what tastes like childhood?
what tastes like being back home?
Wilhelmina’s do!

My wife came back from the store and said, “I got you something.”

And handed me a box of Wilhelmina Mints with that wonderful line, Royal Quality Since 1892.

Sure sure everyone can name, King Charles III and his Mom, Elizabeth II but you’re not Dutch if you can’t rattle off Willem, Trixie, Julianna and Wilhelmina of the Netherlands.

And if you can’t name those folks, you might not know about these mints.

According to their website, “The Wilhelmina peppermint was developed in 1892 by the company Fortuin.”

The first ones were given to the then 12 year old Wilhelmina, Princess of the Netherlands.

As big around as a quarter and as thick as two quarters stacked.

Not the bite of a Altoid , but a smooth, cool almost soft buttery mint flavor.

The mint itself was not smooth or glassy like a Lifesavor, but rough, almost sandy.

They dissolve slowly into little bits of mint flavor.

With a little luck and effort, you could make one last an entire church sermon.

Wilhelmina’s were carried by my Grandma (along with those big pink mints and black licorice) and if I was acting up, a mint would be offered.

Anyone call tell you that this is rewarding and encouraging bad behavior.

And it did.

But to make it last as long as possible I had to sit still AND keep my mouth shut.

There was a method to this madness.

Now it is hot and steamy in the low country of South Carolina.

And over a half century away from my Grandma.

But on my desk is a blue and white box of childhood.

Product of the Netherlands it says on the box.

So am I.

According to Uit Wikipedia, de vrije encyclopedie

Wilhelmina pepermunt is een in Nederland bekende soort pepermunt die wordt gemaakt door Fortuin.

Op ieder pepermuntje staat de afbeelding van prinses Wilhelmina. Deze pepermunt werd in 1892 ontwikkeld en was een eerbetoon aan de prinses, die dat jaar twaalf werd. Het nieuwe product werd ontwikkeld wegens het 50-jarige bestaan van de fabrikant.

De pepermuntjes worden verkocht als rol, in een zakje, schuifdoosje en in blik.

Ook is er een ‘zwart wit’-variant verkrijgbaar op de markt.

Could not have said it better myself!

boy began to read
would not be going to bed
for very long time

Tonight there was no question of having to sit still; having pushed back his chair he was able to pace up and down the room, from the table to the window and back again, a walk quite as long and perhaps more free from obstacles than he had known on many a quarterdeck. He had hardly begun when the sitting-room door opened quietly and Brown peered in through the crack, his attention attracted by the sound of the chair scraping on the floor. For Brown one glance was enough. The captain had begun to walk, which meant that he would not be going to bed for a very long time.

From Commodore Hornblower by CS Forester.

I have read the 11 books of the Hornblower series more times than I can remember.

For the most part, I can’t tell you when I first read any of the books.

Books were just always around.

I cannot think my childhood home and not think of books.

I cannot think of my Dad and not picture him without something to read or a crossword puzzle book in his hands.

The photo is of my Dad and my Mom and my sister, Lisa out on the deck of the family place on Lake Michigan.

Notice my Dad is reading a newspaper and at least one magazine and maybe two books along with the never ending cup of tea sit on the table in front of him (along with a radio that is most likely tuned to WGN Chicago and a Cubs game.

There were books everywhere.

And mixed in were most of the Hornblower books.

Hornblower and the Hotspur.

Hornblower and the Atropos.

Beat to Quarters.

At some point I picked one up, read it and I was hooked.

I read one, which I think was Hotspur and then another and another and another.

I didn’t read them in order and that messed me up a little but after reading one, I would discuss it with my Dad.

What 12 year kid doesn’t discuss British Napoleonic War Naval Policy with their Dad?

Several of the books had originally been serialized in the Saturday Evening Post and one day my Dad had dug through a stack of old magazines and found an article with an illustration of a young man being lowered over the side of a ship in a storm.

He bent back the cover and asked me what it was?

I said, “That’s Midshipman Hornblower” and even though I had read the book, I read the chapter “Hornblower and the Bursting Ship” over again in the old magazine

We would talk about the books and the mistakes Hornblower made as well as the mistakes CS Forester made when he wrote the book.

For example, Maria.

Why? Why didn’t Hornblower listen to Bush and take off?

My Dad would make some observations and then he would tell something that happens in another one of the books that I hadn’t read yet.

And I would be a little nutz or maybe, a little more nutz than my usual self until I could read that book.

Over the next couple of years I read through 10 of the eleven books.

I could not get my hands on the book Commodore Hornblower.

That was book 9 in the 11 book series but the 4th book that Mr. Forester had written.

It was always out at the main library (I suspected semi-permanent loan to someone who I cursed) and never was at my local Creston Branch library and inter library loan did not exist at the time.

My Dad would tell me that was the book where Hornblower goes to Russia.

Russia?

Russia!

What was Hornblower doing in Russia?

“And he gets bit by fleas and gets typhus,” my Dad said.

Fleas?

Typhus?

I tried to imagine such a storyline and couldn’t do it.

I kept re-reading the books I had and every once in a while my Dad would ask if I had read Commodore yet?

“You know, the one with the Bomb Vessels?”

During this time, many of my brothers and sisters went off to pursue their education at the University of Michigan.

That meant that several times a year, my Dad either took someone down to Ann Arbor or drove to Ann Arbor to bring someone back for Thanksgiving or some other break.

I remember this one day when my Dad was gone and we all knew that late in the evening he would get home and have with him my sister Mary or Brother Jack and we were always able to stay up to greet them.

We heard the sound of the garage door opening up and we knew they were home and all of us little kids and my Mom went to the back hall and the door to the garage would open and in came our older brothers and sisters to much loud shouting and confusion.

Coats were hung up.

Big bags of laundry were tossed in the laundry room.

And we moved into the kitchen to sit and talk for a few minutes.

This night my Dad stopped back in the hall way to the kitchen and stood there with his big winter coat on.

He had this big grin on his face that said he knew something that we didn’t.

Finally Mom says to Dad, “Why don’t you take your coat off and come in?“

“I thought I would give this to Mike first, He said.”

He smiled then from out of his pocket he took a paperback book.

Understand that Grand Rapids was a nice place to grow up but when I was kid there few bookstores.

My Dad knew that Ann Arbor had a lot of bookstores.

This trip he made sure he had time to stop at one of those Ann Arbor bookstores to find a book for me.

In his hand was a copy of Commodore Hornblower.

I snatched it and held it close to my face to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

I didn’t talk but I looked up at my Dad.

I think he enjoyed giving that book to me more than I enjoyed getting it.

“Don’t stay up all night,” was all he said.

And I began to read.

I would not be going to bed for a very long time.

Happy Birthday to my Dad!

be glad to get home
I don’t believe I’ll ever
want to go away

Won’t I be glad to finally get home again.

I don’t believe I’ll ever want to go away again.

By the way did you see the movie “Up in Mabel’s room.”

It was quite funny I thought, but in it was a nice house in the country that was like a house I would like to make into a home with you.

We really want to have a house that we will enjoy living in and not something just to be a show off place.

I like to live in the whole house.

Getting kind of rambling I guess but that is what happens when one is away so long.

This is from a letter my Dad wrote back during World War 2, to his then girlfriend, later wife and my Mom, from the 12th Corps Headquarters unit, based in Luxemburg on January 14, 1945 (click here to read).

(In the letter he writes that his unit had just moved to Luxemburg “… shortly after the German break through“, a break through now known as the Battle of the Bulge.)

I am not sure that there was ever a better description of my Dad’s view on life then what he wrote 60 years ago.

First, “Won’t I be glad to finally get home again. I don’t believe I’ll ever want to go away again.”

My Dad liked to be at home and once home, he never ever really wanted to go away again.

Second, “… want to have a house that we will enjoy living in. I like to live in the whole house.“

I got to grow up in that house.

It was a big house but then there were 11 kids in the family and we lived in the whole house.

And we enjoyed living in it.

We were really lucky and we had a summer place out on Lake Michigan.

But it wasn’t a show off place but a house by the lake that was our home away from home and we lived in the whole house.

And BOY HOWDY, did we enjoy living in it.

This a snapshot of my Dad and my youngest brother Al sitting together at the summer place.

Cement brick walls and plywood fixtures and tin metal cabinets.

Plastic trays and cups.

Nothing to show off.

There is some art on the wall of a painting of lemonade that my Mom spotted at an art fair in nearby Grand Haven, Michigan.

It now hangs in my home in South Carolina.

It is 1987.

My Dad would been 67.

Al would have been 17.

I would have been 27.

My brother Bobby would have been 37.

That’s how it works when you born in the decade years of 1920, 1950, 1960 and 1970.

This was my Dad’s last summer as he died on January 10, 1988.

For those 68 years that my Dad was around you can say that once he got home, he did not ever want to go away again.

And where ever my Dad lived, he lived his life in the whole house.

That was just the way my Dad liked it.