Page 175 - Anthology

JANE SHIPP

LEST WE FORGET VERSAILLES, KENTUCKY

TEENAGE MEMORIES OF WORLD WAR II

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November 10, 1941, I celebrated my 12 birthday. Born in Woodford County, Kentucky, in a small
country town known as Midway, (between Lexington and Frankfort), I was the first grandchild and would

be the fourth generation of our family to continue farming as an occupation. I mention this fact because
until December 7, 1941, my life was carefree, my family was a loving one that worked hard with a planned

future and we all shared whatever responsibilities we were capable of contributing. One of my jobs was
to carry small buckets of water from the springhouse for drinking.

Sunday, December 7, 1941, I listened with interest to the devastating news on our radio. My country was
under attack at Hawaii, a territory of the United States. Japanese planes bombed our fleet of ships
anchored at Pearl Harbor sinking or damaging 188 and killing over 2,000 American citizens. Our
President, Franklin Roosevelt, announced over our radio that “this is a date that will live in infamy.”

What was most disturbing about this radio announcement was the change in my family’s demeanor. Our
radio was usually on for the evening news, and on Saturday we listened to a music station, but on this
particular day the radio stayed on and after President Roosevelt declared war on Japan, life as we had
known it to be changed for us with memories that live with us today.

A draft board was established for Woodford County and all young men 18 and older were ordered to
register to be trained to serve their country. My dad and his three brothers reported to the draft board and
each received an official registration. 1A determined that serving in the armed forces was required. My
Uncle John, the youngest of the four brothers, received that certification, but was deferred to raise food
for the armed forces.

Hogs, cattle and hemp were the contracts our family had with the military. The four brothers built a huge
wooden storage tank to hold the mash left from producing beer that was perfect food for hogs. My older
Uncle Leslie’s job was to continually haul the “slop” (our name for this smelly food) each day to fill the
storage bin.