by Diane Moody
She shook her head. “Don’t be silly. You don’t really believe you’ll actually see yourself on the big screen?”
“You never know. It could happen.” He placed a piece of popcorn between his teeth and waggled his brows. “Kith me?”
“No, I’m not going to—”
He didn’t wait for her response, giving her a salty kiss and shooting the popped kernel in her mouth.
She batted his arm playfully, dissolving into laughter as she ate it.
He held a finger before his lips. “Shhh. The movie’s starting.”
As the red velvet curtain parted, a newsreel began. Its tinny narration over stilted music described the continued world-wide celebrations following the end of the war.
“Now, from Berlin to London, from the vanquished to the victor; outside Buckingham Palace, crowds cheered themselves hoarse.”
As a symphony played a familiar merry tune, the camera panned the mass of humanity gathered around the palace, stretching as far as the eye could see.
He felt Anya’s hand grab his arm. “It’s just like Sybil said. Danny, look at all those people. Were you in a crowd like that when the announcement came?”
“No, I was riding a lorry back to the base. They’d sent us to Liverpool to pick up our gear that was sent there when we were MIA. We kept seeing flares shoot up from different bases we passed. Somehow we just knew the war had ended. Back at the 390th the guys got a little carried away as they partied and shot out some windows in the control tower. That was about it, I think. But I’ve never seen what happened here in London until now. Just look at all those people!”
The music played on as the camera showed a panoramic view of the millions gathered on May eighth, just a few weeks earlier. The narration continued.
Seven times during V-E Day, the British royal family appeared on the balcony.”
The king in his military uniform stood beside the queen, dressed in a coatdress and hat. Princess Margaret stood beside her father, while Princess Elizabeth, also in uniform, stood beside her mother. As the family waved, the crowds went wild, shouting and waving back. Later, Winston Churchill joined the royal family on the balcony sending the crowds there into a roaring, euphoric bliss.
Anya huddled close beside him. “I had no idea. It wasn’t like this back home, at least not where I was. Until Sybil brought it up, I’d never dreamed there were celebrations like this.”
The lump in his throat surprised him, as did the moisture blurring his vision. When Anya turned to look at him, he noticed her eyes were filled with tears too.
“Aren’t we a pair?” he croaked, putting his arm around her.
He recognized the song playing over the next scene as the same one played when he graduated from high school. “Pomp and Circumstance,” wasn’t it? Something about the nostalgic tune choked him up even more until he barked an unintentional sob. Thanks to the cheering audience, only Anya heard the pitiful thing.
The darkness did nothing to dissipate the throng of people celebrating on that night. People waved British flags. Others danced on top of vehicles and monuments; some even climbed to the top of street lights high above the crowd. The camera focused on a uniformed couple kissing passionately at the top of a street light as lines of soldiers and young ladies snaked through the crowds in long, wavy conga lines.
“We are living in the midst of many great events. We know that in the days when war seems remote and far away, these will be historic pictures. They will tell another generation how England celebrated Victory in Europe Day.”
The movie audience cheered again as the newsreel continued then silenced when the screen filled with a massive German structure. At the infamous Nuremberg Stadium, the scene of countless Nazi party rallies throughout the war, a huge American flag was raised to cover the enormous swastika atop the massive building. Then, as it hid the hated Nazi emblem, an explosion destroyed the swastika in a symbolic gesture. Danny and Anya joined the loud cheers that filled the theater.
When the movie began, Danny could hardly contain himself. At one point, when the onscreen inductees began marching, they broke into song—the Army Air Force song. Danny sprang up out of his seat with a whoop and a holler, joining other airmen in the theater.
“Off we go, into the wild blue yonder!”
“Danny!” Anya tugged at his sleeve, her laughter accompanying his boisterous rendition.
He sat back down and watched the movie play on, more documentary than a regular story film, but Danny loved it anyway. He leaned over to Anya often to explain the training and drills and testing depicted, noting their accuracy.
“This is it! This is it, Anya!” He pointed at the screen and elbowed her at the same time. “That’s our graduation. See if you can spot me.”
“But they all look alike. With their caps on, you can hardly see their faces.”
He scooted to the front of his seat. “Shhh! Just keep watching. Maybe they’ll do a close-up.”
The music played on as the precisely choreographed march of graduates filled the screen.
“There you are!” Anya shouted. “See? Right there, second from the left?”
The camera angle changed. “No! I didn’t see me. Are you sure it was me?”
Her head bobbed. “Yes, I’m sure! Were you next to the end of your row or whatever they’re called?”
He fell back in his seat. “Well, yes, but—”
“Then it had to be you.”
He ignored the film, captivated by her smile, so wide and carefree. Such rare, unbridled joy on the face of his bride took every other thought from his mind. He’d never seen her more beautiful. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her passionately and didn’t stop, even when she giggled.
As they watched the rest of the movie, Danny made comments now and then, mostly concerning the portrayal of life in the Army Air Force. When the movie ended and the lights came up, someone tapped Danny’s shoulder.
A young man seated directly behind them looked at them with a sheepish grin on his face. “I couldn’t help overhearing, and I simply must ask. Were you really in this film?”
“Just one of the cadets there in the graduation ceremony. That’s all.”
“I say, then! I’ve never met an American film star before. Would you be so kind as to give me your autograph? If it’s not too much to ask?”
“But I’m not a star. I’m just a co-pilot for—”
“Well, then! Even better. A movie star and a war hero. We thought you Americans would never come join us, but once you did—well, I believe I’m safe in saying we couldn’t have won it without you. So by all means, please, if you would—” He patted the pockets of his jacket to locate a pen, then rummaged through his trouser pockets for something to write on. “Here, my handkerchief. It’s clean,” he said with a wink to Anya. “I promise.”
“Well, if you insist.”
“Excellent. Here, use my back for a surface.” He turned and leaned slightly over so Danny could jot his name on the handkerchief.
“There you go,” Danny said.
“What was it like? Meeting all those famous people like Lon McAllister and Edmond O’Brien? And what about Jeanne Crain? Is she as beautiful in person as she is on screen?”
“No, I never met any of the stars. They weren’t there the day of our graduation. They must have added that scene later from a sound stage or something.”
They started back up the aisle toward the exit.
“Really? Because it looked like they were right there,” Anya said. “Why wouldn’t they just film it there with all of you?”
“That’s Hollywood for you. All smoking guns and mirrors.”
Both the young man and Anya stared at him. Realizing their confusion, Danny explained.
“It’s made to appear that they were there, but no doubt easier to control the sound and lighting on some back lot in Hollywood.”
“Then what do mirrors and guns have to do with it?” Anya asked.
He waved her off. “Just an expression.”
“Well, then. Thank you, sir.” The young man carefully folded his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. “And thank you for your service during the war. The best of British,” he said, extending his hand.
Danny shook his hand. “The best of British?”
The young man smiled. “Just an expression, as you say. It means the best of British luck to you.”
“Oh, I see. Same to you.”
As the lad made his way out of the theater, Anya leaned in. “Please, can I have your autograph, mister?”
“Yeah, that’s a first. But who knows, maybe he’s right. Maybe I was born to be in the movies.” He dazzled her with his smile and danced his brows. “Well? What do you think?”
“I think you might be better suited for the circus.”
“The circus? Now you’re just being mean.” He stole a kiss as they headed out of the theater.
Later, as they strolled through Hyde Park, they paused at the gates of Kensington Palace to view the visible damage to the home of the royal family. It seemed wherever they went, the city’s scars of ruin and destruction surrounded them.
As much as the movie had lightened Anya’s spirits, Danny could see traces of the haunting shadow drifting through her eyes again. He wondered once again what he’d been thinking to bring her here for their honeymoon. A wiser man would have hopped right back on the train and found some quiet coastal town, far from the constant reminders of the long war.
Maybe it wasn’t too late.
He stopped to face her. “Anya, I have an idea. I don’t know about you, but I think we’ve seen enough of London. Would you agree?”
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but now that you mention it, yes. Why?”
“What if we go back to the hotel, pack our bags, and spend our last couple of days somewhere near the coast. I remember one of the guys in my outfit mentioning a little town called Aldeburgh. I’m not sure there’s much to do there, but—”
She silenced him with a kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Yes! Yes, please take me anywhere that doesn’t remind us of war.”
They arrived at the Victoria Apollo train station just after four-thirty that afternoon as the skies opened and drenched London in a heavy downpour. Anya thought it a fitting departure. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the city with all its historic sites and the constant hustle and bustle of people trying to put their lives back together. She simply felt overwhelmed by its size, its scope, and most of all, its miles and miles of damage and destruction. The presence of war still lingered here like a morbid residue shrouded over the city.
Even worse than the debris of war around them were the people they passed on the street. They all seemed exhausted from the long years of war. A far cry from the jubilant images they’d seen on the newsreel at the cinema. Would the ecstatic celebrations of VE Day ever fill these streets again with laughter, cheering and dancing? Would London survive? Would the scars of war eventually fade? Would Londoners overcome their sorrows, able to face the job still before them to restore their businesses, their homes, and their lives?
But deep in her heart, she knew she’d seen these faces before. She’d walked among them back home in Utrecht and all across her beloved homeland during the Occupation. She watched them drop dead in their tracks from years of malnutrition and hopelessness. With a shudder, she realized how precariously close she’d come to doing the same.
It made no sense, of course, to think London might have survived without a scratch or expecting it to look exactly as it did in the pictures in her school textbooks. Wishful thinking? Perhaps.
Maybe that was why it overwhelmed her. Unrealistic expectations giving way to the harsh ugliness of war’s ragged scars. Whatever the cause, she wondered if the world would ever be normal again.
She settled back in her seat by the window. “I’m so glad we’re leaving.”
Danny took hold of her hand. “Me too. We’ll take a proper honeymoon when we get back to the States. But until then, maybe a couple of days at the coast will clear our sails.”
“And you’re sure this town we’re going to wasn’t bombed to bits during the war?”
He looked at her with such a blank face, she had to laugh. “You mean you don’t know? You didn’t ask anyone?”
“Well, now that you mention it, no. But not to worry. If we get there and it’s nothing but a crater, we’ll just skedaddle back to Framlingham and hide in our room above the pub. We’ll just hunker down and order room service from Patrick. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough.”
9
12 June 1945
Departing from London, they rode the rails northeast toward Ipswich where they transferred to the East Suffolk Line then on to Saxmundham. The ride mirrored the route they’d taken going the other direction on their wedding day. In Saxmundham, they boarded a bus that took them to Aldeburgh.
Danny and Anya found the quaint seaside town a welcome relief, especially as it appeared untainted by the war. The little village, situated on the River Alde on one side, the sea on the other, was quiet and serene. Perfect.
“We should have come here first and skipped London altogether,” Danny mused as they approached the White Lion Inn. “Next time I’ll let you plan the honeymoon.”
“Next time?”
“Hey, this place looks nice, doesn’t it? I didn’t realize the inn was right across from the beach. I’m glad it finally stopped raining.”
Anya smiled, ignoring the gray sky, simply grateful for the soothing sight of the waves lapping against the shore. “It’s beautiful, Danny.”
After checking into their room, they kicked off their shoes and relaxed for a while, lounging on the bed as they browsed through the town’s tourist brochure.
“Look, here’s that old building we saw across the street,” Danny said. “It says here it’s called Moot Hall. It’s where the town council has met for over four hundred years. They still do. Can you imagine?”
Anya wrinkled her nose. “I would imagine it smells of mold and mildew.”
“You’re probably right. We won’t bother. Let’s see ... oh, here’s something we might like to see. It’s called the Martello Tower.”
“Don’t you have a neighbor by that name?”
“Yes, Mrs. Martello. Wouldn’t that be a coincidence if there was some kind of family tie?”
“What kind of tower is it?”
“Apparently, there are a bunch of these all over Great Britain, and this one is the largest. They were built as defense forts during the French Revolutionary War and—”
“No. We came here to forget about the war, remember? Any war.”
Danny winced and blew out a sigh. “You’re right. Sorry. Okay then, let’s find what else we might want to see.”
She grabbed the brochure and sent it sailing over him and onto the floor. “Why don’t we just put on our shoes and go? It’s a small town on the beach. No more tourist attractions. Let’s just go wherever our feet take us.”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly. “Good idea.”
“But first we should eat. Are you hungry?”
“Starving. My buddy back on base said Aldeburgh has some of the best fish and chips in all of England.”
Mischief tugged at her smile.
“What?”
“Did you know that your whole face lights up when you talk about food?”
“It does not.”
“Yes, it does. It’s one of those things I love about you.”
“Well, then. We should talk about food more often.”
“We always do.”
“Then you should probably know there are millions of things I love about you. Like the way your eyes change color when you get upset.”
“They do not. No one can change the color of their eyes.”
He turned on his side to face her. “There, see? Right now. Your eyes are tinting more gray than blue. Whe
reas, when you’re happy and laughing, your eyes look bluer. Much bluer.”
“Danny, you are so silly.”
“Or like now. The way you scrunch up your face when you’re trying to think of a swift comeback.”
She blanked her face. “I do no such thing.”
“Or how your knee bounces when you’re nervous. And how your voice gets raspy when you’re feeling rather romantic …” He dispensed with the chatter and kissed her neck just below her ear. “And that,” he whispered in her ear.
“That what?” she said, her voice husky.
“The way you shiver when I kiss you here … and here.”
She said nothing more. He didn’t expect her to.
They could see the sights later. At the moment, they had better things to do.
Later, they dined on fish and chips and immediately understood what all the fuss was about. The pub was cozy like most are in England, but here the air was heavier than usual with the aroma of deep-fried fish—a scent Anya found not altogether unpleasant as she might have supposed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to try the battered fish and fried potatoes at first, but was glad she did.
“I’ve never cared much for fish before, but this is very good.”
Danny grabbed a chip off her plate and ate it. “I had a hunch you might like it.”
She stabbed a bite of fish from his plate and quickly downed it. “Stay away from my food, Danny McClain.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he teased with a laugh. “I have a feeling I might pull back a stump if I try again, eh?”
“You most certainly would.”
“We call these French fries back home. Do the Dutch eat French fries?”
“Yes, but we call them patat friets. We eat them with mayonaise—”
“Mayonnaise? On fries?” Danny faked a shiver of disgust. “Not sure I could stomach that.”
She arched a brow and glared at his plate. “And yet you have no problem with tartar sauce?”