Darling, and Poppet, and Lovely, Oh My..

Term of Endearment: A word or phrase used to address and/or describe a person or animal for which the speaker feels love or affection.

In the three days I spent with sisters, Eileen and Jean, I had been called more terms of endearment than I ever have in my life. Not that it was a bad thing. To be honest, it really grew on me. In fact, I got so used to it I half expected my roommate to say "Ah, yes. That's lovely, dear, thank you" after doing a favor for her. The first time I heard Jean call me "poppet" though I was caught a little off guard. Mostly because I immediately thought of this scene in Pirates of the Caribbean. When my internal YouTube finished that clip, I laughed and heard Eileen say, "Don't pay any mind to the 'poppet' comment, dear. Jean used to be a teacher and she got in the habit of calling her students that."

Oh, those three days were fun! These ladies, sweet as can be, are the most British women I've met thus far. And not in just their vocabulary, but in daily life. They're very specific in how they want things done, and actually, I'm quite glad for it. Without them directing me, I would've been utterly lost. Particularly in the way they like their tea. (Eileen - "Fairly strong dear, only a drop of milk and one sugar. Jean likes hers to look like dishwater." My silent question of, 'What??' Then Jean- "Lots of milk, dear. No, no sugar, love.")

So, for those three days, and due to their limited mobility at the moment, I spent hours doing little bits around the house for them. Stopping every once in a while to read with them, or have a nice chat. Actually, on my last day with them, Jean and I got into an interesting conversation about World War II. Dad, listen up, you'll like this.

We were sitting and having our tea when the topic of World War II came up. I believe Jean brought it up because she had recently gone to a primary (or elementary) school with a group of her friends from church to explain their experiences during the years of the war. She explained to me that the house we were sitting in was the house her parents lived in, where she and her siblings grew up. She said that she and Eileen were about 6 or 7 at the time the war broke out in 1939. "I told the kids that we were in primary school just like them, but then all the kids in the area we lived in were evacuated to safer areas for the time being," she said. "We just thought we were going on holiday. We had no idea what was really going on. News didn't travel as quickly as it does these days. When we told the kids that, they couldn't even fathom a world without television. They just kept asking, 'Well, didn't you see it on the news?' We had to keep reminding them how different it was back then. They just couldn't believe it."

When she said that, I thought to myself, holy smokes. How are elderly people not spontaneously combusting due to overload of new information?? Going from a time where the 'Dictophone,' a machine that recorded speech for later playback, was a sweet gadget, to a time where there's an App for that..it's incredible. Truly unbelievable. Anyways, back to the story...

She told me of manor houses that the neighbor children were sent to. She said some were more fortunate than others. I asked her what she meant. "Some of the children were treated horribly. Eileen and I were very lucky. Very, very lucky," she replied.


When she and Eileen were sent back to their families, life resumed. I asked her if they lived in fear everyday, at every moment. She responded with, "Yes, oh yes, dear. You see, one night my mother wanted to make a nice meal of liver* and at that time everything was rationed. So I went to the store to buy the meat, and I remember running as fast as I could to get into the safety of the building and my home. I remember hearing the frightening sounds of constant bombing."

As I was trying to picture this image...a child, not 13, running through the streets to buy rationed food beneath air raid bombings, I couldn't, and still can't even pretend to place myself into their shoes, their memories. They seem like distant stories. It's like trying to imagine yourself in The Secret Garden, or even more nonsensical, Cinderella. They're all stories that are enthralling beyond words, but as much as you long to relate to them, it's an unfeasible task.

Well, that's something to mull over for the next few days or so. On a completely unrelated and cheerier note, the ICYE-UK Social Camp is this weekend and I'm getting to see all the volunteers from my On-Arrival Camp. I cannot wait!



Keep it real,

greta





*My inner Google popped up over 8 million image results in .12 seconds...I tried not to grimace. This was hard.