Fatima is in Portugal, whence I departed in 1942 to come to the beleagured U.S. I say beleagured, because one of my early memories of Forest Hills, New York, was of a tremendous heap of scrap metal collected in our school yard to aid our soldiers overseas. Three of us, my brothers and me, little knew that at Fatima, twenty-five years earlier, three children no older than we, had predicted World War II.
I love those children, Lucia, Jacinta and Francisco. They endured so much to bring us a message from a Lady they had never met. And it was a beautiful, beneficial message for a world suffering from both national and communist socialism. My two brothers and I grew up where we could practice our religion, and I had three children of my own to teach the great lessons of Western Civilization.
But the Fatima children will live in my heart forever (as of course will my own). The mayor who imprisoned them wanted to boil them in oil. That’s what he told them.