That weekend, Lawrence’s younger sister Judy was getting married, and he had agreed to give her away. The whole family was convening in Atlanta for the wedding, and with no reason to stay in Akron any more, Margaret and her husband packed their bags, took the girls and headed back to Georgia. ‘I’ll get a job there,’ Lawrence told her, confidently.
‘All right,’ Margaret replied wearily. As they left Ohio, she remembered how hopeful she had felt when they had first arrived, and she couldn’t believe what a disaster the whole scheme had been. She didn’t care what came next – nothing could be as wretched as living in the middle of nowhere, waiting for Lawrence to come home and drink himself half to death.
The family had booked a suite of rooms in a hotel downtown, and Margaret felt a sense of overwhelming relief at being in a city again, not to mention seeing Lawrence’s family. Ellen greeted her like a sister, and Margaret could tell she was shocked to see how thin and tired she looked. ‘He’s worse again, isn’t he?’ she asked, and Margaret nodded, too upset to speak. She had coped on her own for so many months, but now that she finally had someone sympathetic to speak to, she couldn’t help bursting into tears.
The marriage ceremony took place at the Winship Chapel of the First Presbyterian Church, a beautiful old building with enormous stained-glass windows. Judy, a pretty, red-haired girl, looked stunning in an eggshell-satin wedding dress that had belonged to her great-grandmother, Eliza McCaskill. Around his younger sister, Lawrence seemed like his old self, making her giggle as he walked her down the aisle by whispering, ‘Are you sure you want to do this? You just say and we’ll turn around and get out of here!’
For her part, Judy clearly adored her older brother. At the wedding reception, she told Margaret how, before the war, she and Lawrence had lived together in Washington, where he was working for the Ministry of Agriculture and she was a secretary for a Georgia senator. ‘I remember when I came back crying because I had letters to send out to a whole heap of constituents, and I hadn’t got half of them done,’ she told her. ‘Lawrence said, “Well, that’s no problem – we’ll write ’em tonight!” and he stayed up all night long helping me finish the job. That’s how kind my brother is.’
Her story reminded Margaret of the charming man she had first met in London, and she felt a stab of sadness.
When they got back to the hotel that night after the reception Lawrence was drunk as usual, and quickly fell into a stupor. By the time Margaret woke the next morning he was already on the bottle again.
There was a knock on the door and Margaret opened it to find Ellen and Jack, who had come to say goodbye before they went back to Arlington.
‘Wait a minute,’ Lawrence called out. ‘Can you do something for me? Take the kids until we get settled here. Just until I find a place and get a job.’
Margaret could see from the look on Jack’s face that the last thing he wanted was to bail out his brother-in-law again. ‘No, Lawrence,’ he said, ‘we can’t do that. We’ve got four children at home ourselves.’
‘Ellen, come on!’ Lawrence begged his sister. ‘Just till we get settled!’
But Ellen shook her head. This time, she was sticking by her husband.
Lawrence was already halfway drunk, and he was furious at not getting his way. Before any of them could stop him, he grabbed baby Maeve out of her carrycot, ran over to the window, opened it, and dangled the child outside by the back of her collar.
Margaret screamed.
‘Lawrence, for God’s sake, what are you doing?’ cried Ellen.
‘No one move, or I’ll drop her!’ Lawrence shouted. ‘Now, promise me you’ll take the kids. Promise me! Or I swear I’ll let go!’
‘I’ll take them, I’ll take them!’ his sister exclaimed.
At that, Lawrence brought the baby back inside and handed her to Ellen.
Shocked by his behaviour, the Cowarts hurried away, taking Maeve and Rosamund with them. Ellen threw Margaret a sympathetic look, and they were gone.
Margaret hurled herself down onto the bed and burst into tears. For the first time since she had married Lawrence, she felt true hatred for him.
Despite his drinking, Lawrence managed to talk his way into a job on an Atlanta newspaper. He had written a few articles for them when he was in the Canadian Army, about being a Georgia boy abroad, and now they agreed to make him a staff writer.
He and Margaret moved to an apartment in Hapeville, south of Atlanta, and she noticed that Lawrence seemed much happier as a journalist than he had been working for Goodyear. She could see that it suited him better than a corporate job – he had more freedom to come and go as he pleased, and he certainly fitted into the heavy-drinking culture.
But she was desperate to get the children back again, and made frequent attempts to persuade him.
‘Margaret, can’t you see I’m only just getting back on my feet?’ he retorted. ‘Do you want everything to go downhill like it did before?’
All Margaret could do was keep trying. In the meantime, she got herself a job as a typist, and tried to save as much of her wages as she could. She was determined that when Rosamund and Maeve did come to live with them, they wouldn’t go hungry again.
But with no children around, and his wife working, Lawrence simply relinquished all responsibility for the bills. Margaret found herself having to pay for almost everything, which on her small salary was a struggle. She had no choice but to do it or risk them being evicted, but once again she found it was hard to find enough money to buy food.
In Arlington, the Cowarts were struggling to cope with six children to look after. Ellen’s patience with her brother was running out, and one day she decided they would have to send the girls back.
Jack Cowart drove Rosamund and Maeve to Atlanta in the pick-up truck. ‘Enough is enough,’ he told Lawrence, handing the kids over. ‘You’re taking your children back.’
Margaret was over the moon to have her daughters with her again, but it put Lawrence in a black mood. That night, he railed drunkenly at Margaret, telling her, ‘You’ve ruined my life with your babies!’
Now that she had her children, Margaret could no longer work, and she lived in constant fear that they would be evicted. She begged Lawrence for money whenever she saw him, and once again fell to picking his pockets when he passed out drunk. She was more worried about money than ever, since she had just found out that she was pregnant again.
Meanwhile, she was increasingly concerned about Rosamund, who seemed to be somewhat behind in her development. She hadn’t started walking until she was one and a half, and at two and a half she could still only say single words.
Margaret thought back to Rosamund’s difficult birth, and how she had started trying to breathe too early. The doctors in England had been unable to say if those first moments being deprived of oxygen would affect her, but now it seemed clear that they had. Margaret was desperate to take her daughter to a doctor, but she knew that would cost money.
She waited for Lawrence to come home that evening, planning what she would say to convince him to pay for the appointment. But when he did, he was drunk as usual.
‘She doesn’t need to see any doctor,’ he slurred. ‘We both know why she’s like she is, and it’s all your fault!’
‘What do you mean, it’s my fault?’ Margaret said. ‘She was deprived of oxygen when she was born.’
‘You tried to abort her with a coat hanger!’ he shouted.
Margaret felt fury rising in her. She had suffered under this man for so long, and to hear him now place their daughter’s problems at her door was just too much. ‘How dare you!’ she screamed. ‘How dare you blame me, you worthless drunk. What kind of father are you? You can’t even feed your family!’
Lawrence’s eyes flashed with anger, and suddenly Margaret felt his fists beating her around the head, pummelling her over and over again until she couldn’t see or hear anything any more. She collapsed into a heap on the ground and he stormed out of the house, slamming the door, the sound of hi
s crying children following him down the street.
When Margaret looked in the mirror the next morning, the sight of her bruised face filled her with horror. She had put up with Lawrence’s drunkenness and neglect, but he had never been violent before. She was terrified that if he attacked her again he might harm not only her, but the unborn baby.
The next day, a letter arrived addressed to Margaret in Ellen’s handwriting. She tore it open and discovered inside a stack of dollars, along with a letter from her sister-in-law, explaining that the money had come for Lawrence from the Canadian Army. ‘I’m sending it to you, because I thought you might need it,’ Ellen had written.
Margaret knew exactly what to do. She took the money and booked herself and her daughters onto the next boat out of New York.
20
Gwendolyn
Driving through San Jose, along streets lined with palm trees under an azure-blue sky, Lyn felt like she was entering a picture postcard. It couldn’t have been more different from the dock town she had grown up in.
Ben chose a route that took them down The Alameda, one of the town’s oldest and most exclusive streets.
‘Is your parents’ house one of these?’ asked Lyn excitedly, staring up at the enormous mansions.
‘I’m afraid not,’ laughed Ben.
Soon they arrived in Little Italy, where Lyn saw delis with awnings in the colours of the Italian flag, old men playing bocce and groups of women chattering loudly in Italian.
‘This is us,’ said Ben, pulling up at a large house. It looked odd to Lyn, and she couldn’t work out why. Then she realised – it was made entirely of wood. Where are the bricks? she wondered.
Lyn took out her compact mirror and checked her face. She was never normally one to get spots, but she was run down after the long journey and had an enormous pimple on her cheek. She was painfully embarrassed at the thought of Ben’s family seeing it. Hopefully they would realise how tired she was and suggest she go straight to bed.
‘My mom’s organised a big dinner to welcome you to the family,’ Ben told her.
‘Oh no – but I just want to lie down!’ said Lyn.
‘I’m sorry. She kinda insisted.’
Lyn sighed and powdered her nose, as Ben took her things out of the boot. Then she followed him up the steps to the porch, where the door flew open to reveal a crowd of people, all bustling to be the first to meet her. Ben’s mother got there first, pulling Lyn to her bosom. A light-skinned Italian, what she lacked in natural beauty Mrs Patrino made up for in her perfectly coiffed hair and smart clothes. Mr Patrino, a handsome man much darker than his wife, took his new daughter-in-law’s hand and greeted her in heavily accented English. His eldest son, Leo, had evidently inherited his good looks, while Leo’s young wife Thelma seemed like a movie star, with her perfect hour-glass figure.
When Leo went to kiss Lyn on the cheek, she remembered her pimple and instinctively turned away. ‘Cold fish,’ she heard him mutter to his younger brother Armand.
Before she could respond, Lyn found herself faced with a stream of introductions. It seemed the entire extended family had come round in her honour and she estimated there must be more than twenty people there.
Lyn could see through to an immaculate dining room, which contained the longest table she had ever seen, decorated with beautiful glass candlesticks and expertly laid.
‘Why don’t you go take a shower before we eat?’ Mrs Patrino said. Something in her tone made it sound less like a suggestion and more like an order.
‘I don’t need to take a shower,’ Lyn replied. She had never liked being told what to do.
‘Go take a shower,’ Mrs Patrino repeated.
Several of the aunties and uncles were listening to the conversation. Lyn felt her cheeks burning. Was Ben’s mother suggesting, in front of them all, that she wasn’t clean?
‘I’m sorry, but I’ll take a shower when I want to,’ she said. She was exhausted and overwhelmed and sorely wished she could go to bed.
Ben took her by the arm. ‘Why don’t we sit down?’ he suggested, taking her over to the dining table. The other guests followed suit.
‘Let’s see the rings!’ cried her new sister-in-law Thelma, and all the aunties excitedly craned their necks as Lyn held up her hand, now decorated with the diamond engagement ring and gold band Ben had given her at the station, in place of the old pot-metal ring that had been there before.
‘You must be so relieved to finally have them,’ said Ben’s Auntie Catherine.
‘Oh, I didn’t mind the other one,’ Lyn replied. She didn’t want to seem like she was criticising Ben’s mother for the fact that her parcel hadn’t got through.
But she realised from the look on Mrs Patrino’s face that her comment had not been taken as intended. Ben’s mother didn’t say anything, and bustled out to the kitchen.
She returned soon afterwards with the first course: plates of an enormous, spiky, bulb-like vegetable. ‘What is it?’ Lyn whispered to Ben.
‘Artichoke,’ he told her.
Lyn watched as the others peeled off a layer at a time and dipped the pieces in oil before sucking on them. Cautiously, she tried peeling off a layer of her artichoke. She sucked on the end of the leaf, but it was hard, and nothing came away.
‘You’ve got it the wrong way round,’ said Ben, laughing. He took the piece from her and turned it around.
‘Oh, whoops,’ said Lyn, trying to cover the mistake, but prompting laughter from around the table.
The next course was equally alien, but Ben informed her it was called ravioli. The little parcels of pasta were covered in a tomato sauce, heavily flavoured with garlic, and to Lyn the taste was overwhelming.
To her surprise, that wasn’t even the main course, and now a further dish was presented, this time of meat. Again, tomatoes and garlic featured heavily.
The conversation was mainly about food, as the women discussed the pros and cons of different recipes and, to Lyn’s surprise, the men joined in passionately too.
Lyn attempted to contribute. ‘We don’t eat garlic in England.’
‘Oh, don’t we?’ said Mrs Patrino. Once again, Lyn’s comment had not been well received.
Lyn felt more desperate than ever to lie down somewhere comfortable and private, but she knew she had to struggle on until the interminable meal was over.
At last, Mrs Patrino brought out a large apple tart, and Lyn realised the banquet was drawing to a close. She silently thanked God for the sight of something that did not, as far as she could see, contain garlic, oil or tomato. The tart was delicious, and was followed by tiny cups of bitter coffee. Lyn found it undrinkable, but didn’t dare ask for tea.
Afterwards, she reached for her cigarettes. A good smoke always followed a meal in her parents’ household. But before she had opened the packet, Ben’s brother Leo said, ‘Put that away.’
Lyn assumed he was going to offer her one of his. ‘Can I have a fag off you then?’ she asked.
Leo simply stared at her, and Ben nudged her to be quiet. She was too exhausted to work out what she had said wrong this time.
After much hugging and kissing, the Patrinos said goodbye to their guests, and only Ben’s parents and his younger brother Armand remained. ‘We’ve put you in our room, so you can get a good sleep,’ Mrs Patrino told Lyn. It was the first night Lyn and Ben would be spending together since their honeymoon five months before, and she couldn’t wait to be in his arms again. But to her horror, with no spare beds in the house, Mr Patrino had taken the couch in the living room and Mrs Patrino had set up camp in the corridor, right outside their door.
There was little chance of a romantic night with her mother-in-law in such close proximity, and the thought of her out there sent Lyn into hysterics. ‘Cut it out!’ Ben pleaded, but it was no use – the giggles were unstoppable.
A few hours later, Lyn had finally drifted into a much-needed sleep when she was woken by a shuffling sound. She looked round, bleary-eyed, and saw the o
utline of a man in just a nightshirt stumbling towards her with arms outstretched. His eyes were open but had a strange, glazed look in them.
Lyn let out a piercing scream that made Ben sit bolt upright. The man, who Lyn now realised was Ben’s brother Armand, blinked in confusion.
‘What’s he doing here?’ Lyn cried.
Mrs Patrino came flying into the bedroom, slamming on the light. ‘Armand! Back to bed!’ she barked, and Ben’s brother, now awake and intensely embarrassed to find himself in the wrong bedroom in just his night shirt, scuttled out.
Lyn collapsed into a shaking heap. After her long journey, the endless dinner full of humiliations and now this ordeal, her nerves were frayed. ‘Is this how it’s going to be living here?’ she asked Ben. ‘Your mother sleeps outside the door and your brother wanders in with no trousers on?’
Ben tried to soothe her, holding her to him. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘We’ll get our own place as soon as I can find a job.’
It was well into the early hours before Lyn fell asleep for a second time.
In the morning, Armand’s sleepwalking was not mentioned, but breakfast brought a fresh embarrassment. ‘Do you want one egg or two?’ Mrs Patrino asked Lyn.
‘I couldn’t possibly eat two of your eggs,’ she replied. She was used to the wartime ration of one a week.
Mrs Patrino stared at her as if she was mad. ‘What are you doing with this one?’ she asked Ben, gesturing at Lyn, and went off to make the breakfast, shaking her head.
Mrs Patrino gave Lyn one day off to recover from her journey, but after that she began instructing her about her responsibilities as Ben’s wife. First, there was the laundry – which, in an Italian household, was solely the responsibility of the women.
Mrs Patrino proudly showed Lyn her brand-new washing machine, knowing she would never have seen one before. ‘Aren’t you glad you’re in America now?’ she asked.
Lyn bristled at the comment. It reminded her of people back home who thought GI brides only got married as a ticket to a better life. ‘I’m here for Ben,’ she retorted.
GI Brides: The Wartime Girls Who Crossed the Atlantic for Love Page 18