I was born in 1943, during the Second World War. No ultrasounds in those days, so my dad didn’t know whether to expect a son or a daughter. I imagine him sitting in a tent in Italy reading the telegram that announced my birth. Or maybe it was a foxhole in France.
For Valentine’s day, Mom sent him a handmade card. I wonder how quickly it arrived. Or how slowly.
In the 1940s, wives didn’t receive phone calls from the front. They didn’t have FaceTime or even email. I wonder how intensely Mom followed the news. Did she scour the daily paper for every bit of information about Hitler’s war? Did she keep a map of Europe beside her bed, trying to make out where Dad might be after his censored, slow-to-arrive letters arrived?
I wonder what were those years like for her? Did she go to movies, even though they all started with a newsreel showing war scenes? Did she and her friends just go on about their business, pretending the war didn’t exist? Or was it always there at the back of their minds?
Is it better to know all the details about what’s happening in the world or would we be better off not knowing?
This is a question we’re still asking ourselves. Should we follow the news or should we avoid it, especially when it’s bad?
We’re not at war now, and yet, people talk a lot about being exhausted. We feel obliged to know what’s going on in our country and the world. The problem is, though, once we know, won’t we feel required to do something? And then, won’t we feel even more exhausted?
Here’s another way to look at life: We should live in the moment, appreciate the world around us, and love and help our family, friends, and neighbors. I believe that too.
Oh, dear! Life is so complicated!
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Back to Mom.
Mom didn’t tell me much about how it felt to be her—pregnant and worrying about Dad. And I didn’t ask. Unless your parents are storytellers or unless you’re a very curious person, you just accept the basic facts about the time before you entered the world.
Then one day when I was getting ready to nurse my daughter, I asked her if she nursed me.
She looked away for a moment. “I tried,” she said finally, “but I couldn’t do it. I was too nervous.” She made a little joke about how it should have been easy with the large size of her breasts.
I nodded. Of course. That was the way her body responded to her anxiety about the war–about the news or the lack of news. I understand, Mom. I really do.
Nicki, I’m glad you got to ask your mother and being a new mom yourself brought the question to the forefront. Bless, it must have been so hard for her, and your father being so far away. I bet that Valentine’s Day card cheered him up and it’s so sweet. Yes, I often wonder if we become fatigued with the constant news that it becomes part of the norm when that should neve be the case.
My dad wrote lots of letters. He sounded as positive as he could in them, but he was involved in some hard fighting, and he was injured once and spent a month in a French hospital. In later years, he turned down opportunities to travel. He said, “I did enough traveling during the war.”
Even if we become tired of hearing about war, the real problem is, it’s hard to do anything about it. I’m angry about what Russia is doing in Ukraine and just as angry about the cruel war our president has started in Iran. Citizens have few options, but we should do everything we can to stop this madness.
What a treasure to have that Valentine’s card. And wow, you look like your mom.
I nursed my daughter until she bit me with the two front teeth that she was born with. Then she was on to bottles.
My mom saved lots of things, and then, when she died, my sister insisted on keeping all the photo albums and boxes of letters. So I have both of them to thank for the Valentine’s card.
Those naughty babies with their sharp, newly acquired teeth.
Nicki, what a touching end to your tale.
I remember listening to my ex’s grandmother talking about her experiences being left behind in the UK with 2 small children while her husband was with the army in India. I hugely enjoyed talking with him about India and his experiences there (apparently I was the first person he’d met who knew what he was talking about), but he description of how things were for wives and families left behind made me think. She was a remarkable woman, very determined and resilient.
I think history has pretty much forgotten about the women who were left behind coping.
You’re lucky that your grandfather enjoyed tell you about his time in India. My dad didn’t have much to say. But my sister is going through his letters now, and that’s interesting.
Even now, in the 21st centuries, families in the American military put up with a lot. They move every few years, and since there are American bases (and sometimes wars) all over the world, those moves are not insignificant. Often the families move all together. But sometimes the service member is sent overseas and the families stay at home. We don’t hear much about those families and how they cope.
I was born 11 November 1944 in Portsmouth England. My Dad was a Sergeant in the Royal Army Medical Corps and he was in Europe like your Dad.
My mother called me Meryl and when my grandfather came to see me he said “That’s not a proper name my Girl” but she and Dad had agreed on it – if the baby was a girl – no knowing the sex beforehand in those days!
My dad originally wanted to name me after my mom, Jacqueline, but she refused. They compromised by using her name for my middle name.
I strive for a balance between being “in the know” and not being overloaded.
When it gets to be “too much,” I turn my attention to my own small corner of the world while taking a break from world events.
That makes sense. In fact, we all live in our own little corners of the world.
Gosh – it never occurred to me to ask my mother!
My bet is it was bottle only.
I think you’re right. Bottle-feeding was big in the US between the 1940s and the 1960s. I was surprised, though, that my mom connected my bottle feeding more with her nervousness that with the fact that everyone else was doing it.
A very poignant post, Nicki. Also very pertinent today. As you know, I was born the year before you. Your conversation is not one I could have had with my Mum, and the only story Dad ever told was about Dunkirk
My dad never told war stories to me, although I know he was involved in the Battle of Monte Casino. He wrote letters, though, and my mom and grandma saved them. My sister has them now, and just today we were reading a couple on our way out to lunch. He told my grandma what a good cook she was and that he’d never had a better meal than at her table.
Because my Dad’s war was in France it was comparatively easy to visit us when on leave. This earlier post explains how: https://derrickjknight.com/2013/08/13/a-sneaky-weekend/
That’s a lovely photo to have of you and your dad.
I didn’t see my dad until I was two-and-a half years old. I’ve been told that I embarrassed my mom more than once by running after a stranger on the street who was in uniform and calling him “daddy.”
Your story is so poignant, Nicki.
My dad didn’t go to the war. He was already older than they wanted and with kids. My mom talked about war times, mostly the how tight things were but they survived. I love the picture of your parents. I can see both of them in you.
All-out war is expensive, not only for the soldiers and their families but also for everyone at home. That must be why my mom and I lived with my grandparents until Dad got home from the war.
My mom didn’t nurse me either. I think she said I would only drink from a bottle.
How lovely to have the photos and cards that you have that beautiful photo of your parents and that lovely card your mom made. So your artistic ability came through her?
When my kids were born, nursing was strongly encouraged. Also that’s about the time birthing classes became popular. I was born in a different time, though, so I wasn’t surprised my mom didn’t nurse me. Her reason was a revelation, though.
Both my mom and my grandma were artistic. Mom loved to sketch and make little cartoons. They both did china painting and oil painting.