10/14/10: Way to shame me into updating again by commenting, people who comment! (Seriously, though, hi, welcome, and pull up one of the splintery old orange crates that we use for seating 'round these parts seein' as we can't afford no fancy chairs.)

The rules from
here still apply.

Thursday, November 02, 2006


"Well, it isn't like I have any war stories to tell," Harry cautioned his grandson. "I was only a boy then -- World War II ended just three days before my twelfth birthday, in fact." He smiled at the memory. "When I was your age, though, it was still going on, and oh, how I wished I was old enough to be a part of it. The excitement, the glamor, the chance to see foreign countries and commit brave and daring acts of courage... we all thought that was what war would be like, me and my friends. Sure, Tommy's older brother had been drafted, and from the letters he sent home, it wasn't nearly as wonderful as all that. But we still dreamed."

Matt's eyes were wide. "Did his brother die?"

"Well, yes," Harry replied with a laugh, "but not just then. He served a tour of duty in England, came safely home again, and died in bed at the age of seventy-four. No, the families in our neighborhood were mostly lucky. Only old Mrs. Haversham's son didn't make it home, and that only because of an accident. He never actually saw combat at all."

"So what was it like growing up during the war?" Matt asked.

"It was," Harry said, and stopped. He thought for a moment. Finally, "Different," he began again, and smiled as the boy settled in to listen to his story. "It was different."

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