The first was a rare article my father and mother wrote together for the Norwich Gazette. Both wrote separate columns for several years. I doubt they shared space in the same column more than once or twice.
The second was a rare photo of my grandmother (on my other’s side) with three of her four children. (Fred, her oldest son, may have been married at the time, or else he took the photo). Together they form a tight group outside their small frame house that sat under the Norwich water tower, about a block south of the village’s solid red brick post office. (FYI - the house still stands; the post office burned down except for the old clock tower.)
In the photo from the early 1940s I see my Scottish grandmother Ida Belle (nee Gordon) Catton, a hard-working, kind-hearted widow, with her left hand over her only daughter’s shoulder (i.e., Edith, 18 - 20 years old, about 10 years away from becoming my mother).
Up front I see Verne Catton (16 - 18 years old, and not in the mood to smile; perhaps he had just lit up), and Arthur (11 - 13 years old, wearing a pleasant smile and hand-me-down trousers, common for the day).
The brick structure in the background may be a municipal building, now long gone.
Mother wrote the following in the Gazette about seeing her boyfriend while he was on leave at Christmas, 1941:
I remember the day he came home on short leave, though I can’t recall that we knew what day he would arrive. In the morning I had washed my hair and put in a few curlers at the top.
In those days most of us wore our hair long, to our shoulders, and with the side hair rolled up in a pompadour. I hadn’t got around to putting any make-up on, and I was just poking about waiting for my hair to dry, which took a long time for we didn’t have hand-held blow dryers then. My brothers were out and Mother was doing some Christmas baking at the kitchen table.
I walked into the dining room and looked out the door window and saw an odd-looking person coming down through the parking lot which used to be just in front of our house. I remember that I called out to Mother: “There’s a strange looking person coming down the road, come and see,” but before she could wipe the flour off her hands, I recognized Doug and called out; “It’s Doug Harrison!”
There he was, navy hat on one side, gas-mask over one shoulder, walking down through the snow. I ran out the door, wet hair, curlers and all, and down the snowy sidewalk with Mother calling after me, “Edith! Come and put your coat on!” but I kept right on going.
I got to the end of the sidewalk and as we met I got a bump on the forehead and Doug got a bang on his nose. His nose used to bleed easily, and there he was, nose bleeding, trying to find a handkerchief, trying to hang on to his gas-mask, one arm around me, and then he said, laughing, “This is a great way to welcome me home!”
We managed to get into the house, where he sat down at one end of the table, and we found more handkerchiefs and mopped him up. Then, as I sat on his lap he asked, “How about a cup of tea?”
["How about a cup of tea?": photos of rare photos by GH]
I made him the tea and then, after I had put on my make-up and combed my hair, we went up to Spring Street and spent the rest of the day with his mother.
I don’t remember Christmas Day that year; whenever I think of that Christmas time, I just recall that strange outfit, the recognition, the rush through the snow, and the words, “This is a great way to welcome me home!”
Such stories and photos keep the memories related to the Harrison/Catton family history from drifting away on the next light breeze.
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