Please help me welcome Jana Richards to the journal today. Today's launch day for her new novel "Home Fires" - congratulations, Jana...and WELCOME!!!
Research for “
Home Fires”
Researching the story of Canadian war brides of World War Two was a labour of love for me. I’ve long been fascinated with these young women, mostly British, who gave up everything familiar to marry and move to a new country and a new life, even though they may have only known their husbands for a short time. Their courage awes me.
I started my research by searching for books at my local library. I read several but, one book I found especially helpful was “Brass Buttons and Silver Horseshoes: Stories from Canada’s British War Brides” by Linda Granfield. I also read dozens of the brides’ stories on websites such as
Canadian War Brides, and listened to interviews, like this one on CBC radio with author of ‘War Brides’,
Melynda Jarratt.
I loved the stories told by the war brides in their own words. The stories were in turn funny, sad, and poignant. One funny story I loved was from a war bride who came to Winnipeg, where I live now. After years of rationing during the war, she went a little nuts when she hit the stores of Winnipeg:
“…my first stop was the Bay. I was in sheer amazement at all the beautiful things. I went crazy, buying Coty perfume, lipstick, stockings, and new bras. As for the bras, I was tired of making my own from scraps, looking like two fried eggs. Now I would have points like the Canadian girls.”
One bride was surprised to learn she’d be living on a farm, instead of in a city:
“We drove out to the farm we were going to live on (another surprise!) along a dirt road, which was very narrow, and there was thick brush on either side. Imagine my thoughts, surrounded, except for my husband, by complete strangers. My father-in-law was a very sweet person, but he had said, “Let’s get her home tonight before daybreak, because if she sees Carrot River in the daylight she’ll go back right away.” We laughed about that years later.”
Another bride discovered that although Canadians and Brits both speak English, language could still be a problem:
“In England, if a woman’s husband has a good job, people say he “makes a good screw”. One day, I was talking to my new neighbours in Westville [Nova Scotia], and I mentioned to a woman that her husband must make a good screw. The woman became distant, and I didn’t know what was wrong. I told Arthur what I’d said, and he explained I shouldn’t say that in Canada!”
The sad stories were the hardest to read. Having a romantic heart, I wanted everyone to live happily ever after. But it wasn’t always that way:
“My husband started beating me. He always had a temper. I paid for him to go to barber school, but he wouldn’t work. For a while he had a job as a mailman. He would pick up the mail and burn it later in our backyard…Our marriage never got better, so in 1960 I walked out with nothing.”
“My grandmother died in 1959 and left me an inheritance. My husband wanted it in his account, and I refused. Our marriage ended…”
“Unfortunately, I became a deserted wife when my Canadian-born son was a year old.”
The poignant stories broke my heart. In the 1940s, moving to another continent often meant a total break from family:
“I never thought the time would come when I would leave my mother. She knew how much I loved this Canadian boy, and how much he loved me. She knew that my stubborn nature and sense of adventure would take me away. We didn’t realize how heart wrenching the pain would be as the train pulled out of Glasgow station. My last view of my mother was of her running alongside the train as we both wept. It was the last time I saw her.”
“I last saw my Nana the day I left. She was crying at the garden gate in Beckenham, Kent. She gave me a silver St. Christopher mirror as a parting gift, and I still use it today. My mother escorted us to the train station in London. In tears, she gave me these words to survive by: If you are ever lonely, look up the moon and know that we are looking at it too.”
Though some of the marriages didn’t last, the majority of war brides remained married to their dashing soldier-husbands for many years. These women were determined to survive their new lives:
“I wanted to go home – but I didn’t. The girls the Canadian soldiers brought home as brides were tough, but then we had endured more than five years of war, hadn’t we?”
Though homesickness was a big problem in the early years, and times were often hard, the brides learned to love their new country. A common sentiment is shared by this war bride:
“Life in Canada has been good for us, and I consider it home now. After fifty years, I would not want to live anywhere else.”
I loved learning about the war brides and I feel privileged to talk about their remarkable journeys.
Home Fires by Jana Richards
She whirled around to glare at him, her eyes blazing. “No! I’m not a child! I don’t have to be molly-coddled and baby-sat. I spent six years in a war zone, hiding in bomb shelters, never having enough to eat. I worked in a hospital treating blitz victims with wounds so horrendous grown men would gag to look at them. I faced those horrors every day. Sometimes things were so bad I thought I couldn’t go on. But I did. Because I had to. And I’ll face things here too. So don’t tell me to give up because I won’t!”
Erik pushed himself out of his chair to face her, awed by her spirit and courage. She lifted her chin as if defying him to contradict her, her hands clenched at her sides. Her dark hair curled in wild abandon as it dried, framing her pale oval face like a halo. Her beauty and ferocity were magnificent.
“I think you’re the strongest woman I know.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, her hands unclenching. He caught the quiver of her chin as she fought to hold back tears.
He opened his arms and she stepped into them, wrapping her arms around his waist and clinging to him. He held her tightly, inhaling the sweet, clean scent of her, never wanting to let her go.
“Don’t cry. Everything’s all right now.”
She lifted her head to look into his face, her dark eyes shiny with tears, her lips slightly parted. Erik stared at her mouth, wanting desperately to kiss her, to capture her sweetness. He slowly lowered his mouth to hers. To his surprise, she didn’t run off, or turn away in revulsion.
He was so close her breath mingled with his, her breathing swallow and erratic. His heart slammed against his chest, his body thrumming with need. For the first time in over three years, he felt alive.
Thanks Janet for letting me visit your blog today. I will give a PDF copy of “
Home Fires” to one
commenter today, chosen at random. Good luck!
Ever since I can remember, I've created stories in my head, sometimes about real people but more often about people I made up. It wasn't until I was in my thirties that I began to put my stories down on paper. I've been at it for more than fifteen years, although I've just recently become published in novel length fiction. Just think of me as the poster child for perserverence!
I live in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada with my husband Warren , two university age daughters, and a highly spoiled Pug/Terrier cross named Lou.
You can find out more about Jana Richards by visiting her website:
http://www.janarichards.net/
And to purchase your own copy of Home Fires:
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=702
