A Different Type of Bombshell - Stanley, Ruth
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A Different Type of Bombshell: The Tin Hats' Journey through World War II There are bombshells that cause havoc, bombshells that shock or surprise, and then there are bombshells that belong on stage or in the movies. The story of the Tin Hats involves all three types of bombshells. It's quite a story, a story that begins for me with my father. My father spent the war in drag. Yes indeed, he was a brunette bombshell known as Trixie. He was a Canadian soldier trained in combat who was just "one of the boys" until he transformed into a female impersonator with the Tin Hats. This all-Canadian…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
A Different Type of Bombshell: The Tin Hats' Journey through World War II There are bombshells that cause havoc, bombshells that shock or surprise, and then there are bombshells that belong on stage or in the movies. The story of the Tin Hats involves all three types of bombshells. It's quite a story, a story that begins for me with my father. My father spent the war in drag. Yes indeed, he was a brunette bombshell known as Trixie. He was a Canadian soldier trained in combat who was just "one of the boys" until he transformed into a female impersonator with the Tin Hats. This all-Canadian military entertainment unit was the first Canadian Concert Party in the Second World War. This group of hard-working soldier-entertainers was a smash hit, providing their unique type of support to most of the Canadian regiments throughout their various campaigns in England, Europe, and North Africa. Skilled entertainers all, they brought together quite a polished show, one that resonated with the troops longing for the sight, sound, and taste of Canadian culture. For the Tin Hats, bombshells came in all kinds of forms; they even made references to bombshells in their shows. Come along with me as I follow the Tin Hats' journey through the regiments from 1941 to 1945.
Autorenporträt
Writing is in my blood. It is a compulsion, a release, and sometimes a bit of a buzz. I remember my father drilling me on how to write clearly. An old-style journalist, he maintained that you don't have to use the biggest word you can find to get your point across. "Keep it simple," he said. "When you have the rights words you will know. They kind of sing to you." My husband has gotten used to seeing me chewing on something and being unable to rest until I have written it down. He will wander off with a slight smile on his face, thinking, "There she goes again." After thirty years of administrative writing, I knew that I had lost my descriptive button. I could map out a decision, but I no longer made people feel. I needed to challenge myself. I pulled out my forgotten adjectives to paint a fuller picture and to invite my audience to see, hear, and feel my stories. Like the old war correspondents, I wanted to really pull people in like they were almost there. Only time will tell if I have reached my goal. For the moment, I am content to feel the rhythm of the words and to follow their logic.