by Diane Moody
I’m happy to say Sophie (the dog) is doing much better. I went to visit her before I left, and Dr. Lister said he’d release her in a couple more days. I hoped she might be home before I left, but at least I’ll know she’ll get lots of TLC from Dad in my absence. I’m still so thankful she didn’t die. Mrs. Smithson called a few times to see how she’s doing. It’s a good thing Mom answered the phone. I’m not sure I could be civil toward her.
Turns out the other dog had been picked up by the dog pound but escaped. Apparently, it attacked one of the dog catchers then took off. I guess I should be thankful he never got close enough to attack Sophie. She wouldn’t have stood a chance. That mutt had to weigh at least a hundred pounds, and all of them mean.
What a relief to hear Corporal Werthan came to your rescue! I remember him always being friendly and courteous. Sure would like to shake his hand for helping you out. Have you been in touch with the American Embassy yet? I’ll bet it’s as chaotic there as it is here, what with so many brides wanting to get passage to the U.S. Have you thought about making a trip down to London to make a personal visit? Maybe Charlie and Sophie would go with you. Just a thought. Let me know when you hear anything. I keep dreaming about the moment I see you at the pier. It can’t happen fast enough!
Lots to look forward to once I get discharged. I’m anxious to get registered for my classes, so I’ve asked Mom to go ahead and send in my forms since I hope to be home in time for the start of school.
But more than anything else, I’m looking forward to having you come home to me. Anya, I’m so excited about the life we can have together and all the plans we might make, but mostly I just want to hold you in my arms and give you a thousand kisses. Until then, just know there’s a guy over here in the good ol’ U.S.A. who misses you so much, he thinks he just might lose his mind.
Loving you always,
Danny
P.S. I forgot to tell you my uniform felt mighty snug after four weeks of Mom’s cooking! She was pleased, needless to say.
19
1 September 1945
Framlingham, England
Dear Danny,
Only today did I receive your letter of 18 August, so I’m taking a chance and sending this to your home in Chicago instead. If you’re not yet home, surely you will be soon. I didn’t want to risk it getting lost in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I had to look it up on the map downstairs on the pub wall. Such a strange word—Sioux. I couldn’t imagine how to pronounce it, but Charlie said it for me. After locating it on the map, I felt even farther apart from you, and wondered how much longer it might be before we are reunited.
We’re still trying to adjust to the strange silence here in Framlingham since the base was closed. We keep thinking we’ll get used to it, but we haven’t yet. Of course, everyone here is happy for those who’ve returned home now that the war is over, but at the same time we miss the sights and sounds of all you American soldiers. The other day Sophie and I walked over to the base, and the silence was “deafening” as we’ve heard others say. Already weeds are creeping through the pavement on the runways. Charlie said the runways and much of the perimeter track would eventually be torn up to restore the farmland, but who knows when that might happen. We’ve also heard rumors that the farmers wish to use the control tower to store fertilizer—something I would normally laugh about, but it struck me as another sad reminder that all the Americans are truly gone for good.
I do have a bit of news to share. I received a post yesterday from the American Embassy in London. They’ve requested I come for several interviews and instructed me to bring a number of documents with me—including a sworn statement from you that you can support me when I arrive in America. Since you will be a full-time student, I don’t know if they’ll approve it.
I was also asked to send them your home address. They will send your parents a form to complete for my file. They must also supply a statement about their finances, and agree to sponsor me as their “child” and support me as long as necessary in case you are unable to. Danny, I hate this! I do not wish to impose on your parents and their financial privacy! But I have no choice. I only hope they will not be offended by this. It’s all so confusing.
When I go to London, they will make appointments for me to undergo several physical examinations and get the required inoculations. I am already dreading the trip and wondered what might happen if I refused to go. But I know that would mean I might never travel to America.
The letter stated that I will be notified at some point to move to a place called Camp Tidworth near Southampton. Sophie told me it’s located on the southern coast of England about 75 miles southwest from London (about 300 miles from here). That is where they will assemble all of us “war brides” to await passage. I only hope it’s a short stay. I’d rather wait here in Framlingham until it’s my turn to sail.
I forgot to mention previously how much I appreciated the letter from your mother. From what you’ve always told me of her, and from her letter, she seems to be such a kind person, and I’m looking forward to meeting her.
That was such a tragic story you wrote about your father losing his young friend in World War I. Yes, it certainly accounts for why he is the way he is. That and the story about his dog Barney. It is very hard for me to imagine him any way other than gruff and unfriendly. Still, I was touched to hear of his concern for you while you were MIA and for Sophie’s recent crisis, so I shall try very hard to think of him in kinder ways.
I wrote to Helga again—my mother’s friend back in Utrecht—asking once more if she had any luck finding my birth certificate. I’ve only had the one letter from her; the one with my visa which I received before you left. I can only assume the post is delayed because of all the reorganization efforts across Europe since the war ended. I hope she responds before I have to report to Camp Tidworth.
I miss you so much, Danny. With you so far away, it’s as though a hollow place in my heart grows wider every day, and I’ve no way to stop it. I can’t tell you how many times a day I touch the charms of my bracelet and long for you. I miss you so much at times I can hardly breathe. If only I could count the days until I see you again, but I have no idea when that might be. Is it too optimistic to hope for Christmas?
Please let me know when you’ve returned to Chicago.
Love,
Anya
7 September 1945
London, England
Anya was relieved when Sophie insisted on accompanying her on the day trip to London for her appointment at the American Embassy. They chatted nonstop on the early train ride down to London, which helped calm Anya’s nerves tremendously, especially as they neared the city. The bombing damage devastated her at first sight, until she steeled herself against the images, focusing on the task at hand. Once they arrived at Victoria Station, they hopped aboard one of the double-decker buses which delivered them to Grosvenor Square.
Though the day was still young, Anya’s dress already clung to her despite the mild temperature. As they approached the long rectangular building, the sight of the American flag fluttering high above gave her pause. But any hesitance was soon forgotten when they joined the long queue at the embassy gate. Sophie’s ever-present optimism kept the mood light; at least until she was told she could not enter the compound with Anya.
“It’s no problem. I’ll be waiting right over there on those benches.”
The guard pushed up the bill of his cap. “I hope you brought a long book to read. Your friend here will be inside most of the day.”
Sophie gave Anya a hug. “Then I shall pop into that book shop we passed and treat myself to a cup of tea while I’m there. Don’t you worry about me.”
“I’m sorry, Sophie. I had no idea it would take so long.”
“Not another word. I haven’t been to London in ages. It’ll do me good to take a walkabout. If I’m not here when you’re done, just wait for me at that bench, all right?”
With a wave, Anya tu
rned on her heel, took a deep breath, and followed the other women making their way into the embassy. A few moments later, someone called her name.
“Anya? Is that you?”
She turned and searched the crowded hall. There, standing on tiptoe and waving at her stood Sybil, the English girl they’d met on their honeymoon. The relief at seeing another familiar face was so comforting, Anya rushed toward her.
“Sybil!” Before she could utter another word, Sybil engulfed her in a hug.
“Oh, it is you! I can’t believe it!” Sybil laughed, still hugging her. “I was so hoping to see you again, and here you are!”
Only when she pulled back did Anya see the pronounced tummy beneath her frock. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t know you were—”
“Neither did I!” Sybil set a loving hand on her stomach and laughed. “That is to say, I didn’t know I was pregnant the last time I saw you. I was so surprised and literally shocked when I found out. Had to ring Jack clear over in America to tell him the good news.”
“He must be thrilled to find out he’s going to be a father. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you, and aren’t you kind to say so? But enough about me. How have you been? Is Danny here with you—that is your husband’s name, isn’t it? Danny?”
“Yes, Danny. But no, he flew to America at the end of June.”
Sybil squeezed Anya’s hand. “Oh, isn’t it the hardest? I often wondered if you all thought me quite the fool for the way I carried on that day after Jack left.”
“Not at all. I couldn’t imagine it at the time, how hard it was, and now I know.”
“Isn’t it? But somehow we’ll get through this together. Where are you staying? Are you living here in London now?”
“No, I’m still staying in Framlingham with our friends. I’m here for the day to meet with the liaison for war brides. Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes. You, me, and the other thousand women here today. Honestly, the queues for seeing these officials are endless. It’s so hard not to get discouraged. Sometimes I think I’ll never see Jack again. Do you feel that way too?”
Anya’s heart ached in response. “Yes, and I think about it constantly.” She glanced around them. “And so much worse now, after seeing all these women. How will they ever manage all of us? Have you heard anything?”
Sybil grabbed her hand. “Come with me, and let’s join the queue before it gets longer.”
The line snaked around a corner and down a long corridor of closed doors. Anya bit the side of her lip, fighting the frustration. For more than six hours, they waited with all the others. Women cradling babies in their arms. Toddlers restless and whining. Cries of despair from brides who hadn’t heard from their American husbands, wondering if they were forgotten. Angry rhetoric, inciting others to protest against the shoddy manner they’d all been treated.
The comments danced all around them.
“They told me it could be up to a year before they let us cross the ocean.”
“I heard the Americans want us last on the list. They want all their GIs home first.”
“Makes me wish I never married the Yank. Got me pregnant and off he sails for home. Fine kettle of fish this is.”
“How am I supposed to feed my baby?”
“They’re saying there are 50,000 of us war brides! The rate they’re going here, we’ll never see our men again.”
“I heard it was 70,000. Maybe more!”
“Have you had your physical yet? Never been through anything so humiliating in all my life.”
“Did you see that headline in Stars and Stripes? Said we ‘war brides’ were giving Uncle Sam a headache. Well, I say we give him more than just a headache if he doesn’t do something soon!”
“I’ve got half a mind to divorce the Yank and be done with it.”
Anya wished for cotton to stuff in her ears and wondered if all this was worth it. As the hours ticked by in the stifling heat of the endless embassy halls, Anya knew one thing for certain. She would have given up hours ago had it not been for Sybil’s optimism and cheerful banter.
“Don’t fret. Once we finally get in to see these officials, they’ll be so weary, they’ll whiz us through just to be done for the day. You’ll see.”
Helga had finally sent Anya’s papers from Utrecht, though no birth certificate had been found. The Dutch government offices had sustained massive damage throughout the war, and could only issue unofficial papers verifying her birth from some records found in Amsterdam. Would that suffice? Was grouchy Major Samford right when he told her it was hard enough to sort through all the English brides, much less those from other countries?
With only moments to spare before the offices closed for the day, both Anya and Sybil finally had their turn. As Anya approached the officer sitting behind the small desk, she hoped—and even prayed—he wasn’t like Major Samford. On a lark, she decided to borrow Shakespeare’s concept and kill him with kindness as she handed over her documents.
“You must be exhausted from all this,” she said with as gentle a smile as she could muster.
He looked up from the papers and studied her face. He was quite handsome; not at all what she’d expected to find sitting behind a desk doing such menial work. With a slight sigh and a weary smile, he nodded. “I am, but do you know you’re the only one who’s offered such a comment? Most of these brides come in here with a bone to pick, berating us for all the red tape, but we’re just doing our job.”
He studied her a moment longer, slowly setting her papers on the desk. “It’s all quite frustrating, trying to help all of you. Don’t get me wrong—I want to help.” He looked around cautiously before leaning toward her, lowering his voice. “It’s just that we’re so ill-prepared for this. Unfortunately, that makes it difficult for all of you, having to wait and wait, and filling out all these forms.”
“I can’t imagine,” she said. “In the queue, some said there were as many as 70,000 of us applying for passage to America. Is that true?”
He nodded and rolled his eyes. “Before it’s all over, I’d say it will be closer to twice that many, if you include all the rest of Europe.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “Your accent. Dutch?”
Her heart fluttered. “Yes, but I’ve been here for several months. My husband was stationed with the 390th in Framlingham.”
He waited for more. She hesitated.
“It’s a long story.”
He chuckled. “They all are. Okay, let’s see what you have and what you need.” He looked over the documents she’d provided, then shuffled through his files. He pulled out a folder with her name typed on it as well as Danny’s military documentation.
“Well then, Mrs. McClain. I see Corporal Werthan from the 390th has requested special attention be given to you.”
“Corporal Werthan. Yes. He was extremely helpful.”
“Good. Let me just look through your file and make sure you’ve got all we need.”
A few minutes later, he continued. “Yes, it looks like Captain Werthan did most of my work for me.” He pressed a stamp into the ink pad then stamped all her forms. “Which means you’re all set.”
“All set?”
“All set. I’ve provided the forms you’ll need for your physicals, and since you’ve already received approved VIP status thanks to Werthan, you’re good to go.”
Anya blinked in utter shock. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
She gathered her file and purse and stood to go. Then, without thinking, she held out her hand and gave him a firm handshake. “Thank you for your kindness, Lieutenant—”
“Powell. Phillip Powell.”
She smiled. “Lieutenant Phillip Powell. I can’t tell how much I appreciate your help.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. McClain.” He squeezed her hand again then let go. “God bless you on your journey to America.”
His words rendered an instant wave
of calm through her from head to toe. She smiled, unable to speak, but knowing without question that the American who’d held her hand was another answer to Betty McClain’s prayers.
She couldn’t wait to find Sophie and share the good news.
20
12 September 1945
Chicago, Illinois
Dear Anya,
I’m on the train heading downtown for classes. One week in and I’m already behind in a couple of my courses. I don’t remember this much reading, but I suppose that goes with the territory for a history major. These professors could learn a lot from Mrs. Zankowski about making the material more interesting, but overall I like most of them.
I feel like I’m a hundred years old compared to the other kids in my classes. Makes sense because it sure feels like that long since I was in school before the war.
I know you’re not a big Cubs fan (yet!), but I have to tell you what happened the other day. Joey got to know a guy named Marv who’s been a regular at the theater for the past few months. Real nice guy who lost his son at Pearl Harbor, so obviously he took a liking to Joey. Turns out he’s a ticket-taker at Wrigley Field where the Cubs play! So Joey asked if he could get some good tickets for us to a game or two. (I can’t remember if I told you that uniformed servicemen get in free at Wrigley – I guess as a gesture of support of the troops.)
Anyway, he said it would be his honor to give Joey a couple of complimentary tickets for as many games as we want! Isn’t that great!? He even said he’d make sure we’d have seats for the World Series games if the Cubs keep playing as well as they are. How about that!
All that to say, I’ll definitely take you to some games once you come home! Now, I’m sure you’re probably rolling your eyes about now … but I promise you’ll enjoy going. Everyone here has Cubs fever! Well, except for the White Sox fans, of course. I’m not kidding when I say this could be our year! Now if we can just get you on that ship before the season ends.
