NOVEMBER 25, 1938
WARM SPRINGS, Ga., Thursday—The outside world looks rather cold and gloomy today, but most of us seem to be able to preserve our Thanksgiving spirit, and so far I have met only cheerful faces. I had hoped to go for a swim and lie in the sun, but that is postponed in view of the weather. Instead, Miss Thompson and I are working, looking out of her window towards Georgia Hall across a fairly green lawn with a hedge and magnolia tree whose deep green would do credit to a summer day. A pleasant prospect, even under gray skies!
Yesterday afternoon I drove over a good part of the Warm Springs property with my husband and was pleased to find the new school building had made great strides since I came to look at it earlier in the autumn. The medical building does not seem to be going quite as quickly, though that, too, is coming along.
As we were driving about, we noticed how many small houses there seem to be which are painted and which show an attempt at growing something attractive in the yard. As yet, many people do not seem to grasp the value of tree planting around the house, but shrubs and vines are appearing instead of the baked earth look which used to greet you around almost every little house.
Commander Callaghan and Dr. McIntire and I had breakfast together this morning and found ourselves discussing the state of the world. When you sit down to discuss it dispassionately, I fear none can paint an encouraging picture. An album of pictures of Spanish children was sent me the other day. It began with such scenes as children in school and at play and being fed, and ended with little mangled bodies on streets and in hospitals. You could not help wondering about what the real meaning of civilization is, and this morning I can't say that from the two gentlemen, who are trained in one of our services, that I received any feeling of greater hope for the future. We are certainly not handing the next generation an easy world in which to live.
Ada Jackson, young prize-winning English poetess, has written a poem called: "Twenty Years After," which I wish could be handed to every government official and every young citizen who comes of age today. These lines struck me particularly:
"Look well on victory—Con defeat over! Let no man deceive you. They are the same coin—A two-headed penny with Hell in its purchase, The two-headed penny that man has named war."
No hope of making those who are at war pay any attention, but even as we acknowledge the need for force in a world where some people can understand no other language, we must keep reminding ourselves of the truth that lies behind these lines and try by every means to have it understood throughout the world. Unless we come to that understanding, where does the futre lead the next generation?