In the Pink: A World War II Story

By Johanne Levesque

World War II is retold through letters to Josephine, the mother of a pilot, a gunner, a nurse, and a violinist in Europe during the war.

What horrible experiences will her grown children go through? And will they come home safe and sound from this terrible war?

This book puts the ordinary soldier at center stage by bringing together letters from the front.

Josephine will feel the pain of saying goodbye to her grown children. She will feel the uncertainty of her children sailing off to foreign shores and the terror of fighting bloody battles. It is a story of the angst of a mother receiving letters from the front and hoping for her grown children to come home safe and sound.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781647506971

Johanne Levesque

Johanne Levesque was born in Quebec City, Canada. She had more treasures than she could manage; she had books. Her childhood was a series of events that made her life feel unsafe. Her escape was books. She could be anyone. She could be anywhere. It was so simple, just open a page and read. Her love of reading turned into her love of writing. Her first book, Trouble and Strife, is a Canadian perspective of the Great Depression. This is the sequel following the same family during the Second World War.

Book preview

About the Author

Johanne Levesque was born in Quebec City, Canada. She had more treasures than she could manage; she had books. Her childhood was a series of events that made her life feel unsafe. Her escape was books. She could be anyone. She could be anywhere. It was so simple, just open a page and read. Her love of reading turned into her love of writing. Her first book, Trouble and Strife, is a Canadian perspective of the Great Depression. This is the sequel following the same family during the Second World War.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my readers; some I have met and some that will meet me while they read my book.

I want to thank, Carly Hayward, who helped edit my book. She not only made sure the spelling and punctuation were right, but she picked up inconsistencies that helped me reshape my book until I was happy with it.

I also want to dedicate this book to my husband, who is there by my side through thick and thin. He is my rock.

Finally, I want to dedicate this book to, Oscar, who is by my side day and night. He brings joy and comfort into my life while I navigate through mental illness. He is my rock. My reason to go out of the house and exercise every day. My Doberman, my Velcro boy. My service dog.

Copyright Information ©

Johanne Levesque 2022

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Levesque, Johanne

In the Pink: A World War II Story

ISBN 9781647506964 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781647506971 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Catalog Number: 2021901457

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

I want to thank, Carly Hayward, for helping me with the editing of my book. Your input helped me see inconsistencies which is much more than simply making sure the spelling and punctuation are right. Your comments helped me to shape and reshape my book until I was happy with it.

October 9, 1939

I knock on Eleanor’s door glancing at my watch. I close my eyes to calm myself. She finally lets me in.

I wonder into her bookshelf-filled living room.

I am the last to arrive.

Wilma’s face is red. Her fingers are tapping on the table.

I hate to disappoint her. She is so sweet-tempered normally but tetchy with laggards.

I am certain I am not in her good books right now.

I hope that the fresh cinnamon rolls I prepared this morning will change her mood. They are still warm, and I must say, they have an irresistible smell. I offer one to her and she eats it with the utmost composure.

I gently place my hand on Wilma’s arm. She is covered in bandages all along her right arm. What happened to you? I ask softly.

She is recalled from her preoccupation with my tardiness by a question from Eleanor.

How awful! Are you in pain?

I’m fine. The doctor said Lawrence acted quickly and did everything right. He says that I probably won’t even have any scars.

How did it happen? I ask, still trying to redeem myself.

I was preparing breakfast when the coal exploded in the stove. I put water on the flames and made it worse. Lawrence saved me; I would not have known what to do, she says wearing a rather pouting air of discontent.

Oh, my gosh, we are lucky you are here today, it could have been so much worse, I say.

Phyllis looks a pillar of righteousness sitting straight in her chair with a bun at the base of her neck. Did any of you arrive by tram this morning?

I did, I respond, wondering the relevance of this question.

It was terrible; I felt crushed like a sardine. There should be a limit for passengers. I think it’s dangerous. You can catch the flu being so close to the other passengers.

Eleanor, who is always making us the gift of her opinions, looks at Phyllis and says, We are at war to help in freeing Europe from a dictatorship and you are worried about getting a cold?

I can see Phyllis’s clenched jaw as she is giving intense eye contact at Eleanor.

She says, I stretch my tolerance toward you because you are my friend, Eleanor.

Despite Phyllis’s comment, Eleanor continues talking, not in the least noticing Phyllis’s feelings are hurt, Yesterday, I caught an intruder in my house. I chased him down the alley and pinned him down against a wall. He was still struggling when the police arrived. He had some of my jewelry in his pockets. The police took him away. I am still frazzled today. I am glad you ladies are here. It’s doubly nerve-racking when you live alone you know.

Phyllis replies after a moment’s pause, I’m sure I would not have been as strong as you, Eleanor. You really pinned him down? I can’t imagine I would have the strength or the nerve to chase and practically arrest this person myself.

Phyllis adds, Well, I’m sure he will think twice next time. Women who live alone are not as vulnerable as he may have thought in the first place.

Wilma suddenly changes the subject. She is awkward in conversations and has a tendency to have poor timing when it comes to participating. Lawrence is constantly talking about Hitler; he says that it irks him to hear people of Germany boasting about their superiority when they are really politically stupid and morally barbaric.

Lawrence is right, Hitler is keeping Germans stupid. There is no free press in Germany. They simply believe what Hitler tells them. They don’t know any better, says Eleanor.

I agree, only free press will guarantee freedom and preserve peace, I say.

What irks me, says Phyllis, drawing, her eyebrows together, is the countries who call themselves neutral. Britain is fighting for the world. If Britain loses, there will be no freedom for the neutral countries. This crisis is a moral one, a life-or-death struggle between right and wrong. Hitler is intent on destroying human rights and sweeping away all moral principles by brute force. If he triumphs, it will mean cruel and bitter slavery for the vanquished.

We are lucky to have brave young men willing to sacrifice their lives for their country. You must be so proud, Josephine, with a son-in-law and son who are fighting against abominable crimes and treatment of the helpless minorities, Wilma says with an air of placidity.

"Yes, but both Gloria and I worry as we are not sure our loved ones are going to be returned to us. We check the mail every day to see if one of them has written to us. We read the missing report in the newspaper together, and each day we give out a sigh of relief when we don’t see their names.

Monday evenings, we are captivated listening to the troops overseas. Gloria likes to hear the voice of experienced officers while I like listening to the old buck private when he gets the chance to say hello to his folks.

October 16, 1939

I woke up from a bad dream. It is still lingering. It seems to warn of impending doom.

The images from my nightmare haunt me. It was dark and the sea was illuminated by a full moon; the sand was covered with mutilated bodies.

I prepare my morning tea and just as I serve myself some oatmeal, I hear the postman drop a letter in the box.

I take a sip of my tea as I wearily walk to the post box. I return to the kitchen and sit-down staring at a letter still in my hand. Just like Pandora’s Box, I am afraid of what misery will be unleashed once I open it. I turn it over in my hands. I recognize the handwriting. It’s from my child, Evelyn. I haven’t heard from her for a whole year. She disappeared without a trace. I have been worried sick about her.

The police used to be frequent visitors to my house. Evelyn was always in trouble with the law. The police knew me by my first name. I hesitate to open the envelope.

I have been anxious for quite some time about Evelyn’s lack of communication. I am afraid something bad may have happened to her.

What have I done to be shunned this way?

At this very moment, I can’t sit still. I am sweating and shaking at the same time. My heart is beating very fast.

Maybe her lack of communication is part of growing up and I am overreacting. Maybe she needed time to become her own person.

Sometimes I am afraid that I will never see her again. Whatever reason keeps her away from me, I feel rejected, abandoned, dismissed.

What type a predicament has she got herself into this time?

The postmark on the letter shows London, England. It’s just like her to go and get herself entangled in the most terrible of wars.

With some hesitation, I open the letter.

Hello, Mumsy.

Please don’t start to fuss and fret about me.

I joined the auxiliary forces in England.

I had to pay my own transportation and expenses to England and secure government permission to travel into the war zone.

I applied to the Canadian Red Cross Society at 95 Wellesley Street, Toronto.

I took a ten-week course in Air Raid Precaution specializing in the treatment of casualties. Later, we were invited to take an instructor’s course similar to the first but more advanced. It was centered on first aid nursing. I am very proud of my certificate.

I am excited to say, for the first time of my life, you will be proud of me. I volunteered and joined the Auxiliary Territorial Service. As a woman, I am paid two-thirds of the pay of male soldiers. It makes me angry, but I don’t have time or energy to do something about it. I went through basic training and was sent to a unit to take up my role in the service. At first, I was just a driver. Eventually, my range of duties diversified. I learned to do first aid and became very good at it. I underwent further training in fever nursing, and I can treat people with whooping cough and diphtheria. I am based in England for now.

You should see me, I am wearing a khaki uniform with collars and tie, khaki shirt, peaked khaki cap. When in war zone, I wear a steel helmet and backpack.

Because we are in the thick of it, we work mostly in abandoned or bombed out buildings.

Apparently, there are 300 of us women enlisted into the ATS.

Basically, I drive ambulances. I am presently serving in France.

Aren’t you proud of me, Mumsy? I am doing something that makes a real difference. It is crazy but I feel a pleasant rush when I am in danger; it gives me energy. We have been in a lot of sticky situations. It doesn’t scare me one iota. Love it. Now that I broke the news to you, I promise I will stay in touch more regularly. I hope you are well, Mumsy. Tell everyone I say hello.

P.S. When you write back, please tell me about Alvin, Melvin, and Gloria. I have lost touch with them and would really like to hear how they are all doing. Who knows, maybe I can connect with them in England somewhere. Tata for now. XXXOOO, Evelyn.

The cloud of impending doom lifts slightly. My baby girl is not in some prison somewhere or holding up a bank. My presentiment was wrong, thank goodness.

The world is full of hopeful possibilities, even for a wayward child such as Evelyn.

I can see this new career as fitting her personality quite well. She thrives in chaos, and as strange as it sounds, she will thrive in this war.

Who knew the young girl who spent more time in the reformatory then not would drive an ambulance in the middle of a war? My worries will never stop with Evelyn, that is for sure, but I do believe she has found her true calling.

Now when I read the war news, it won’t be only Alvin, Melvin, and Norman; I will worry about Evelyn as well. God bless them and keep them safe.

October 17, 1939

Hello, Mother.

After receiving five weeks of advanced training and two weeks of instruction in a bombing and gunnery school, I still had more training to do.

The initial training was followed with twelve weeks of flight training and a month of air navigation school. I learned to chart the course which enables the pilot to make his way to the target and to return safely to the home field, despite fog and rain, clouds and darkness, and the searching fingers of hostile searchlights and the rattle of AA shells around us.

I was given a grueling physical and medical test. They took electrical readings of my brain waves to make certain I will not become excitable when I am in decompression chambers where our air pressure and oxygen supply are cut down to simulate a plane high above the earth.

I was forced to make my calculations while my lungs and brains thumped under the rarefied oxygen supply.

I guess I was a perfect physical specimen because I went on to win my single wing. I aimed the nose of giant bombers over Nazi soil, and called to the pilot wind, speed, and distance.

Our training required a knowledge of mathematics, steady nerves, quick thinking, and capable hands.

Before going into the air, we spent long hours of study on the ground. We lied on platforms designed to represent the bombing compartment of a plane and looked down through a bomb sight at an aerial photograph enlarged and projected on the floor.

Behind me was my instructor acting as a pilot. He tilted the projected image as the earth’s surface itself would appear to tilt beneath a maneuvering plane. I then pressed a trigger to release my bombs, and as I did a light flashed on the photographic landscape to indicate where the bombs had struck. My accuracy was judged by my flashing score.

When I was ready for active service, I was supplied with racks of practice bombs and sent out over targets on land, and water. On land, cloth targets were used, and on water floating targets were designed to represent the enemy vessels. To train in beating off opposing aircrafts, canvas sleeve targets were towed 1200 feet behind another plane.

We graduated one step nearer Hitler and celebrated our graduation with a dinner at the King Edward Hotel. We were the first batch to leave for England.

Some of the people who graduated with us are from Rio de Janeiro, New Zealand, and Texas. I am now able to navigate RAF bombers across the English Channel to attack German military objectives.

Now that I am a full-fledged Observer, there are many pre-flight duties to be performed after briefing and prior to takeoff. I have to make my own calculation of the ETA.

I have a myriad of items to check and note before takeoff. Calculate wind velocity and direction every 20 minutes, give the pilot any course and speed change needed to get to turning points and target on time.

There is no time to chit chat, that’s for sure. We sit side by side on a narrow bench at a narrow table with barely enough room for our charts. Under the table is the equipment which consists of electrical connections, which prevent us from straightening our legs and assures knee damage if we try.

It is completely dark; we have no visual indication of whether we are flying in daylight or darkness. Except for takeoff and landing, and possibly over the target, if time permit. We see less of the war than anyone.

I act as the bomb aimer. I have heard many stories of the pilot being wounded and the observer