I should put this down while I can. My mother was born in 1929. She was 12 when the US entered WWII. The family lived near an Italian POW camp "somewhere in Missouri". She used to walk up to the wire and swap fresh veggies and fruit for beautiful hand-carved kitchen spoons and forks. The guards just leaned on their towers. She thought they were happy to be in the US instead of North Africa. She told me that getting her siblings to weed the truck garden was her hardest job, they were a lazy lot according to her. Then one morning as she pushed and prodded them out back of the shack they lived in she realized that there wasn't a single weed in the garden. My grandmother was properly impressed, to say the least. This seeming miracle continued for weeks and she finally decided to stay up all night if needed, to find out what was happening out there. Of course, being a teenager she fell asleep. She woke up to hear gentle sobbing. There was a man in the garden, on his hands and knees, pulling weeds. She understood instantly. He was terribly sad and longing for his own garden back in Italy. She carefully got up and slipped back into the house. She was met by her mother who was concerned about an empty bed. She was also concerned about something else. "Where did you get that garland of wild flowers?" A lovely necklace was hanging around her neck. Mom thought then that the man was missing more than just his garden. She was happy when the war ended and went home, even if she had to get the sibs to work again.