Day of Infamy, December 7, 1941

On the morning of December 7, 1941,  a Japanese strike force of six aircraft carriers steamed eastward under a screen of local Pacific rain squalls. At about 8 a.m. local time, the planes rnoared out of cloud cover for an attack on Pearl Harbor, a military base on the island of Oahu in the Hawaiian Islands.  About 100 American ships were at anchor at Pearl Harbor. The Japanese attacked these ships along with the planes sitting on the airfield.

In hindsight, we can ask ourselves if this attack could have been avoided by diplomacy. Almost certainly, the answer is "no."  The Japanese were determined to dominate the Pacific.

Up to that time, Pearl Harbor was the most disastrous defeat in America history. It was the intention of the Japanese to immobilize the American fleet while they put their main effort against the Philippines, Malaya, and the Dutch East Indies.

The first wave of attacks sent all personnel to their battle stations. They performed bravely, but of 351 Japanese planes, only 27 failed to return.  ,

Almost 2400 Navy personnel were killed and 2000 injured.  Four battleships and three destroyers were sunk.  Many other craft were heavily damaged.

It's not just a coincidence that the attack occurred on a Sunday. The Japanese knew that the Americans considered Sunday a day of rest.

The Japanese made several serious blunders. The planes that were damaged were obsolete; the fleet carriers were at sea, so they escaped the attack. The Japanese didn't attack the machine shops or fuel facilities.  Had these been damaged, that would have made Pearl Harbor untenable and would have forced the fleet back to the mainland.

The American public was so shocked by the attack that investigations were made. The first investigation launched in early 1942 blamed the local commanders, General Short and Admiral Kimmel  These men had already been removed from their commands and forced to retire.

This author remembers Pearl Harbor. My family was listening to a radio program (no TV then) when an announcer interrupted the program to tell of the attack.

On the day following the attack (December 8) President Roosevelt requested the Congress that a state of war existed between the United States and Japan. Congress promptly approved.  On the same day, Britain declared war on Japan. You can listen to Roosevelt's speech here.. http://www.history.com/topics/world-war-ii/pearl-harbor/videos/fdrs-pearl-harbor-address

Several days later, Germany and Italy declared war against the United States. Without a dissenting vote,  Congress agreed that a state of war existed.

The First World War--the war to end all wars--failed to achieve its promise. Once more, the United States was at war.


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"Rockin' Around...the Twissmas Twee..." by Gail Roughton

I know educators and child experts (and I still maintain that anybody who hasn't actually raised at least one child can not claim to be an "expert" in matters of child-rearing regardless of how many letters come after their names) encourage us to correct children's mispronounciations. Yes, I know a child will all too soon be out in the real world and people other than doting parents and grandparents don't need to be guessing at exactly what a child's trying to say. That child will then definitely need to be able to communicate clearly. But some things I just can't bring myself to correct; to-wit, my three year old granddaughter's pronunciation of Christmas and any phrase associated therewith.  Next year she won't ask me "Where my Twissmas twee bow?" Translation: she wants her green and red hair bow sporting a reindeer. She won't advise me in the serious demeanor of a newscaster announcing an event of world consequence "Mimi get me 'tar and a ow-el for my Twissmas twee in my room." Translation: Her mother is to get her a star and an owl ornament for the little Christmas tree set up in her room at her house. 

She didn't know at the time she so advised me of her needs that in fact a pink and purple owl, personalized with her name, is winging its way to our house from Miles Kimball, as is a replica of a play station controller personalized with her brother's name and she's gonna freak when it comes in. For the foreseeable future, that ornament, even though hers, will hang here in our house on our tree, her home away from home, and in time, when she's all grown up with a home and family of her own, that ornament and any other ornament designated as "hers" will pass into her no longer tiny hands and hang on her own tree. Because that's what treasured ornaments do. They pass from one generation to another, carrying with them memories from Christmases past and enveloping those who share those memories in a blanket of love so palpable you'll swear you can feel the warmth and softness of fleece.

Like many families, we've always had the tradition of buying special ornaments for each child each Christmas. Some of them no longer hang on the tree, their "hangers" having fallen  victims of age or rough handling, either by said child themselves or one of our fur-babies, and those are arranged in positions of honor on the piano or on shelves or tables.


All of them represent our family's Christmases in microcosm.  There's "Billy", a chubby ceramic angel my daughter fell in love with at the age of five, "Sweetie Heart", a small painted red heart named by my oldest son when he was three, my youngest son's flock of miniature glass birds that clip onto the tree branches. There's the little red train, the golden river boat, Gandalf the Wizard, the oreo cookie, the rocking horses, the miniature of the leg lamp from A Christmas Story, the replica of the bell and ticket from Polar Express.  





Certain decorations, not necessarily ornaments, have their own established places of honor; the acrylic "stained glass" tree topper that's over forty years old, the birdhouse that sits on the fireplace hearth and rattles when moved due to the crayons my grandson fed it when he was four, the Santa Claus I got when I was five, which means he's currently celebrating his 57th Anniversary with me.


Our Christmas heirlooms are so much more than decorations; they're our connection to Christmas Past, our celebration of Christmas Present, our memories that we'll carry into Christmas Future.  Y'all have yourselves a Merry Little Christmas now -- you hear?

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Introducing British Historical author Rosemary Morris

Find all Rosemary's books and links to purchase on her Books We Love author page

 Tangled Love by Rosemary Morris is set in England in 1706, during Queen Anne Stuart’s reign. It is the story of a daughter’s sacred oath to her father, a Jacobite, two great estates, duty, betrayal and passionate love.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Tangled - Love - ebook/dp/B01LZRP7AE

https://www.amazon.com/Tangled - Love - ebook/dp/B01LZRP7AE

Many people daydream about what they would like to accomplish. I am fortunate because my dream of becoming a published historical novelist has come true.

Looking back, it seems that since childhood I prepared to share my tales of times past. Maybe, while I was in my cot, a good fairy blessed me with a vivid imagination. If so, it was too lively for my parents, who couldn’t relate to it. They wanted a child with her feet firmly planted on the ground. Instead, my head was either filled with history, make-believe people or I was reading. 

So many obstacles intervened between my dream and reality. I have three very painful memories connected to writing and reading. The first, is my mother’s refusal to give me some paper to write a story on when I was ten years old. The second is of borrowing a book every day from the library, and the librarian’s doubt that I read all of them. The third is of an English teacher at Wallington County Grammar School for Girls. The first clash came when she asked the class what we had been reading.

 “Tess of the d’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy,” I answered when it was my turn, as though it was the most natural choice for a twelve-year-old.

“Don’t tell lies,” was her ice-cold response.

That stung because I was a very truthful child. If she had questioned me, I would have admitted that I didn’t understand all the ins and outs of the story, and explained that I enjoyed Hardy’s prose.

Clash number two concerned my composition about a nightmare in which I tried to capture imaginary terror. She unjustly accused me either of writing about a real nightmare or of plagiarism, a word I was unfamiliar with.

So much for lack of encouragement from my mother and teacher. However, despite many subsequent set-backs, I never lost my love of history, reading and making up stories. Eventually, I wrote a historical romance that a major publisher accepted. Unfortunately, the publishing house was sold and the new editor did not like my novel. Apart from that, I didn’t know the date of publication should have been stipulated in the contract so my novel remained unpublished.

My road to publication was very difficult. I lived in Kenya for twenty years where, although I had the privilege of visiting national parks and enjoying holidays at the coast, swimming in the warm Indian ocean, the country did not inspire me to write fiction. Old England remained my muse, but without adequate research facilities my muse deserted me.

We left East Africa, and after four years in France, we settled in South East England.

When our children left home, my late husband encouraged me to write. I completed the Open College of the Art’s writing course, read books on how to write, went on a Writer’s Holiday, joined The Romantic Novelists’ Association, The Historical Novel Society and a local writer’s group.

My historical romance, Tangled Hearts (subsequently published as Tangled Love) was accepted by Enspiren Press, which soon went out of business. Dismayed but not daunted, I accepted an invitation from MuseItUpPublishing to produce my novels as, with one exception, e-books. I am grateful to the publisher and editor from whom I learned so much. Now delighted to be one of Books We Love’s clients.

The long struggle to become a multi-published historical romance author has been worthwhile and is an example of the cliché, ‘if at first you don’t succeed try, and try and try again. Indeed, I am fortunate to have achieved my dream.

 Available from Books WeLove.

Early 18^th century novels by Rosemary Morris

Tangled Love

Far Beyond Rubies

The Captain and The Countess

Regency novels

False Pretences

Sunday’s Child   Heroines born on different days of the week. Book 1.

Monday’s Child  Heroines born on different days of the week. Book 2

Tuesday’s Child  Heroines born on different days of the week  Book 3