A NC story

WWII and My Parents

From the rural NC Cotton Fields to the British War Bride

I, born in 1947 in Charlotte, enter life two years after the end of the war, but the stories, memories, and collected and revered items of war remained a big part on my growing up. Always present were the collected items, Grandfather’s Warden’s helmet, the chunk of shrapnel that landed on my mother’s house, the uniforms and patches, and insignia. There were the books and boxes of photos and huge paintings that hung in the hallway. Eventually there was the original portrait of my mother- painted by an Austrian Jew who my grandfather helped after he escaped the Nazis. More than anything there was the depth of emotion and feelings of pride in the job both my parents carried out during the war. It was the paradox in the war’s horror and contrast of being one of the most significant times in their lives that has left its mark in me. I grew up feeling like the war had been dragged along and laid over my childhood. But it was not a bad thing, it was who my family were and still are today.

My father- Joshua Thompson (J.T.) Wright of Cleveland County, NC in a small rural area known as Beam’s Mill sits on Hwy 18 between Shelby and Fallston, was born April 25, 1916. He was the youngest son and sixth of seven children of Joshua Richard Wright and Clara Hamrick Wright. His entrance into military came in 1941 when he was called up and entered the US Army Air Corps at the rank of Private. He died in 1981 at the age of 64, but behind him are the memories, photos, and his military record.

My British mother was called up along with all eligible women in England who were healthy, of age, and not pregnant. She entered the WAAF (Women’s Auxiliary Air Force) and served driving supply trucks, an ambulance, and as temporary chief officer of a bomber command. She loved the military life, as did my father and if he did not have a business to return to run (cotton gin) maybe I world have grown up a military brat (like my kids did). Both my parents loved the military but a British soldier married to an American G.I. would not work. So they left the service, yet carried all their wonderful and exciting stories with them. Ironically too, my mother as a Lieutenant outranked my dad, although he made Captain shortly before his discharge.

I was able to see the up close and personal effects of the war when I went back to visit grandparents in England at age 5 & 9 and saw the shells of building not yet cleared or re-built, the image of new bricks against the older ones as brick walls were repaired, and then the presence of my grandfather’s brick bomb shelter he had built in the front yard. It was a very small structure sunk in the ground about two feet, with a toilet room and one larger room with four bunks, table, and chairs. It was hidden under trees, though even I as young as I was... knew that no bomb would know to dodge it even under trees. Whenever an air-raid called out my Grandparents, aunt and her children along with my mother, if she was home, would gather there to hide. By the time I came to it, the building was for storage, and I took over to make it my playhouse. Years later on a return to England in 2001 I returned to see it still standing. I wondered if the new owners even knew what it was.

How my parents met was the biggest story of all. It seems the RAF was holding a social dance for the American troops. My Dad with his friend saw two women in uniform standing off to one side and flipped a coin to see which ones they would talk to. Dad ended with a beautiful young WRAF officer who would become my Mom. Barbara Welsh was a radiant classic 1940’s and beautiful woman. They were friends and together from that moment. Theirs was a true love story. Mother entered the US on board the liner Ile de France being used as a Canadian troop ship via Canada at Pier 21 in Halifax, Nova Scotia in June of 1946. Her passage continued on Canadian Rail into Washington, DC where my father met her. They drove through Virginia stopping in Charlottesville and on to Salisbury, NC where they stopped to get married at the First Baptist Church. The only people present and serving as witnesses were the church caretaker and secretary. Later they drove to meet my father’s family in rural Cleveland County. My cousins still talk of meeting the returning WWII veteran and his foreign wife from England. After a honeymoon at Chimney Rock, NC they settled in Charlotte living on 11th St and later in a small house on W 28th St. Daddy was the manager of the Buckeye Cotton Gin Co. Later he would move into the same job in Raleigh where they lived until they died.

Daddy’s military service is recorded in his small and perfect hand writing in a folder I discovered telling all the dates of his journey. The most significant record his departure from Boston and arrival at Liverpool on Oct. 18, 1943. His post was with the 12th RCD AMF Station 591 in Chorley, England. Later he moved to Hq Sqdn 46 MDG AAF Sta 505 in Watton, England. On July 28, 1945 he left England and returned to the US arriving in Boston on Aug 7, 1945. His major duties were with Ordnance, and I still have all his manuals and texts of procedures. He valued them so that he kept them until his death and my mother saved them until her death June 15, 2000. I can't say he was part of any great big battle, or spent time on beaches, and marching through German towns. His war was a routine of keeping pieces put together and in order for those who were on the lines. True all parts are important, yet his story is a quiet reminder of a rural country boy leaving home to return a different person.

Today those items of war- a piston head from a Lancaster bomber, the collection of photos, a painting of bomber command, and the papers marking my mother’s voyage to the USA are all still with me. Somewhere in the midst of the shoes boxes of letters, and various forms and books are two school newspapers from Fallston High sent to the troops overseas. We should never forget he small stories amid the larger tales, and not lose the stories of our families.