Chasing the Ghosts of a Soldier Killed in Normandy During WWII
In a manila envelope in the top drawer of her dresser, my mother kept a Scottish Grenadiers’ cap with a red checkered band and ribbons falling from its back. Her brother Monroe had sent it to her from Great Britain a few months before D-Day.
He was always looking for gifts to send home. From the American Southwest, where his unit trained, came Navaho trade blankets; from Edinburgh, a Scottish wool sweater bought on the “QT,” and of course, the Grenadiers’ hat. He also sent letters home, filled with lists of things he wanted his sisters and parents to mail him in return: Hershey’s chocolate, chewing gum, the Saturday Evening Post. They fitfully arrived at the army’s convenience. He was especially fond of the Chesterfield “cigs” they sent, which he traded for a bottle of good Scotch.
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