Franklin County, Nebraska

For Another Day

I was searching through a scrapbook of my mother-in-law, Verna Donovan when I found the perfect Memorial Day message. This was written by Verna’s mother, Blanche (Dunn) Sharp. Blanche lived her last days in the west part of Bloomington. I knew she wrote in poetry form but I hadn’t found many of her writings. This one is especially touching, for it’s about the local young men of Bloomington who went off to fight for our country during World War II.

A tribute to Our Soldiers

“Introduction of Mothers, Composed by Mrs. Clarence (Blanche) Sharp:

A is for Akers, a mother noble and brave, who has sent a son our country to save.

C is for Crouse and Carlson, who each have a son, who will labor and fight till the battle is won.

D is for Decker, mother of Randolph and Pete, soldiers like these boys you’ll find hard to beat.

G is for Graf and also for Grace, their sons are equal to whatever the race.

H is for Harger, Harries, Hausseman, Hipple, and Hogeland with two we would like to see Hitler when they all get thru.

K is for Kahrs and Keim, mothers of Harold and Max, we are depending on them when we want to know facts.

L is for Lemmert, whose boy will work with a will, and not the kind to go over the hill.

M is for Malick, Grandmother of Verne, who so willingly went when it came his turn.

N is Nyberg, whose son sails the seas, wherever he is the Japs better, not be.

O is for Olson, who over the sea treads, while the Nazies are trying to clean up the Reds.

S is Schegg, Shafer, Sparks, St Clair, Stolting and Strangman, whose sons should be thankful though somewhat distressed, who have all the power with which they are blessed.

T is for Thompson, in the ranks of Uncle Sam, she has two sons today, to her, and to her sons we tribute to pay.

V is for Versaw whose son sailed away long before the war clouds swept over this way.

W is for Ward, just before the morning of life opened into day, the country needed her young son and he was called away.

Y is for Yocum whose sons will make haste. For they never have a minute to waste.

Now you hostesses today are not slackers at all.
For the sons of our mothers have too answered the call.
Koelmel, Pauslon, and Tanquary: each mother has two.
Whose sons will fight for the Red, White, and Blue.
So we meet you and greet you and solemnly pray.
To meet with your sons on our next annual guest day.”

I assume this was written for a guest celebration of the Bloomington Women’s Club for Mother’s Day. Blanche Sharp was a member of this club for many years. Her children were all married and settled in their own lives at the time she wrote this poem. Each grown child had their own bedroom in that large square white house and came there often for reunions and gatherings.

I walked inside that dilapidated house back in the fall of 1999. It was hard to walk through the rubbish and rotting floor. The plaster and lath lie in heaps as the roof is leaking. The screen on the back porch has turned a rusted color and is torn because of storms.

The age-old wish, “If these walls could talk.” I thought on that warm autumn day. But then I knew. The walls didn’t need to talk, i.e.: I could feel the presence of Blanche, who dearly loved her family of Verna, Catherine, Bessie and Donald. Fifty-eight years ago this Decoration Day, I feel her business in and out of these rooms, especially the kitchen. She would have been preparing the bread and cinnamon rolls for her family. From the clothesline, she gathered the fresh cotton sheets and went up the stairway to make the beds upstairs in each of her adult children’s bedrooms. Of course she still needed to go outside and rid the flowerbeds of weeds. Sadly, as she weeded, she wished happiness for her children, who wouldn’t be visiting the family this Memorial Day, for they were way up in the northwest part of the U. S. where work was plentiful.

Over by the bay window of the parlor was Blanches rocking chair, where just a month ago she might have written the above poem.

Though she was safe from the war in Bloomington, she felt a concern for those of the town and area who had gone off to war to make our America and our small communities safe.

I didn’t need the walls to talk to tell me that the flowers in the yard are the color of assorted zinnias and marigolds. The black and white pictures of the house, tells me that. I didn’t need any human voice to tell me this woman was happy and excited to look forward to her family coming home. It’s just something women understand and know inside their heart. I do the same things Blanche might have done. I prepare each year for the Decoration Day homecoming of my family and friends in the same manner. Year after year I mark in my diary the happiest days of my life: holidays full of laughter, good food, enjoyable puzzles, picnics on the patio, skeet shooting, or perhaps walks up to the pond.

From a woman’s point of view, when this life on earth is over, memories of interaction with our loved ones will be the most important thing we will take with us.

I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled
Above the green elms, that a cottage was near,
And I said, “If there’s peace to be found in the world,
A heart that is humble might hope for it here!” Thomas Moore

Rena Donovan, For Another Day.

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