The Ely miner., 1943-11-11
By KATHLEEN NORRIS
Bell syndicate-wNU Featu

TINE Millers have one son,
Quentin, aged %. When
L Quentin was drafted into
the army the Millers' hearts
broke; they wept, they told their
agonized fears to everyone;
they might have been the only
parents of the only boy who ever
was drawn into war.
Quentin was sent to Maine;
presently had two weeks leave.
The Millers went to Boston from
California at a cost of about a
thousand dollars and Quentin
came down there and they had
ten days together. They saw
shows and movies and went to
restaurant dinners; Quentin was
bored, of course, for he knew no
girls of his own age and had no
friends in Boston. The Miller par
ents were bored, too; they couldn't
talk camp all the time, prices stag
gered them, they missed the COM
fortableness of home and the near
ness of friends.
On the train coming home they
had section in a packed car. The
chairs in the lounge and club car
were rented to weary soldiers. The
dressing rooms were cluttered with
women filling nursing bottles and
setting their hair and even sleep
ing on the floor. Two meals a day
were served, but not to the Millers,
for they couldn't get near the din
ing room. Once they bought some
sandwiches and once box of crack
ers. At Omaha they managed to
get some coffee.
Travelling with them were many
soldiers and many women. The sol
diers had some reason to be there
the women none. No, the women
had neither reason nor right to be
there, any more than the Millers
had.
Crowds of Sentimental Travellers.
Most of these women were bound
on sentimental journeys, as the Mil
lers were. Spurred by the unanswer-
able thought; 'I may not see him
again" they were trailing their war
riors to the camps, air fields, docks,
railway centers. They were max
ing of their emotional crises an ex-
cuse to clutter up the travel re-
sources of the entire nation; pre-
vent service men from making nee
essary journeys; complicate every
thing for every official along the
whole way.
One of these travelling wives land
ed in western town a few days
ago; I talked to her. She was a
weak, pretty creature of about 80;
she had come from a town in Iowa,
"to see Harry. He's going overseas,
! haven't seen him since June and
this is September, and Of course
the children and I may not ever see
him again." she said. The children
were small, pale boys of five and
three, and baby girl of seven
months. All three were dirty, be-
wildered, hungry, hot, uncomforta-
BILE beyond any dream of child tor
ture. They had sat up nights, they
had gone without food, they hadn't
had baths or quiet beds for a week.
They had seen their mother crying
and frightened and lost more than
once. They had no place to go;
anything like provision for her visit,
or arrangements, or reservations
hadn't ever entered Helen's head.
She didn't know how they were to
get back to Iowa; she was running
out of money.
Well, Harry did come UP from
San Diego and she saw him for "a
hours. He was absorbed in his great
adventure; interested in nothing
but his fellow soldiers, his orders,
his regiment, his trip. But he gave
distracted, sympathetic attention to
Helen and the needs of his forlorn
little brood. Charity was called in;