I knew it was not going to be a traditional, boring Sunday in June 1944 when a distant rumbling grew to a roar because it drew nearer. Large, white-starred U.S. Military vans started showing in our small English city, filling the slender streets with deafening sound. Certainly one of them parked proper outdoors our cottage! The long-awaited invasion of Europe was imminent, and we lived near a principal freeway resulting in the South Coast the place the armies could be staging.
My pleasure grew as my grandmother invited two younger GIs inside to affix us for afternoon tea. She and my mom have been very impressed with their politeness as they addressed them by “Ma’am” not less than as soon as in each sentence.
What impressed this 11-year-old extra was that our final remaining can of fruit salad got here down from the pantry. It had been saved for a special day and this was clearly it.
Yearly, because the anniversary of D-Day approaches, I consider these younger troopers, hoping that they survived the Normandy touchdown and the fierce battles of the struggle in Europe to go house and inform their households of that small act of kindness from strangers.
Mary Bicknell, Seattle
