farmer in an emergency. J ud Farmer sat down and thought it all out...”Small town business men aren't usually busy when the farmer is busy...so why shouldn't these business men be the logical ones to help out during harvest emergencies...that makes sense...sure it does!”  Did they come through?  Well let's have Mr. Jud Farmer, the originator of this fine plan, tell the story himself. He's here with us tonight and Jud, it's a pleasure to introduce you to our PRAIRIE FARMER-WLS audience!”

JUD: Thank you Jack, it's nice to be here...you know I've been a reader and a listener at PRAIRIE FARMER- WLS for a long time.

ANNOUNCER: That's nice to know Jud, you should feel right at home here then.

ANNOUNCER: Well Jud we've asked you to come here tonight to tell our listeners the story of how you originated this “BUSINESSMAN-ON-THE-FARM” idea of yours that has proved so helpful and is being copied all over the midwest.

JUD: It's a simple little story Jack.  As you know, I'm a tractor salesman and this last spring with conditions as they were, I found I had a lot of time on my hands. Farmers were beginning to feel the labor shortage situation.  I started helping several of my farmer friends down around Sycamore in my spare time.  There was plenty of help needed, and the first thing I knew, I realized that these farmers needed a lot more help than they were getting.  Theirs was a serious problem and one that should concern every able-bodied man who had some time to devote to helping not only the farmer in his community, but America as well.

ANNOUNCER:  We of Prairie Farmer have been keenly aware of the farmer's problem Jud...

JUD: Well, we were very close to that situation down home, so I began to think of a way we could help out in this emergency. I figured that there were a lot of other businessmen like myself who had some time to give to this.  And I thought, “By golly I'll bet these fellows would get in there and pitch with the farmer of this community if this serious problem was brought to their attention.”  The Chamber of Commerce went for the idea in a big way.  So I wrote a letter to the businessmen of Sycamore, asking them if they'd donate some of their time to helping the farmer out in the fields.

ANNOUNCER:  And we've learned that practically every man was proud to do his share, as evidenced by the downpour of applications.

JUD:  Yes Jack, it made me very happy, and needless to say it made those farmers MORE than happy.  The men have been a great help. The newspapers christened us “THE FARM COMMANDOS”, and it wasn't long before other communities were following the same plan.

ANNOUNCER:  Well Jud, don't some of the businessmen find this farm work a little tough for them?

JUD:  Oh it's good hard work all right.  Some of the men more advanced in years took jobs in town so that younger men could get out in the fields to help.

ANNOUNCER:  Say that's a fine spirit isn't it.  And it's plain to see that this plan has surely strengthened the bond between business man and farmer.  But Jud, how about the question of wages or pay for this work?

JUD:  That didn't present any question Jack.  As one man put it...”My compensation is the privilege of being a free man living in the United States!”  Some farmers insisted on paying something, so we told them it would by OK by us if they wrote out a check for the Red Cross.

ANNOUNCER:  Well Jud Farmer, with towns and villages all over this part of the country taking to your idea.  You and the boys who started it have reason to feel very proud and happy of your FARM COOMANDOS!

JUD:  We ARE, Jack...proud and happy to know that our humble efforts are helping Uncle Sam's greatest and most loyal friends...THE FARMER!

ANNOUNCER:  Thank you Jud, you've told us a great story tonight...another example of true American spirit on the HOME FRONT!

ORCHESTRA MARCH NUMBER: “STARS AND STRIPES FOREVER.” (SUSTAIN TIL FADED)

ANNOUNCER:  There are boys in the service of Uncle Sam and their country listening in tonight.  This program carried a message to them.  Yes boys, the Home Front is backing you up 100%...we're behind you at home, working, fighting and helping wherever we can.  A lot of you men took off the farm overalls to put on the uniform.  The steering wheel of the tractor was replaced by the wheel of an ambulance.  Hands calloused on the plow handle now grip the rifle and machine gun, and instead of the rooster's crow in the morning, it's now the bugle call of Reveille.  One of you is Fred Culp, who left his family and their farm near Oregon, Wisconsin, to join the colors. This is a story that could be told a hundred thousand times in camps, on the sea and over there.

MUSIC: “LOOK FOR THE SILVER LINING” FADE FOR:

DAD:  I called you kids into the parlor 'cause there's something we've got to talk about.

GIRL:  What's the matter Dad? You look worried.

DAD:  Well I am.  Now that Fred is in the army, I've got a big problem on my hands.

Look out that window kids – there's 300 good acres out there – sheep, cows, pigs, chickens – the place is loaded down with good hard work.  Fred's not here to help out now – he's doin' his bit for Uncle Sam.  And Uncle Sam's callin' on us farmers to do OUR bit here at home too.  I can't get help children – can't get it for love or money.  The Army and Navy and defense industries are full of farm boys and hired men.  They're not around to work on the farms this year.

BOB:  You can count on us Dad...we'll help ya!  How about it Sis!

IONA:  You betcha Bob – Dad knows that!

DAD:  That's why I called you in here.  We've all got to roll up our sleeves and go to work.  I hate to say this to ya honey, but Iona it means you might not be able to go back to school this next fall.

IONA:  Oh that's all right Dad-- there's a bigger job to do right here!

DAD:  Thank ya honey.  And Mary you have to give up some of those things you been plannin' on for this summer.

MARY:  I forgot about that the day Fred went into the army Dad.

DAD:  And Bob?

(Bob on the left, was 15.)

BOB:  Yes sir

DAD:  Think you can learn to handle a tractor?

BOB:  Why sure I can Dad – gee whiz way last summer I was driving it out there when Fred was here...he taught me all about it...but...but...well I guess I was kinda sacred to tell you then.  I was only 14 but NOW I'm fifteen.

DAD:  (CHUCKLE)  You kids!  You're just one jump ahead of me aren't you.

MARY:  We'll all pitch in Dad and go to work – we can do a lot and what we don't know we can learn.

BOB:  Why sure!  It'll be fun knowin' I'm helpin' to take Fred's place.  Boy, am I proud of that fellow!

DAD:  It'll be hard work kids – and you start tomorrow at five AM.

MARY:  All right Dad...we'll be up and at 'em!  Come on kids let's get to bed and get some sleep.  We're in this fight now.

DAD:  You know – I think everything's gonna work out all right...(FADE)  Yes sir-- everything's gonna be all right. (OUT)

MUSIC:  “LOOK FOR THE SILVER LINING” (last ½ chorus)

(The following is the part that Ionia, Mary, and Bob participated in. They were given a script to read as follows. They were not part of the dramatization above.)

ANNOUNCER:  Yes! Heroes on the HOME FRONT! That's what they are! Iona...

IONA:  Thank you Mr. Holden.

ANNOUNCER:  Mary...

MARY:  Hello everybody – gee it's nice to be here.

ANNOUNCER:  And Bob...

BOB:  Howdy Mr. Holden

ANNOUNCER:  Friends, I'd like to have you meet Iona, Mary and Bob Culp who come to us from a farm out of Oregon, Wisconsin.  We're mighty happy to have you young folks here tonight.

IONA:  We're so thrilled we just can't get over it!

MARY:  And the folks at home are listening too!

BOB:  I can hardly wait 'til we get down to the theater so we can see the last show of the National Barn Dance tonight.

ANNOUNCER:  (CHUCKLES)  All right Bob – we'll get you down there in just a little while but first – I'd like to have you three answer some questions.  Suppose you tell us in your own way something about your work on the farm.

IONA:  Well Mr. Holden, it's WORK all right, but it's fun because we know we're a great help to Dad and Mother.  We're taking Fred's place and we're serving our country at a time when our help on the farm is needed.

MARY:  We have a 300 acre farm and we've INCREASED production all the way down the line since the war began.

ANNOUNCER:  You've INCREASED production?  Say that's great Mary.  What do you have on the farm and what are you helping Dad to do?

BOB:  (Bob responds instead of Mary)  We're milking 28 cows and by heavier feeding we've made them produce 4,000 pounds of milk more each month than last year.

IONA:  And we're raising heifers in order to increase production still more, if the war keeps on.

ANNOUNCER:  Apparently you're not satisfied with just standing still and operating normally on your farm.

MARY:  No sir Mr. Holden we're “ALL OUT” for increased production 100%.  We've got about 200 head of hogs on hand now, and last year we had half that many.  We have fifty breeding ewes and 290 chickens.

ANNOUNCER:  And Bob do you three know how to handle that tractor?

BOB:  Yes sir – any one of us can whip a tractor around a field in no time at all.

ANNOUCNER:  Well now, tell us something about the older brother FRED.

IONA:  Fritz is in Iceland Mr. Holden.  We hear from him every now and then.

ANNOUNCER:  Does he know how you three have pitched in to take his place and help your dad?

IONA:  Yes, he does and writes back telling us he's mighty proud of his sisters and kid brother. But he can't be half as proud of us as we are of him!  This next part was crossed out on the script: “That's why we enjoy our work on the farm with Dad – we feel we're doing something BIG – something that counts and from early in the morning 'til late at night we think of our big brother in uniform and all the other big brothers – that's why we can sing all day while we work and keep happy.”

Then Ionia begins again:  We have a job Mr. Holden and a big one – but a GOOD ONE! We American farmers believe that food will win the war and write the peace – and that's OUR battle on the HOME FRONT.

ANNOUNCER:  Thank you for those fine words, and good luck to your Iona, Mary and Bob Culp.  Give our regards to your brother Fred in Iceland tonight!

MUSIC: “ KEEP THE HOME FIRES BURNING”: FADE FOR:

ANNOUNCER:  And that friends, is the story of the home front!  The home front where you and I can work together to help the boys in uniform to carry on!  And now, all of us will be inspired I'm sure by a message from Dr. Preston Bradley, pastor of the People's Church of Chicago. Dr. Bradley.

BRADLEY TALK HERE: (Not scripted).

FIFE AND DRUM: “THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME” FADE FOR: BUGLE: DISTANT: “TAPS” SOUND: PEN SCRATCHING:

SOLDIER:  (AS HE WRITES).......and so you see dear folks, THAT'S why we're out here trying to do a job as soldiers.  And you'll never know how much we think of you back there on the HOME FRONT, and the work you're doing to back us up.  Together we'll whip this thing - but good! And now – I guess I'll hit the hay and call it a day. Good night dear ones. Affectionately, your son, Fred.

TAPS:  OUT

MUSIC: ORCHESTRA:  FULL: “THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME”

WLS ANNOUNCER:  This program, the HOME FRONT, will be heard again at this time next Saturday night.  This is WLS...etc. (TIME)

Later they went to the National Barn Dance. It was a radio program that began in 1924. It had a large following and many performers, such as Gene Autry, got their start on the National Barn Dance.  The cast included, dancers, singers, and an orchestra, a cast of around 50 people.  The National Barn Dance was recorded in front of a live audience and was broadcasted, in 1942 when they were there, to 76 NBC affiliates through out the nation.

Have a wonderful July 4th.  I am proud of my father

who fought for freedoms for those he didn't 

know, or even speak their language.

Share something patriotic with

your loved ones.

Red Roses written by Nedra Littlefield Culp

(This is another one of my mother's fictional short stories, written in the late 1940's.

She wrote a lot of stories dealing with WWII and its effect on relationships.  I am posting this one in connection with Memorial Day, in remembrance of my parents' love story.  This is a picture of her with red roses from my father.  She told him in a letter that red roses were her favorite flowers, and all through my life, I remember him getting her red roses.)

RED ROSES

by

Nedra Littlefield Culp

This is our wedding anniversary and tonight I want to write you to try and tell you of my love for you, my love that is and always will be deep and everlasting.  We have been married for five years, August 5, 1942 to August 5, 1947.

I well remember the night I met you at the station when you came home on your first leave from the Army.  You were cocky and handsome as you stepped off the train.  I watched you proudly, happy that it was I who was waiting for you, I who was engaged to you and who was desperately in love with you.  Then you saw me, and soon I was in your arms, and you kissed me long and hard.

“Let me look at you, Darling,” you said.  “Oh, Honey, you’re even sweeter than I dreamed.”

We stood there holding each other until people began to stare.  We were so deliriously happy that night.

“Let’s get married right away, tomorrow, maybe.”

We were in my apartment and you were holding me close, telling me all of the things I had been longing to hear those many long month.

“Tomorrow, Darling, but you know I’d have to have time to get ready.  A girl just can’t get married on a moment’s notice.”

“She can if she wants to like I want to.”

It took only a few kisses to convince me that there was no need for waiting, and the next day we borrowed your brother’s car and drove to Nevada.  I had always pictured myself floating down the aisle in a misty white gown and a trailing veil, with you in tails, but here we were, a couple of scared kids in front of the Justice of the Peace.  You were in khaki, while I had on a short blue dress and a little white hat.  I carried red roses.  Red roses, which have been the symbol of our love since that day you gave me that single rose.

We had as our witnesses the wife of the Justice of the Peace and his son.  It was soon over and we were back in our car.  You looked at me with that funny little crooked smile of yours.

“You don’t look any different now that you’re Mrs. Ted Russell.  How do you feel?”

“I don’t know yet.  It was over so fast it seems it never happened.”

We found a motel with a Vacancy sign and got a room.  We ate in the restaurant nearby and later danced to the jukebox.  We were deliriously happy that night.

“Are you sorry you couldn’t have a big wedding?” you asked me after we had gone to our room.

“Darling, I was a fool to think that it could matter.  The only thing in this world that has any importance is just you and I and our being together for now and always.”

Then followed 7 days of joy and ecstasy.  We became acquainted with each other all over again.  The days passed in a dream, a dream that had to end too soon. 

You told me you would send for me as soon as you were transferred to your new station.  It was almost unbearable to say goodbye.  I felt I had just found you only to lose you again, but you comforted me, telling me it would only be for a short time.  I remember how you looked as you sat on the edge of the bed.  Your eyes were filled with sleep, your hair tousled and falling over one eye.  I told you you were the most handsome man in the world, and you said I was the most beautiful girl.  Then you told me I must get right out of bed and hurry, as it would soon be train time.

We stood on the platform at the station.  How many times did you kiss me goodbye?  I remember you saying that if we were ever in need of a place to kiss publicly we should remember to go to the railroad station.  You tried to tell funny little jokes and make me laugh and I tried to be brave for you.  I stood by the window where you sat and we talked before the train started to go.  So many things to say and so little time.  Then the train was going down the tracks and I was waving frantically.  I didn’t cry a tear until then.

You wrote me every day and sometimes called me.  I was lost without you.  My heart was a hard lump in my breast and each night I looked at your picture and cried a little.  At that time 2 weeks separation seemed like 2 years.  Then you called me from Louisiana.  Your voice was strong and vibrant across the great distance of space.  You told me I was to come post haste to Meedville, Louisiana.

The next day I quit my job and was on a plane bound for Meedville by 7:00 that night.  I called you at the camp.  You couldn’t come in until the next evening which was Saturday.  In my innocence of Army ways, I had pictured us together every night, but I was soon to be disillusioned.  Your camp was 35 miles from Meedville and you could come in on weekends, that is, if passes were being issued.  I found a room in a hotel and soon we were together again.  So much time to make up; 2 weeks since we had seen one another.  We were so happy that first night.  We talked far into the night.

I found myself a job.  We soon found that a Private’s pay doesn’t stretch far.  I found a room in a cheap rooming house and that became our heaven, our nest of love and joy.  Weekends were wonderful.  I’d rush home from work, get freshened up for you and soon you’d be there.  After awhile we would go out and get something to eat, as we had no cooking privileges in our room.  I used to tell you of the wonderful meals I would cook for you when we had a place of our own.  You said all that could wait, just so we had each other now.  We would come back to our room and listen to the radio and drink soft drinks.  We didn’t have any money to spend on entertainment, but we had all the entertainment we wanted to be together for two whole evenings a week.  You taught me to play cards; to play poker.  Those were wonderful evenings together and our little room seemed like paradise on earth.

We had been married 3 months when your outfit went on maneuvers.  You were gone 6 weeks.  During that time I found out that we were to have a baby.  I was happy, very happy, but worried and scared.  Then you were back and called me to tell me that you were on your way into town.  I was delirious. I rushed down the stairs to hurry and get ready for you.  I guess I rushed too fast.  I caught my foot on a rough spot on the stair, and hurtled downward.  There was a terrible blinding flash of pain and then I remembered nothing until I heard your dear voice.  You were standing beside me looking scared and helpless.  I was in a hospital.

“Our baby,” I asked, “is it all right?”

“No Darling.  There won’t be any baby.”

It didn’t seem possible.  I had just found out about it.  I broke down completely then and they told you you must leave. 

You were so good to me then, so sweet and tender and loving.  You got a 3-day pass and spent every moment possible by my side.  We were sad about the baby, but knew there was lots of time for others.

You were transferred again, this time to Texas.  I followed you as soon as possible and we had a similar room there.  We didn’t mind.  We could have found happiness anywhere.  You were a perfect love and a perfect husband.  Sometimes I used to wonder if I were dreaming, if it could be possible for any two people to be so completely happy.  Then I remember the one thing we did not talk about; the fact that soon you would be going overseas.

We would lie in bed at night and dream about our future.  We were going to have a large family, possibly 3 boys and 3 girls.  You thought that we should wait until after the war to have them now, though.  We decided that you should go on with your interrupted education.  You had only two years before you would have your degree in engineering.  I said I would work part time to help out.  Then we planned our little home, a small white cottage with a green roof and green shutters.  We were both tired of city dwelling and wanted to have an acre or two out in the country where we could have flowers and vegetables and maybe some berries.  Those were lovely dreams we had.

Before long we knew that the time would soon be there.  The invasion was imminent in Europe and there were many rumors around camp.  We knew that it couldn’t be too long and so we tried desperately to make every moment count, to live each moment together to the full, to drink in the joy of being together before you went away.

It was Saturday night and we had been married 6 months.  I dressed especially for you that night.  I wore the green dress you loved so well, the one which you said, quite plainly, showed off my shape.  I fixed my hair the way you liked it best and waited for you to come.  I could tell by your face when you came that something was wrong, but you denied it.  You brought me red roses.  I held them to my breast, buried my face in them and drank in their beauty.  You said we would go to Dalli’s for supper to celebrate.  Dalli’s was the most exclusive restaurant in town.

“Did you enjoy your food, Sweetheart?” you asked me.

“It was marvelous.  You are a very thoughtful and considerate husband.”

“I should be considerate of anyone so lovely as you.  Six months darling, it doesn’t seem like we’ve been married that long does it?  But I suppose time always goes fast when you’re happy.  I am so happy with you, my darling.  So very, very happy.”

We were very gay that night.  We danced until 2:00 in the morning and then walked the long way home.  We stopped at Joe’s Place and had hamburgers.  It was just like when we were in school together and had just enough money left for a hamburger after a show.

We were in bed and you held me tight, your hands caressing me.

“Darling, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“Darling, don’t you suppose that I know you by now?  Don’t you know that I know what’s been troubling you tonight?  You got your orders didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I didn’t want you to know tonight, not on our wedding anniversary.  We’ll have tomorrow together and then that will be all.”

“What do you mean that will be all?  This is only a brief interlude in our lives.  We have years ahead of us.  Darling, we’ll see the day when we’re sitting on the porch of our little white house with the green roof and green shutters and holding hands and up will walk a little girl or boy and it will be our grandchild.  Don’t you know that?”  I was trying to console you.  Trying to pretend that I was brave about it.

“Jean, I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but I feel that I can’t leave you, that if I do we’ll be apart forever.  Oh, forgive me for saying that, I don’t know what I’m saying.  I’m so upset.  Now don’t cry, Darling, please don’t cry.”  You tried to comfort me.  You kissed me and caressed me and told me of your love and how you would miss me so, but the time would pass swiftly and soon we would be together again.  I soon ceased crying and went to sleep in your arms.

We went to Church the next day and prayed together for your safety and speedy return.  Then we walked in the Park and talked.  The wind was cold and bitter that day but we didn’t mind.  We sat on a park bench and watched the pigeons.  We were alone in the Universe.  A boy and a girl who were terribly in love and who were trying to live those last few hours to the full.

Goodbye was heart-rending.  You looked at me long and hard and there were tears in your eyes.  Then we clung together for that one last time.  When you were gone all of the tears that had been building up in me tore loose like water over a dam.

I returned home to California and was soon writing you at an APO number.  V-mail letters.  At first I heard nothing from you.  I tried not to worry and then one day I got dozens of letters, one for almost every day you had been away.  I sorted them according to dates and read them hungrily.  You were lonesome, you missed me, you loved me, you played poked with the fellows, you missed me.  You got seasick, terribly seasick, you missed me terribly, you loved me.  What beautiful letters they were.  I treasured each of them individually.

Could an existence on letters be called complete?  I think not, but how fortunate we were able to keep in contact that way.  You sent me linens from Ireland.  You wrote me fascinating letters about Ireland, Scotland and England told me of the interesting people you met.  You always made friends readily wherever you went. 

June 6, 1944 and the invasion of Normandy.  Were you in it?  I and millions of mothers, wives and sweethearts waited and wondered.  The newspapers and radio told of the fighting and my heart was sick and sore.  Then one day I returned home from work and set about preparing something to eat.  There had been nothing in the mailbox from you and I was filled with melancholia.  The doorbell rang.  It was Western Union.  My heart was filled with terror.

The War Department regrets to inform you……..

Wounded in action.  Oh, thank God, thank God!  Wounded and not killed, but how seriously?  How was I to know?  I had no one to turn to, no one to comfort me.  I prayed long and hard that night and God did hear my prayer for soon I had a letter from you, written in a strange hand, but your words, your sentiments.  I cried when I read it.  I cried until the page was blurred and the words almost indistinguishable.  You had been hit by a mortar shell, but it was not a serious injury.  It had not received attention in time and had become quite badly infected but was progressing rapidly.  You were in a hospital in England and a nurse was writing this letter.  It was your right arm that was hit.

I received many letters in the handwriting of that nurse, and then your own dear handwriting again, shaky, but all your own.  You recovered soon and were sent back to combat.

Those were anxious days, days of waiting while the troops pushed steadily ahead to Berlin.  Oh, there were setbacks, of course, but at long last it was over and the news was flashed around the world that the Germans were beaten, crushed completely.  Now you could be home.  It couldn’t be much longer now.  Your letters were regular now and promised of your early return.  It was spring, a new and glorious spring which foretold a new life for us when we would be together always, without war and continents between us.

Then your letters changed.  I didn’t know it then, but in looking them over now I can readily see it.  I was stunned when you said that you had volunteered to stay over for the army of occupation.  I couldn’t believe that it could be so.  You gave as your reason that you thought there was a job to be done and that there was no purpose in winning the war if our nation could not secure the peace.  All very noble of you, but I didn’t feel noble, I was a woman who had been without her man for 3 years and I wanted you with me.  I read your letter over and over trying to read between the lines, to discern your motive for this.  It was impossible for me to understand.

You still wrote me regularly.  My heart was heavy but my eyes were dry.  I had cried so much it seemed I could never cry again.  You sent me perfume from Paris where you spent a leave.  You sent me souvenir pictures from Berlin.  You told me of the old castle where you were quartered.  You said you were seeing a lot of the country and getting a liberal education in the German way of life.

Our third wedding anniversary came and the florist delivered red roses.  Our fourth anniversary came and more red roses.  I knew that something was wrong by this time.  Your letters were noticeably changed by now, but I kept hoping, always hoping.

And now our fifth wedding anniversary.  I didn’t receive the red roses, but I did receive your letter.  Yes, my darling, I can’t believe that you planned it this way, but it came today, August 5, 1947.

She laid down her pen.  She was a lovely girl of about 25 years of age and she sat before a desk in a small apartment.  She was dressed in a blue negligee and looked very lovely with her hair falling softly about her shoulders.  She read what she had written, gave a short laugh and folded it together and slowly tore it into miniature pieces and dropped them one by one into a wastebasket.  Then she picked up a letter that lay on the desk and read it through again.

“Jean Dear, I know I should have done this long ago, but I was a coward.  How can I say what I have to say without hurting you?  If I only could know that you have changed too, it would not be so difficult.  I’ll come right to the point. I’ve fallen in love with a girl in Berlin.  I want to marry her and I want you to divorce me.  I hope this isn’t going to hurt too much, but we were apart for so long and she was here close by.  But I am not going to make excuses, I feel too much like a heel anyway, and I do love her very much.  I hope you will be willing to divorce me, and I know how fair about everything you have always been.  Please let me hear from you soon.  Forgive me.  May God bless you. Ted.”

She took this letter and slowly tore it into bits where it fell, slowly into the wastebasket where the other letter lay.

The End.