Cain's_James and Robert
ROBERT (& brother, JAMES) CAIN
Source: "Darlington Herald," Library newsletter by John Dale, Fall 2017
Twice within the past 18 months word has come to Mr. and Mrs. Otto Cain from the War Department that they had lost a son. Last Sunday they received a telegram stating that their son, Technician Fifth Grade Robert L. Cain, previously reported missing was Killed in Action in Belgium on January 12. Another son, Pvt. James Cain, was drowned in the Atlantic Ocean at Folly Beach, Charleston, SC on August 17, 1943. Technician Cain entered the service on March 15, 1943 and received his training at Ft. Leonard Wood, Mo, Shrevport, LA and Camp Breckinridge, Ky. He was sent overseas with a reconnaissance division in November 1944 and arrived in England about December 1st. After being transferred to the continent and then to Belgium, he wrote to his family on Jan 4, saying he liked that country very well, as its people were especially ice to the American soldiers, providing them with beds and food. Tech. Cain was born Feb 18, 1924. He attended Darlington HS, and upon leaving school was employed by the Harry Weliver garage here and the Hicks Body Company in Lebanon. He was a member of the State Guard and Odd Fellows Fraternal order.
CAIN -- From Dave Boone -- a mystery soldier from Darlington who supposedly made the ultimate sacrifice on the day my brother was born, January 12, 1945. Here is my mother’s account taken from her book, I COULD WRITE A BOOK:
Several possibilities have been suggested, none definitively. As the late, great Paul Harvey would say, and now for the rest of the story: During the summer of 1944, we purchased a small cottage from a family who was moving to a larger home, several blocks away. They had a good-sized family, including a son overseas, and a large elderly dog, of uncertain pedigree. The big house, to which the family moved, was a blessing to them, while we were overjoyed to get the small house for our own.
For several days, the dog kept returning to his old neighborhood. He refused to be friendly, merely tolerating us when he came into our yard to lie down. Gradually, he became accustomed to his new surroundings, and came no more. That is, he came no more, until the evening of January 11, 1945. He came, a wraith out of a blizzardy snow storm, and lay down on our door mat. He began to howl, and the hackles rose on the back of his neck. It was so eerie, and unusual, the hair seemed to rise on the back of my neck, also. The fact that I was momentarily expecting a visit from the stork did nothing for my morale; for no matter how many generations have helped to breed out old superstitions, there are times when we wish we'd never heard old tales and folklore.
We tried to run the dog off our porch, but he would only go to the edge of the yard, lie down in the snow, and cry. "Maybe he has come home to die," said my husband, "I've heard of such things." When he again crept back on our porch, we couldn't bear to run him away. He crouched there, and again gave vent to his feelings, crying his heart out. In desperation, we called his owner, who came for him. The dog was gone for almost an hour, and we had forgotten the incident when we heard him on the porch, voice raised in anguish. By now, we knew the stork"s visit was imminent.
We called my mother to come and stay with our three-year son. And before we left, my husband put the mourning canine on our back porch, out of the storm. ( Mother said the dog's owner came for him the next day, and was unable to account for his strange behavior.) Our second son was born at 4:30 the morning of January 12,1945. After I'd returned home from the hospital, I completely forgot about the dog's action that strange night. I forgot it, until I picked up our paper several days later, and learned that the former owners of our home had received word their soldier son was missing in action.
I immediately thought of the dog's peculiar actions the night my baby was born. I tried to think it was just a coincidence, and I kept telling myself it was just a happen-so, until I read the text of the telegram sent a few days later, to the boy's next-of-kin. It read, "We regret to inform you, your son lost his life ---in France---in a pre-dawn assault---January 12, 1945" Mamie Morrison Boone -
Historic Perspective: George Silk/The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images Called “the greatest American battle of the war” by Winston Churchill, the Battle of the Bulge in the Ardennes region of Belgium was Adolf Hitler’s last major offensive in World War II against the Western Front. Hitler’s aim was to split the Allies in their drive toward Germany. The German troops’ failure to divide Britain, France and America with the Ardennes offensive paved the way to victory for the allies. Lasting six brutal weeks, from December 16, 1944, to January 25, 1945, the assault, also called the Battle of the Ardennes, took place during frigid weather conditions, with some 30 German divisions attacking battle-fatigued American troops across 85 miles of the densely wooded Ardennes Forest. As the Germans drove into the Ardennes, the Allied line took on the appearance of a large bulge, giving rise to the battle’s name. The battle proved to be the costliest ever fought by the U.S. Army, which suffered over 100,000 casualties. The formerly serene, wooded region of Ardennes was hacked into chaos by fighting as the Americans dug in against the German advance at St.-Vith, Elsenborn Ridge, Houffalize and, later, Bastogne, which was defended by the 101st Airborne Division. “Did you ever see land when a tornado’s come through? Did you ever see trees and stuff, twisted and broken off? The whole friggin’ forest was like that,” said U.S. Army Charlie Sanderson in My Father’s War: Memories from Our Honored WWII Soldiers.
P. S. I know he had a sister who was ten years older who married a Krout. I knew the family, more specifically, Bobby when I was growing up in Darlington. They were on my Saturday Grit newspaper route. NOTE: The soldier was Robert Leroy Cain