by Annie Groves
The billets they had seen had ranged from an empty girls’ school – where the major had studied the instruction pinned up on a dormitory wall, ‘Ring for a Mistress if Required’ without betraying even a flicker of amusement – to pin-neat bedrooms in private homes. But the thing the rooms all had in common was their war-weary shabbiness. It was evident everywhere: in the eyes of the people, in the way they walked and talked and the very air they breathed, Diane admitted, and it was in stark contrast to the vigour and smartness of the American forces, in their ‘pinks and greens’, as their dress clothes were known.
The major had certainly been thorough, both in his inspection and his reportage of each potential billet. As the day wore on, his dictation speeded up rather than slowed down so that Diane’s wrist was now aching from the unfamiliar shorthand writing, and she groaned inwardly at the thought of its transcription and typing-up.
‘It’s coming up for eighteen hundred hours,’ the major informed her, glancing at his watch. ‘I guess we should break for something to eat before heading back.’
‘There’s a village a few miles down the road,’ Diane told him. ‘It should have a pub but I don’t know if we’ll be able to get something to eat.’
The look she could see in his eyes rubbed painfully against the raw patch of misery that was her pride in her country and her feelings of shame for what it had become, and her equally intense feeling of anger against the man who was forcing her to see it through his own eyes.
The village, when they came to it, was a straggle of houses either side of the road, surrounded by the fields in which Diane assumed the original villagers had once worked. A garage, its solitary petrol pump forlorn and unattended, marked the boundary between fields and village, the houses old and huddled together, the paint flaking off the doors and windows. A group of boys, old enough in reality to be wearing long trousers, but forced by the war to remain in shorter ones to save on cloth, who had been aimlessly kicking a ball around in the road, scattered at the sight of the Jeep, only one of them brave enough to stay where he was and yell out, ‘Got any gum, chum?’
Diane curled her fingers into her palms when she saw the way the major’s mouth tightened as he flicked a grim look at the boy. No doubt in America, that land of plenty, children did not beg from passing strangers. She could feel the pressure of her own defensive tears against the backs of her eyes. ‘This isn’t how we really are,’ she wanted to tell him ‘This isn’t what this country is really about,’ but she knew there was no point.
Typically they found the pub virtually opposite the church, its sign swinging in the evening breeze.
Diane glanced up at it as the major stopped the Jeep, and read the name – the Traveller’s Rest. The village didn’t look as though many travellers passed through it, but then looks could be deceptive.
The major had already got out of the Jeep. A sign of his hunger, or his dislike of her company?
She reached for the handle to the Jeep’s passenger door, cursing herself inwardly for not being more speedy when the major stepped round the Jeep’s bonnet and opened the door for her.
She didn’t look at him as she thanked him, but she could once again smell the scent of his skin, more his skin than his soap now, she recognised. She had no right to be aware of the major as a man. And no desire to, either? She was glad that the necessity of following him into the pub gave her an excuse for not answering her own question.
Inside, the pub was low ceilinged with heavy dark beams and the kind of bar she was familiar with from her days in her previous posting. The usual group of elderly ‘locals’ were grouped round the bar and occupying the wooden settle close to the huge open fireplace, and with a good view through the old-fashioned mullioned window.
The silence that followed their entrance could have been because she was a woman – the only woman in the place – or it could have been because the major was American. Diane suspected it was probably caused by both.
‘Looking for Burtonwood, are you?’ the landlord asked affably, but Diane had seen the looks the locals were exchanging and knew that his comment masked disdain.
‘I guess you get pretty tired of Americans coming in here to ask the way,’ the major answered him easily, adding, ‘We’d like something to eat, first.’
All the men exchanged looks.
‘Sorry, mate,’ the landlord answered. ‘But no can do. I’m afraid you and your lady friend will have to try somewhere else.’
Diane saw the way the major stiffened. She felt like doing the same herself. It was plain that the landlord thought she and the major were a couple, and of course he would disapprove of an English girl taking up with an American whilst young British men were away fighting for their country.
The major’s silence was lasting just that little bit too long. Diane could feel the growing tension, and diplomatically she told him untruthfully, ‘I’m really not very hungry. Do let’s go and find somewhere else.’
For a second she thought he was going to ignore her and challenge the landlord, but then he looked down at her and gave a small shrug.
They had just reached the door when Diane heard one of the men at the bar telling the landlord, ‘You missed your way there, Pete. I reckon you could have charged him a tenner to let him have that spare room of yours for the night.’
‘Bloody Yanks,’ the landlord swore angrily. ‘I don’t want no truck with them, nor their fancy pieces, not when I’ve got a lad fighting in ruddy Africa.’
The major stopped moving. Quickly Diane yanked open the door, her palms damp with nervous sweat. She walked out into the street and headed for the Jeep without looking to see if the major was following her, not wanting to give him an excuse to stay and challenge the men at the bar.
When he followed her to the Jeep she wasn’t sure if it was relief or hunger that was making her feel sick.
They travelled several miles before he finally broke the silence, demanding coldly, ‘Tell me something. Does everyone in this country hate our guts, or—’
‘It’s your own fault that people react to the American forces the way they do,’ Diane stopped him defensively, suddenly all her own pent-up feelings rushing to be voiced. ‘You’re supposed to be our allies but you behave more as though you’re some kind of occupying force. You treat us with contempt, and you brag about how much better you think you are than us. You call us shabby, and badly dressed, you hate our food and our roads, and our weather. We’ve all heard GIs calling our soldiers cowards for running away at Dunkirk, and we’ve heard you saying our flag should be red, white and yellow. You talk about winning the war for us, as if we haven’t done anything or achieved any victories. Well, for what it’s worth, what we think of you is that you’re a bunch of arrogant and ignorant idiots, that you’re boastful braggers who don’t even know what it’s like to fight, and who don’t have what it takes to see that if we look poor and down at heel, if we don’t have much food, and our homes are shabby, it’s because here in this country we believe actions speak louder than words, and what we’re doing, why we’re going without, is because of what we believe in. We don’t need Americans to tell us the importance of freedom, as though it’s something they invented, and we don’t need people like you looking down your nose at us with contempt…sir!’ she finished as she ran out of breath.
Now, with the adrenalin rush of anger that had fuelled her outburst depleted, she recognised miserably that she had behaved dreadfully and broken every rule in the book, which would no doubt now be thrown at her, resulting in her spending the rest of the war on a charge. But she didn’t care. It would be worth it, Diane told herself defiantly.
‘Finished, have you?’
Diane looked away from him.
‘Because if you have, here are one or two things I’d like to say to you, soldier. First off, I’m one man, not the whole of the American forces. Second, no way have I ever considered myself to be part of an occupying force. Third, for what it’s worth, what I personally think of the Bri
tish people and their country is—’
‘None of my business – I know,’ Diane cut in smartly.
‘What I think of the British people and their country is that their bravery grabs me by the throat and humbles me; that every time I see a person in the street, wearing clothes that look worn and shabby, it brings home to me the sacrifices this country and its people are making in the name of freedom. Fourth, if you ever, ever speak to me like that again, your backside will be so sore you won’t sit down for a week.’
Outraged, Diane spun round. ‘You have no right—’ she began, but he would not let her continue.
‘I have every man’s right to defend myself and my honour.’
‘By physical violence to a woman? Your wife may—’
‘My wife would never soil her pretty painted lips with the kind of talk I’ve just had from you, nor her head with such aggressive thoughts,’ he told her brusquely. ‘She’s a Southern belle, who never forgets that fact. And another thing…’
Diane waited warily.
‘I’m getting a little tired of calling you “soldier” – Diane, and since it looks like we’re going to be working together for the next week or so, you’d better call me Lee.’
‘Yes, sir…Lee…’ Diane amended huskily. She couldn’t believe now that she had ripped up at him in the way she had, and she certainly couldn’t believe that he had let her get away with it. As for his comments about what he thought of Britain and its people…She blinked quickly. She wasn’t going to make even more of an idiot of herself, was she?
‘Right, food…’ the major announced firmly.
It wasn’t until Diane saw the base looming up in front of them that she realised where he was taking her.
‘But this is—’
‘Burtonwood,’ he finished for her. ‘I guess it seemed easier to come back here than to keep on searching for a pub to serve us.’
The checkpoint was in front of them, the men on guard duty saluting as he stopped the Jeep.
‘Major Saunders,’ he told them, showing them his pass. ‘The soldier here is my guest.’
Diane’s hand was trembling as she produced her own ID, but neither of the soldiers on guard showed by so much as the flicker of an eyelid that they found anything strange in her presence with the major.
Even so, she still protested, ‘I’m not sure I shouldn’t be doing this,’ as they were waved through.
‘You’re forces personnel and since I’m vouching for you there’s no problem with you being on the base.’
Although, of course, like everyone else, she had heard about the work being done at Burtonwood to prepare it for the arrival of the Eighth Army, and equip it as an operational headquarters, which would include a combat crew replacement centre, a gunnery school, a quartermaster’s depot, and a supply and maintenance depot – in other words, a major support base for men and machinery -she hadn’t realised just how huge the base was going to be.
In the clear light of the summer evening it seemed to stretch for miles, with its runways and its buildings, and although she didn’t want to admit it, Diane felt slightly overwhelmed by its size, and its Americanness. It had only been in the aftermath of the attack on Pearl Harbor that America had sent over men, its own engineer battalions and their equipment, to help the British working to build the new airfields from which the Eighth Army would bomb the enemy. The results of their arrival and the work they had done were certainly plain to be seen here.
It seemed an age before Major Saunders finally pulled up outside a newly built, anonymous-looking building – anonymous, that was, until Diane saw the words ‘Officers Only’ above the doorway.
‘We can get something to eat here,’ the major told her. ‘I’m not saying how good it will be -how good it tastes is likely to depend on how hungry you are.’
‘I can’t go in there,’ Diane protested.
When he frowned she pointed out stiffly, ‘It says “Officers Only”.’
‘You’ll be going in as my guest,’ he told her curtly. ‘Officers are permitted to take guests in.’
Maybe they were, but that didn’t stop what looked like a roomful of men in American uniform bearing high-ranking insignia turning to look at her as she and Major Saunders walked in, their curiosity making her feel very much an interloper. Without realising she was doing so, Diane moved closer to the major, but it was only when he put his hand beneath her elbow to guide her across the room that she realised how intimate and inviting her own gesture must have seemed. It was too late to regret it now, though.
‘Lee!’ a tall man with grey grizzled hair called out, leaving the table where he had been playing cards to come over to them.
On his jacket Diane could see the stripes denoting his status, and consequently wasn’t surprised to hear the major respond to his greeting with a respectful, ‘Colonel, good to see you again.’
‘No need for any of that colonel stuff, Lee. I’d heard you were based here. Long time no see. How’s Carrie?’
‘She’s fine thanks, Dwight. She’s decided to see the war out in Charleston with her folks.’
‘Mimi’s doin’ the same. She’s taken the kids to Virginia; her folks have a farm there. So how are you doin’? I’d heard you’ve been made up to major, by the way. Congratulations.’
‘Thanks. Let me introduce Diane Wilson to you. She’s with the British WAAF and based at Derby House in Liverpool. I’ve been dragging her all over the country today, taking notes whilst I checked out the accommodation we’ve been offered for the top brass, and now I’ve brought the poor girl back here for a canteen meal.’
‘Sure nice to meet you, Diane.’
Diane was caught off guard in mid-salute when he extended his hand to shake hers.
‘Dwight here is an old buddy of mine,’ the major explained.
‘Not so much of the old, if you don’t mind,’ the colonel joked.
‘He was my platoon major when I started out.’
‘Yeah, and, fool that I was, I went and gave you top marks. Don’t let him sweet-talk you any, Diane. This guy’s a soldier first, second and third. Ask his wife.’
Diane wasn’t quite sure exactly what kind of warning she was being given, but the smile that accompanied it seemed genuine enough.
‘The last I heard you were on reconnaissance, Lee, so how come you’re sorting out accommodation; missed too many Luftwaffe have you?’ the colonel joked.
‘I’m in charge of organising the reconnaissance training for our pilots, as they come over. What about you? I didn’t know you were over here.’
‘Well, I’m not really. They’ve put me with the Ninth out in the field, but I had some leave so I thought I’d spend a few days in London. Have you been there yet?’
The major shook his head.
‘Well, you must go. Look, I’ll give you the address of this hotel where I stayed…Have you got a pen?’
As the major reached into his jacket and removed his wallet, opening it, Diane caught a glimpse of the photograph it held. If that was his wife, and it must be, she certainly was very beautiful – and maybe it was the photograph that gave that hardness to her eyes that belied her smile. Whatever the case, it was none of her business, and it was foolish of her to feel such an instinctive dislike for a woman she didn’t even know.
‘More coffee?’
‘I couldn’t,’ Diane told the major truthfully, putting her hand on her stomach. ‘I’m too full.’ No wonder the Americans derided British rations if they ate like this every day, she reflected, thinking of the huge steak she had been served, along with fried onions, tomatoes, mushrooms, sweetcorn and chips – or French fries, as the Americans called them – followed by apple pie and ice cream.
‘Fine. Well, if you’re ready to leave, I’ll go and organise some transport for you.’
‘Don’t go to any trouble. Anything will do, just so long as it gets me back.’
Not for the world was she going to let him think she was disappointed because he wasn’t drivi
ng her back himself.
‘I’ll sort out a Jeep and a driver. Wait here.’
‘There’s no need for that. Surely there’s a bus, or…’ she began, but the major was already walking away from her.
When he returned five minutes later he was accompanied by a young private.
‘Charlie here will drive you back,’ he told her. ‘I recognise that you’ve worked well over your hours today. I’ll have a word with your captain and let her know that you’ll be owed some extra leave.’
Diane nodded. What was the matter with her? Anyone would think that she wanted to stay here with him, the way she was hanging around.
‘Hey, Lee, wanna come and join us for a hand of poker?’
Diane exhaled unsteadily when she saw Dwight coming over to clap the major on the shoulder and draw him away with him. She was glad really, of course. The kind of enforced intimacy they had shared today wasn’t something she wanted with any man other than Kit, much less an American.
EIGHTEEN
‘So the wedding’s all arranged then, Ruthie?’ Jess asked.
They were on their dinner break, and Ruthie pulled a face at the watery stew they had been served before shaking her head.
‘We’ve seen the vicar and we’ve sorted out the church hall, and Glen has asked Walter to be his best man, like I told you he was going to do. And, of course, you’re going to be my bridesmaid, and we’re all going to meet up in town to talk about everything. Not that we’ll be able to have the banns read or anything yet, though.’ She pulled a small face. ‘I hadn’t realised, but with Glen being an American we’ve got to be given permission to get married by the US Army and that means that I’ve got to go to Burtonwood and be interviewed by his CO or the army chaplain.’