In This Issue  
Home    |    About Us    |    Meet Debbie    |    Meet Friends    |    Prayer    |    Contact Us
Share Print this page Print Email to a friendEmail

< Back to Poems & Creative Writings

The Day The Music Stopped

     December 7, 1941, a day not to be forgotten by those of who lived it.  Seventy years later, it still holds a vivid picture in my mind.  This is a true story of what I remember of WWII. 

     Mom, Dad, and I, along with my Aunt were on a trip from Columbus, Ohio to Canton.  My brother, Veto, was driving.  The radio was playing a popular tune by one of the big bands of the day when suddenly the music was interrupted with the news that forever changed the world as we knew it. 

     I thought to myself, “I’m not really sure what just happened.”   Everyone was laughing and talking and then this man stopped the music I was listening to and said something about a bunch of planes bombing a place called Pearl Harbor.  I never heard of Pearl Harbor.  Now everyone was still talking, but no one was laughing.

      Mama started to cry.  She said something about her boys would be leaving to fight in a war.  I thought to myself, “I hope Nicky doesn’t have to go away.  He’s my favorite brother.  I love him best of all.”

I Remember. . .

     Today Nicky got his letter from the Draft Board.  He will be leaving soon.  I can’t help it, I just can’t stop crying.  I’m going to miss him so much. 

     All my brothers and sisters are a lot older than me.  I watch and hear what they do and say.  A lot has changed since the war started.  I remember when mommies stayed home and the daddies went to work.  Now almost all the daddies are gone and most of the mommies are working, mostly at war plants.

     Mama has a hard time when she goes to the store.  She has to count her ration stamps so she can buy meat and sugar and other stuff.  They only sell meat two days a week.  We eat a lot of meals with just vegetables.  I don’t care too much, but my sisters sure do complain about it.

     We always had a garden.  So did most of our neighbors, but there are a lot of people who never had one before the war.  Now everyone seems to grow one.  They call them “Victory Gardens.”  It’s supposed to help the war effort they say.

     There are a lot of sad, scared people.  A lot of people are going to church to pray for the boys fighting.  It seemed everyone has a star in their window.   That told people they had a son or someone in the service.  If they had a gold star, it meant that person died.  Nobody wanted to see a Western Union man show up at their door.  It generally means bad news about their son fighting.  I had two brothers that fought. Nicky went to Burma and India.  My brother, Tony, fought somewhere in the South Pacific.

     Most boys felt bad if they were turned down at the recruiter’s office.  They were labeled 4F.  There were a lot of reason to be turned down, but it always made them feel really bad.  People looked down on them because they thought they were unpatriotic; that made them feel worse.   If you had bad eyes or feet, they were turned down, because they couldn’t see to shoo, or couldn’t march.  Veto was turned down because he had bad feet.  He worked in a defense plant till after the war.

     Everyone was surprised the War lasted so long.  I was eight when the War started, I’m thirteen now.  Nicky finally came home, and I am so happy.  Tony came home too.  But a lot of things have changed.  Some of the moms quit their jobs, but a lot didn’t.  It seems people have a lot more stuff than they used to.  Now more mothers are working so they can have more stuff, too. I hear them saying they have to keep up with the “Joneses,” whoever they are.

     We never had a lot of stuff and we still don’t, but we have enough, I guess.  I sure would like to have more, but mama never went to work.  We kept our garden, and now we have meat at most meals.  But best of all, mama is there when I get home from school.  My brother Nick still lives at home.  All my other brothers and sisters are married now, but they come home all the time.  There’s a lot of laughing and talking going on. Home is a fun place to be.

Copyright © 2008-2015 Sylvia Hensel

Post Your Comment...

First Name
Last Name
e-mail   (We will not re-distribute your e-mail.)

Share on Facebook Share
Print this page Print This Page
Email to a friendEmail Article to a Friend

< Back to Poems & Creative Writings

More Great Articles

My Friend Debbie - Turn Old Man Winter Into A Breath of Fresh AirHome & Hospitality

Turn Old Man Winter Into A Breath of Fresh Air
My Friend Debbie - Chicken and Rice CasseroleKitchen Keeper Recipes

Chicken and Rice Casserole
My Friend Debbie - Corolla, NC with GirlfriendsTravel

Corolla, NC with Girlfriends