I was a small child during the time when these voices were young. We were very fortunate that we were spared the stories that are told here. It was a different life than we live now. There were food and fuel rationing, “victory gardens”, “mock”‘ air raids (our father was an “air raid warden” whose job was to make sure that everyone in his appointed area of responsibility had their auto and house lights off). Both men and women worked in defense plants. My father worked the night shift at Goodyear, vacuuming debris out of aircraft fuel tanks during summer vacation from his regular job as a high school principal. Some of his students, many of whom I knew, were drafted or enlisted. Some never came back. There was a stand of hollyhocks in our front yard. On the day that the end of the war was announced cars raced up and down US highway 224 blowing their horns in celebration. My little sister and I picked the blossoms and threw them at the cars as they raced by. Nobody noticed but nobody cared. The war was over.
A Sylvan Secret