Chapter Twenty-Five
posted in Novel |
It’s an interesting day today. Here I am, posting the next Chapter of Lost and Found which shows an example of one of the many nasty bits of fallout which accompany war.
Also this morning, I’m writing my next article in my Buddhist blog about how I feel about war and focusing the article on peace. (There is a link to that blog at the bottom of the right side-bar. The new article will be posted later today. I’m still working on it.)
Plus, this morning’s news contains items which make me feel sad — the severe aftershock hitting Haiti and its people — people who have endured more than many of us can truly understand. Then, there’s the news of the election results in Massachusetts which could have a major impact on the way our Congress (and our country) is run.
As I said — an interesting day — and for me, a sad one.
Be well — be in peace,
Ron Rink
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I never had a great deal of understanding about the Second World War even though it was in full swing during this time of my life.
I was only seven-years old when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, but I do have a distinct memory of when it happened. I was in the car with my parents. We were either coming home from church or on our way to church for a service or some other meeting. The car radio was playing music when the broadcast was interrupted by the news about the bombing. The announcement didn’t register much with me, but my mother’s remark of “Oh, Henry. What will happen now?” did get my attention. Her voice was filled with a concern and worry which was uncommon for her.
My father responded, “I really don’t know, Rettie.” He called her ‘Rettie’ as a nickname for her full name, Henrietta.
Although it was rare for him to expound on anything, he went on to say, “We’ve known for some time the world was in a lot of turmoil, but I never thought anything like this would ever happen. I don’t know what will happen now.”
That was all they said about it, but I did get the feeling they were upset about the news, even though it didn’t have much of an effect on me. My parents rarely ever had lengthy conversations about anything, so it wasn’t surprising nothing further was discussed.
Many of the homes around our neighborhood had little flags hanging in their windows to show they had someone in their family who was serving in the war. Most of the flags were red, with a white square in the middle and one or two black stars in the white square, depending on how many members of the household were in the service. Every once in a while I would see a window with a gold star flag in it. The gold star signified that someone who belonged to the household had been killed in the war. What was really sad was when you saw a flag in the window with two gold stars.
There was, however, one particular occurrence which brought the consequences of war home to me personally.
On a Wednesday afternoon late in the summer of 1943, I was at home waiting for Mrs. Wolpert to show up for my regular weekly piano lesson. She was due to arrive at four o’clock, but still wasn’t there by fifteen minutes after four. This was extremely disconcerting because Mrs. Wolpert was never late. She might be a couple of minutes early, but never fifteen minutes late.
My mother called over to Charlie Saunder’s house because Mrs. Wolpert always gave him his lesson just before mine.
After she got off the phone my mother came into my room and told me that Mrs. Wolpert had never arrived at the Saunder’s house.
“Mrs. Saunders doesn’t know what could be wrong,” my mother explained. “The only other time she didn’t make it to a lesson was over a year ago and she called to let them know.”
“Does that mean I won’t have a lesson today?” I asked.
“Well, I’d like you to stay around for a little longer just to be sure she doesn’t show up. Do you have to work at the bowling alley later?”
Since I’d much rather work at the alley than be around the house, especially if I didn’t have any practicing to do after a lesson, I said, “No, I don’t normally go there on Wednesdays because of my lesson, but if I don’t have a lesson, I could go in for awhile.”
“Let’s wait a few more minutes. If she doesn’t show up, you can go.”
It was just a few minutes later that Mrs. Saunders called and told my mother that Mrs. Wolpert had been “detained” by the government because of the fact she was a German and not a citizen of the United States.
We never saw or heard from Mrs. Wolpert again.
A few weeks later I began taking lessons from Miss. Thomas—Julianna Thomas.
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