My Mother - A Navy Wife in Virginia

Morris looked so handsome in his well-tailored outfits, Barbara recalled. She wished she could have bought some maternity clothes in San Francisco, but they couldn't afford any "extras" just then. They would eventually be reimbursed for the uniforms, but in the meantime they were cash poor. They had never before spent so much for clothes.

The young couple took the train to Utah to see both sets of parents on their way to Virginia. Since Barbara was five months pregnant, Morris tried to convince her to stay with her parents in Hyde Park, but she begged to go with him. She didn't know when she would see him again. He might be shipped out on a moment's notice directly from Virginia to Europe and they wouldn't see each other again for a long time.

If ever.

With servicemen traveling to their posts all over the country, it was not easy to get a ticket for Barbara. In the end she did manage to get on the train, but Morris and Barbara had to share an upper sleeping berth. Barbara remembers it being "a little snug for two and one half people." They were on the train three days and two nights, but at least they were together.

Norfolk was (and still is) the site of America's largest naval station. In 1943 the city's seams were stretched to the ripping point with the influx and departure of Navy men. About every other day one battalion (a thousand men) would arrive and another would depart.

A hotel had been recommended to the Thurstons but it was full, so they went across the street and got a room at a more decrepit looking place. Morris was supposed to report to the base that day, but on his way out he saw some unsavory-looking people hanging around in the lobby and decided not to leave Barbara there alone. He went back to the room and they talked about what to do.

They decided to call the president of the local Mormon branch and see if he knew of a place Barbara could stay while Morris was at the base. When they sat on the bed to look in the phone book for his number, the bed collapsed. "We really were not heavy," Barbara said. "We managed to get the bed back together again and sat very gingerly on the side to telephone. That night, while we were sleeping, the bed fell in again and woke us up. We just slept with the mattress on the floor for the rest of the night. We did giggle a bit as we had heard a comedy sketch on the radio that was similar to what had happened to us. When we heard it we had thought it a little farfetched, but now we didn't."

The branch president was able to find a private home for Barbara to stay for the weekend. It was in Portsmouth, just a few miles from Norfolk, and belonged to a work acquaintance named Fred Ayer. It was a pretty two-story home on the edge of town and it reminded Barbara of southern homes she had seen in pictures. It was white, set on a slightly raised piece of land, and was surrounded by a large green lawn. There were no neighbors nearby. They Ayers had a little boy about three years old and a black live-in maid.

Barbara stayed in a small bedroom that was directly attached to a larger bedroom that the Ayers rented out. A person had to go through the bigger room to get to the smaller one. After meeting her and sizing her up, the Ayers decided that Barbara could stay on past the weekend if she was willing to rent the little room. Of course, she would need to stay in her room until after the tenants of the big room had left. Although the situation was far from ideal, Barbara took it. Since Morris would be at the base most of the week she needed someplace to stay and the large hotels and boarding houses were too expensive. She felt a bit shut in but, as she put it, "Where would I go anyway?"

Nevertheless, the hours did get long in such cramped surroundings. Barbara managed to keep herself occupied with sewing and crocheting. Her mother had made "some darling little baby dresses and slips" and sent them to Barbara all stamped ready to embroider. She included the tatting and crocheting to be sewed on. Barbara also crocheted a baby blanket. She had always liked to read but did not have any books with her.

Barbara ate breakfasts and dinners at the Ayer home and became good friends with them. They had a southern accent and Barbara loved to hear Mrs. Ayer talking on the telephone. She would sit on the top step of the stairs and frequently inject, "Ah declare" or "do tell." Their small son, Fred Jr., had such a thick accent ("just like the maid's") that Barbara could not understand him most of the time. She remembers him saying that he wanted to "run aboot da hoose" and not understanding what he meant.

Barbara had been there about three weeks when Morris learned he was to be transferred to Camp Peary, near Williamsburg, about 47 miles from Norfolk. Barbara would need a new place to stay so one day she took the bus to Williamsburg, which was a small town at that time, but had already been established as a showplace for colonial living. Of course, it was not equipped to handle a thousand Navy men coming in every other day, or their wives.

It was a blustery, cold day and Barbara "walked and walked and walked" about the town trying to find a room. It seemed that every door had a note by the doorbell saying, "Don't ring, we have no rooms" or simply, "No vacancy." Chilled through and through, Barbara tried to pull her coat tighter around her, but it was a form fitting coat that she had bought when she was teaching school and it didn't fit her pregnant shape. She searched all afternoon, but when the time came for her bus to go back, she had found nothing. She was frozen, tired and discouraged and trying to keep the tears from flowing, when she saw an officer with his wife and a small boy. They seemed happy and Barbara surmised they had found a place to stay. Barbara approached them, trying unsuccessfully to keep the quaver out of her voice as she implored them to help. Did they know of a place that might take her in?

The woman, who empathized with Barbara, was kind enough to write the addresses of two houses that might take boarders on a piece of paper. But just then Barbara's bus arrived and she had to go back to Norfolk. As soon as she arrived home, Barbara wrote a letter to one of the rooming houses. In her letter she wrote that her husband was to be transferred there on Tuesday, and asked if she could please rent one of the rooms. She added, "We don't smoke or drink if that is of any interest to you."

Mrs. Ayer was upset to think that Barbara couldn't find a place to stay and on the next Monday, when no response to the letter had arrived, she offered to drive Barbara to Williamsburg to look some more. Morris was coming in from the base that day and Barbara asked her to wait until he got there. Luckily, as Morris arrived, so did the mailman with a letter from the woman who ran the boarding house saying she had a room for Barbara. In the letter she said, "It is important to me that you don't smoke or drink." On Tuesday Barbara took the bus to Williamsburg and felt blessed to have a room waiting.

Barbara's room was on the second floor along with three others. The four boarders shared the one bathroom. The house was close to the center of town and Barbara could walk to the small café to get her meals. Morris was able to come in from the base more often after the transfer to Williamsburg. It is hard for us to fathom the look of towns that had large military bases nearby. Barbara remembered Williamsburg being "blue" with Navy men.

There was only one laundry in town but it was of limited use. Since Morris could be transferred on a moment's notice, he could not be sure he would get his laundry back. Barbara would wash his dress white shirt in the wash basin in her room and iron it on her bed. The material was all cotton and very difficult to iron nicely, not like the easy-iron materials that most shirts are made of these days. Barbara remembered that "it was quite a trick to iron with the bed going up and down every time I pressed down with the iron."

Battalions were leaving every second day, and with their departure a thousand more recruits would arrive. Women anxious to see their husbands or boyfriends, perhaps for the last time, were hunting places to stay. The doorbell at Barbara's boarding house rang all hours of the day and night.

Williamsburg was a small town with much history. John D. Rockefeller had purchased a large portion of the city and restored the old buildings to look like they had in colonial times. It was a picturesque and exciting for Barbara. Several times a day, volunteers would dress up in colonial costumes and ride in horse-drawn buggies around the town. The historical buildings and homes were open to visitors and Barbara found great enjoyment in visiting them. Some of the places she remembered visiting were the governor's palace and maze, the capitol building (scene of Patrick Henry's famous speech), the powder magazine (the storehouse for military supplies) the public goal, Raleigh Tavern. She particularly enjoyed the restored kitchen in the palace and remembered how the pewter and furniture shined. She also loved the gardens. She was told that the local people were prohibited from growing tomatoes because they weren't grown in colonial times.

There was such a shortage of places for women to stay that the historical homes allowed them to stay there at night. These poor women had to be out of the buildings by eight in the morning and couldn't go back to their beds until after ten at night. None of their belongings were to be seen during the day. It was most inconvenient for them and Barbara felt fortunate to be living in her own room. She paid one dollar per day, which she felt was outrageously high.

The landlady liked Barbara and permitted her to keep milk in the refrigerator. This made it possible for Barbara to have a cold cereal for breakfast without having to go out to eat. The restaurant was only about three blocks away and handy for dinners, but always crowded. There was, however, a sumptuous officers' club, and if Morris was able to get away from his battalion they would eat there. Barbara especially loved the cornbread.

One day Barbara and Morris had just left the officers' club and were walking back to the apartment. They were on a dirt path walking behind two seamen. In the distance they could see an officer and his wife coming towards them. Barbara could hear the sailors talking to each other. One said to the other, "Here comes an officer with his wife, let's salute to make her feel he's important." Sure enough, as they approached the couple, the seamen gave a smart salute. At that time there were so many officers and seamen in the small town that if they saluted everyone they would be in perpetual motion, so saluting on the street was unusual.

Another day Barbara had walked uptown to the restaurant for lunch. As usual, it was jammed with diners, but fortunately Barbara found the last table. Soon an enlisted man asked if he could sit at Barbara's table and, of course, she said he could. Barbara did not expect Morris to be able to get away from the base that day, but he had managed to get permission and came to the restaurant looking for her. When he arrived at her table the seaman jumped up and apologized profusely. "I just sat here, Sir, because there was no room. Sir, I will find another place, Sir." He took his plate and left. Barbara didn't understand why he was so upset. So far as Morris was concerned, he could have stayed there, but they were new in the Navy and didn't understand all the protocol.

Barbara was trying to eat a proper diet for herself and her baby, so she ordered a vegetable plate. Having taught home economics and having grown up on a farm, she laughed when she saw the contents of her "vegetable plate." It was covered with only starchy foods--macaroni, rice, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and mashed red beans. But she understood that fresh produce was in short supply in the overcrowded military towns.

One of the girls staying in Barbara's rooming house had a job as telephone operator. She told about calling all over the country to different Navy camps. She mentioned that she had tried to place a call to "Valley Joe near Treasure Island, California," but the local operator didn't know what she was talking about. Having lived a time in Northern California, Barbara thought she knew that country well, but she could not place the town either. When Morris came in from camp she asked, "Where is Valley Joe?" He laughed and said "You mean Vallejo?" After Barbara told her friend how to pronounce the name of the town, she said that the calls always went through.

Williamsburg had only one movie theatre and Barbara would see sailors lined up in long lines trying to get in. She would have enjoyed watching a movie, but Morris had an aversion to lines and as a result they never did see one.

When May arrived, Barbara and Morris knew it was time for Barbara to go home to Utah to be with her parents. Barbara walked the three blocks to the train station to get her ticket. She had waited as long as possible. Her mother had been worried that she might have the baby on the train. This was happening quite often at that time, as young pregnant women all over the country returned to their homes to give birth. Morris had not shipped out yet and did not know where he might be going. On the way back from the train station, Barbara began sobbing. She tried to control her emotions, but the street seemed empty and she thought no one would notice. She didn't know if she would ever see Morris again. She passed a home where the woman was out watering her lawn. The woman saw she was crying and came over to the fence and said, "I was happy when I was expecting our babies. You shouldn't cry." Still sobbing, Barbara said, "I'm not crying because I'm pregnant. I'm crying because I have to leave and I may never see my husband again."

It was a sad and uncertain time for young couples all across the country.

Barbara left on May 4, 1943. The train ride to Utah was long, taking about sixty hours and encompassing two nights. The passengers were not served lunch and Barbara was famished by early afternoon. When the train made a brief stop at a small station, a sailor ran into a store by the tracks and came back with some hardboiled eggs. Taking pity on her, he gave Barbara one. It was a time of food-rationing and she supposed the railroad company was taking advantage of the shortage to cut back on costs.

On the ride home the dogwood was in bloom and the scenery was beautiful. Barbara noticed how changed things looked compared to when they had arrived in February. They had traveled from California to Virginia and everything looked bleak; the trees were bare and the colors muted. Now, as the train wound through the rolling hills, the countryside was green and flowers were blooming in the towns.

It was good that Barbara had returned home when she did, as I was born on May 25, two weeks early. In those days long distance calls were rare and people could not call patients in a hospital, but as soon as Barbara returned home, Morris telephoned. Barbara said, "I think all I did was cry. I'm sure I bragged about what a cute baby we had, but that's another story."