Memories of World War II -by Libby James
It has been 75 years since World War II ended. When it began, I was four years old, living in a London suburb with my American father, British mother and 9-month-old brother.
The United States had not entered the war. Within months, we learned that because my father was “an alien” and we lived within 20 miles of the coast, we had 48 hours to leave the country.
At the time my dad was working in London for GMAC, the division of General Motors that made loans to car buyers. That office shut down when war broke out.
From Dublin, Ireland, we took a ship to the U.S. accompanied by a nanny for my brother. We left behind a maid and gardener. My mother would never again have such an array of household help. Despite this staff, my mother had complained to my father that she “had so much to do.” He laughed. She would never again have a staff of three!
We spent a few months in a suburb of New York when my father commuted into the city to learn the ins and outs of what would become his wartime job with censorship based in Washington DC.
A few years ago I received a small photo album and a packet of letters written during the war by my mother, Betty Frey, to Margery, her beloved maid. Margery’s daughter found the letters after her mother died and sent them on to me. I learned so much from them that I would never have known otherwise. They were written between 1941 and 1943 and they became a walk back in history for me—funny, revealing, sometimes surprising and tender—a glimpse into another time, place and way of life. The following are quotes from them.
October 23, 1941
You will be staggered to hear that since July I have been managing without a maid. I have a very nice girl who comes in on Saturday mornings and two afternoons a week. She cleans all through and Mummy does the rest. Of course, we have no fires to do and hot water all the time, which makes life much easier, but I still have plenty to do with a hot dinner every day and then again for ourselves at night.
We are still determined to come home as soon as the war is over. It really looks as if America will be in it soon. What a terrible, terrible business it all is. I look back to Helmsley (the house we left) days as the happiest and most peaceful in my life. We didn’t make the best of it, did we?
I still smoke like a chimney and the grocers over here all have fags so I hardly ever run out. They are much cheaper than at home and one soon gets used to them.
Thank you so much for taking care of Huntsie (the canary) for us. I must owe you a lot in canary seed. I’ll settle up someday.
January 25, 1942
Snippets from more letters:
The news looks grim. The Japanese seem to have got a good start and are certainly making the best of it.
I have not heard from my brother, in the British Army in India, for six weeks. In his last letter he said he hoped to see us in the next ten years.
We had a lovely dinner party. There was a practice air raid in the middle of it and nobody here has made an effort to black out (in Washington DC) so we dined by the glimmer of a candle.
So you are doing fire watching. Will be rotten on cold, damp nights.
Mr. Wix is a prisoner of war. He was missing for some time. Poor Mrs. Wix must have gone through hell.
I wonder where you will settle after the war. We have made up our minds to come back to Essex. Perhaps we will be neighbors!
My dad returned to England to re-open his office, arriving the same time as the first V-2 bomb did. We joined him nine months later when the war was over. I was old enough to remember a joyous victory parade through the streets of London.
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Libby James is the author of several children’s books. She writes for the North Forty News and is an award-winning runner.
