Читать книгу GI Brides: The wartime girls who crossed the Atlantic for love - Duncan Barrett - Страница 12

Early one morning towards the end of May 1944, Lyn woke to a rumbling noise outside her window. She leaped out of bed and flung open the curtains.

In the street below, an endless column of American tanks trundled along at a glacial speed, while dozens of jeeps were parked up on the pavement.

One was sitting right in Lyn’s front garden, and when she went out to investigate, the driver smiled at her. ‘Want a doughnut?’ he asked, gesturing to a Red Cross van up the street.

‘Yes, please,’ she replied.

The man went and fetched a couple of doughnuts, handing one to Lyn. She had never tried this particular American delicacy before, and the moist, sugary dough tasted like heaven.

She learned that the young man’s name was Eugene Gidcombe – ‘from Hermiston, Oregon, ma’am’ – and that he was passing through the town on his way to a staging area further down the coast.

From the build-up of troops and vehicles in Southampton it was obvious that the long-awaited D-Day was imminent, although officially the plans remained top-secret. Lyn knew that Eugene would soon be fighting in France.

‘Are you scared?’ she asked him.

‘Of what?’

‘Going to war.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Were you scared when the Germans bombed Southampton?’

‘Not really,’ Lyn replied honestly.

Eugene laughed. ‘Hey, do all limey girls talk funny like you?’

‘You’re the ones who talk funny!’ Lyn replied.

They sat chatting for a while, until the time came for him to move on. ‘Can you do something for me?’ he asked her.

‘Of course,’ Lyn said.

‘Scratch your name on the side of my jeep. It’ll give me something to remind me of you when I’m on the other side.’

Eugene offered her a pocketknife and she carved a shaky ‘Lyn’ on the side of the vehicle. He took down her address and promised to write to her.

Lyn waved goodbye to Eugene and he went on his way, but she found that every new jeep that stopped outside her door contained a young man equally eager for a little conversation before he went off to face the war. Soon Lyn had given out her address to half a dozen GIs, all of them promising to write.

As the vehicles trundled out of Southampton, she wondered if she would hear from any of them again.

On the morning of 6 June, the sky above Southampton was filled with planes heading towards the Continent. Meanwhile, a body of men and machines comparable in size to the city of Birmingham was making its way across the Channel.

Lyn sat glued to the wireless, desperate for news of the invasion. At 8 a.m., the BBC announced that paratroopers had landed in France overnight, and just after 10 a.m. news broke that ground troops had landed in Normandy. A lump formed in Lyn’s throat as she thought of Eugene and the other GIs who had pulled up outside her door.

On the first day of the invasion more than 4,000 Allied soldiers were killed, among them 2,500 Americans. Many never even made it ashore.

Over the next few weeks, Lyn was surprised to receive letters from all the GIs who had asked for her address. Eugene wrote most vividly, describing the liberation of Paris and the hordes of young French girls weeping and throwing flowers on his jeep.

For Lyn, the letters were a welcome distraction from thoughts of another GI. She was still struggling with her feelings for Russ, the charming Mexican-American who was so devoted to his wife. They had continued to spend tantalising yet chaste evenings together under the supervision of her parents, who believed they were doing their patriotic duty in welcoming a GI into their house.

One day, Russ surprised Lyn by presenting her with a gold bracelet. ‘Could you take it to a jeweller’s and have it inscribed?’ he asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ Lyn replied excitedly. ‘What should it say?’

‘To Larina, from Russ,’ he said wistfully.

Lyn hid her disappointment and dutifully took the bracelet to the shop. She watched as the words were carved into the metal, wishing the bracelet bore her name instead of Larina’s.

As more and more Americans arrived in Southampton after D-Day, the city was soon even busier than it had been before. Over 60 per cent of all American personnel and equipment shipped to the Continent came through the town.

The Polygon Hotel, where the American officers stayed, was busier than ever, and Lyn and her workmates were there every Saturday night. One evening, they were eating dinner before the dancing began when she heard a commotion by the entrance.

‘I’m sorry,’ the maître d’ was saying, ‘but it would disturb our clientele.’

Standing behind him was a group of men in RAF uniform, their faces severely disfigured by burns, like those of many pilots who had survived the Battle of Britain.

Lyn’s heart went out to them. Her older siblings, Bunty and Ron, were in the Air Force, so she felt a natural sympathy towards the men.

But the maître d’ was resolute, and the group reluctantly shuffled away.

As they left, a young American lieutenant stood up from his table and followed after them. He didn’t look much like the typical GI Joe – he was slim, dark and delicate looking – but something about him caught Lyn’s attention.

‘You should be ashamed,’ he told the maître d’ on his way out.

A few minutes later he was back, but there was no sign of the disfigured young airmen.

‘Excuse me,’ Lyn said as he passed her table. ‘Wouldn’t they come back?’

‘No,’ the American replied. ‘And to be honest I don’t blame them.’ He returned to his table just long enough to pay for his food, before leaving.

Lyn went back to her dinner, but all through the rest of the evening she couldn’t help thinking of the airmen, and how disgusting the maître d’s behaviour was.

On Monday morning, Lyn was cycling to work at the Chamber of Commerce when she caught sight of the American lieutenant. ‘Hello!’ she called, jumping down from her bike. ‘I just wanted to thank you for what you did at the hotel on Saturday.’

‘Well, I thought it was a low blow,’ he said. ‘Those guys were willing to give their lives for their country, and to be treated that way…’

‘I couldn’t believe it either,’ Lyn agreed. ‘Are you going to file a complaint?’

‘I’d love to, but I can’t. We’ve got enough issues between Yanks and Brits as it is.’

‘Well, you did what you could,’ she told him, as she hopped back on her bike and rode off.

The next day, Lyn saw the GI again on her way into work, and again she stopped to speak to him.

‘Morning,’ he said politely, giving her a smile. Lyn noticed that he had never called her ‘baby’ or ‘sugar’.

‘Morning,’ she replied. ‘I just realised I never found out your name. I’m Lyn.’

‘Ben Patrino,’ he said.

Lyn learned that Ben was from California, that he was Italian-American – she thought the Italian part sounded very romantic – and that he supervised the black troops who loaded and unloaded the cargo in the Port Company.

In the days that followed, the two of them bumped into each other regularly and Lyn found herself looking forward to it, although somehow she never got round to mentioning her new friend to Russ. Ben might not have had the Mexican ensign’s easy charm, but the more Lyn saw of him the more she liked him. He was polite and softly spoken, so different from most GIs she had met.

After several more brief encounters, Ben finally got up the courage to ask Lyn out to the movies. She found herself saying yes, and only afterwards thought of Russ with a jolt. But then, why shouldn’t she go out on a date? Russ was allowed to spend time with her despite having a wife in Florida.

When Lyn arrived home that afternoon, her mother told her she had just missed a visit from Russ. ‘He’s left something for you on the mantelpiece,’ she said.

Lyn rushed into the front room to find a crisp white envelope waiting for her, and ripped it open impatiently. Inside, Russ explained that he was being transferred away from Southampton. ‘To my little English girl-friend,’ he wrote, ‘I pray that someday you will find what I have – the happiness of a loving and peaceful marriage.’

He had included a photograph of himself, looking intensely at the camera, and signed it, ‘To Lyn, without you I would have been lost.’

Lyn held the letter to her heart. She felt choked at the thought of never seeing Russ again and filled with disappointment that their romance had come to its inevitable, unsatisfying end.

In a desultory mood, she put the letter back on the mantelpiece and went up to change for her date with Ben. She couldn’t believe she had missed the chance to say goodbye to Russ.

When she met up with Ben outside the cinema, he beamed at her. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her inside.

‘Thanks,’ Lyn replied a little weakly.

It was a relief to take her seat in the darkened cinema and focus on the screen, rather than having to make conversation. As the film played out in front of her, Lyn’s mind kept drifting back to her dates with the Mexican ensign, to the way he had looked into her eyes and played footsie with her under the table. After a while, she realised she had no idea what was happening in the film. At least Ben seemed to be enjoying it, though – and he hadn’t even made a move to kiss her.

‘Would you like some food?’ he asked her afterwards. ‘We could see if the Polygon’s still serving.’

It was already getting late, and all Lyn really wanted was to go home and read Russ’s letter again, but now Ben had mentioned it she was pretty hungry. ‘All right,’ she replied politely. ‘That would be nice.’

Unfortunately, with a clientele made up almost exclusively of Americans, the Polygon had begun serving dinner early, and all they could offer Ben and Lyn was sardines on toast. As they ate, he told her about his former job as a book-keeper, and about his family back in California – how his dad would sit out on the porch at night playing the banjo and every Friday his mom would throw open their doors to the whole neighbourhood.

‘Your family sounds lovely,’ Lyn said, in between mouthfuls of toast.

‘You’re quite a chowhound!’ Ben laughed. ‘You know, you would love my mom’s homemade pizza.’

‘What’s pizza?’ Lyn asked.

Ben’s jaw dropped. ‘You never had pizza? Boy, you Brits are really missing out.’

‘Well, I bet you’ve never had a good English roast,’ Lyn responded. She told Ben about the wonderful meals her mother used to make every Sunday before rationing started, with roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, Brussels sprouts and roast potatoes.

The more they laughed and shared stories together, the more Lyn found she was enjoying herself. She was surprised to find she hadn’t thought about Russ for a while.

At the end of the night, Ben walked Lyn home. He made no attempt to kiss her, but he held her hand. It felt good, Lyn realised – and unpressured.

‘Goodnight then,’ she told Ben, as they reached her front door. ‘I had a nice evening.’

‘Goodnight, Lyn,’ he replied, squeezing her hand.

Inside, Lyn went straight to the mantelpiece and picked up Russ’s letter. But this time she didn’t open the envelope, or look at the photograph. Instead, she took it straight upstairs to her bedroom and shut it away in a drawer.

On her next date with Ben, Lyn gave him her undivided attention – and he gave her his unqualified devotion. It was clear that he was smitten, and at times he would drift off from talking and simply gaze at her.

At first, it made Lyn feel a little uncomfortable. ‘What is it?’ she asked, as Ben sat staring at her in silence.

‘Boy, you really don’t know how cute you are,’ he replied. After that, Lyn decided that she rather liked it.

Soon, Ben and Lyn were seeing each other every evening. He treated her like royalty, always taking her coat for her, pulling out her chair at the table and bringing her chocolates and flowers. He persisted in calling her his ‘chowhound’ whenever he saw her stuffing her face, which always made her laugh.

When Ben and Lyn went to the pictures together they would stroll back home afterwards through Watts Park. It was on one of these walks that Lyn saw another side of Ben’s character that raised him even further in her estimation.