by Rosie James
‘Well – they’re obviously here for a good reason,’ Fay said, ‘and I’m sure they’d rather be home, sunbathing on the wide open lawns in front of their fantastic houses, than being here in very cold and wet England.’
Everyone knew very well that something big was due to go on, when Britain would cross the Channel to invade and take back the lands which Hitler had stolen, and that America and the Commonwealth countries would be involved. Although some of the Americans had arrived in England at the end of 1942, the date of the D-Day landings was kept a closely guarded secret until the moment that the massive, allied assault happened. Until then, preparations for that momentous occasion were to go on as unobtrusively as possible in many isolated, rural communities in Britain, the presence of the Americans appreciated by all the young women, but absolutely disliked to the point of hatred by all the young men who understandably – and as it turned out in many cases justifiably – saw these smart, uniformed, alluring beings as dangerous competition. Hundreds of who were to become known as “GI Brides” married American soldiers – after the war leaving England for ever. But sadly, many illegitimate babies conceived during those months of allied preparation would remain fatherless, their susceptible young mothers spurned by some.
Roger’s scowl was unmistakable as he stared into his mug of coffee. Over the last three years he’d begun to really enjoy himself, for the first time in his life having the company of three very eligible girls all to himself. And during his few minutes’ observations earlier, he’d been left in no doubt that the Americans – confident, swaggering, gum-chewing, and every one of them handsome as far as he could see – would turn the heads of the entire female population of the village. And that their three Land Girls would be especially attractive to men far away from their homes and families, their own women. Someone, later, would go on to remark that the trouble was that the Americans were “over-paid, over-sexed, and over here” – and at this moment Roger would have agreed with every word. He knew his feelings of intense jealousy were unreasonable but he couldn’t help it. He was only human, after all.
Mabel folded her arms, her thoughts, as usual, turning to food. Or rather, turning to the provision of food for others.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘the first thing we must do is to make those boys welcome! They’re all far from home – and this isn’t really their war, after all.’
‘There is the small matter of Pearl Harbour to consider,’ Roger pointed out.
‘Oh, well, that’s as may be,’ Mabel said, ‘but anyway, I don’t suppose the messy food they’re given is very nice…’
Roger sighed. ‘They don’t have messy food, Mum. Some of them eat in the “Mess” – it’s what they call it. Though I think that’s for the officer types. But in any case, they’ll have brought plenty of everything with them. The Americans are never short of food. They’ll have made their own arrangements, believe me.’
‘I don’t care,’ Mabel said firmly. ‘We’re gonna show them proper British hospitality…I’ll talk to the other members of the WI, and we’ll think about setting up a sort of café in the hut. Somewhere they can relax away from their day-to-day stuff, get away from it, and talk to English people for a change.’ Mabel narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. ‘We can give ’em lovely eggs on toast, decent bacon and black sausage…stuff like that, and plenty of nice bread and ham and cheese and pickles, and I can make apple tarts… An’ they’ll enjoy the local cider…and, well, they’ll like knowin’ that we’re pleased to ’ave ‘em ’ere. That we’re grateful to ‘em,’ she added, blissfully unaware of her son’s opinion on the matter. And to put the tin lid on it as far as Roger was concerned, she said, ‘An’ you girls can come along and add a bit of glamour – the rest of us are a bit past that – and we could give ’em some music to cheer ’em up!’ She turned to Eve. ‘The piano in the WI hut is far better than the one in the village hall, Eve! You could play their folk tunes, and dance tunes, the stuff they’re used to…they’d soon feel at ’ome…’
Roger stood up decisively. He’d had enough of all this. His mother had got carried away, as usual. Far better for him to get his hands dirty, get on with some work. He looked down at the three girls who were also on their feet.
‘Top field needs another dig-over,’ he said shortly. ‘Who’d like to give me a hand?’
‘I will,’ Fay said promptly. She smiled up at him, knowing that Roger didn’t like the idea of the Americans being here, and she understood why. But still – that’s life, she thought. Sometimes the coin drops in your favour, sometimes it doesn’t. And although she had absolutely no intention of making a fool of herself when they went up to the village on Saturday, she’d quite like to meet an American. A real American. Not just ones she’d seen on the silver screen.
As they were leaving the kitchen, Roger said, turning briefly, ‘By the way –you should know that the bottom fields, right away from where the others are, has apparently been marked out for the blacks. The black soldiers.’
There was silence for a second, then Fay said, ‘Why?’
‘Why what?’ Roger said.
‘Why are the black soldiers separated from the other soldiers? What’s the point of that?’
Roger shrugged. ‘It’s how it is, I suppose,’ he said carefully. He had got to know Fay very well, and sensed that she was about to get on her high horse.
‘Well, it shouldn’t be how it is!’ Fay said, her colour heightening. ‘They’re all men, aren’t they, black or white, they’re just all men, who’ve been taught in exactly the same way to do exactly the same things? To fight the same battles?’ She shook her head. ‘It’s going to be far nicer for the white ones up here, closer to the village…those others are going to feel completely out of things down in the bottom fields next to the ash tips. As if they’re being…punished…for something!’
Mabel spoke up. ‘Oh, I don’t think it’d be anything like that, luvver,’ she said, ‘but I s’pose black people are just different, that’s all…that’s all it is.’ Mabel had never seen a black person in her life.
‘How different?’ Fay demanded. This did not appeal to her sense of justice one bit! ‘Will they be allowed to come to the WI hut for bacon and eggs? Try the local cider?’
Mabel paused. She didn’t know what the rules were – and it wasn’t her place to interfere with regulations. ‘Well, we shall just ’ave to see about that, dear, won’t we’ she said. soothingly.
‘Well, when we actually find out whether “blacks” are allowed into the WI hut, and breathe the same air as the rest of us,’ Fay said, her voice rising, ‘perhaps we can also find out – just as a matter of interest – what colour their blood is? Is it red? Or is it sky-blue pink? If a black soldier and a white soldier are injured, or killed, side by side when the invasion takes place…will their blood be different colours? And if, and when, they cry – are their tears just the same?’ She paused for breath, then – ‘And let’s just imagine that if a white soldier is seriously wounded and falls to the ground – is the black soldier going to carry on without him and say, “Sorry I can’t stop to help you, mate – I’m black, see”.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ Mabel said. She had never seen Fay so worked up.
But Roger’s face creased into a slow grin. He loved it when Fay got cross. And at the moment she was very cross indeed. He took her arm.
‘Come on – let’s get digging,’ he said softly.
Within a very few days, Mabel had got her small committee of other local women together to make their plans for the American visitors. And in no time at all, it was decided that supper and a convivial welcome, with perhaps a little music sometimes, would be offered every Saturday and Sunday evenings. These boys were a long way from home, and they were all someone’s husband, son, or father, and they would certainly be in need of some tender loving care, Mabel declared. And whatever Roger had said about them having plenty of food of their own, they’d soon notice the difference when they were given home-grown produce, fresh e
ggs, freshly baked bread, and local cider.
And apart from all that, they would be given a kind and homely reception. Mabel had enlisted the help of her Land Girls, and Alice and Eve had said they would be happy to pour the tea and coffee, and do the washing up, while Fay said that she would prefer to be part of the reception committee…chatting to the soldiers and asking them about their families, their hopes – and perhaps their fears.
‘I’ve always been good with people, with strangers,’ she had said airily. ‘That’s thanks to working in retail, see – and sometimes a little chat, a little sympathy, goes a long way. Can be very good for trade – or, in this case, for morale,’ she’d added.
And from the first weekend, it was obvious that the soldiers were going to be very appreciative of all that their hosts could offer them. They came in twos and threes into the WI hut, coming up to the counter to accept what was offered, before taking their places at the number of small round tables. They seemed completely at ease as they chatted and laughed amongst themselves, happy to speak to anyone who spoke to them, and taking their time at the counter as the women piled their plates with all the local fare or filled their mugs up to the brim with tea or coffee, though very few accepted any cider. The hearty, masculine voices would fill the room with an air of jollity, and as one or two of the younger local girls moved between the tables to pick up empty plates and mugs, the repartee and cheerful banter added to a distinctly party atmosphere, all thought of war banished – at least for a few hours.
On a Sunday night in the middle of May, it was only Fay and Alice who were going to be with Mabel because Eve had stayed behind with a headache.
‘Never mind – there’s two others of us who’ll be servin’,’ Mabel said, ‘but I was ’oping Eve would ‘ave given the boys a little tune tonight. I’m sure they’d love one of ’er sing-songs! They all seem so pleased to be ’ere with us, don’ they…bless ’em.’
Alice and Fay had walked up to the village, while Roger had taken his mother in the van before beating a hasty retreat to the Wheatsheaf.
Tonight was going to be busy. The door of the hut kept opening and shutting as more and more of the men came in and lined up for whatever they fancied at the counter. And Alice had to admit that she was really enjoying herself. It felt so good to be giving stuff away, to smile and chat to these strangers in uniform as she picked up the huge steel teapot to keep filling the mugs.
In a temporary lull, she went into the small kitchen behind, and started buttering more bread rolls – which had seemed extra popular tonight. And just then Mabel came in for some more boiling water.
‘Oh, well done, luvver,’ Mabel said, ‘I saw most of they rolls had gone.’ She held the teapot under the cistern, waiting until the water was almost to the top. ‘’S’funny,’ she said, ‘I’d a thought they’d prefer coffee but it looks like tis good old English tea taking their fancy t’night!’
She turned off the small tap, stirred the pot, and turned to go. Then –
‘Alice…I’m a bit worried about that chap sitting over there, right by the back window,’ she said, lowering her voice, though there was hardly any need. The noise outside in the hut would drown anything she might have to say.
Alice stopped buttering for a second, and looked up enquiringly. ‘What’s the matter with him, Mrs. Foulkes? D’you think there’s something wrong with him…d’you think he’s ill?’ she said. Alice had hardly looked up from what she’d been doing, to notice anyone in particular.
‘No, luvver, I don’ think ’ees ill…but ’ee looks so…so sad.’ She shook her head briefly. ‘I been watchin’ ’im. ’Ee ’asn’t eaten much…and .’ee dudn’t say much to the others, just sits looking…well, sad.’
Alice shrugged. There wasn’t much anyone could do about that, she thought. But Mabel had other ideas.
‘Would you go over and talk to ’im, luvver?’ she said. ‘You know, make ’im feel at ’ome.’ She hesitated. ‘I saw Fay ’avin’ a word or two with ’im earlier – but ’ ees still there, all by himself. But – if you went over, you might be able to cheer ’im up, Alice. D’you mind doin’ that? There’s plenty of us ’ere, to carry on.’
Alice made a face to herself. If Fay – who’d escaped to the Wheatsheaf half an hour ago – couldn’t cheer the soldier up, Alice wondered what use she might be.
She followed Mabel out of the kitchen and glanced over to the spot Mabel had pointed out. She saw the man in question straightaway.
He was in officer’s uniform, dark-haired, and good-looking – and certainly fitted Mabel’s other description of him. He looked pale and drawn, with an air of listlessness about him – which was so opposite anyone sitting near him, it made him stand out from the others. It had clearly made an impression on Mabel, and Alice instinctively agreed with the older woman’s thoughts. But…what could she, Alice, do or say to help? She shrugged inwardly. She’d go over in a minute, and at least say something…if only for Mabel’s sake.
It was gone 9.30 before Alice left the counter. She went casually across the room to where the soldier was still sitting, his hands clasped around his empty mug. He half-stood, and looked up at her as she bent to carefully wipe the table free of crumbs.
‘Thank you, Ma’am,’ he said quietly. He watched her finish what she was doing, then he pulled out the chair next to him and stood up, inviting her to sit. And as this was the opportunity Mabel had asked her to find, Alice sat down opposite the man, hoping that he would speak first.
‘I must apologize to you, Ma’am,’ he said slowly, in a voice which was deep and cultured. ‘You must have been thinking me very discourteous – for the entire evening.’
Alice was mystified. Discourteousness was something which could never be ascribed to the Americans, and why he should think he was being that – to her – she couldn’t begin to guess.
‘I’m sorry,’ she began, ‘I don’t think I understand you…’
He leaned forward slightly. ‘It’s just that…you must have seen me looking at you all night,’ he said, ‘or – staring – would be the more accurate word. And…and I was always taught that to stare is very rude indeed. Under any circumstances.’
Alice smiled across at him. She hadn’t even noticed the man, let alone that he might have been staring at her! ‘Please – don’t worry,’ she said, ‘honestly – I didn’t realize that you were looking at me. I have certainly not been aware of any discourtesy,’ she added.
His expression cleared, briefly. Then, after a few obviously painful seconds – ‘Do you believe, Ma’am,’ he said slowly, ‘that there are two of us somewhere in the world? Two people, doubles, exactly like each other, yet not knowing each other? Perhaps never meeting each other? Strangers - not relatives, or anything like that, but two replicas of the same person? Do you think that is possible?’ His accent was meltingly gentle, typical of any American voice Alice had ever heard in the film world. And she found it unusual…charming…and very touching.
‘I have heard that that can be true,’ she said carefully, ‘but I have never come across it myself …have you?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes, Ma’am. I came across it tonight.’ He put his hand to his mouth for a moment, as if finding it hard to go on. ‘You are that person,’ he said. ‘You are an exact replica of someone…of a girl I…knew…once…’ This was obviously difficult for him. ‘And the moment I saw you standing over there, your face as you glanced up and smiled, the way you spoke to everyone…I thought I was losing my mind. Thought I was seeing things,’ he added. There was a long pause. ‘So that is the only explanation I have for staring at you, Ma’am, in a way, which I repeat, has been discourteous. And I meant no offence.’
Well Mabel, dear Mabel, she had noticed something going on behind the dark eyes of the soldier, something in his manner, which had told her he was hurting. Because he certainly was, Alice thought. Something dreadful had happened to make him look so unutterably miserable.
‘Well, please put it out of your min
d,’ she said firmly. ‘Because no offence has been taken – not at all!’ And deciding to take her cue from Fay’s outspokenness, she leaned towards him. ‘Tell me what happened…to your girl,’ she said simply. Well, everyone knew that talking about things usually helped, and Alice suddenly wanted to do something for this poor man, desperately wanted to help him. ‘What was her name?’ she asked quietly.
‘Patsy,’ he replied, ‘Patsy Lou. We’d known each other since high school, and we knew we were meant for each other. There’d never been anyone else for either of us, and we’d planned to get married as soon as the war was over, and I was demobbed.’ He took a long, deep breath, as if trying to find the courage to go on. ‘Then – just before embarkation, she announced she’d fallen in love with someone else – and that it was all over between us. I knew the guy, he was a friend,’ the soldier went on. ‘She was sorry, but she couldn’t help it. She said we’d known each other too long, that was the problem, and she’d fallen in, and out – of love with me.’ He waited before going on. Then – ‘I understood…I kinda’ understood…this is some turbulent old world we’re living in, and I told her to give it time…to give us time…not to make up her mind in a hurry. That when I came back home it would all come right between us again.’ He swallowed hard. ‘But I was going away…far away…what could I do in the meantime? What could I do to try and hold on to her, to try and save our relationship, with all those miles that were going to be separating us?’
Quite instinctively, Alice put her hand over his much larger, much browner, one. ‘And I’m sure it will come right,’ she said earnestly. ‘You must have put so much time and love into that relationship for it to mean nothing, surely?’
As if grateful for a woman’s touch, he put his other hand over hers. ‘Sadly, that is not the case,’ he said quietly. ‘I heard yesterday that she got married a month ago.’ There was a long silence. ‘So it’s all over for me, now. It’s all over for us.’
