Their Guilty Pleasures

by June Tate

  She stopped and sat on a park bench, and taking out a packet of Craven A cigarettes she lit one. She drew on the nicotine and blew out the smoke with great satisfaction. She had often been given Camel and Lucky Strike cigarettes by her American clients, but found them much too strong.

  ‘So this is what you get up to during the day.’

  Rusty looked up at a GI she knew, who frequented her local pub and was one of her clients. ‘Hello, Hank, how are you, and what are you doing here?’

  He sat beside her. ‘I’ve got a twenty-four-hour pass, but decided not to go to London this time, so I’ve been taking in the local sights, like the old walls and the Bargate. They tell me it’s a medieval gate that was the entrance to the town many years ago.’

  Rusty shrugged. ‘Don’t know about that, Hank, but it is old.’

  ‘I’m going to find a place and have an English cup of tea as I’ve yet to discover a decent cup of coffee in the town. Wanna come too?’

  ‘Why not. If we can find a scone too, you’ll be having a proper English tea.’

  ‘A what?’

  She sighed. Wasn’t it enough that she had to service these men without having to educate them too? ‘Never mind, I’ll explain later,’ she said and led the American away.

  Two

  It was seven thirty when Rusty wandered towards The Grapes pub in Southampton’s cosmopolitan Oxford Street. As usual, a mixture of troops from different nationalities walked around, killing time, exchanging stories and dirty jokes, and chatting up the girls, whose gas masks were slung over their arms and who were giving most of their attention to the GIs – looking for Nylon stockings, chewing gum or candy, as the Yanks called chocolate or sweets. A free night out and a good time was on their agenda.

  Rusty ignored the many flirtatious remarks sent her way. She wasn’t ready to work just yet. She wanted a quiet drink and chat with some of her friends before business began.

  ‘What’ll it be tonight, darling?’ asked Maudie, the buxom barmaid, as she hooked up the strap of her bra.

  ‘Just a half of bitter, please. I’m thirsty.’

  ‘Not surprised after what you had last night! Bloody hell! You were well on your way when you came in here, then you left to go on somewhere else.’

  ‘Oh, I know, you should have had my head when I woke up this morning.’ She grinned broadly. ‘But I wasn’t so far gone I didn’t remember to take the money first!’

  Both women laughed raucously. Maudie knew the score. She’d been on the street years before. ‘That’s my girl!’ she said and moved away to serve another customer.

  Rusty took her drink and sat away from everyone in a quiet corner and surveyed the scene before her. As yet none of her contemporaries had arrived. At the bar stood a couple of British soldiers deep in conversation, and further along were two French sailors with the ubiquitous red pompoms on their berets, chattering away in their native language – and four American servicemen, laughing loudly.

  Rusty watched them with some amusement. She never ceased to be amazed at the exuberance of the Americans. They mostly appeared to have no reticence at all, unlike the British with their emotions bottled up inside – or ‘reserve’, as it was normally referred to. But, in her line of work, Rusty had long since discovered that beneath that reserve was often a seething lava of emotion. Some of it good – some of it bad.

  A couple of her friends arrived and joined her. They exchanged tales of what had happened to them all the night before.

  ‘One of my punters last night was one of them darkies,’ said one. ‘Nice gentle bloke, kind of shy. He told me if he’d fucked a white woman in the South where he came from, he’d have been lynched!’

  The others were horrified. ‘Was he serious?’ asked Rusty.

  ‘Oh yes, he wasn’t kidding.’ She giggled. ‘I suppose you could say it was a new experience for both of us. Christ, you should have seen the size of him! It frightened me to death.’

  ‘Did you manage?’ ‘Just about, but blimey, I was knackered afterwards. I took the rest of the night off!’

  They continued to chat for a while, then departed to start work.

  It was Sunday morning, and Jenny Procter sat drinking a cup of tea, dressed in jodhpurs, ready for her trip to the stables. Through the open window, she heard the sound of an engine and walked to the front door. As she stepped outside, Captain Brad Jackson, driving a jeep, pulled up in front of her.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Procter, I hope I’m not late?’

  She waited for him to get out of the vehicle. ‘No, Captain Jackson, you’re right on time. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Do you have any coffee?’ He followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘I had an idea you would say that, and I have a percolator ready.’

  With a chuckle he said, ‘I can see you are a woman who is organized and ready for any eventuality.’

  She handed him a cup. ‘I do my best.’

  Jenny had warned the owner, Beth Harris, a friend of hers, that she was bringing the American and had been told that an extra pair of hands was always welcome. So it was no surprise when they arrived together.

  Beth came over to greet them, and Jenny introduced her to Brad.

  ‘Jenny told me she was bringing you. We are always pleased to have an extra man around, as most of ours have been called up.’ She held out her hand.

  As he shook it, Brad smiled. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Mrs Harris. I get lonesome for my horses, and I sure miss riding them. Today will be a great treat for me. What can I do for you in return?’

  He and Jenny were set the task of mucking out a couple of stables and filling the feed bags after trundling the muck over to an outside field to add to a pile already there.

  ‘Beth sells this off as fertilizer to those who have gardens in the area and to the local farmers,’ Jenny informed Brad. ‘Nothing is wasted in war time, as I suppose you realize?’

  ‘Well, I’ve certainly found that out since I arrived,’ he said. ‘But you must realize, back in the States we don’t have the shortages that you do.’

  ‘Ah well.’ She laughed. ‘America is the land of plenty we’re told!’

  ‘Mrs Procter, I do believe you are teasing me.’

  ‘Jenny, please – and yes I am!’

  ‘Please call me Brad, and I guess I’ll get used to the British sense of humour in time!’

  Eventually, their chores finished, they saddled up two of the mounts and rode out of the stable yard into the quiet of their surroundings. It became quickly apparent that Brad was an excellent rider.

  It was the best of mornings, Jenny thought as they rode through a wood. The bluebells were almost over, but the wild aquilegias were blooming, bobbing their heads on their long stems in a gentle breeze, alongside the poppies.

  As for Brad, he was at peace with the world. The feel of the animal between his knees made him nostalgic for his home in Denver, Colorado. There, of course, the vegetation was different. Situated at the base of the Rocky Mountains, the terrain was more arid than the pleasant lush green of the English countryside. There were no mountains to be seen here, only the stretch of fields beyond the wood.

  ‘Look!’ Jenny called and pointed in the distance.

  Following her gaze, Brad saw wild rabbits playing, until a sudden shot from a gun frightened all but one away.

  Jenny looked crestfallen. ‘Oh, what a shame!’ Then she shrugged. ‘I know they have to be culled or we would be overrun, but I don’t enjoy seeing it happen.’

  ‘You wouldn’t approve of my deer hunting then?’

  She looked at him aghast. ‘How could you?’

  ‘For the same reason. Venison is great to eat, and I imagine you’ve eaten rabbit before now?’

  She started to laugh. ‘That’s unfair!’

  ‘But true,’ he said.

  They rode on in silence. Both lost in their own thoughts, enjoying the moment, until eventually they returned to the stables.

  Once the horses had bee
n unsaddled and watered, Jenny turned to Brad. ‘If you are still free, would you like to come back to my place for lunch?’

  ‘That’s really kind; I would love to, thanks.’

  They drove back to the house, and Brad helped Jenny alight and then delved into the back of the jeep and took out a cardboard box, following her inside to the kitchen. He placed the box down on the table.

  ‘I thought you could make good use of these few things,’ he said, unpacking the contents. There was a packet of coffee beans, tins of fruit, a pack of butter and a dozen eggs. Plus a bottle of wine.

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘It looks as if Christmas has come early. How wonderful, thank you so much.’

  ‘My pleasure. The PX stores here are well stocked; we’re very lucky.’

  ‘Uncle Sam looks after you well,’ she said as she started to put the things away.

  He chuckled. ‘Nylon stockings seem to be the favourite purchase of my soldiers.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I wonder why?’

  ‘I think we both know the answer to that. Fraternizing is OK but it brings its own hazards. You know, venereal disease, pregnancies, family problems. It happens during any war. Here in Southampton, in my job, it becomes my problem too.’

  She was immediately sympathetic. ‘That can’t be easy.’

  They sat at the table drinking their coffee, discussing the problem.

  ‘You know how it is, Jenny. Men are away from home, knowing they are going into battle, wondering if they will survive a bullet. They are going to enjoy every moment they can.’

  ‘That I can understand – to a point,’ she said. ‘But no one thinks about the consequences for the woman.’

  He leaned back in the chair. ‘That’s not entirely fair. The women come on to the men, encouraging them. They must be aware of the risks they take.’

  ‘Some of them do, I’m sure, but what about the girl who genuinely falls in love with a GI? What happens to her?’

  ‘That’s the biggest problem of all. Some of the guys are already married or are engaged to a girl back home. That can lead to heartbreak.’ He looked at her and smiled. ‘Anyway, let’s forget about that for today. How about I open the wine?’

  Jenny rose from her seat. ‘What a good idea. I’ll start the lunch. Do you like salmon?’

  ‘Indeed I do.’

  ‘Good. Someone gave me two fillets yesterday. We’ll have them with some new potatoes and vegetables from the garden.’

  They ate their lunch, walked around the garden, and then sat and drank tea beneath the trees before Brad told her he had to go. They walked to the jeep together.

  ‘Thank you, Jenny, for a delightful day. It was the best time I’ve had since I arrived here. Will you let me take you out to dinner one evening to return the compliment?’

  ‘Thank you, Brad, that’s really nice of you. I’d love to.’

  ‘I’ll call you,’ he said as he got into the vehicle.

  Jenny watched him drive away. For her too it had been a really good day and she looked forward to talking again to this charming and intelligent man. She didn’t envy him his job. She was sure he had many more difficulties to deal with than he had told her. Welfare, in any shape or form, was never easy.

  The following morning, Brad was sitting in his office, preparing for the first problem of the day. A company of Negro soldiers had been posted to Southampton, and this had not been without its issues. For the Negros, many who had come from the southern states where integration was either frowned upon or illegal, the freedom to mix with the local girls, to use any bar, eat in any restaurant of their choosing, was really something, and most of them had eagerly taken advantage of the situation. This, of course, had caused problems with the local inhabitants of the town, but even more so with the white American soldiers – in particular with any who came from the south.

  Now Brad had to punish two of his troop. One white, the other black. The two men had been fighting in the camp, cheered on by their contemporaries, until the fight had been broken up by the military police.

  The duty sergeant marched the two men into the office. Both showed bruises and black eyes from the confrontation. But they stood to attention before Brad, upright and seething with resentment.

  He looked coldly at them. ‘We are here to fight the Germans, not each other! I will not tolerate such behaviour from my soldiers – do you understand?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ they answered in unison.

  He looked at the white soldier and glanced down at the paper before him. ‘You, Private Franklin, are no longer on your home ground in Alabama. You are a soldier in the United States Army, and as such you have a duty to perform. One of which is to uphold the good name of the country for which you serve! Every single one of us will have to face the enemy in the future, and I suggest you keep your anger for that moment. It could mean the difference between life or death.’

  He continued: ‘Every member of the American forces is pivotal to their company, whatever their colour and creed. Black or white, when you bleed, your blood looks the same. On the battlefield, you may both have to watch each other’s back. There is no place, then, to harbour such feelings.’

  Then he looked at the Negro soldier. ‘And you, Private Nichols, you must think you’ve died and gone to heaven, here in the United Kingdom. You are no longer restricted by your colour. But that doesn’t mean you can behave without decorum, in the town – or here in the camp.’

  Brad assigned the soldiers extra duties as a punishment. ‘Give me any more trouble and I’ll throw the book at you!’ Brad warned them. ‘Dismiss!’

  He was not without understanding for the problems both men faced. Slavery had long been abolished, but in the Southern states, the Negro population still had to sit in the back of the bus – and if it was full, they had to give up their seats to white people. Schools were segregated. For the men brought up all their lives with such rules, the sudden freedom they were given in this country was unbelievable, and Brad could well understand things could get out of hand.

  For those white soldiers brought up in the south, to see a Negro walking along the street with a white girl on his arm was intolerable, and the military police had a difficult task, keeping the lid on the situation. There were separate Red Cross clubs for both groups of soldiers, but there were no such restrictions elsewhere in the town.

  Brad leaned back in the chair and longed for the tranquillity of the previous day, riding out in the countryside with the delightful Jenny Procter. How civilized that had been, how very enjoyable. What a lucky man her husband was.

  Brad himself was unmarried. There had been a girl, but despite his hopes of settling down with her, it had not materialized. When he had been called up, she had backed off, not wanting to be tied down. Now when he thought about it, it had probably been for the best. He picked up a sheaf of papers, ready for the next case.

  Three

  Sarah Biggs walked through Mayflower Park every morning on her way to work. It was here that German prisoners were kept in an improvised pen. They were a subject of great curiosity to the locals, who would walk by slowly to get a closer look at the enemy.

  The first time Sarah had seen them she’d been surprised. Quite what she’d expected, she didn’t know, but when she’d looked at the men peering out from behind the wire, they hadn’t seemed that different. Apart from their uniforms, of course. Some had glared balefully at her, muttering in German to each other; some had called out; others had taken no notice of her at all.

  But one tall young man, with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, had caught her eye. They’d gazed at one another, and the German had smiled shyly at her. There had been something about him that had intrigued her, and now every morning she looked for him. He always stood in the same place, slightly apart from the others, and he always smiled at her. Sarah would slow her pace and smile at him in return.

  One morning he spoke. ‘Hello, Fräulein.’

  She was startled but secretly pleased.
‘Hello,’ she replied and kept walking.

  The following morning she stopped beside him. ‘Hello, are you all right? Are they looking after you?’

  He looked delighted. ‘Thank you, yes. What is your name?’

  ‘Sarah. What’s yours?’

  ‘Gunter Reinhardt. I come from Hamburg.’

  And every morning after that they exchanged a few words, until one day he asked if she ever walked in the Park in the evenings.

  ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘Then we would have time to talk for longer. We are here from six o’clock for an hour before we are taken to our quarters.’

  ‘How long will you be held here?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but I would like to get to know you better before we are moved to another camp.’

  And so their strange courtship began.

  Gunter told her he was about to study law when he was called up. His father was a lawyer, but he, too, was now in the army, though Gunter didn’t know where. He was a quiet young man and Sarah assumed a studious one, from the way he spoke. He had a serious side to his nature, but his smile was warm and she loved the way his eyes seemed to light up when he saw her.

  She, at seventeen, was a typist. She told him about her work, her family – her father was also in the army, somewhere in France. They exchanged their plans for the future, though he was somewhat reticent about what lay ahead for him.

  ‘It depends on who wins the war,’ he said.

  Sarah was certain that Britain would be victorious, but it didn’t seem right to say so. They held hands through the wire . . . and fell in love.

  But when her mother, Dora, found out eventually how her daughter was spending her evenings, she went ballistic.

  ‘Mr James next door told me he’s seen you talking to a German prisoner every evening when he comes home through the park. Sarah, how could you?’

  ‘Gunter is a charming young man!’ Sarah protested.

  ‘Gunter! Gunter is it? Just how friendly have you got with this man?’

  ‘He’s nineteen, not much older than me, and he was called up, just like Dad. It isn’t his fault he’s in the army. He wants to be a lawyer like his father before him.’