FOR MOST OF THE CENTURY: THE WAR YEARS (PART 9)

Jean Bell Mosley's new autobiography, "For Most of the Century," is only available in serialized form in the Southeast Missourian. Return each week for her continuing story.

The first scary thing was the aurora borealis. It happened one clear night, turning the whole sky red, silhouetting Simms and Little Stono Mountains. Someone, I suppose half jokingly said, "The Germans are coming!" I had heard about the "terrible" Germans, but not about an aurora borealis. I cowered near Mama's skirts, although the red sky was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. We blew out the lights from the lamps and sat in a dimly lit "red" kitchen. I remember it well, for the red light from the sky fell upon the top knot of the pleated woodpecker pictured on our Arm and Hammer bird chart. It seemed to make the red crested feathers glow. With Mama's arms around me and that woodpecker glowing in the red darkness, I felt I needn't be afraid of anything. Woodpeckers still give me a lingering sense of peace.

Not so scary, but still hung up in my memory, are the brown biscuits we ate instead of Mama's usual white fluffy ones. The brown flour was something like the bran we fed the cows.

Then there was the day when Daddy had to go to town to get shot! That's the way I understood it. I associated being shot with the guns in the catch-all which were used to kill rabbits and squirrels for the cooking pots. Oh, aching heart, why was Daddy going to be shot? Was that the way war worked?

l climbed to the barn loft and hid in the hay where no one could hear me.

They were necessary medical shots before being inducted into the army of course. Why didn't someone tell me? Probably because everyone was too worried and coming down with the influenza. Daddy got it first, then Grandpa, Grandma, Mama -- right on down the line to me, the youngest. All of us were in bed at the same time. Tom Alexander, a neighbor who had already recovered from it, came over, about a mile and a half, to milk our cows and feed the livestock.

A message was sent to friends at Fredericktown and Mrs. Isom Ware came up to try to feed us and give what medicine was available. Something was put into a water with rock candy which I remember throwing all the way across the room from where I was bedded down on the leather tufted couch that could be flattened to make a bed. Mrs. Ware then got the flu but by that time those who caught it first were staggering to their feet and were able to take care of her.

Besides the surrey, buggy and big wagon, there was another conveyance we had which was called a hack. It had benched seats along the sides. I remember at least one ride in it. When World War I was over, we all went to Elvins to celebrate. Whether we picked up someone on the way, I don't remember. We probably did for everyone was going to Elvins.

The streets were crowded with joyous young and old, and Kaiser Bill, the German leader, was hanged in effigy. Burned too, right in front of Fatty Flein's Shoe Store. I didn't understand it at all and was frightfully scared, albeit the hanged thing looked like a scarecrow.

~Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.