The Ladies Literary Society

My first meeting with the Ladies Literary Society was at the home of the head of the group, Susan Brooks.

We first met on the New Haven/Bridgeport line one day in spring when we were both headed to NYC for some shopping. As the train clacked and rattled along its tracks we sat in the first class dining car enjoying our afternoon tea and cake.

After exchanging our names and hometowns the topics spread out to our interests and hobbies. I shared that I enjoyed writing poetry. Haiku poems , to be exact, as I explained that I had lived and studied in Tokyo for four years while I learned to be proficient.

“So you write your poems in Japanese?”, Susan queried.

“Yes, as a matter-of-fact, I do.”, I proudly replied. “I find that the language is perfectly adapted to this form of expression. But then as an additional writing exercise, I translate them to English, maintaining the 17 syllablectic formula”, I added.

Susan’s eyebrows lifted slightly and her pleasant smile revealed a row of perfectly straight white teeth as she nodded approvingly. She was an attractive woman, impeccably dressed who sat erect in her seat and raised her pinky finger in good taste as she sipped from her china tea cup.

I, in contrast, am short, a bit on the plump side and tend to dress like a school principal. No frills to draw attention to my plain face and crooked teeth. I always wear a brown suit, practical shoes and a brown felt cloche. In the bird kingdom I look like the female robin, whereas Susan has the elegance and grace of a swan. I use the bird analogy here as a comparison because one of my other interests (which Susan and I admitted we shared!) is ornithology. Having discovered that mutually shared passion for birds, Susan kindly invited me to accompany her to the next meeting of the National Audubon Society of Central Park later that month. I gladly accepted, even though it meant I would have to cancel another social engagement that was rather tedious to me: The Women’s Temperance Society. It was a well meaning, but a slightly dated organization full of people just like myself-dull and brown and good- whereas Susan was bright and exotic to my world and our shared interests gave me an excuse to branch out and follow my heart versus my all too practical head.

After a lovely day in Central Park observing and listening to the songs of Bay-breasted warblers, American Redstarts and Purple Finches, we were enjoying a luncheon at Tavern on the Green. It was a new-ish gathering place having previously been the historic sheepfold in the 1880’s for the sheep of Central Park when in 1934 it was converted into a restaurant by Mr. Robert Moses.

“I was thinking”, began Susan, “that you would be a perfect addition to our ladies writing group.” She went on to tell me what it was called, a bit about the members and that they met several times each month.

My eyes opened wide and my wide grin followed, “I would love to!”I gushed like a school girl being asked for her first dance.

“We meet the first and the third Mondays of the month”, Susan continued filling me in.

“That is perfect for me- Mondays are not a normally busy day for me”, I replied.

We rode the train home together to Cheshire and as we parted I promised to bring some of my poems and other Japanese works I had composed.

“That would be lovely”, Susan encouraged. She was wearing a stylish wool burgundy pleated skirt and a white ruffled blouse. Her shoulder-length hair was in a Lauren Becall pin curl style.

I was clad in my customary brown suit, but with a bit of added flare due to the inspiration of Susan’s style, I was wearing a red and white pin-striped blouse with a bow at the collar.

As we parted ways she assured me, “Don’t worry- you are going to fit in beautifully with our little group of ladies.” “See you on Monday!”, she said as she waved good-bye. I returned home with excitement and anticipation of having found a place to belong and share my interests with a group of possible new friends. What they would want with my knowledge of Japanese I could only guess at, but I would find out soon enough and looked forward to Monday’s meeting.

On Monday I arrived at Susan’s home wearing my best brown suit accented by a new hat and shoes. I was carrying an offering of toll house cookies I had baked the night before in the hopes that the Ladies Literary Society would have a good first impression of me.

Susan lived in an historic district neighborhood in one of the early founder’s homes. In fact, Susan Brooks was a distant relative of the original Brooks family built by Enos Brooks in 1733. I stood in front of an arched gate with a tall door nestled into the 6 foot high brick wall that surrounded the property. Mortared into the wall was the Historical Society plaque confirming the information Susan had previously informed me with when she described her family estate.

Outside of the crosshatched wooden gate hung a rope with a small placard near it that read, “Please ring the bell”, which I did and heard in the distance on the other side a bell tinkling to announce my arrival. After waiting no more than a moment, the gate was opened and an American butler (quite rare, really) greeted me with a courteous nod as he opened the gate wider to allow me to enter. I followed him down a wide brick walkway lined with blooming Hyacinth bushes on each side leading up to another very large and heavy black door that led into - not so much a “home” as a “manor”! It was beautiful, historic and somewhat intimidating to say the least.I smiled at the butler, took a deep breath, swallowed down my nervousness and proceeded to follow him into Susan’s home.

I was presented to the group by Harold (I later learned his name) as he entered the solarium ahead of me.

“Miss Alice Carpenter”, he announced to the three ladies and Susan, all seated on a large and comfortable looking floral sofa. Harold relieved me of my plate of cookies and discreetly disappeared from sight.

“Alice, welcome!” Susan greeted me as she came over and gave me a quick hug as she placed her arm around my shoulder and guided me in , “Come and meet the the other ladies:”

“This is Helen Schmidt. She is a Professor at Yale of German Literature from the Middle Ages.” Helen was also plump, drab and not at all pretty, but her smile was warm and welcoming. I felt right at ease with her.

Next I was introduced to Sarah Richman who was around 25 years old, the youngest of the group. Susan explained that Sarah was working on her doctorate in French Renaissance poetry. A fellow poet created another feeling of “I belong here” came over me as Sarah smiled and patted the overstuffed armchair in the same bright print next to her.

The third woman held her dignified profile to me and I immediately saw the resemblance to Susan, guessing correctly that she must be her mother.

“My mother, Edith, is so pleased you’ve come to join us”, Susan said, ignoring her mother’s snobbish behavior. Edith then turned her gaze on me and smiled, but I immediately could sense her judgement as her elevated nose never lowered to look me in the eye directly. Susan with all of her warmth and camaraderie obviously did not take her place in society as seriously as her mother did.

I took a seat and immediately a uniform-clad housekeeper wheeled in a tea cart laden with silver, china and trays of pastries (sans my cookies). Susan got up and spoke quietly with the woman and she immediately excused herself while Susan began to serve each of us a cup of tea to our liking. Edith looked askance at her daughter’s behavior but said nothing. It was obvious that this was Susan’s world and her mother was allowed to be around only if she remained diplomatic and most importantly, democratic toward her daughter’s guests.

In another moment the house maid returned with my toll house cookies arranged on the tea set’s serving platter.

“Oh, thank you, Delia!”Susan beamed and lifting the platter of cookies she offered it around to each of us. We all accepted a cookie and thanked her.

“They really are the perfect accompaniment to a cup of tea”, Sarah commented as she bit into hers.

“Oh yes”, agreed Helen, helping herself to two.

“My favorite, thank you for bringing them”, Sarah added to assure me that I had made no faux paus with the ladies, in spite of Edith Brooks’s pursed mouth and refusal to try one.

There was some more chit chat and small talk while everyone enjoyed the view out of the vast expanse of windows looking out over the green rolling hills of a classic New England landscape that was scattered with oak, maple and pine trees.

Susan called the meeting to order and surprisingly to me, she got up and proceeded to walk toward the doorway leading to a short hallway with two massive oak doors at the end of it. I rose and along with the other ladies, followed her cue to exit our current location.

She opened the doors and I felt my shock and uncontained surprise escape my mouth with a very loud “Oh my!!”.

I stared, frozen to my spot with my mouth agape into the room as Susan and the other ladies entered it with the confidence and familiarity that only someone who knew about it could do.

The room was huge and filled with desks, maps, typewriters, electronic gadgets-I knew not what for- telephones at every table or desk and charts on every wall with red and blue pins stuck in them. There were between fifteen and twenty people and the space hummed with the noise and activity of a factory.

At the front of the great room near the entry I noticed Edith speaking with someone. He was a middle-aged man wearing pince-nez glasses who was smoking a cigarette in a holder held firmly between his teeth and he was smiling a slightly crooked and jaunty smile which turned into a chortle as Edith must have said something humorous to him. He reminded me of our beloved President, but how or why would he be here in Connecticut? As I continued to rudely stare at the scene I noticed that he was seated in a chair with wheels. My mouth dropped open another two inches-It was the President of the United States, just beginning his third term- Franklin Delano Roosevelt!

As my mouth continued to hang open in shock and surprise, Susan whispered in my ear, “His mother and Edith’s mother were childhood friends.

Where was I? What is going on here? Obviously this was some sort of secret military work post operating in Cheshire, Connecticut?! At that moment, I realized that after the bombing of Pearl Harbor back in December my knowledge of Japanese was needed and would be immeasurably helpful to the war effort.

Sarah went over to the group speaking French and sat down to begin her work.Helen was at another group that were standing around a chart table with a huge map of eastern Europe. A man there was using a long pole to push around and arrange a fleet of toy ships, airplanes and tanks.

“Your group is over in that far corner”, Susan explained, “Come over, Alice, and meet the Japanese code breakers you’ll be working with. I know they are very anxious and pleased to have you added to the labor force.”

I followed obediently, still in shock and awe of where I was.

Carrying my portfolio of haiku poetry to the table I took a seat and shook hands all around with my fellow codebreakers.

“De cape et d`epee is what this is all about”, Sarah said to me as she walked by on her way to a table with coffee, tea and snacks.

“This is the stuff that goes on behind the horrors of battle and hopefully we all will be able to help save lives, shorten the war and defeat the evil players trying to destroy our democracy.”

And to think this morning I had planned on nothing more than sharing my poetry with a nice group of ladies known as The Ladies Literary Society!

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