Rag dolls (as told by Abbie)

Abbie talks about relief efforts during early World War II (before Pearl Harbor)  "We were contributing to the war efforts, not expecting to get into the war."
Mom continued, "During the war, school children were asked to bring gifts for children in Britain. These were called Bundles for Britain and they were contributions for children affected by the war. Mum (her Mom Sadie) made some rag dolls to send. They were really cute. They had yarn hair and she would pigtail their hair. She did such a good job with those dolls. She made a big project out of it. The art teacher, Mrs. Felton, liked them so much that she wanted to buy 3 of them. So she asked how much they were. The price might have been 50 cents per doll,  but the art teacher gave her 50 cents total when Mum wanted 50 cents for each doll. Mum thought the art teacher had a lot of nerve. As an art teacher, she would have known how long the rag dolls take to make and how much value they had." (Mom doesn't remember the price. Maybe a dime or a quarter. She doesn't know.)
It sounds to me (Amy) like this misunderstanding was never solved, but Mum (Sadie) complained about that art teacher.
I looked up Bundles for Britain on the internet and it was a huge undertaking started by a woman named Natalie Latham. I read the article to Mom and she doesn't know what "seaboot stockings" were.


from the internet---




Bundles for Britain was started in 1940 by Mrs. Latham as a knitting circle in a store front in New York City. Knitted goods—socks, gloves, hats, sweaters, and scarves—were made and shipped to Britain. Within Sixteen months, Latham expanded Bundles into an organization with 975 branches and almost a million contributors, and by the spring of 1941, it had delivered 40,000 sleeveless sweaters, 10,000 sweaters with sleeves, 30,000 scarves, 18,000 pairs of seaboot stockings, 50,000 pairs of socks, and 8,000 caps. By 1941, moreover, Bundles had also shipped ambulances, surgical instruments, medicines, cots, blankets, field-kitchen units, and operating tables, along with used clothing of all sorts. The total value of goods shipped reached $1,500,000; another $1,000,000 was raised in cash.

A NAUGHTY GIRL SCOUT

“Hello, is John there?”

“John? You have the wrong number,” the stranger would say.

“There’s no John at your house? Then where do you go to the bathroom?”

I was ten and my partner-in-crime was my 8-year-old brother, Bobby. We were so sneaky, so comical, so clever. We loved calling unsuspecting victims and acting like idiots. It didn’t take much to get us laughing. That black phone on the wood paneling wall in our basement with that stretched out, curly cord was all we needed.

 “Hello, is this the Bears?”

“No. You have the wrong number.”

“Well do you know the Bears’ phone number?”

“No.”

“Do you know where the Bears live?”

“No.”

“Try the woods, Dummy.” CLICK. We hung up.

We had many scripts, which gave us hours of amusement. We were a nuisance to society, juvenile delinquents. Sometimes we even recruited younger cousins into our life of crime. Habitual criminals, we took every opportunity to turn boring days into the most absurd, albeit idiotic, memories that to this day evoke laughter. It was just so stupid. How can we not laugh?

“Hello. Is your refrigerator running?”

“Well, you better go catch it.”

So much fun. But one fateful day, Mom caught us. BUSTED. She was livid. It was funny, but I didn’t dare smile. I probably had an insincere smirk on my face.

My punishment was Mom’s anger. She lectured and scolded me on the long and lonely drive to my Girl Scout meeting.

Mom futilely attempted to fill me with guilt and shame and remorse. I crouched in the back seat dressed in my short, cotton, green Girl Scout uniform. My earned patches decorated my sash. I’d learned some cooking skills to earn my cooking badge. I earned my sewing badge, swimming badge, camping badge, but suddenly they all meant nothing. It seemed my heinous pranks ruined everything. Mom was THAT mad.

And she had every right to be mad. After all, I was a “certified Girl Scout.” I had taken a pledge. “On my honor, I will try to do my best to serve God and my country, to help other people at all times and to obey the Girl Scout laws.”

A Girl Scout should be serving her country, not asking where people go to the bathroom. I had fallen from grace and I was spiraling downward, out of control. Next thing you know, I’d probably ring a doorbell and hide, sneak into a second movie, throw orange peels out a car window. I’d be cutting tags off of pillows without the consent of the owner. Armed robbery. Assault.  Homicide. Where would it end? My picture would be plastered on post office walls. Wanted, Amy Geertz, habitual prank caller, with partner-in-crime Bobby, Cub Scout.

Mom told me she couldn’t believe a Girl Scout who had taken that pledge would act so un-scoutly. “Obey the Girl Scout laws” certainly included a clause that prohibited criminal acts such as asking if refrigerators were running.

Mom and that Girl Scout pledge threatened to end our shenanigans. But, now “caller ID” has ruined the fun for today’s youths. It’s so easy to get caught. That’s probably why the prisons are so overcrowded. I’m sure many criminals convicted of prank calling were caught by their moms because of Caller ID. And they’re serving hard time. Their moms won’t post bail. Offenders face incarceration, in addition to getting lectured and scolded in the back seat of the squad car on the long and lonely drive to the slammer. The majority of them probably asked about refrigerators, but some probably asked if John was there. How many of them took the Girl/Boy Scout pledge and then fell from grace?

How could Bobby and I recover from this transgression? Would there ever be any redemption? How would we turn into respectable, law-abiding citizens? It was a troubling scenario.

But the true, disturbing tragedy of the prank call is with the victims. “Hello?”

“Hello, is John there?”

“We don’t have a John in this house.”

“Then where do you go to the bathroom?”

I’m just so thankful I was never on the receiving end of such a call.

Amy Louise Geertz Kriss

22amylouise@gmail.com

Lower Burrell, PA