Somewhere Over England

by Margaret Graham

  The girls in the bunks had no spare clothes left and so in the afternoon Helen washed and ironed and laughed with Yvonne over the thought that maybe it was better to be seasick. That afternoon the Red Cross gave out long-sleeved sweaters to supplement the meagre clothes that rationing and one suitcase had allowed them all, including the girls who lay on the bunks and who only wanted to die.

  Helen wore slacks which Laura had made and pitched balls at Chris and Tom, the twelve-year-old and that night the clocks were put back one hour and they had 2,636 miles to go.

  The next day the ship was rolling and the waves were fifteen feet high and no one was allowed on the open decks. The ship stopped for an hour for some repairs and they were told over the loudspeakers that they would be on the water for about twelve days, two more than expected. Helen groaned and so did Yvonne and soon they too were on their bunks wondering why they had ever come as the ship pitched and tossed. The lemons did not work for them either.

  The storm eased in the night and the sun shone the next day, bouncing off the water into their eyes. They tap-danced in the lounge that afternoon in a class arranged by the Red Cross and Helen realised she hadn’t laughed as she was doing for a very long time. She sang in the shower which was hot every night and a luxury she had forgotten existed and brewed tea for their room because they were allowed to do so now, after a general complaint that it was too long to last from five-thirty p.m. to seven a.m. without a drink. Bedtime was still eight-thirty, however, and surprisingly they slept.

  On Sunday there was a church service in the lounge and there was turkey, asparagus and ice-cream for dinner but that afternoon there was another storm and the waves were eighteen feet high and grew worse during the night so that Yvonne was thrown from her bunk and landed on the floor, torn between laughing and crying. The clocks were put back again one hour and they now had 1,636 miles to go.

  There was an orientation talk on food and clothing the next day and an emergency fire and lifeboat drill in the afternoon and one girl appeared in her towel straight from the shower and she danced in time to the slow hand clap.

  On Monday fresh water was rationed because the journey was taking so long and purified water introduced. It tasted strange and Helen found it difficult to swallow.

  They tap-danced again and now it was easier, though their next session and the movie had to be cancelled while the crew bored a hole through the lounge wall so that they could pump oil from one part of the ship to another because they were short of fuel due to the delays. They took the hose through the lounge and momentarily Helen saw the fire hoses again and heard the screams beneath the rubble, smelt the smoke and the darkness of the cellar beneath the shop, the arm into which she plunged the painkiller, the dark cupboard in her mother’s house. She wanted Ed and went to her bunk so that she could lie in peace and remember him.

  That evening it was announced the ship would travel at half speed to try and eke out the fuel or they would need to put in to Nova Scotia which would delay them even more. As it was, the arrival date was put back another day but there were only another 784 miles remaining. Now the girls were all up and some were visiting the hairdresser, pressing their good suits and dresses as the excitement rose.

  Helen and Yvonne performed in a concert the next night, tap-dancing in the back row because they had only had two lessons. Helen did not sing but laughed and listened, eating mince pies after the show.

  The next day there were only 523 miles to go and now Yvonne was quieter, twisting her ring and she spoke in a low voice to Helen of the lies Danny must have told, looking out on to the sea which was grey today, reflecting the sky and their mood.

  At lunchtime the Red Cross gave out khaki towels for the showers because the women had only been able to pack one in the hand luggage they were allowed. There was a birthday party in the lounge for a bride who was twenty-one. Afterwards Helen sat in a deckchair listening to Chris talking of his friend, his batting action and Mary. She lay her head back and wondered what she would find in Montana, who she would find. Would it be the Ed she knew?

  By Saturday there were only 200 miles to go and they were all given a medical examination and the names of others going to their states. Helen and Chris were the only ones travelling to Montana. Excitement grew even higher on board. Women with babies carried them around the decks, hugging then tightly, talking into their necks, telling them of their daddies their grandmothers. Helen listened and watched as joy, then anxiety, crossed their faces as they hugged their children to them. She found Yvonne crying in her bunk, looking at the photograph of her husband; so young, so handsome, and held her but could offer no words of comfort because what could she say? She felt so old suddenly, and when Yvonne slept she walked the deck herself, calling in on Chris in his berth, staying with him, watching his face, his hands, listening to his laugh She reached across and touched his cheek and he did not draw away but leaned his head against her hand looking at her, and in his eyes too was joy and then anxiety. It was the same in hers.

  That night they went to bed, knowing that they were due to pass the Statue of Liberty at six the next morning. The girls whose husbands were meeting them at New York would leave the ship first and Yvonne was quiet and said nothing, not even to Helen.

  At twelve-thirty that night it was announced over the loudspeaker that they would be in sight of the Statue of Liberty in half an hour. It woke no one because that night their thoughts were too active to allow sleep. They threw on clothing and rushed up on deck, seeing the lights in the distance, the cars going along the road on Long Island. The Statue of Liberty was floodlit and it seemed strange to Helen to see so much light. The water was calm and oily black in the darkness and all she could feel was the vibration of the ship and her own uncertainty.

  At four-thirty names were given out over the loudspeakers of those whose husbands were waiting for them at New York and although everybody had returned to their bunks they were not disturbed because sleep had never been so far away. Those leaving in the morning had red labels given to them and Yvonne looked at hers, turning it again and again in her hand and hardly ate her breakfast. Helen touched her hand but she didn’t look up and so she went on to the deck and stood at the rails, watching the tugs coming to tow them in, staying there as they berthed. She could see the Empire State Building immediately ahead and young men waiting behind a cordon, cheering and waving and she wondered which was Danny, with the smiling face and the black heart.

  Chris joined her at the rail.

  ‘It’s all so big,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t thought it would be so big.’

  Helen nodded. ‘It’s a different world,’ she replied, her voice quiet, still looking for Danny, but the faces were too indistinct, too far away. The clothes were a shock; no uniforms, just vivid shirts, warm jackets and trousers.

  Only those who were being met in New York were allowed off the ship, the others had to stay until train reservations had been made but a tour of New York was organised for the next day. Helen nodded as Mrs Senton of the Red Cross told them this, but she was looking past her, at Yvonne who was waving to her from the head of the gangplank, her face white.

  Helen ran through the other women and held her friend, pressing her address into her hand, telling her to come to her, to write if she needed help, and then she watched her walk down the gangplank, seeing her look over to the men and hesitate, try to turn, but another girl pushed her on. Helen watched as the other girls ran towards the cordon. There was only one woman walking and that was Yvonne and now Helen could see nothing more because her eyes were blurring and it was more than she could bear. And so she turned away, back to Mrs Senton. At least all the brides were entitled to a free return ticket.

  It was quiet on board that night and she sat watching the movie flicker in the lounge, hearing the click of the projector and the laughter of the audience, but she was wondering how the Bronx would feel on a hot summer night with a man you had thought was someone else. Would Ed be someone else?

 
The next day they left the dockside in a coach to see the sights and drove through streets towering with skyscrapers which seemed to block out the light and would trap the heat. They drove round Radio City and wherever they went, Helen felt she had been there before, knowing that it was because of the movies she had watched on the ship.

  They stopped outside a diner and she saw a road worker in unbuttoned shirt sitting next to a man in a business suit eating salami on rye, and knew that this mingling would not happen in Britain and it was good to see it. Trucks hooted, whistles were blowing and buildings were being knocked down. There were police sirens, yellow cabs and cars, so many cars in the wide multi-laned streets and through the windows of the bus came the smell of gasoline, cigars, steam and restaurants. Helen leaned her chin on her hand, seeing people running down subways or clambering on to buses, so many people, so many different races and colours. She felt homesick for small streets, short buildings, trees and felt angry that here there were no gaps in the streets like rotten teeth. How could these people she had come to live amongst understand those who had survived? She wiped away her condensed breath from the window. How were Ed’s parents understanding him?

  When the coach returned to the ship, Claus, dear Claus, was there, flashing his press badge, coming on board, taking photographs, hugging her, hugging Chris who stood stiff because this man was a German.

  ‘So, how are you?’ Claus said, looking at Helen. He touched his nose when she asked how he had known, saying that the press had access to all sorts of information.

  ‘A bit older,’ she said, wanting to cry because he was from her past and he was here, the first person to meet her in her future land. He knew Heine, he knew her mother, her flat, so much that had made her. But he did not know Ed, or did he?

  They talked of him and he had remembered the picture she had drawn in her letters.

  ‘The dreams?’ he asked. ‘What about the dreams?’

  But she didn’t know and then he held her hand and told her that this is what must be solved, and she knew from his deep-set eyes that his mind had its darkness too because the shadows were there. His dark face was as thin as always, as handsome as always.

  He told her of the business, which was thriving, of his wife, who was having a baby, of his parents, whom he had not heard from, but who he thought had been in Buchenwald. She asked of Herr and Frau Weber but he shook his head.

  ‘There is no news,’ he said, and for a moment they were both quiet and she knew that he had not yet solved his own darkness, his own dreams.

  Chris moved from them, over to the rail, looking out towards New York.

  Claus raised an eyebrow at Helen, his dark hair grey now. ‘So like his father.’

  Helen shook her head. ‘He would deny that, my dear Claus. He doesn’t like the Germans.’

  Claus nodded, his face sad. ‘But one day he will have to face that he is partly of that race.’ He eased himself down into a deckchair, beckoning her to do the same. ‘One day, my dear, he will have to be made to face it, be proud of it.’

  Helen nodded, looking at her son who was so torn again.

  ‘And now, the future for you?’ Claus asked, looking through his camera, sizing up an angle.

  ‘Who knows? Getting used to peace, I suppose, getting used to all this.’ She watched Claus as he focused.

  ‘Will you stay in Montana or can I persuade you back to photography? We need you. They remember you over here.’

  Helen smiled, surprised. ‘Really?’ She leaned forward, her arms on her knees, seeing the wind lifting Chris’s hair, the brides walking past talking quietly. ‘It’s tempting but Ed’s home is in Montana. It’s what he needs. At least, I think it’s what he needs.’

  She held her hands loosely together, enjoying his familiar voice, talking of little things, brushing against the larger ones, reaching out and bringing England close, Germany close, and now the future did not seem so vast. Then he left, called away by the First Officer because his time was up but before he went he left his camera with her, laughing at her face.

  ‘Yes, why not, my dear? You own half the business. Who knows, you might decide to take on a project in those mountains. I could sell your work, you know.’ He bent to kiss her. ‘It might be something to hang on to, Helen, if the darkness comes between Ed and his life, as it did once with me. Call me, if you ever need me. I loved Heine, he saved my life. You saved my life too.’

  He shook hands with Chris, his face solemn.

  ‘You must not deny your roots. You are from good Germans. Remember that.’

  Chris turned and ran off along the deck and Helen did not go after him but watched Claus walk down the gangplank waving, waving until she could no longer see him.

  The next morning they ate a breakfast that was too large or was it just that none of the women were hungry? Names were called over the loudspeakers, requesting that the following brides report to the Immigration Officer in the lounge and have their landing cards stamped before proceeding to the library for their, luggage tags. Chris sat with Helen, waiting, but so far they had only reached the Ds. Neither mentioned Claus and there was a barrier between them; it was slight but it was there and Helen wanted to push it aside but did not know how.

  At noon they heard McDonald and joined the queue for Immigration and then for luggage tags. Helen told Chris to fetch his case while she collected hers from her berth. She tied the tags on, knowing that in a moment she would be starting on the final stage of the journey which would take her to Ed. They had also been given identity labels which they had to pin to their coats but Helen refused because she had not come all this way to be labelled. No one insisted when they saw her face.

  Together with thirty other brides they were bused through the Holland Tunnel to New Jersey accompanied by two Red Cross personnel and there they boarded a Pullman which was larger than any train in Britain. The station was so large, the train too, and the suitcase was heavy in Chris’s hand and cut into his fingers. He thought of the string bag he had taken from London to Greater Mannenham but he pushed that from him, because now he was going to a new life and, therefore, he had no use for his old.

  He looked at his mother. Couldn’t she understand that all he wanted to do was forget? That he could not bear to be from the same people who had made the village hate the Germans again because they had murdered so many people in camps? He couldn’t bear always to be on the outside because of who he was. It was easier just to push it away.

  They travelled for forty-eight hours, sleeping in bunks, then sitting for hours, and the rattle of the train drummed through their heads as they lurched through cities and great open spaces. They walked in the corridors, stretching cramped limbs, and Helen wondered how long she could stand it, but there were other brides and so they could still laugh together, and listen to familiar English accents.

  When they reached Chicago she and Chris were met by the Red Cross, driven to another station and put on to another train, this time alone. The conductor was told that he must hand Chris and Helen over to relatives or take them on to the next town where the sheriff must take custody of them. They must not be allowed free access to the country in case they became a drain on the economy. Helen listened to the poignant hoot of the train as it drew out of the vast town and she knew now how Heine must have felt, arriving as an alien in a strange land.

  They travelled for another twenty-four hours and all the time her head was throbbing in time with the rattle of the train over the sleepers. The last four hours were covered in darkness. Chris and she had talked as the country unfolded, staring at the space, the mountains, the plains, the valleys, the rivers which seemed endless. They had talked of Ed, of the food, of the language, of Mary and Laura, but not of Heine because Helen knew that she must be careful or lose her son.

  They drew up at last into Little Fork station which was small, like so many others they had passed through, but Helen could not see Ed as she peered through the window, holding her hand to her face to shield it from th
e light. The conductor came through, taking them to the door, helping them down on to the platform.

  The Red Cross had sent a telegram informing Ed of her arrival. He should be here. She looked, then took Chris’s hand and he let her because he was uncertain too. They walked through the booking hall with the conductor, then out on to the yard where cars and trucks were drawn up but he was not there and the sky was so vast, this land was too large and she was frightened of being adrift in it.

  She turned back, walking towards the train and Chris but then she heard feet running behind her, his hands turning her, holding her, his breath gasping in his chest.

  ‘You’re early, for Christ’s sake, you’re early, darling.’ He was kissing her, holding her and pulling Chris to him, clutching them both and he felt the same. Just the same as Helen leaned into him, so tired, so glad to be with him, so glad that, for a moment, it almost felt as though she were coming home. But only for a moment.

  CHAPTER 20

  Helen lay in bed that first night, feeling Ed beside her, his arms round her and neither of them slept and they did not speak, just touched and kissed, and as dawn rose she looked out through the window at the leaning jackpines on the ridges which seemed to surround the valley, holding them gently within the mountain range. The journey was at an end.

  She stretched, counting the roses which climbed the wallpaper trellis, seeing their colour picked up in the new curtains. The chest of drawers was rough pine, made from the trees she could see from the window. A mirror stood on the top and Ed’s hairbrush was there, silver backed; his graduation present. His photographs were on the wall, his face smiling down as a young man without lines, without fear.

  She could hear the sound of pans in the kitchen and smell cooking and as Ed looked at her through lids half open she bent to kiss him, wanting to stay within the scent of his skin all day.