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And so she had gotten out of bed just before five o’clock and returned to reading those that remained in the pile.
They were mostly in Ann’s well-regarded Profiles of Courage series, human interest pieces that told of ordinary citizens rising in wartime to serve in extraordinary roles. More times than not, Charity found herself moved by the articles, and she wondered if that had been because of the power of Ann’s prose—it was indeed powerful—or because of the realization that these, in fact, could very well be Ann’s last words.
She sipped at her cup of tea, then picked up a news clip from the pile of Ann’s bylined pieces. It was the last of the pile and turned out to be the last story Ann had filed before the bombs reduced her flat to rubble.
She began reading it:
* * *
PROFILES OF COURAGE ONE IN A SERIES
THE FACE OF GRACE UNDER PRESSURE
A Brave Young Widow’s Personal Battle Against the Nazis
By Ann Chambers
London Bureau
Chambers News Service
ON THE ROLLING HILLS in the quiet countryside of central England, a war widow opens her doors to those who have none.
At five foot four inches tall and one hundred five pounds, Grace Higham is not a big woman in physical stature. But in the eyes of the men, the women, and the children she every day welcomes into her home, no one stands taller than the fair-skinned twenty-seven-year-old.
They are the injured and the orphaned, their lives horrifically altered by the attacks on London by the German Luftwaffe.
All come to Grace as strangers. And all become family.
Many stay after their recovery to work on the farm or in the kitchen, wherever they can, to help Grace help those who follow them to this haven on the hills.
One of those who helps here is Sara Spenser. Regular readers of this series will recall the profile of the young woman who, with the Light Rescue Section of London’s Civil Defence, also tends to strangers struck down by Nazi bombs. Wearing a dented 1914 Tin Hat, scuffed men’s Wellington rubber boots, and dirty, torn overalls, the intense and exuberant twenty-year-old works twenty-four-hour shifts, uncovering victims from the rubble of Luftwaffe bombs and transporting them by ambulance to hospital.
Sara on her off days brings the injured and the orphaned to Grace Higham and the handful of others who open their homes to the needy.
These outposts of compassion are necessitated by the fact that London hospital beds are far outnumbered by patients. While doctors and nurses perform nobly and efficiently in their jobs of saving and then stabilizing patients, there is no extra room in hospitals for the patients’ extended care and recovery.
And so they are transported the hundred miles north of London by Civil Defence ambulance. Brought to Great Glen, a postcard hamlet so aptly named, where one woman’s great work for hope and renewal began with a great personal loss.
William Higham, Grace’s husband of three years, was killed in 1940 by German bombs as he fought in France with the British Expeditionary Force at the Battle of Dunkirk.
“Will was my whole life,” Grace said. “And the heart and soul of this farm. Now there is new meaning for my life and for our farm.”
Amid the patchwork of rich farmland, cut by a series of clear, cold streams, three of five farm buildings have been converted to an infirmary, an orphanage with classrooms, and a boardinghouse for the adults.
Grace said it gave her great joy to be able to share all that she and Will had. She added that, despite the circumstances that brought them here, being with the children was a particularly rewarding experience.
“Will taught me the true meaning of sacrifice. His life was centered on it. There was nothing he would not do for friends. And, of course, for me. He was always working harder so that he and I would have a better life, and a family.” Her voice trailed off as she added, “But then he joined up and made the ultimate sacrifice.”
Grace then quoted John 15:13: “‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’”
With so many people to take care of, so many tasks to meet in the course of a day, it was asked of Grace if there were any regrets.
She replied at first with a laugh. “Regrets? There is not time to wallow in such thought!”
And then she looked off, out across the large yard where children played. She sniffled, and her eyes watered.
“Yet if I would have one, it would not be for me. It is for Will, and for others. A son, a flesh-and-bones embodiment of my dearly beloved husband, so that a part of a man so fine and so compassionate could carry on in this mad mad world of ours.”
