The other day I was browsing through a magazine and chanced upon an article – "Why not keep a diary?" It gave me an idea and made me feel that perhaps it would be interesting. I haven't any wild aspirations to eclipse such brilliant chronologists as Samuel Pepys, or, to be more modern, his great admirer O.O. McIntyre, but I do feel that now, more than ever before, history is in the making and I want to have some little thing with which to refresh my memory as the days go by.
I am sure that History is never made when a country is happy, prosperous, and at peace. One is so very apt to bask in the sun, sing soft lyrics by moonlight, follow the line of least resistance and dream.
But this is 1942 and grim war is facing us. The papers are replete with tales from the Far East, Europe, Africa. I want this to be, not a formal journal of the days' happenings, but something to which I can turn in the years that face me to refresh my memory. I hope I am able to record my impressions quite honestly as to how our beloved country and city were (and are) able to "take it". I'm hoping that we will be brave and put even our Britishers to shame.
For years I've felt that anyone who kept a diary was adolescent, neurotic, or particularly erudite. Of course, if I were Polly with a past and could write something so daring as Amy Crocker, Amy McPherson, Mary Astor and many others that might have been some inducement, but I'm just plain me – not an adolescent, not neurotic and certainly not erudite.
It would be futile for me to attempt to give the details of all the different battles on all the different fronts. The thing in which I am most interested is to record just how this most dreadful, devastating war is going to affect my peace-loving neighbors and me – how we will strive to overcome all obstacles and how we will be able to work out our economic problems when the government no longer is content to speak of millions, but billion and billions.
the first excerpt from (Mago's) Gertrude Kreigh's diary Dec 1941
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A diary inspired by excerpts from a diary written by my grandmother, Edith Gertrude Kreigh (1886-1977), an American mother with children on both fronts during World War II. Excerpts (in bold print)were written mostly in the spring of 1942, and published here on the same days of the year as original entries, 65 years later. All other texts are by Sue Anne Moody (1947-).
Copyright © Sue Anne Moody
2 comments:
Cross de hart and hope to dai, wee kids dun call her Mago, en she be tellun stories, like ‘ow s’e use uh pigg brisssel brush en whack pa on de rir, an hitch a ride all by’erself wit er newborn pa allaway fro Indiana to Frisco. Trubbel iz, de chillins der nowadai aint got no noshun bout ‘er. Maybe thinkin she dun run off to Sweden to dai, but yall jus fling er in dat brier-patch w’en she got work to do/
all my lovin' Antiremus
Dear Mago,
Today is no particular day, just a day to sit and chat with you. Even though you’ve been dead for nearly 30 years, I’m certain you are still with me, like always. When I dust off your photo on my desk, you always sass back: "Top of the morning." "I knew my glasses needed cleaning". "About time". "When are you going to settle down?" "It's OK, I'm just gonna get dusty again soon anyway."
Love, one of your grandkids
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