The Promised Story
(Note to the reader: this story contains as few dates as possible, since I would have to look them up in a notebook that is currently in a box at my parents' house.)
Nanna was born in the nineteen teens in the small farming town of Te Awamutu, New Zealand. Born to a sheep farming family, she grew up at Faircroft, the first of the family homesteads (there was also Chetwind, which, I believe, came later). Perhaps because she was the only girl child out of 7, she grew up not entirely conforming to the standards of feminitity so pervasive at the time. Instead, she went to college at the University of Otago and studied nutrition, met a missionary doctor who was leaving for China, followed him to Canton, and married him. I grew up hearing stories about her journey to Canton: a trunk filled with hand sewn clothing, much of which we still have, followed her on her journey as she fended off advances from other gentlemen in the ballroom of the ship. She was a strikingly beautiful woman, and the black silk ballgown she wore did nothing to hide the fact.
At any rate, as soon as she settled into the life of a missionary doctor's wife, that life ended. Her husband was shot and killed by bandits on Good Friday, a few months after they had been married. Nanna had no choice but to return home to Te Awamutu to recoup at Faircroft.
Of course, Nanna being a woman of adventure, she could not be contained at Faircroft for long, and was soon off to study nutrition once more at Johns Hopkins University. Once again she was the subject of amorous advances, along with several mishaps of language (she once told a suitor that she just had to stop and pick up her screw.....to his shocked look she replied, "what, don't you get paid?" Of course, a screw is a paycheck in New Zealand, but the chap was shocked nevertheless.) Just as she was finishing her training, the war began, and the US Army needed a New Zealand nutritionist on the European front. Off to Europe she went with a hospital unit.
Meanwhile, Grandad, then the youngest colonel in the Army, was in England helping to organize the D-Day invasion. Once the US had made inroads in Europe, the paths of these two people would cross at a dance that Nanna almost didn't go to: she was annoyed that the required helmet would ruin her hairdo. Her friends convinced her, however, and she met my dashing young grandfather. A wartime romance followed, fueled by the priviledges of rank. Grandad would give letters attached to miniature parachutes for pilots to drop over Nanna's hospital unit, or would show up to "inspect" the unit. "Operation Mandy" went without a hitch, and the two were married in England on a three day leave. No white dress this time, no bridal chest filled with hand sewn clothing, just army uniforms and a few witnesses--but the marriage stuck and survived not only a war, but a life in the Army and three often challenging young boys.
My other grandparents' story is no less romantic, but that should be saved for another post....
Nanna was born in the nineteen teens in the small farming town of Te Awamutu, New Zealand. Born to a sheep farming family, she grew up at Faircroft, the first of the family homesteads (there was also Chetwind, which, I believe, came later). Perhaps because she was the only girl child out of 7, she grew up not entirely conforming to the standards of feminitity so pervasive at the time. Instead, she went to college at the University of Otago and studied nutrition, met a missionary doctor who was leaving for China, followed him to Canton, and married him. I grew up hearing stories about her journey to Canton: a trunk filled with hand sewn clothing, much of which we still have, followed her on her journey as she fended off advances from other gentlemen in the ballroom of the ship. She was a strikingly beautiful woman, and the black silk ballgown she wore did nothing to hide the fact.
At any rate, as soon as she settled into the life of a missionary doctor's wife, that life ended. Her husband was shot and killed by bandits on Good Friday, a few months after they had been married. Nanna had no choice but to return home to Te Awamutu to recoup at Faircroft.
Of course, Nanna being a woman of adventure, she could not be contained at Faircroft for long, and was soon off to study nutrition once more at Johns Hopkins University. Once again she was the subject of amorous advances, along with several mishaps of language (she once told a suitor that she just had to stop and pick up her screw.....to his shocked look she replied, "what, don't you get paid?" Of course, a screw is a paycheck in New Zealand, but the chap was shocked nevertheless.) Just as she was finishing her training, the war began, and the US Army needed a New Zealand nutritionist on the European front. Off to Europe she went with a hospital unit.
Meanwhile, Grandad, then the youngest colonel in the Army, was in England helping to organize the D-Day invasion. Once the US had made inroads in Europe, the paths of these two people would cross at a dance that Nanna almost didn't go to: she was annoyed that the required helmet would ruin her hairdo. Her friends convinced her, however, and she met my dashing young grandfather. A wartime romance followed, fueled by the priviledges of rank. Grandad would give letters attached to miniature parachutes for pilots to drop over Nanna's hospital unit, or would show up to "inspect" the unit. "Operation Mandy" went without a hitch, and the two were married in England on a three day leave. No white dress this time, no bridal chest filled with hand sewn clothing, just army uniforms and a few witnesses--but the marriage stuck and survived not only a war, but a life in the Army and three often challenging young boys.
My other grandparents' story is no less romantic, but that should be saved for another post....
posted by Al at 11:59 AM
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