The author's memoir of her poor childhood growing up in Ireland evokes the crushing loneliness of children, the fear of separation, and the growing pangs of adolescence with a brilliant and insightful sensitivity. 25,000 first printing.
Al and I are leaving for a trip to Ireland next week, so I am reading lots of books about Ireland. This one was lent to me by a friend in my Irish dancing club, who was actually born in Ireland. It is a memoir about two young French sisters who are stranded in Ireland for almost 6 years during WWII. They travel to Ireland with their Irish nanny in Sept 1939 just as war breaks out and their parents decide they will be safer there. They endure privation, and abuse at the hands of the mentally-unstable nanny. The weird thing is that their parents seem fine with this. They never try to contact their daughters, and even after France is liberated they are slow to call them back home. Their part of France is liberated in August 1944 and the girls don't get home until February 1945. Then in March the parents leave the girls behind with servants and take a trip to Paris without them! VERY cold parents, in my opinion. The memoir is surprisingly well-written, for a non-professional writer who must remember events that took place more than half a century ago. Lots of telling detail.
By reading other people's memoirs, one's own perception on life gets enriched and more familiar. Folk from other countries, ages and economical status suddenly become someone you could have been had things turned out differently. With this book, you get to see how similar your thoughts are to those of a French girl born a hundred years ago. We will never get to appreciate all that we own without us knowing how little our ancestor possessed. Despite the lack of opportunities and commodities available, it is thanks to them that we can now live in such a comfortable manner. It is our duty to utilize our opportunities wisely, and to pay them respect by getting to know more about them and preserving our culture and history.
I was transported to the windswept shores of Southern Ireland to a cold and lonely summer cottage to experience the author's experience of waiting out the war (WW II) with her younger sister and a caregiver who was always more concerned with her own welfare than that of her charges. This memoir is heartbreaking but the author's courage and resilience are inspiring. It gave me insight as to how things were in Ireland at this time as they were neutral, but still had many intense reactions to the war depending on their feelings, positive or negative, for Britain. The author is successful at sharing those experiences with us.
It's been a few years since I read this book, so my memory of it isn't 100% clear, but I remember feeling a little let down at the end of this book. This memoir is about a girl and her sister who are separated from their family by WWII and kept in appalling conditions by their guardian. I get the feeling that the author hadn't really gotten past her anger and frustration and rage and hopelessness--and honestly I think that's legitimate because what she went through was terrible--but she's unable in this book to really express herself well probably because of all that angst.
I was left feeling as though there was no real resolution, no real development of character, no nothing, that came out of all those years. And that's likely true, but I'm not sure it's writing a book about.
On the other hand, as time goes by and the younger generations are more separated from the atrocities of WWII, maybe this book still needs to be read and shared to help others understand what happened, not just on the fronts of the war, but also far behind those fronts, in the countries where civilians found their lives torn apart by the war.
Excellent memoir of an upper class French girl trapped in poverty in Ireland during WWII with her cruel governess. Her parents are stuck in France. She found hope listening to Churchill promising victory, but with "blood, toil, tears, and sweat."
" I did not know much about blood, toil, or sweat, but of tears I knew a great deal. I had shed many and knew many more could flow. And so I made a secret vow. My private battle would be the battle of tears and I promised Mr. Churchill that I would not cry again until the end of the war, as it would be unfair if grown-up people who had so much to do also had weepy children on their hands. If Mr. Churchill and his friends could manage the blood, sweat and toil, then I could manage the tears." -Sylvia, age 12.
2009- This was a strangely written memoir of a French girl trapped in Ireland during WWII. The beginning was interesting, but towards the end the author simply recounted journal entries she had written. I had to struggle to finish.