It was nighttime and my family was sitting in the living room of the small bungalow where we lived near our Poplar Level Road Grocery Store. Blackout shades were down as there was to be an air raid practice that evening. I recalled from the days living on Preston Street that this was a serious affair much discussed by adults.
My father answered a knock at the door and was told by the Air Raid Warden that light was showing from the house. It turned out the culprit for the violation was the light from our kerosene heating stove whose clear front allowed the flame to be seen around the edge of one of our blackout shades. The shades were adjusted and although the night proceeded without further incident, it was recorded in my early childhood memories.
Had it not been for that incident, I would not have remembered the bungalow had blackout shades or that an Air Raid Warden patrolled the neighborhood. And I would not have remembered our bungalow had a kerosene heating stove.
I had to be about five years old and was busy sweeping the small walk that led to the sidewalk in front of our bungalow home. A truck of soldiers came up the slight rise and one called out to me, “Sweep good, Blondie!”
As the truck rounded the bend, others in the open back truck waved and yelled their “Hellos’.
I ran inside to tell my mother that soldiers were here.
She did not know where they were going, probably to Fort Knox.
We moved to McKay Street and then the war was over. There were no more blackout shades or kerosene stoves. Instead, we had nice white shades and a coal furnace in the basement.
I often wonder what happened to the soldiers who called out to me that day. I hope that someday they went home to enjoy life with their families.
After I wonder, I say a small prayer for each of them. I close my eyes and see that truck going around the bend. For one brief moment, I was the little sister they left behind and for a very long time, they are the big brothers I will always remember.