by Danna Shirley
It was something everyone in the family would love to
possess but I was fortunate to have asked for it first. My father had carved it
during World War II while he was stationed in England. He brought it home in
the little silver tin that the Army Air Corp issued to hold a bar of soap. That
was sixty years ago. It has been a special treasure in our family ever since.
I remember it being pulled out occasionally throughout
my childhood to admire but I didn’t realize the God-given talent bestowed upon
my father in fashioning it until I became an adult. I wish I could have
inherited this gift as well, but I have “two left thumbs.”
It seems while everyone else was marking time until
their return home from the war, my dad was using his time wisely. There was a
cache of damaged windshields from B-17 bombers that were discarded when the
flyers returned from their missions. These windshields were made of Plexiglas
so there was a vast goldmine of materials to craft anything desired. Several of
the men needed their watch crystals replaced and my dad would make them for 10
shillings ($2) a piece. Of course he didn’t become rich making watch crystals
but he was always money-wise.
Sometimes Dad would trade his ration of cigarettes for
real food, which was a treat from whatever
graced his mess kit. Other times he would bicycle out to the country and trade
his cigarettes for fresh eggs while the others back in camp were eating
powdered. It was a blessing that he never smoked so he could use his cigarettes
for bartering.
When Dad arrived home to Arkansas, the little carved
treasure came with him. Its strings were made of thread from the sewing kit
that was standard issue. He glued it all together with acetone. Years later he
mounted it in a pretty little gift box and glued all the sides together so that
it would not get damaged or be handled unnecessarily.
Dad
carved wooden objects as well, cars with door handles that turned and opened,
trunks that raised, and steering wheels that really turned the tires. The
little clear violin, however, was so delicate to me, so reminiscent of what the
angels might be playing in heaven, that this is my special remembrance of my
dad. It now has a place of honor in my china cup cabinet with a spotlight above
it to illuminate its priceless worth and precious value among my other
possessions.
August 2005
Now, September 2011, the
violin sits on my daughter, Kristen’s, bookshelf in her new home to be loved
and protected for the following generation, for her daughters Emma and Bella.
September, 2011
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