I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Tag: letters from soldiers

  • different war, different century – same Mother’s Day yearnings

    different war, different century – same Mother’s Day yearnings


    Pretty’s family isn’t big on specific dates so we celebrated Mother’s Day Wednesday with our family. Does the day really matter as long as someone celebrates, remembers, keeps a tradition of a mother’s love going…eleven years ago I published this post about a young American soldier in France in the 20th. century during WWI who tried to comfort his mother on Mother’s Day from a place that existed only in her imagination.

    ***********************************

    The handwriting on the letters has almost faded away, the yellowed paper and envelopes  so torn and fragile I’m afraid to open them for fear they’ll disintegrate. The dates of the letters are in May of 1918, which I calculate to be 95 years ago this month. They are three letters written by a young Marine serving “somewhere” in France in World War I to his mother who evidently thought they were worthy of saving. Pretty discovered the letters  when she was on one of her fishing expeditions for treasures in old houses.  Occasionally on her adventures at yard sales or estate sales she finds words for me to read – words that someone saved for a reason. No longer wanted by family, they’re sometimes stuck inside the pages of books she buys or in a little box or even in a scrapbook tossed aside as unimportant. I don’t think the names are necessary but I will say the mother lived in Indiana. I’m glad she thought her son’s words were worthy of saving. I believe they’re worthy of being read again.

     Somewhere in France,  May 12, 1918

    Dearest Mother,

    Today is “Mother’s Day” – your day – and I wish I were home to spend the day with you.  Altho I cannot send you a big box of flowers I will endeavor to send a little flower that grows near me on a green hillside.

    I hope you are well and happy today.  Of course I realize how you feel about me being over here, the two battles you have to fight, that is, keeping up a brave front and smile when I know you feel bad about me.  Mother dear, I really am safe and the best news I get from home is that you are well and enjoying life. I would rather hear that you enjoyed a good show, say once a week, than to hear that you had denied yourself one little thing to help the Cause along. I sort of figure that you have done your bit, so please try to have a good time and remember that I don’t fare so bad.  It isn’t nearly so bad here as you all imagine.

    We eat, sleep, read magazines, letters and roam around to see everything going on. We aren’t getting any furloughs at present. I mean my outfit, but maybe it won’t be long until we can go touring again. I’ll have many stories to tell you when I get back, and I’ll trade stories for some good pies & cakes – and any eats at all that you cook. We move so much that I thought I’d have to throw away some pictures, but I’ve found a way. We always find a way. It seems a necessary part of a Marine to get along most any old place and get along well.

    I sent a list home of some things I want – and you may add on to that list a few pounds of homemade candy, preferably fudge. I don’t care how old fudge gets, it is always the best tasting eats we ever get from back there. I can buy French candy & chocolate at the Y.M.C. A. huts, so you see that we really don’t suffer for those things, but nevertheless some good old homemade candy is the stuff.

    I write you once a week, when possible, as an answer to Dad, Sis & your letters so they must not feel slighted, but this is your letter, and nearly every mother who has a son in France will get one too. Spring is coming in very beautiful, but the rain is so frequent here.  After a big rain the sun pops out with a blue sky and green hills – then everybody is happy.

    I tried to subscribe for one of the 3rd Liberty Loan Bonds but they aren’t selling them here.  I would like to have one of each issue. I have no kick coming about getting mail now as it is coming pretty regularly.  I’d appreciate some of those fried chickens you spoke about but I think I’ll wait until I come home.

    Well Mother dear, next Mother’s Day we will celebrate properly and have a good time.

    Love to Dad & Sis, and you…

    Your loving son, Buddie

    *********************************

    Not all sons and daughters become soldiers who are stationed in foreign countries on a different continent on Mother’s Day, but the yearnings for connection to home and family are universal regardless of time or place, seen or unseen.

  • different war, different century – same yearnings


    Danger, danger, danger – where are our safe places, our safe people, our safe distances from our safe people in our safe places…to mask or not to mask, that is the question. But of course we are not the only generation to wage war against enemies seen and unseen. Seven years ago I published this post about a young soldier who tried to comfort his mother on Mother’s Day from a place that existed only in her imagination.

    ***********************************

    The handwriting on the letters has almost faded away, the yellowed paper and envelopes  so torn and fragile I’m afraid to open them for fear they’ll disintegrate. The dates of the letters are in May of 1918, which I calculate to be 95 years ago this month. They are three letters written by a young Marine serving “somewhere” in France in World War I to his mother who evidently thought they were worthy of saving. Pretty discovered the letters  when she was on one of her fishing expeditions for treasures in old houses.  Occasionally on her adventures at yard sales or estate sales she finds words for me to read – words that someone saved for a reason. No longer wanted by family, they’re sometimes stuck inside the pages of books she buys or in a little box or even in a scrapbook tossed aside as unimportant. I don’t think the names are necessary but I will say the mother lived in Indiana. I’m glad she thought her son’s words were worthy of saving. I believe they’re worthy of being read again.

     Somewhere in France,  May 12, 1918

    Dearest Mother,

    Today is “Mother’s Day” – your day – and I wish I were home to spend the day with you.  Altho I cannot send you a big box of flowers I will endeavor to send a little flower that grows near me on a green hillside.

    I hope you are well and happy today.  Of course I realize how you feel about me being over here, the two battles you have to fight, that is, keeping up a brave front and smile when I know you feel bad about me.  Mother dear, I really am safe and the best news I get from home is that you are well and enjoying life. I would rather hear that you enjoyed a good show, say once a week, than to hear that you had denied yourself one little thing to help the Cause along. I sort of figure that you have done your bit, so please try to have a good time and remember that I don’t fare so bad.  It isn’t nearly so bad here as you all imagine.

    We eat, sleep, read magazines, letters and roam around to see everything going on. We aren’t getting any furloughs at present. I mean my outfit, but maybe it won’t be long until we can go touring again. I’ll have many stories to tell you when I get back, and I’ll trade stories for some good pies & cakes – and any eats at all that you cook. We move so much that I thought I’d have to throw away some pictures, but I’ve found a way. We always find a way. It seems a necessary part of a Marine to get along most any old place and get along well.

    I sent a list home of some things I want – and you may add on to that list a few pounds of homemade candy, preferably fudge. I don’t care how old fudge gets, it is always the best tasting eats we ever get from back there. I can buy French candy & chocolate at the Y.M.C. A. huts, so you see that we really don’t suffer for those things, but nevertheless some good old homemade candy is the stuff.

    I write you once a week, when possible, as an answer to Dad, Sis & your letters so they must not feel slighted, but this is your letter, and nearly every mother who has a son in France will get one too. Spring is coming in very beautiful, but the rain is so frequent here.  After a big rain the sun pops out with a blue sky and green hills – then everybody is happy.

    I tried to subscribe for one of the 3rd Liberty Loan Bonds but they aren’t selling them here.  I would like to have one of each issue. I have no kick coming about getting mail now as it is coming pretty regularly.  I’d appreciate some of those fried chickens you spoke about but I think I’ll wait until I come home.

    Well Mother dear, next Mother’s Day we will celebrate properly and have a good time.

    Love to Dad & Sis, and you…

    Your loving son, Buddie

    *********************************

    Perhaps next Mother’s Day we will all celebrate properly and have a good time without fear of the invisible enemy that attacks us through the Covid-19 virus. Ironically this letter written in 1918 by a soldier looking forward to the spring in France was a Marine who had no way of knowing a pandemic that would sweep across the world was about to begin. The Spanish flu or the 1918 influenza pandemic began in the spring of 1918 and lasted through the summer of 1919 with an estimated 500 million confirmed cases according to Wikipedia. Did Buddie survive both the war and the virus… I wonder…

    Stay safe, stay sane and please stay tuned.

     

  • a man of letters (11 – final) – Homecomings, Reunions and Mysteries in the summer of 1945


    One by one the young men returned in late spring and early summer from the second world war to their families and new beginnings. Glenn Morris, our letter writer, and his brother Ray came home to the small rural town of Richards, Texas from England …Charlie and Marion Boring, Selma’s brothers and C.H. Boring, Selma’s first cousin returned from the Pacific seas…against the odds, they all came home safe and sound. Well, safe for sure. As for “sound” we will never know because discussions of the war were rare. Their experiences on the battlegrounds in the air and on the oceans remained their secrets for the rest of their lives.

    Glenn at home with his father and mother

    Glenn’s dog Scooter part of the welcoming committee

    In August, 1945 a letter arrived from England addressed to Mrs. George P. Morris, Richards, Texas USA. The letter writer was E. Hughes from Doncaster, England. She had been the home away from home for the Morris brothers who were stationed in England during the war. From one mother across the Pond to another…

    “Dear Mrs. Morris,

    Many thanks for your letter. I was very pleased you appreciated my letter. I expect you have Ray home now. We do miss him but let’s thank God the whole war is over &  your boys won’t have to face that Pacific. I cheered hearing that any of the U.S. A. boys who stayed with me wouldn’t have to face that ordeal. Fancy Glenn being with you when my letter arrived. I could just imagine him saying that about the Yorkshire pudding

    Yes, Mrs. Morris, my dear son arrived home safely & we’ve had a lovely 10 days with him. We had his coming home party last Saturday & what a party. Ray will tell you what a lively house this is.

    Like you, dear, I didn’t know what to do when the telegram came saying he had landed in England. I laughed and cried together. So I know your feeling when that great big son of yours arrives. He’s a great guy. We’ve put his photo on the piano. I often talk to him.

    Pleasure to hear you have 3 children. We only  have the 2 boys & my grandson who really is a beautiful child. I’ll send you some snaps when we can obtain some films for the camera. He’s so proud of his dear daddy. Ask Glynn to send me a picture of his wife. She sounds a jolly good sort of a girl. We get very few American boys here now. I see a few was here for J.V. Days; everybody went wild. Tell Ray the Market Tavern was crowded when we got in. You couldn’t get a seat anywhere. My son who works there was tired out…we was all dancing on the Market top.

    Give Ray this message from Shelia, “She sends her regards to him & if she weren’t marrying Nash, he stood the second chance.” She’s a sweet person.

    I’ll enclose you the recipe of Yorkshire Pudding. It’s really good with roast beef, mutton, or pork. We seldom have a dinner without it in England as it’s very tasty with onions cooked. Let’s hope you make a success of it. It needs a lot of beating up.

    Well dear, space is short and time marches on. Give my love to my two boys from their Limey Mum. So I’ll say cheerio,

    Sincerely yours,

    E. Hughes

    Regards from all the young at heart to Ray & Glynn”

    Yes, the big family news was that when Glenn came home for furlough in May, 1945 he and Selma got married.  Not too long afterwards, Ray married a Texas woman named Mavis Williams who was the younger sister of his mother’s brother’s wife. He had luckily been the second choice of Shelia, his girlfriend in England.

    Ray at home in Richards

    Much to the dismay of their families, Glenn and Selma decided against a wedding at the First Baptist Church where they were members. Instead, they eloped.

    Richards News in Grimes County Review

    by Mrs. Cornelia Garvin

    (June 06, 1945)

    Mrs. Cornelia Garvin had this to say in her article:

    “First Lieut. L. Morris and Miss Selma Boring surprised their friends Tuesday when they drove away Tuesday to Willis, returned and announced they were married. Glenn is at home on a thirty-day furlough, after completing his missions. The son of Mr. and Mrs. G. P. Morris, Selma the daughter of Mrs. Louise Boring, and just returned from college at Waco. Both these young people have a host of friends who wish them every happiness in their new voyage they have begun.”

    Selma and Glenn in Richards

    The Richards News also included this nugget:

    “Mrs. J. V. Bech of Pass Christian, Miss., is here for a visit with her parents,  Mr. and Mrs. George Morris. “

    Mrs. J. V. Bech is better known to all of you as Lucy, Glenn’s sister, who was married to Terrell when the boys left home. Terrell did also make it home from the war, but Lucy had married another Navy man known as Jay Bech at some point in the interim years. Terrell continued to visit the Morris family in Richards for many years, but he was never mentioned at family gatherings.

    Lucy

    Glenn and Selma honeymooned by train to Miami, Florida. That trip turned out to be not quite the Hollywood movie image of their dreams, but they survived it and began  a new life together after a war that had forever changed the two teenagers who were forced to grow up quickly. Thankfully, they both came from loving families that continued to support them in their married life.

    Selma was 18 years old when she married Glenn who was 20 at the time. In eleven months they  would become parents of a baby girl they named Sheila – a name Glenn chose from his brother’s girlfriend in England – with the middle name Rae, a feminine version of his brother Ray’s name.

    Scooter and Selma in 1945

    My father’s letters continued after his marriage to my mother, and later on he wrote to me when I was in college in the 1960s. I will look forward to another series on those entertaining letters, but for now I will leave my family as they were at the end of World War II with all my friends in cyberspace.

    Thank you all so very much for reading and for your comments. This journey has been a bittersweet one for me with a roller coaster of emotions. From letter to letter, I’ve had tearful moments interspersed with laughter as I imagined the characters I knew so very well. I hope you were able to see them with me and that you will be inspired to realize the mysteries you may also have tucked away in a box or drawer somewhere. Life is about new discoveries – ask questions you want to know before it’s too late. Open the unopened. Explore. Remember.

    And stay tuned.

     

     

     

     

     

  • A Soldier Writes Home – in 1918


    The handwriting on the letters has almost faded away and the yellowed paper and envelopes are so torn and fragile I’m afraid to open them for fear they’ll disintegrate.  The dates of the letters are in March and May of 1918, which I calculate to be ninety-five years ago this month.  They are three letters written by a young Marine serving “somewhere” in France in World War I to his mother who evidently thought they were worthy of saving.  On this Sunday afternoon my partner Teresa gave them to me as we cleaned out our Bodega to get ready for a garage sale.

    “I think you’ll like these,” she said, “especially since they’re a soldier writing home and tomorrow is Memorial Day.”  Occasionally on her adventures at yard sales she finds words for me to read – words that someone saved for a reason.  No longer wanted by family, they’re sometimes stuck inside the pages of books she buys or in a little box or even in a scrapbook tossed aside as unimportant.

    I don’t think the names are necessary but I will say that the mother lived in Indiana.  I’m glad she thought her son’s words were worthy of saving.  I believe they’re worthy of being read again.

    France,

    May 12, 1918

    Dearest Mother:

    Today is “Mother’s Day” – your day – and I wish I were home to spend the day with you.  Altho I cannot send you a big box of flowers I will endeavor to send a little flower that grows near me on a green hillside.

    I hope you are well and happy today.  Of course I realize how you feel about me being over here, the two battles you have to fight, that is, keeping up a brave front and smile when I know you feel bad about me.  Mother dear, I really am safe and the best news I get from home is that you are well and enjoying life.  I would rather hear that you enjoyed a good show, say once a week, than to hear that you had denied yourself one little thing to help the Cause along.  I sort of figure that you have done your bit, so please try to have a good time and remember that I don’t fare so bad.  It isn’t nearly so bad here as you all imagine.

    We eat, sleep, read magazines, letters and roam around and see everything going on.

    We aren’t getting any furloughs at present.  I mean my outfit, but maybe it won’t be long until we can go touring again.

    I’ll have many stories to tell you when I get back, and I’ll trade stories for some good pies & cakes – and any eats at all that you cook.  We move so much that I thought I’d have to throw away some pictures, but I’ve found a way.  We always find a way.  It seems a necessary part of a Marine to get along most any old place and get along well.

    I sent a list home of some things I want – and you may add on to that list a few pounds of homemade candy, preferably fudge.  I don’t care how old fudge gets, it is always the best tasting eats we ever get from back there.  I can buy French candy & chocolate at the Y.M.C. A. huts, so you see that we really don’t suffer for those things, but nevertheless some good old homemade candy is the stuff.

    I write you once a week, when possible, as an answer to Dad, Sis & your letters so they must not feel slighted, but this is your letter, and nearly every mother who has a son in France will get one too.

    Spring is coming in very beautiful, but the rain is so frequent here.  After a big rain the sun pops out with a blue sky and green hills – then everybody is happy.

    I tried to subscribe for one of the 3rd Liberty Loan Bonds but they aren’t selling them here.  I would like to have one of each issue.

    I have no kick coming about getting mail now as it is coming pretty regularly.  I’d appreciate some of those fried chickens you spoke about but I think I’ll wait until I come home.

    Well Mother dear, next Mother’s Day we will celebrate properly and have a good time.

    Love to Dad & Sis, and you…

    Your loving son,

    Buddie

    Tomorrow I’ll gratefully remember the soldiers who served and were wounded and even gave their lives on many battlefields in every corner of the world through the years on our behalf, but I’ll also see a young Marine writing home from “somewhere” in France almost a century ago asking his mother to send homemade fudge.