Chapter 1
Ashore

June 8, 1944

 

On June 6, 1944, I was being loaded up in an LST when we had heard that the invasion was underway in Normandy. We figured, of course, that we were coming in right behind those who were already involved in the invasion—which is probably pretty much so, because on June 7, I spent the night sitting in the middle of the channel waiting for the go-ahead to move on in; and on June 8, I actually went ashore. That is to say, the front of the LST popped open—you’ve seen pictures of that I’m sure, of that kind of a craft where the frontend pops open and everybody piles into the water and starts wading through the water—which is exactly the situation in which I found myself.

Interestingly enough, within those two days from June 6 to June 8, the American forces had moved inland—at least we were told—to distance of about 12 miles, and so the actual walking ashore, as far as I’m concerned, was not met with any kind of fire. There was some shelling occasionally here and there, perhaps. I guess, that’s what it was. I can’t remember that we were really affected by that kind of situation.

But after going ashore to an assembly area, we were taken to what they call a “Repl-Depel.” A Repl-Depel is a Replacement Depot, and this was where all the soldiers like myself were brought and then, you might say, divided up to give support to those combat teams that had already gone ahead and were running into trouble because of casualties, that needed to have replacements. And so, this was our situation in which I was required to get ready to pull out.

I was at the Replacement Depot until the 10th, at which time I was shipped out; and I reported to the Ninth Division, the 60th Infantry, G company. The Ninth Division, at that time, were in, not in a rest camp, but they were sort of in a holding position. This is fairly common in combat time: where one unit will move forward and it holds, and then another unit will come up forward, and they will hold, and so forth. They sort of leapfrog along. Well, I joined the Ninth Division at one of these leapfrog stops and that was on June 10. We were there for just a few days because actually the date that I went into combat was on June 14th.

The first day was nothing more really than, “Okay, everybody saddle up and move out! Make sure you have all your gear! Walk down the road!” and that type of thing. But walking down the road, we very quickly came into the battle area, and this is where I began to sense that the noises were different than I had ever experienced before. Certainly, the odors were different. The situation with animals—animals here were not seen, or those that were seen were dead. And one of the things that amazed me were birds. I never heard or saw any birds for probably the next six months. It was just one of those little things that crossed my mind.

There was, of course, the destruction. Everything was devastated. There were the houses, and the streets, and the trees and roadways, and so forth. Destruction was quite complete, as you can imagine.

The thing about it, is that in the process of moving forward—as an infantry man again here—I followed the guy in front of me. I was expected to follow. I knew very little of what was expected of me other than to keep my eyes open and be ready, upon command, to do this or to do that or whatever the case might be. It was not as one might see in the movies or television where an individual has the initiative to suddenly jump up and run forward and shoot guns and such. That was not the case here. Everything was very systematic. Everything was, sort of, a slow-moving giant, of which I, of course, was just one little part, doing my part by following the guy in front of me.

I mentioned about the noises, the odors, the destruction; and then, of course, there were the first casualties that I saw, the bodies. Whether they were German or American. Mostly they were German. And the reason for this was that the American casualties, almost as soon as they happened, were scooped up. Whether they were fatalities or wounded or whatever the case might be, they were almost immediately taken out of sight and moved forward to some hospital or to—I guess they call them—field morgues, or something like that. But nevertheless, going right into the immediate combat zone, some of the bodies, Americans bodies, were there.

My first experience with a casualty was a boy who was right in front of me, and I was not really aware of what took place. I was following him, and all of a sudden, he fell down, he rolled over, and he made noises. I looked into his face. I looked on the side of his head where there was a large hole in his helmet, and that was obviously what would have taken him down. The process here was to call for a medic, which I did; and orders passed down very quickly. By the time that the medics were on their way, I had already moved out, caught up to the soldier who was in front of the casualty before he went down, and I was right back into the system. But I did see his face. I did see the expression, or the non-expression, I suppose, since he was already in shock, and that was really my first experience with a war casualty.

I cannot assume that he died. Most likely he did, but there’s no way of knowing that. The thing about it is, I took my position, I moved forward. I don’t recall any specific emotion except perhaps frustration that the guy had been taken out of his position. The player had been taken out, and I had to close up the ranks and move forward. It was about the only feeling I had at that particular time, in that particular instant.

 

 

Chapter 2
Last in the Bath

Sunday, August, 1929

 

“Time to wake up, my little lamb,” Elsa Grace whispered closely, as she tenderly stroked his soft, fair brow. Bill stirred and sighed; however, the lad was much too comfortable to open his eyes yet.
“Billy, you must get up. We are almost ready to haul the hot water up from the kitchen, but we can’t until you are out of the bathroom.” Elsa kissed the cheek of her youngest child and painfully straightened up beside the iron crib. With five older siblings and Aunt Lib now staying with them, there was no place to put his crib in the small Philadelphia duplex except the bathroom.
“Momma?” Bill finally asked. The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his shuttered eyelids savored the comforting sleep for a lingering moment. “Oh, but it’s so early!” he pouted, his blue eyes peeking a bit to explore the dim morning light.

Ignoring his youthful whining, Elsa helped Bill crawl out of the crib. Luckily, he’s small for his five years, she thought, but soon he’ll get a real bed when Frank moves out. Frank junior, her oldest, had graduated from high school, and would, no doubt, quickly find employment with a technical company.

“That’s a boy!” Elsa encouraged Bill as he clambered over the crib rail. “Now run down to the basement and wait your turn with your younger sisters. I don’t want you underfoot while Frank, Dick, and Sis are trapsing up the stairs with the buckets of hot water. I’ll call you when Betty and Bonnie have finished their turns in the tub. Your Sunday school clothes will be laid out on my bed.”
Elsa Grace watched Bill scamper down the two flights to the basement before rolling the iron crib out of the tiny bathroom at the top of the stairs and into the adjacent front bedroom. Truly just a “bath” room, the second-floor chamber held only a large tub and a cabinet for linens. Although it boasted a window, there was no toilet; the privy was in the backyard. The first-floor kitchen at least had piped-in cold water that could be heated on the wood burning stove.

“Okay,” Elsa called down to her older children, “The bathroom is free. Bring up the water!” The rest of the family bathed Saturday night, as they could be trusted to remain relatively clean until after Sunday services—in spite of the bucket brigade struggle to bring hot water upstairs.

Petite and lively, Elsa Grace had grown up with her sisters in this narrow brick duplex that was first owned by her Swiss parents Melchior and Marie Abplanalp. Even when she inherited the home upon marrying Frank Bonsall, the building was still surrounded by fields; and transportation to Philadelphia center, a half mile away, was by horse. But by 1929, the neighborhood consisted of endless row houses, so alike that one had to take care to enter the correct residence.

Before setting out Bill’s attire, Elsa sank wearily onto the mattress of her bed in the small front bedroom that she and her husband Frank shared with his Aunt Lib. Some privacy was afforded by a sheet suspended from the ceiling along a rope strung across the room, bisecting the space. On the other side of the bathroom and stairs, the back bedroom was similarly divided by sheets into girl and boy sections for all of the children, except Bill.

Glancing at a large birthday card braced on the night table next to the bed, Elsa smiled, feebly remembering the dinner last May when she received it. Birthdays, traditionally, were private, subdued affairs, marked only by a favorite meal with cake, perhaps, and well-wishes from family. A card, especially one such as this, was exceptional. The prominent feature of the memento was the number “44” displayed on the card face. Her husband had used bright, shiny pennies to create the digits.

When Frank, Sr., presented the card, the entire family erupted in gleeful applause, but Bill was the most dumbfounded. His blue eyes growing wide and his mouth forming a gaping “O,” Bill tentatively extended a finger to touch the mesmerizing coins. Once convinced the treasure was real, he exclaimed, “Oh, Momma, it’s beautiful!”

Frank had made the card in a well-intentioned attempt to cheer his wife after an unannounced pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage the year before. The effort was apparently successful. 
Bill, Elsa thought sadly, will enjoy moving to a real bed, but the bathroom may soon be occupied by even another child if I don’t miscarry again. I’m 44 years old and each pregnancy gets harder.

***

“William Alfred Bonsall, what are you doing? Get out of the kitchen!” Elsa Grace swung the broom in a wide arch catching her youngest child across the back of his calves with the stiff bristles.

“Ow!” screeched Bill, turning toward the attack, surprised but not hurt. But when he realized his mother was the one that wheeled the weapon, his eyes brightened and he exclaimed, “Momma, look! I can see on the ledge!”

Puzzled, Elsa lowered the broom. “What?”

“I’ve never been able to see what’s on it before, but now I can!” Grinning from ear to ear, Bill pointed vaguely toward the wall.

It took a moment for Elsa to find the source of his elation. Bill was standing next to the three-feet-high chair rail that encircled the tiny kitchen. He was so short that even on his tippy-toes, he had not been able to see the top of the chair rail ledge; and with no table or chair near the rail and being too little to move such heavy objects, he had not been able to quelch his curiosity—until now.

“Ah.” Elsa raised one eyebrow. “And what marvelous treasures did you discover perched on the ledge, hmm?”

Bill placed his pudgy little hands on the edge of the nearest available rail section and raised himself on his toes. His eyes now even with the top of the rail, he peered first one direction down the length of the ledge and then turned his head to inspect the other direction. The only object at all on the ledge was an abandoned bobby pin, cloaked in accumulated dust.

Crestfallen, Bill lowered himself and murmured, “There’s really nothing up there.”

Elsa rested the broom against the sink, bent over, and placed her hands on Bill’s small shoulders, turning him gently toward her. When he looked up at her, she smiled softly, saying, “But that’s not the point is it? You’re growing up, and that’s a good thing, yes?”

Wide-eyed, Bill beamed again.

Elsa raised one eyebrow. “From the wet spots on your shirt, I guess you’ve been out back sitting by the fish pond again, huh?” When he cheerfully nodded, she continued, “Well, today it’s going to be too hot to make our Sunday visit to the Coles....”

“But I like playing in their greenhouse,” Bill interrupted. “The flowers smell nice. And I like stopping at the old bridge on the way, too.”

“As I said, it’s too hot today to visit my sister’s family. That’s why I asked you all to change from your church outfits to play clothes this afternoon. We’re going swimming instead.” Elsa straightened up, moved to the sink, and picked up a soapy washrag.

Bill jumped up and down, gleefully asking. “Are we going to the Mill? Are we? Are we, Momma?”
“Mill? Oh, you mean Sycamore Mills? The dammed-up stream where I take you and Bonnie to wade?”

“Yes! Yes!” Bill exclaimed.

“No,” she replied, but smiled as she added, “This time we are going someplace bigger. Sharpless Lake.”

Bill’s eyes widened, almost doubling in size, as he wondered aloud, “How big is it?”

“Well, it’s only about three acres. But Dick, Sis, and Betty are coming along as well, and they’d like to get in some real swimming time to stay competitive.”

Bill didn’t understand the “competitive” part or even have an idea what three acres were, but he did like the idea of his siblings going, and he was ready for an aquatic adventure. You’d think the entire family had gills, they spent so much time in the water.

“Are Frank and Pop going, too?” he asked. He knew Aunt Lib would not go; she was too old.
“No, Pop and Frank are going to inspect the house to figure out how we can get plumbing up to the bathroom and a heater for the water. Wouldn’t you like a toilet upstairs, so you don’t have to go to the privy in the back yard?”

“Could we really have that?” Bill’s mouth dropped open. The Coles had an indoor toilet, and he liked that facility even better than the greenhouse used for their florist business. “But where will I sleep?” he asked.

“Well, Frank has applied to work at RCA. I’m sure he’ll get it. He’s much too smart and inventive for them to pass him up. If he gets it, he will move to his own place. Then you can take his cot next to Dick by the back windows.”

“Really?” Bill repeated. “But, but… where will Frank go? Will it be far?”

“Enough questions for now.” She smiled as she ushered Bill out to the hallway beside the dining room. “Go down to the basement and play with your sisters until Pop can bring the Essex around front. Sis is driving today.”

“Really? But….”

“Hush! Go on now with you.” Her downturned mouth was stern, but her twinkling eyes always gave her away. Bill smiled back as he turned toward the stairs.

Still clutching the washrag, Elsa re-entered the kitchen and approached the offending chair rail ledge. Now where is that filthy bobby pin?

***

“Here is your tea, sir.” Nine-year old Helen—or Bonnie, as the family called her—handed Bill a teacup she had filled from the pitcher in front of her. Blond and blue-eyed, like Bill, but tall like her older brothers, Bonnie was, early on, probably the most fun-loving and adventurous member of the fun-loving and adventurous clan.

Simultaneously, twelve-year old Betty leaned over to whisper in her brother’s ear, “Billy, don’t forget to say thank you.” As the matriarch of this group, Betty’s role was to bestow proper etiquette to her younger siblings. The fact that, out of all the siblings, Betty looked and behaved most like their petite mother—small-boned, fair brunette features, and lively demeanor—added to her authority.

“Thank you,” Bill responded as he received the beverage. He lifted the miniature cup to his lips and carefully sipped the water it held. The three siblings played tea party in the cool basement where the two girls kept their doll house, dolls, and the tea set, convincingly acting as well-mannered adults. Bill’s doll, a male figure in a sailor suit, complete with a hat and insignia on the sleeves, sat propped up next to Bill on the floor.

Bill glanced across the large below-ground space to his tall, lanky, dark-haired brother, Dick, who was concentrating on adding a figurine to the massive train set that occupied much of the basement. Frank and Dick had constructed the expansive landscape on a huge four-feet wide and fifteen-feet long table that was three feet high, most likely to keep inexperienced fingers at bay. But it now occurred to Bill that if he could see over the kitchen chair rail, he might finally be tall enough to view the Lionel trains, town, tracks, and countryside captured in the magnificent details of the set.

“Excuse me,” Bill said as he returned the cup to its saucer. “It’s time for me to go.”

“Of course,” Betty nodded solemnly.

But Bonnie furrowed her brow and objected, “Hey, Billy, we can’t go upstairs yet. Pop hasn’t brought the car around.”

“I know, silly!” he replied as he stuck out his tongue.

“Billy!” Betty admonished, “That’s rude!”

Bill had just learned that this behavior got under the skin of his siblings, but it wasn’t bad enough to warrant Pop removing his belt, a threat his father never seemed to actuate, but was scary, nevertheless. “Sorry,” he apologized quietly. “I just want to go look at the trains.”

Dick broke his concentration to address the situation as well, but halted when elderly Aunt Lib’s reedy voice drifted down the stairs, “Children, your father went to get the car out of the garage. He’ll be here in a minute. Time to go.”

The tribe hustled upstairs and outside onto the porch in time to see Pop bringing the car to rest somewhat in front of them. The city block of row houses that contained the Bonsall duplex abutted another city block of parking garages. The two blocks were separated by a narrow alleyway that ran alongside the Bonsall house. Their home was located at the end of the row, nearest the garages. In spite of their proximity to the garages, retrieval of the car took a few minutes because of its assigned back-row spot. Today it took even longer because another car was stationed partially in front of the closest garage unit, completely across the alley, and partially in front of the Bonsall street porch. To get their car to its present position, Pop had to carefully navigate around that other car now in tight quarters. 

Every fair-weather Sunday, such as today, the owner of the closest garage unit removed his Chevrolet to clean it. After industriously scrubbing the vehicle using buckets of soapy water, then rinsing, drying, and waxing it, the man returned the car inside the garage. The Chevy wouldn’t emerge until the next fair-weather Sunday only to repeat the routine. The Bonsalls all waved politely at the eccentric neighbor, fondly nicknamed “Spiff” Giblets because he was so spiffy and clean.

“Okay, all aboard!” Pop boomed as he exited the car, leaving the driver side open for his eldest daughter to drive. After the family loaded into the Essex, Pop waved goodbye and returned inside the house.

The Essex was a mid-range car, not as expensive as a Cadillac but certainly a step above the Fords and Chevys common in the neighborhood. Bill sat in the middle of the front bench seat with an Elsa on either side of him: 17-year-old Elsa Pauline, or “Sis,” drove the car at every opportunity, and his mother, Elsa Grace, manned the passenger-side door. Betty and Bonnie flanked 15-year-old Dick in the back seat. Towels and blankets and bathing suits were stuffed in the trunk.
Driving through the sweltering city in a black car too hot to touch subdued the family’s enthusiasm, and changing into bathing attire in the car tested everyone’s patience. But once free, the older three children immediately raced to the water while Bonnie and Bill happily splashed around in the shallows. Elsa Grace settled in on a blanket where she could keep an eye on her crew among the modest crowd at the pristine lake.

Soon Bonnie found another girl to play with, leaving Bill alone. Bill was so small that most of the young boys his age didn’t recognize him as a peer. Eventually bored, he resorted to joining his mother on the blanket.

“Momma, don’t you want to go in the water?” Bill asked, hoping perhaps she could be his playmate.

Elsa Grace smiled at his invitation. “Thank you, my little lamb, but I need to watch over you all.” As she glanced up to locate her children, Elsa paused and then slowly stood up. “Now where did Sis get to?” Bonnie played in the shallows nearby, and Betty and Dick were treading water in the center of the lake. No Sis.

Elsa wasn’t overly worried about her oldest daughter whose athletic attributes were easy to see: strong, tall, confident, and graceful. Sis had just been voted Outstanding Girl Athlete at her high school for her prowess in field hockey and basketball. But with water, you always watched.

Suddenly, a brunette head burst up between Betty and Dick with a spray of water. Sis wiped water from her eyes and chatted excitedly with her siblings. All three swam steadily to shore, trotted to their curious mother, and dried off with towels.

“What’s going on?” Bill asked confused.

Sis dropped on the blanket beside her little brother. “Billy, I found a pin.”

“Pin? What kind of pin?”

“A large, mechanical pin. I realized it was important for the drain at the bottom of the lake.”

“There’s a drain at the bottom?”

“Yes. I had to put the pin back in the valve or the water would all drain from the lake.”

Bill could only stare open-mouthed at his sister. He was astounded that anyone could accomplish such a feat! 

Bill didn’t see Sis wink at Dick, or Betty roll her eyes, but Momma did. 

“Oh, you kids!” Elsa Grace grinned as she stood up and stretched her back. “But… it’s time to go home and make dinner.” She caught the attention of Bonnie still in the shallows with her new-found friends and motioned her toward the car. Bonnie waved good-bye to the other girls and trotted out of the water.

“Oh, do we have to leave now?” Bill objected with a frown. He still wanted to know more about the drain.

“It’s Sunday, Billy,” Dick cut in, drying off with a towel. “Remember what we do after dinner?”
After a momentary pause, Bill shouted, “Yes, yes, yes!” He bolted from the blanket and shot over to the car before anyone else could move.

Most Sunday evenings, and whenever she was in the mood, Elsa Grace would open the tall, ornately-carved cabinet in the front room parlor, extract some music rolls, and insert one tune at a time into the adjacent player piano. All of the children at home would gather around her, singing boisterously, as their mother furiously pumped her feet to activate the instrument. Although he usually sat apart on the plush, red velvet parlor sofa, Pop would even join in, more often to accompany the gang by blowing on a makeshift kazoo made from wax paper wrapped around a comb.

“Our little brother can certainly move when he sets his mind to it,” Sis commented now as she picked up the beach blanket and joined the rest of the family congregating beside the Essex.
Dick laughed and replied by singing the beginning of a favorite family melody, “Five foot two, eyes of blue….”

Sis chimed in the next line, “But oh, what those five foot could do!”

Gleefully piling in the Essex to the smiles of nearby people, the Bonsalls all belted out the chorus, “Has anybody seen my gal?”

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