Tales of a New England Boyhood

Among the more humorous episodes of our Civil Defense activity was participation in a motor ambulance corps drill which enabled the lady volunteers to practice their newly learned first-aid skills. Scouts were enlisted to serve as “victims,” and were spotted at various locations around town. Each of us wore a large label indicating the kind of injury to be dealt with. A dispatcher gave each group of volunteers a list of “victims,” and the ladies drove their beachwagons (aka station wagons) to assigned sites to administer the necessary treatment and furnish transport. I was labeled “broken forearm,” but by the time the arm had been splinted and supported by a sling, it surely would have been broken in a couple more places. After assisting me into their vehicle, the ladies drove to the next site, where the victim was labeled “dead.” This injury apparently exceeded anything in the dear ladies’ training, so they hoisted the “body” into the station wagon and pulled out a heating pad, activated it by adding water, and placed the pad on the victim to keep him warm. We scouts nearly choked in an effort to stifle our laughter.

During fall, 1944, a young girl named McGrath was reported missing from the Harbor area of our town. She was about thirteen years of age, reported to be very attractive, and suspected of being the victim of foul play. Many search parties were organized, including one that involved a number of scouts from Troop 5. On a glorious Sunday afternoon we climbed aboard the Swift family’s 1931 Buick beachwagon, affectionately known to all as “the jeep,” and with “Ma” Swift at the wheel proceeded on a search that commenced in the Greenbush area and from there followed the entire length of Old Oaken Bucket Road. We searched in a swath extending a few yards on either side of the road, eventually reaching the crossroad known as Sherman Corner. Turning left, we searched the roadside as far as the Norwell town line, then searched along other roads in the Scituate part of the area. I recall that the girl’s body was found in a wooded area on the Norwell side of the line, just a few hundred feet from where our searching had stopped! Towards five o’clock, Ma picked up the scouts and drove back to the Swift home, this being situated behind the First Baptist Church. In the church, a youth group known as “Christian Endeavor” was about to start its weekly meeting, and several of the boys invited me to come in. I declined, out of shyness rather than religious indifference, and turned to walk home. Four of the boys, including Cobby “Twit” Swift and Sarge Bartlett, grabbed me by the arms and legs, hauled me into the meeting room, and dropped me in the middle of the U-shaped arrangement of benches on which youth-group members were seated. With somewhat wounded pride, I got up, took a seat on one of the benches, and looked across to the opposite side. There, staring at me as if I was a scarecrow, sat the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She was Marjorie Macy, the girl in the wet picture from “P” Miles’ wallet. There is definitely such a thing as love at first sight, because it happened to me then and there. That lovely girl was destined to become my wife!