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I’ve been friends for many years with Beth and Bill Reilly who live around the corner from us in Havertown. Our children went to school together. Beth and I often chat on the phone, and quite often, she’d say, “You remind me so much of Bill’s mother.” Even when I sent her our annual Christmas card written in green pen, I reminded Beth of Bill’s mother, Anne, who did the same.
After one conversation, Beth casually mentioned to her mother-in-law that Hannah Campbell was so funny. On one of those times, Anne said that she had only known of one other woman named Hannah, the mother of her former boyfriend, Michael Dougherty. Curious, Beth called to ask if my maiden name was Dougherty. I said, “Yes.”
“Oh my God,” Beth replied. “You’re not going to believe this, but Anne dated your dad during World War II!” Well, of course, we had to meet, and I couldn’t wait. Who was this woman from Dad’s past? I called my brother, Steve, to join us, and he agreed to bring our family photo album. We met on a Sunday afternoon at Beth and Bill’s house, and Steve instantly recognized Anne as the lady who gave candy to his daughters at Sunday Mass.
Now, here she was…Dad’s old flame before he met our mother. Anne is beautiful, and her Irish eyes twinkled as she leafed through the album. Finally, she rested her hands on my Dad’s Navy photo and whispered, “That’s my Michael.” She said their song had been “That’s All” and began singing the words. Dad called her “Daisy,” a nickname she still holds dear.
Anne recalled that Dad was a great dancer, and then it hit me. I remembered a conversation many years ago when my mother complained to my dad that he stepped all over her feet while dancing at the Philadelphia Naval Officers Club. He curtly replied, “Well, the beautiful Anne Donahue never complained about my dancing!”
So, this was her… beautiful still. Some family members felt that Steve and I were betraying our late mother’s memory by meeting Anne. I think that from Heaven above, she had the best laugh of all. “Your father gave me a ring on Valentine’s Day in 1945,” Anne said, “and I still have it.” She also promised to find a photo in her attic of the two of them back then. (I wasn’t the only one with pictures of old boyfriends stashed away.) Sitting next to Anne was her husband of 50+ years, Bill. What a good guy, I thought. What did he make of this situation? Especially while sitting among his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Bill was a bemused, good sport for sure.
Anne gave me the ring, still in its box. It is a small gold-filled filigree ring with a heart-shaped amethyst stone and diamond chips on each side–given by my dad, then a handsome Navy Lieutenant to his beloved Anne during World War II. They later broke up, and Anne suspected it was a result of his bachelor pals at the time not wanting the old gang to lose a member. Not long after that, Dad met and married our mother in 1950; they had six children and many grandchildren before they left Earth for Heaven.
Dad passed away in 1988, and in an ironic twist of fate, Anne’s granddaughter, Colleen, was here babysitting our children on the day he died. Anne lived to tell me a wonderful story about my dad. One of love, romance, dancing, and “their song” – a story and ring my father couldn’t possibly have imagined would return to his daughter one day. I have since gifted that ring to my grandson, Ben, for the chance he might one day present it to his sweetheart.
I consider Anne a friend of mine, and I can see in her outer and inner beauty why my dad loved her. She is young at heart and mind, and I feel a kinship with her. Sometimes, she kids with me, “You know Hannah, I could have been your mother.” And we always end each conversation with, “I love you!” After all, as the words to their song go, “That’s All…”
Lovely story. A remarkable one, for sure.
Thank you Sasee magazine, and Hannah Campbell for the 1945 love story. I gravitate toward stories like that, and adored the old photo of your dad in the service. So many of us have those WW2 love stories (my parents were in that season of life when they met and eventually I became their child of the Baby Boom generation). Blessings from one writer to another,
Doreen Frick