Few Eggs and No Oranges

Almost exactly one year ago Little Jenny Wren posted about Few Eggs and No Oranges. Her description of the book sparked my interest. Unfortunately, my library system did not have a copy, nor did Cleveland Public Library.

Then just last month ago Jenny Wren mentioned the book again and I tried my luck again. This time I found the book at the University of Cincinnati -- woo hoo! A couple of clicks and it was on its way to me. I love love love inter-library loan.

I was thoroughly engaged by the book. It is a diary of daily life written by one Vere Hodgson, a woman living in London during WWII. She writes to her cousin in Rhodesia. It records how the war changed daily life in ways I'd not through about before. While I was aware of blacking out before, I had never considered being fined for having a Blackout slip out of place in the concussion of a blast in a room where a light was left on while the occupant hastened to a shelter. Numerous other experiences that I have known about intellectually were made much more real through the diary.

I was amused at one entry in which the writer sees the American film Citizen Kane. "His last word on earth was Rosebud, so the film digs back into his life to see what it meant. Never discovered. Most unsatisfactory!" --Well I should think so! Did the theater cut the film short? Was she talking to her neighbor or fumbling in her purse during the last moment of the film? I was surprised at the dismay I felt that this diary-writing woman never saw the solution to the mystery of the film.

In another place her sentiments struck a chord with me, "Margaret is full of enthusiasm about World Citizenship and internationalism--just as we all were 25 years ago. I suppose all young people think they will succeed where their elders have failed. That means another war...because these lessons are not passed on to the Race. It is all disheartening. These youngsters are just as opinionated as I was at their age."

In another part of the book she talks about fulfilling her dream of having Tea at one of the grandest hotels in London. She compares her expectations to the actual experience in a way I'll never forget.

Finally, I was impressed by her recording how she learned that one country or another in Europe was wrested from Nazi control on the morning or evening wireless news. When the announcements were made, the radio played the national anthem for the country in question, and the writer, alone in her flat, stood at attention in respect. I could very much identify with this, but it still filled me with wonder each time I read about her doing it as another nation was freed. How many people all over the world participated in the same private paying of respects the moment the news was brought to them? How many radio stations today could spare the moments of precious air time to play an ally's anthem?

My cousin in Tennessee recommended some more books to me. I've borrowed Rhett Butler's People (by Donald McCaig, with permission from Margaret Mitchell's estate) and March (by Geraldine Brooks) from the library. One tells Rhett's back story. The other tells the story of Mr. March, father of the four Little Women. I expect both to be fun reads.