Ruby's War

by Johanna Winard

  ‘It’s only on stuff in the shops though, isn’t it?’ Ruby asked.

  ‘No, love,’ Jenny giggled. ‘Haven’t you heard? They’re going round inspecting everybody’s knickers now, so you’d best watch out.’

  ‘I’ll help you clear up that sand if you want, Granddad. How are you going to get it back to the church?’

  ‘Oh, there’s no rush about getting it back, Ruby, love. There’s plenty there, though it would be handy if you can help me sweep it up. It shouldn’t be too bad; it’s on some old sacking. I only said I was getting it back today when that young lad was there.’

  ‘What young lad?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘Young Trevor Pye. Our Ruby brought him round to get some books off the book woman.’

  ‘Trevor Pye?’

  ‘Yes, I told you he’d started at the factory.’

  ‘That’ll not go down well, him coming here. His mother’ll not be keen on that,’ Sadie said. ‘She’s not keen on the black GIs, almost as bad as her across the road. She’ll think you’re leading him astray.’

  ‘He’s all right. They really pick on him at work. Yesterday, when he was taking the dockets round, one of the tacklers sent him looking for a long stand, and when he got back to the office, he got told off for taking too much time handing the dockets out. It’s a right shame.’

  ‘Well, he is a bit mard,’ Jenny said, getting up from the table and collecting the pots.

  ‘No wonder, with his mother,’ Sadie said. ‘Do you know what the latest is? Do you remember the doctor’s brother? No, it was his wife’s brother. You must have seen him; the one they said was ill and couldn’t work? Then all of a sudden just after New Year, he went. Well her, that Mrs Pye – and she reckons it’s come from Alice – has told someone at work that he caught one of the black soldiers cuddling a girl in the garden, and when he challenged him and told them to clear off, the bloke beat him up and the girl took his wallet. Now he’s trying to get the Yanks to compensate him, and they’re saying that’s why the lads can’t have late passes, ’cos they can’t be trusted. I said that it couldn’t be true ’cos Ruby was workin’ there over Christmas and New Year and she would have heard about it, and I’ve asked Bo, and he said he’s not heard anything either.’

  ‘I thought you was havin’ a bath,’ Jenny said sharply. ‘If you’re going to wash your hair, you’d best get it done. I’m going to sit outside, now it’s getting cooler, and Ruby, if you’re helping Henry, you’d both best make a move, before it gets too dark to see.’

  Ruby was glad to escape. For the next hour she helped Henry to get the sand back into a sack, and then insisted on sweeping the yard clear of the excess.

  ‘She’s a good lass,’ he said, sitting on the old wooden bench next to Jenny.

  Jenny, who had her feet in a bowl of water, lifted her eyes up to the darkening blue sky above them. ‘Can you hear that?’ she asked, as the dull drone of a heavy transport plane filled the quiet garden.

  ‘It’s one of ours,’ Henry said, puffing on his cigarette. ‘If you ask me, it was a mistake to invent them. Better off without them, that’s what I say. I ask you, what good are they to the working man?’

  ‘Oh, that’s better,’ Sadie said, coming out of the back door and joining her mother and Henry on the bench. ‘I’ve left the bath for you, Ruby,’ she called, ‘if you want to get in.’ She sighed and took the cigarette Jenny offered her. ‘I keep thinking of Bo. It’s that hot in these lorries. He says the big ones are the worse. It’s that hot, they’re getting ill with it on these long trips.’

  The thick evening heat made the blackout almost unbearable, and it was nearly eleven before they reluctantly went indoors. In her stifling bedroom, Ruby sat on her white coverlet and cooled her feet on the linoleum. Sadie’s story about Rollo whirred around in her head, almost chasing away the walk by the river and Con’s promise to take her to the seaside. She curled up and closed her eyes.

  ‘Just you,’ she whispered into the blackness. ‘Just you,’ she said, until her breathing slowed and the incantation summoned a dream.

  She was wearing a dress with a sweetheart neckline and a tie belt that fluttered in the sea breeze. It was made out of the dress material – navy cotton decorated with white flowers – she’d seen in Coupé’s window. Their feet were bare and left a pattern of footprints on the newly washed sand. For as far as she could see, the shoreline was empty. Con took her hand. Ruby smiled, and was imagining him bending down to kiss her, when a noise forced her back to the hot, dark bedroom. The sound – a crack, somewhere in the darkness – came again, and she heard Bess and the dogs at the farm begin to bark. Ruby sat up and pulled aside the blackout curtain. Over the trees, in the direction of the neighbouring village and the army camp, there was a sudden burst of light, a crackle of explosions and then silence. She heard Granddad stir, the bed springs creaked and he padded over to the window. In the dark, the cracks and rattles sputtered fitfully. Along the lane, the dogs barked, and Sadie’s excited feet pattered across the landing.

  ‘Are you awake, Ruby?’ she hissed. ‘Get up as quickly as you can. The Germans have landed.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Bo spent most of that burning June day in the cab of a heavy transporter, driving between the port at Liverpool and Manchester. He started the day in a good frame of mind – even though he knew he wouldn’t be back in time to see Sadie. The journey was a familiar one, and he took pride in his ability to handle the heavy equipment transporter on the narrow twisting lanes between the two cities. By midday the heat inside the cab was almost intolerable. Bo thought it curious that back home in the States he’d been used to the summer heat, but here, in England, he was finding it hard to stand. He wondered if it might be the sudden contrast between the cool spring days and the intense heat that had flared out of nowhere in the middle of June. Whatever it was, he was not enjoying the ride. It took power to shift the heavy gears, and from mid morning, once the sun was full up, it felt as if there was little air inside the cab, and the sweat was already trickling down his back. By midday, as he reached the outskirts of Manchester, his eyes burned with the effort of staring at the stark, bright road. Bo couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever been so thirsty, and once the tank wrecker was unloaded, he was sure he’d drink the Red Cross Station dry.

  ‘I’m sorry, soldier,’ the plump Texan at the Red Cross Station said. ‘It’s whites only.’

  Afterwards, Bo thought that it must have been his desperation for soda pop and doughnuts that had made him so amenable. He didn’t shout or holler. Instead, he explained calmly that he’d been on the road since dawn and was unlikely to get back to his camp until dark, but the fat girl just shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘We’ve been told it’s whites only here,’ she said.

  Her reply made the two white GIs already eating doughnuts shift uncomfortably and study their plates, as though the plans for the invasion of Europe were written there.

  ‘Aw, come on, honey,’ a white soldier who was waiting behind him protested. ‘Give the guy a break. It’s as hot as hell out there, and the guy’s a long way from home.’

  It was no use, and it was only when the white soldier followed him out, offering him his own K-rations, that his anger overwhelmed his desperate thirst. He drove on, passing deserted roads of terraced houses, seething from the treatment he’d received and hoping to find a shop – any place that would sell him a cold drink. At the corner of one street, two children were squatting on the pavement, drinking a bright-orange liquid out of a bottle. He pulled over and climbed down. The little boys with scabby knees and patched shirts got up, looking wide-eyed at the enormous transporter in the tiny street.

  ‘Hey, kid,’ he called, ‘where can I get a drink around here?’

  ‘Henty’s shop,’ the taller boy said, pointing down a side street.

  ‘Will you go and get me one?’ he asked, ‘and some bread, if they have any.’

  The children scampered off, and Bo stood in the shade of t
he truck, lit a cigarette and fumed at his own cowardice, comparing his spineless performance with that of young Con, who’d stood up to the two women, and been bawled out by O’Donal for his trouble. How relieved he was that none of the guys had seen him climb meekly back into his truck and drive away. When the children came back, they brought a little gang, who clamoured to be allowed on board the truck and begged for gum. The wonder in the children’s eyes at the colossal beast he was in charge of cheered him, and by the time he’d finished his drink, there was an admiring crowd of locals to wave him off. He was in a better mood as he headed for the airbase, but the warm sugary drink had done little to slake his thirst. As he waited at the guardhouse on the perimeter, he could see a detail of black soldiers working on the edge of the runway in the blinding sun.

  ‘Where can I get a drink and a bite to eat around here?’ he asked.

  ‘Not on the base,’ one of them replied. ‘They’ll not serve no black man on here. You should know that.’

  ‘But it’s real hot …’

  ‘Rules is rules,’ another of the men said. ‘You just as black on a hot day as on a cold one.’

  ‘Once you get inside,’ the first man called, ‘see that shed, over by the hangar? We go over there. There’s a water tap outside, you can use that.’

  When his papers had been cleared and he’d parked up, Bo headed over to the shed and waited with four of the work crew, who were filling cans and bottles from the tap.

  ‘The white guys in the hangar, the ones that’s workin’ on the planes, they okay,’ the first guy said. ‘They’ll get us stuff from the PX, and they don’t mind us using their facilities, so long as none of the officers see us. We got a sergeant, but he’s black an’ he don’t mind, as long as the work gets done. Come inside out of the heat.’

  Bo filled the pop bottle he’d bought in the town and followed the men inside. The hut smelt warm and dusty; the walls were lined with bits of metal and broken tools. The men, all from the South, took their places on a collection of battered metal chairs around a wooden table, covered with a piece of red oilcloth. They told him that, since they’d arrived in England, it had been their job to work on the construction and then the maintenance of the airfield. They asked him about the truck, and as the chat went around the table, Bo basked in the men’s respect for his ability to handle the heavy equipment and his technical knowledge of the engine.

  ‘You guys heard how the Tigers do?’ Bo asked, handing round a pack of cigarettes.

  ‘Lost both games of a double header to St Louis Browns, 6–3 5–4. You from Detroit?’ one of the men asked, handing Bo a slice of bread and offering him a tin of ham from his knapsack.

  ‘Sure am,’ Bo replied, drinking the tepid water from the pop bottle.

  ‘You heard about the rioting?’

  ‘I heard some rumours about trouble at the factories. We get some newspapers at the camp. They don’t like us havin’ the black ones.’

  ‘It’s worse than the trouble in the factories, this time,’ a thin-faced man sitting next to him said. ‘Happened at Belle Island at the weekend. Reckon there was thousands involved. Some reckon it was ’cos the place was so crowded that caused it. Black and white out there trying to cool off.’

  ‘I heard a fight at Eastwood Park started it off,’ a plump man said. ‘White sailors chasing some black kid.’

  ‘No. It was ’cos the place was crowded,’ another man said. ‘Squabbles broke out over picnic ovens and such, and pushing in queues. It was real busy. Buses full, boats full, cars stalling on the bridge and crowds of folk walking across tryin’ to get home. Then there was a fight. It’s right; it was an argument between white and black, but it wasn’t a black kid they beat up. They, these sailors, saw the whites was gettin’ the worst of it and joined in. Then hundreds of white folk waiting at the mainland entrance to the bridge started beatin’ on any black that come by.’

  ‘Anyways,’ the first man said, offering Bo another slice of bread, ‘there was hundreds hurt, and when the police arrived, they began beating on the black guys and rounded ’em up. Makes you think we should be back home protecting our own people, don’t it?’

  When the men left to go back to work, Bo dozed fitfully in a chair, but the news from Detroit hung on to his mind. Before heading back to collect his orders, he wandered for a while around the deserted hangar. Then, instead of returning with the transporter as he’d expected, the depot sergeant pointed him to a truck full of supplies for a base near the coast. Filling all the bottles and cans he could find, Bo climbed back in the truck and swung out of the gates, calculating that it would be late evening before he would get back to camp. As the afternoon wore on, he hoped that the heat would ease and once on the open road towards the coast there might be a cool breeze, but on the long road north the air was still and the heat only pressed harder. When he licked his lips his moustache tasted of salt, and no matter how much of the warm water he drank, his mouth stayed dry. He knew there was little chance of the offer of a cool drink at the base where he was heading; the only available water was the faucet used for washing down the trucks. By four o’clock, as he was passing through a small market town, he decided to call at the store to buy himself some fruit and a cool drink; this would mean he wouldn’t have to ask the smirking guys on guard duty for anything. He drew up outside the grocery store and climbed down.

  After the bright sunlight, it took him several moments to adjust to the shop’s dark interior. As his eyes began to focus Bo could see that, unlike the shops in the villages around the camp, this shop was well supplied with fresh vegetables and smelt invitingly of cheese and smoked ham. Alerted by the tinkling doorbell, the woman behind the counter and her lone customer, a plump young woman in a floral dress, looked up from their conversation to see who the new arrival was. When the young woman grabbed her basket, Bo took hold of the door’s brass handle and held it open.

  ‘Good day, ma’am,’ Bo said politely, as she hurried out of the shop.

  When he closed the door again, the woman behind the till had gone. Guessing that she must have slipped out through the door at the back of the shop, Bo looked around at the well-scrubbed counter and the rows of little drawers that ran along the wall at the back of it. Taking in the tinned food stacked high on the shelves, he hoped that he might find some treat to take back for Sadie. He heard the door open again and turned around, expecting to see the same woman, but instead two men stood shoulder to shoulder behind the counter. One of the men was around sixty, and the other a much younger man of about twenty-four or five. From their strong resemblance – watery blue eyes, ruddy complexion and matching pendulous lips – Bo guessed that they must be father and son.

  ‘Good day,’ he said. ‘Can I buy some food and something to drink?’

  ‘No you can’t,’ the older man said. ‘We haven’t got any for sale.’

  ‘Pardon me, sir,’ Bo said, pointing to the large wheel of cheese sitting on the bleached wood counter in front of the men, ‘isn’t that cheese?’

  ‘We haven’t got any for sale,’ the man repeated, ‘or bread.’

  ‘It’s all spoken for,’ the younger man added. ‘We’re closing, so you’d best be on your way.’

  ‘Well, can I buy something to drink?’

  ‘We only keep stuff for local folk here,’ the older man said. ‘We want to shut the shop now, and we don’t want no trouble, and my lad’s asked you once to go.’

  Bo climbed back in his cab and sat for a while under the shade of a tree, sipping tepid water from the pop bottle. It was almost half past five and the street was empty, but the open sign still hung on the door of the little shop. He had been surprised rather than angered by the shopkeeper’s reaction: he was used to being met with curiosity when he called in the small country shops, but he’d been greeted with genuine friendliness as well. He poured the last of the water over his head, and was wiping the water and sweat from his neck, when two small boys appeared in front of the truck. Bo smiled and reached for a pack
of gum: children were always the same, always begging for gum or chocolate. When the first stone hit the truck door it hardly registered, but the second one struck his arm. Bo drove away, leaving behind him the two little boys whooping triumphantly outside the pretty half-timbered store.

  He made good time to the camp. As he waited in the idling truck outside the guardhouse for his papers to be checked, Bo began to hope that he might make it back in time to have a glass of beer in a friendly pub, before he was expected back to camp. He knew that the rest of the guys – except those lucky enough to have passes – would probably be playing or watching baseball and he wondered if any of the other Detroit boys had heard the same rumours. The guard strolled back over and spat on the floor by the truck.

  ‘You gotta take it through. It’s not to be unloaded. Not today, anyways,’ he said, staring into the middle distance. ‘You can sleep in the cab, or underneath it, and get a lift back where you come from in the morning.’

  Bo knew it was pointless to ask for food or water from these guys: any request for help would raise nothing more than a sneer. He drove into the camp, the image of a pint of straw-coloured beer slowly fading away. Then his luck changed; another truck was leaving in less than an hour with emergency supplies needed for a base near Liverpool.

  ‘If you ask me,’ the guy said, ‘they just move this stuff around to keep us busy. I swear to you, that stuff is the same I brought up from the docks there not two days ago.’

  With Bo’s willing help, the truck was fully loaded in less than half an hour, and by the time the sun was going down, they were close to the town. The driver went off his route to get him near home, dropping him off in sight of the row of tall poplar trees and the church spire near the camp. As he jumped down from the truck, Bo could almost taste the sharp straw-coloured beer on his tongue. To avoid the camp, he decided to take a small track that came out at a junction near the edge of the village. He’d only been in the low-beamed pub at the crossroads once before, but when he heard voices inside, he quickly tried to tidy himself up and headed for the bar.