My mother, Joan, writes about the outbreak of the war in this poem she wrote at the age of 16.
After 12 – Sept 27 – 1939
In Memory – August 31, 1939
I remember standing in the crooked shadow of the Catalpa tree
The August-September night it started.
White moon on the grass and moon mist over the fields.
Even then. It was so still.
The crickets sang farewell to summer.
And the smell of a golden reaping
Was rich in the air.
Even then. While we were so still
Somewhere the guns were beginning to boom
And another crop was being harvested.