Story Guild Newsletter | July 14, 2023
From the Homefront Diaries of Lorraine Shatterbuck (entry #3)
(Note: From the Homefront Diaries of Lorraine Shatterbuck is a fictional diary and a WIP by Frances O’Roark Dowell.)
October 22, 1942
Phyllis stopped by yesterday with some gingerbread and her copy of Elliot Paul’s The Last Time I Saw Paris, which she loved and is dying for me to read. It’s all about the time the author spent in Paris after the first world war ended and before the second world war began (doesn’t “world war” sound awful? It’s frightening to contemplate). According to Phyll, The Last Time I Saw Paris is an in-depth look at all the different people who lived on Paul’s street, and when I’m done reading it I’ll be desperate to move to France. “Maybe after the war is over,” I told her. “Nazi-occupied Paris doesn’t sound like much fun.” “After the war!” Phyll declared, fist raised. It’s her latest motto. She’s going to do all sorts of wonderful things after the war is over and Ralph gets back and her children grow up and leave home and she can send her horrible dog to live on her brother’s farm … on and on.
I’m happy to report that Phyll is quite taken by the notion of making quilts. She’s always hated sewing dresses, and as a result is terrible at it, but the artist in her is intrigued by quilt-making. She thinks we should make a quilting society and invite other women whose husbands are fighting overseas to join us. I don’t know. I’m not lacking for a social life. It’s solitary pursuits and quiet that I’m in need of! But as Phyll points out, my living room is the size of a football field, and though she’s exaggerating, it is large as living rooms go. I’ve heard that the family that built the house loved having dance parties, and while a ball room would be ridiculous in a house like this, a spacious living room didn’t seem out of place. People thought Jim and I were crazy for buying such a big house, but it was priced to sell, and Jim said if we didn’t fill it up with children, we’d turn around and sell it when the market was better. Well, fill it up with children we did, and now I couldn’t be happier for all the space we have. I feel a bit spoiled, especially when I think of Mother raising six children in a three-bedroom bungalow!
Phyll has a long list of women she wants to ask to join us in our quilt-making, all of whom live within a three-block radius. Sometimes it seems like every able man in Milton Falls enlisted after Pearl Harbor. I feel sorry for the ones who were turned away because of infirmity. When Bob Calhoun and Marty Webb came over last week to say goodbye to Jim, they went into great detail about how they’d been the first ones in line at the recruitment office on December 8. Bob got turned away because he’s terribly nearsighted and Marty has a heart murmur. But they both work hard as air wardens and running scrap drives, not to mention that they help all the families whose husbands and fathers are off at war. I imagine when Christmas comes, they’ll be stringing lights on trees up and down Orange Street and beyond.
Oh, dear–it’s almost time to get Janet. Will is still sound asleep and I so hate to wake a sleeping baby, but I suppose I must.
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From the Homefront Diaries of Lorraine Shatterbuck (entry #2)
(Note: From the Homefront Diaries of Lorraine Shatterbuck is a fictional diary and a WIP by Frances O’Roark Dowell.)
October 20, 1942
Will is napping, and I have a minute or two to sneak in a few words before he wakes and it’s time to pick up Janet from kindergarten. I’ve got everything ready to make her lunch as soon as we walk through the door. Even though the children are served graham crackers and milk for a mid-morning snack, Janet is always starving when she gets home. Her teacher, Miss Lovett, is a firm believer that exercise builds healthy bodies and healthy minds. I can testify that it certainly builds a healthy appetite!
Instead of writing in my diary, I should be sorting through the box of patterns and notions Nancy Gorman gave me when I stopped by her house Saturday afternoon. Actually, I had to send Bobby and Ann over to pick the box up and bring it home–it was so full of quilting things that I couldn’t manage it and Will’s stroller at the same time.
Nancy, it turns out, has given up quilting. She’s knitting bandages for the troops instead. When Mother came over after church on Sunday, I told her perhaps I should be knitting bandages instead of amusing myself with quilts. She just laughed in her down-to-earth way and said, “You’ve done your part for the war by letting Jim sign up to serve instead of waiting for him to be drafted.” I suppose she’s right. I’m not sure I “let” Jim go–that would imply there was any stopping him! Of course we discussed it, and I have to say the thought of being home with four children while Jim is overseas fighting is a daunting prospect. But he said he couldn’t live with himself if he sat the war out and let others bear the burden, and I understand completely.
During Mother’s visit on Sunday, she and I went through some of the patterns in the box, finally landing on a Nancy Cabot block called “Flying Clouds” that we both thought was awfully nice. It’s a large block–16”–so five across and nine down will make for a fair-sized quilt. I spent some time last night after the children went to bed cutting out pieces for the first block. I hope to start stitching tonight!
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From the Homefront Diaries of Lorraine Shatterbuck (entry #1)
(Note: From the Homefront Diaries of Lorraine Shatterbuck is a fictional diary and a WIP by Frances O’Roark Dowell.)
October 17, 1942
Jim left this morning at 5:00. Only Bobby was up to say goodbye (other than me and the baby, of course). He is taking his new job as Man of the House as seriously as only a nine-year-old boy can. He was brave when he told his father goodbye and then burst into tears as soon as Jim was out of view. I made pancakes, and then woke up Ann and Janet. The girls were distraught that they hadn’t seen Jim off, even though they’d agreed last night it was best to make their farewells at bedtime.
The baby (when will we ever call him by his name and not just “the baby”?) is in his playpen as I write. He likes to examine his stuffed animals from all angles and sing them songs in a language no one but he understands. He keeps himself content this way for twenty minutes at a time before he needs a new infusion of excitement. Of all my children, he has proven to be the most self-sufficient at an early age. I’m not sure how I got anything done when Janet was a baby–she wanted to be held all the day long. Mother fussed at me for indulging her, but I couldn’t help myself. Janet was just so happy when I held her. Besides, I thought she was going to be our last one, so I wasn’t only indulging her, I was indulging myself. And then along came little Will. You see, he does have a name!
Speaking of Mother, she and Dad came to dinner last night. Much to my surprise, Mother brought me a bag of neatly trimmed fabric scraps. I haven’t made a quilt in years (haven’t had the time!) but Mother felt I might like to take up quilting again with Jim away, and I dare say she’s right. The children are all in bed by 7:30 (though Bobby is angling for an 8:00 bedtime these days, now that he’s all grown-up and in charge), and I’ve never been able to get myself to bed before 10:00.
Nancy Gorman used to snip out quilting patterns from the newspapers. Maybe I’ll pop over to see her when I take Will out for a stroll this afternoon and ask if she has any to lend. Mother never relies on patterns, but I’m not as crafty as she is. If I’m going to make a quilt, I’ll need all the help I can get.
I hear Will fussing–must run!
