Revisiting the familiar territory around Oxford School where I had attended fifth and sixth grades under my father, brought back more memories of the years between 1939 and 1943.
We lived in the teachers’ home which had 2 small bedrooms, living room, kitchen, pantry, 2 porches and a “car shed”.
The bathroom was an outdoor building that also served the school. It was on a slight hill on the other side of our large fenced garden spot making it quite a distance from the house. Because such a walk was unthinkable in the dark, we used a small portable facility called a “slop jar” at night. The job of emptying it was not a favorite thing to do, but we each had our turn. Once, it had gotten dark when I remembered that I had not brought the “jar” in for the night and, being somewhat afraid to go get it, I mentioned it to my oldest sister and asked her what I should do. Well, she gave me an extremely effective answer; one that has also become a very popular saying among Christian young people today. She merely asked, “What would Jesus do?” I didn’t have to think …I knew…and it gave me the courage to accept my responsibility. Knowing that I was doing right empowered me to lay aside my fears that night, and that question has been useful to me many times since. When the WWJD bracelets began to be worn a few years ago, I was excited about the positive influence they could have in the lives of those who used them properly.
On December 7, 1941, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and we entered into World War II. It was a hard time for many families whose boys were drafted into armed services, but it was a time when patriotism was at a peak. We sang patriotic songs at school, and we were encouraged to buy ten-cent war stamps which, when enough were accumulated, could be exchanged for war bonds. The smallest bond cost $18.75 mature at $25.00. Gasoline, coffee, sugar, etc. had to be rationed, and communities worked together on many common causes.
In 1941-1943 I attended a Jr. High school whose principal had served in World War I and was a high ranking official in the National Guards. He incorporated army style marching (including presenting arms) into our physical education program. We learned to do right turns, left turns, about face, column march, march in place, attention, at-ease, etc. It connected us to the boys who were fighting in faraway places.
Aunt Ethel Bates, Dad’s sister, lived in a nice big yellow house about a quarter of a mile up the road in one direction and Aunt Vona Davis, Dad’s aunt, lived about half that distance in the other direction. Both families were a big part of the enjoyment of living in that community. Each family had a girl near my own age with which I shared some good times. Bessie was the youngest child and only girl in Aunt Vona’s family. Evelyn was the fourth child and the first girl in Aunt Ethel’s family of four boys and two girls.
Both of these aunts were good homemakers, diligent in providing for their families and in sharing with neighbors. Both husbands did well with farming and their homes reflected their prosperity. The homes still look good today because someone has continued to care for them.
Few tragedies have touched my immediate or extended family, but one which can’t be surpassed occurred in the Bates’ home. I seldom speak of them without the memory surfacing to haunt me still.
Aunt Ethel’s washing machine was on the side porch, and one day as she was busy with her wash, she had hot water in the washpot. Some of the children were playing marbles out in the yard and had been cautioned to be careful, but in the excitement of the game the youngest boy backed into the fire and fell into the pot of hot water. He was not killed immediately but died on the way to the hospital or soon thereafter. A sister-in-law related how Brice tried to comfort his mother on the way to the hospital saying that he didn’t hurt. Evidently, his feelings were gone and he felt no pain!
For months I witnessed the unbearable pain suffered by a parent in the loss of a child. The months became years before grief did its healing process well enough for that household to be restored to its former state of joyfulness.
Tragedies, though hard to bear, can teach us lessons that help us survive hardships that follow. They can also help form within us the softer qualities of compassion and concern for the feelings of others.