Tag Archive | WWII

Author Confessions: Happy Memorial Day

May26
Reading Time: 4 minutes

Author Confessions: Happy Memorial Day

I hope that wherever you are you are getting a chance today to remember that many who have gone before us and some who left us way too soon. They sacrificed for the freedom we enjoy today.

Memorial Day is to remember those veterans who have died, whether during service or after. I found this short poem years ago and put it as my Facebook header every year at this time because Joseph Rodman Drake wrote it so beautifuly. “And they who for their country died shall fill and honored grave, for glory lights the soldier’s tomb and beauty weeps the brave.”

As this weekend is upon us, I’m thinking of my grandfather, James B. Pollard, who passed away in 1989 after a battle with cancer. Both wars that are difficult for the individual and the families left behind. During WWII he kept a journal of his experinces. Not day by day, but musings of things he couldn’t send in a letter to his wife and two children left at home in Wisconsin. They didn’t know where he was going and what he would face. Reading his memories forced me to rethink about the men who fought (and still fight) our battles. Many are so very young. My grandfather had a toddler and newborn when he left for war, but many others did not. Some were wiser and mature and others were foolish and impulsive and he details the shenanigans and difficulties. My grandmother gave me permission to publish this work. I primarily wanted it to be something for my kids, grandkids, or anyone else interested. That little book is in kindle and print at the lowest price I could make it, so I don’t profit off of it. Journey to Lekhipani: A G.I.’s Experiences in WWII. It’s not a long read but he had a way with words and I could almost see and smell India when he writes about arriving there.

Version 1.0.0

This book is also in the U.S. Army War College Library and Archives at the U.S. Army Heritage and Education Center at Carlisle, Pa, due to an assist from my first cousin once removed, Richard S. Brown, who has also written a book, and his interview on my blog can be found here. There isn’t much written about the war in India, but that was where my grandfather was sent. Just writing about this now makes me want to read his book again this weekend, even though I retyped the entire thing to get it published, it’s a story that resonates with me. He was my grandpa but long before that he fought for the children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren to come, and many who would never get to know the sweet man he was.

Grandpa lived to come home, have another child and raise his family and lived to see grandchildren. So many others never got that opportunity. My grandmother never spoke about the war to her children and didn’t save the letters she exchanged with her husband during that time. It was too painful. My father said that as a child the Army stuff was stashed in a corner of the garage. After his death, however, with military honors, the flag was in a box and kept as a momento by her until she too passed away.

I was twenty-three when Grandpa died and I still have fond memories of him from my childhood. I grieved the the future he would never have, that he wouldn’t be there to see me reach certain milestones in life. He was only sixty-eight when he died.

This year my husband lost his older brother who also served in the Army, and he too, died way too soon. Memorial Day will be significantly more poignant because of that.

What is it about a 21 gun salute, followed by Taps, that makes me cry?  Death, sacrifice, freedom. As they say, freedom is never free. Unfortunately, too many these days feel entitled to it but would never sacrifice their lives for it.

My publisher has been promoting my novel, Finnian’s Rescue, and while it is about a veteran, he doesn’t die in this story. If you like a military survival story, you can check it out and I’ll be thrilled if you would write a review. If you purchase and read my grandfather’s tome, a review there would be lovely as well.  Other military romantic suspenses I’ve written with DeeDee Lake are: Operation: Camouflage Christmas, Operation: Allegiance, Operation: Reconnaissance and Operation: Skirmish and hopefully come December: Mission: Hannah’s Heart.

Enjoy this day, but don’t forget and thank God for the brave men and women who have died to give us the opportunity picnic, work in the yard, celebrate with friends, go camping, have a parade, and eat brats (I’m in Wisconsin, it’s a thing). Thank Him as well for the families left behind, some of whom never got to hug their service member when the war was over, but instead stood beside a flag draped coffin.

How does this relate to fiction? That is a work in progress for next year. You’ll have to wait and see, but the past impacts the present in a beautiful way, and of course it’s a romance.

Happy Memorial Day.

 

A Secret Life (Book Review)

Aug29
Reading Time: 2 minutes

ASecretLife_ecoverWorld War II novels are popular but A Secret Life, by Lee Carver, stands apart in the world of fiction. 

As war breaks out around them, Karl Von Steuben, fears for his family’s safety. With dual American/German citizenship and a secret Jewish heritage on his mother’s side, the Christian family finds their faith and lives in danger. Kidnapped and forced into the German army rips Karl away from his privileged life and any hope of escape. He could never shoot an American and looks for an opportunity to cross the lines of war, risking being caught as an enemy. When the opportunity arises, he assumes a dead American soldier’s identity and crawls to the Siegfried Line carrying with him the secret hiding place of gold ingots melted from the jewelry of death camp prisoners. A battle injury robs him for a time of his memory, real name and history.
Eventually he gains awareness of the horrible truth but more secrets have to stay buried lest he be branded a war criminal in spite of the valuable aid he provides to the American side of the war effort. Eventually he is discharged and shipped to America under his assumed name. Alone in a foreign land, he rediscovers the faith of his past and the truth of God’s unmerited favor in a beautiful Atlanta nurse, Grace. The only problem is, Karl’s real name, identity and family fortune lies oversees in post-war Germany. Claiming them and owning the truth of who he is could give him the life he longs for with his new wife, but at the same time jeopardizes their marriage. Would Grace, and his adopted country, ever forgive him?
The twists and turns of this complex tale also covers the story of Karl’s family and their struggle during the war. Historically grounded and well researched the characters and their struggles come to life on the page. The heart-rending truth of the horrors of war and the choices that have to be made are well told without being gory. It’s a beautifully told tale of love, faith and difficult choices.

 

 

A Mood

Nov11
Reading Time: 3 minutes

James B. Pollard  (10/1/1920 – 1/22/89)

This piece was written during my paternal grandfather’s time in India in World War II – as part of a journal he kept. I had this read at my wedding, which he did not live to see. He was a hero, a gentle and gracious soul and I still miss him all these years later.

J.B. Pollard (WWII pic)

My Grandpa in 1944

Nightfall is once more preparing to enshroud Assam in its blanket of pitch darkness. An American soldier sits alone in his tent on the edge of his canvas cot, his heavy G-I shoes unlaced to cool his burning feet, a cigarette smoldering listlessly between his fingers.

He gazes out at the lengthening shadows in the nearby jungle. He listens to the weird cry of the small jungle wild life – and the insects. He becomes aware of the steady purr of the diesel generators which run constantly day and night supplying power for the small garrison.

Outside he hears the crunch of the guard’s boots on the gravel path as he starts his first tour of duty around the area on his long night vigil keeping his sleeping buddies from harm.

He hears the steady drone of jeeps and trucks racing back and forth on the nearby Stillwell Road. A G-I in a nearby tent is strumming a guitar and singing Western songs softly, while another next door makes a feeble attempt to blow some jazz out of a squeaky clarinet.

The generator coughs and sputters, then catches again and continues on and on with its steady rhythm.

The soldier’s eye falls to on a picture of his family, of which he has been thinking. The children’s locks of hair are in the little frame. He looks closely at it, then back at the picture. He wipes the mold from the leather frame and replaces the picture in its spot on the crude rough cupboard he has made. He continues to look at his pretty young wife and sees many things – First, the woman he is so deeply in love with. His mind flashes quickly back over the few preceding years and he is doubly homesick. He also sees the mother of his children – the financial wizard who makes ends meet somehow on a meager monthly sum. He sees the wonderful cook, who in happier days planned and prepared his menus. He sees many things in that wonderful wife. In his children he sees the happiness of days past and in those to come.

The tent door slams and the Sergeant from Tennessee appears, whistling loudly, “Flying Home.” He reaches over the rough table, snaps on the light and suddenly becomes quiet. His happy mood has been killed by the sullen expression on his friend’s face.

“What’s the matter ‘J.B.’ . . .  homesick?”

A dull reply of “Yeah. . . “ and the cigarette is ground into the concrete floor. For a moment, silence, except for the sounds of nature – and the machinery.

The Sergeant breaks the spell again, “Let’s get out of this rat trap, wander over the day-room and I’ll beat the pants off you in ping-pong.”

The door slams – the two men walk down the narrow path together, staring into the black jungle ahead. Neither man speaks. . .they are thinking. . .

It is nighttime in Assam.  . . .