Then again in 1910, a youth lay desperately ill in a London hospital. A call went out for a blood donor and a blond student of eighteen presented himself. A transfusion was made, but when the hospital asked for the donor’s name he said, “Oh, forget about it.” And when they persisted he said, “Oh, just say “Charlie!” The youth, who was ill, recovered but when he asked for his savior’s name they could not tell him. He seemed awed, his grey eyes perplexed as he said, “Golly, he saved my life and I don’t even know his name. I never even saw him.”
Was it imagination or did the red sun really smile more broadly as it observed his wondering face?
To be continued….
To read earlier parts of this story written by Joan when she was 13 years old, click here for part one, here for part two, and here for part three.
Home Front Girl 