GI Brides: The Wartime Girls Who Crossed the Atlantic for Love

by Barrett, Duncan; Calvi, Nuala

  But Mr O’Connor ignored her completely, nonchalantly lighting up a cigarette and leaving the room.

  The next time Mr O’Connor let Barry fall over, Bob was there to see it too. Mr O’Connor laughed as the child fell and hit his head against a table. Bob rushed over to Barry, rubbing his injured head to soothe his tears, and Sylvia was sure he was about to say something to his father. But he simply picked the boy up and walked out of the room.

  Sylvia ran after him. ‘You’ve got to say something to your father,’ she begged him. ‘He’s deliberately hurting his own grandchild!’

  Bob sighed. ‘I can’t do anything,’ he said, shrugging. ‘We’re living in his house.’

  Sylvia felt utterly desperate. Living with Bob’s father was a nightmare and her husband would do nothing to stand up for her or their son. And with Bob gambling their money away, they were never going to be able to leave. There was only one thing she could do.

  The next day, while Bob was at work, Sylvia took their savings tin out of the cupboard and stuffed all the money into her handbag. Then she took Barry and rode the tram downtown to the Cunard office, where she asked for a third-class ticket on the first boat to England. She handed over the money from her handbag and was given a ticket for the Queen Mary, departing in three weeks’ time.

  When she and Barry got home it was gone 4.30 p.m., and Bob was awake after his afternoon nap. ‘Hi, babycakes,’ he said. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘I went downtown,’ Sylvia replied.

  ‘You went where?’ Bob said, surprised. ‘Downtown?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sylvia said. Then she ran upstairs as quickly as she could and put Barry in his crib. He was tired from the outing and fell asleep straight away.

  Bob followed her into the bedroom. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing’s the matter with me,’ Sylvia said, her heart beating fast. ‘I just bought a ticket home.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m fed up with the way I’m being treated,’ Sylvia blurted out. ‘I can’t stand your dad’s meanness and rudeness, and with you gambling all our money away we’re never going to get out of here. I’m going home.’

  Sylvia had tears streaming down her face by now, and at the sight of her, Bob began to cry too. ‘How long are you going for?’ he asked.

  She could see he was devastated, but the anger that had driven her to come this far was still burning. ‘As long as it takes for you to find us a place of our own,’ she told him. ‘I’m not coming back unless you do.’

  Before long, Mrs O’Connor called them down to dinner. They wiped their tears away and went into the kitchen, Bob looking like a man who’d had the biggest shock of his life. He couldn’t believe that his normally docile wife had made such a bold decision.

  ‘What did you do this afternoon, go shopping?’ Bob’s mother asked Sylvia absentmindedly as they sat down to eat.

  ‘No, Mom,’ Bob said quietly. ‘She went downtown and bought a boat ticket. She’s going back to England.’

  Mrs O’Connor looked astonished. Like her son, all she could say was, ‘What?’

  Sylvia remained calm and collected, but she could feel her cheeks burning red. ‘We need our own place,’ she said, ‘and it doesn’t look like we’re going to get one at the moment, so I decided I’m going home until Bob can find us somewhere.’

  ‘I thought you were saving up for an apartment,’ Mrs O’Connor said, flabbergasted.

  ‘I had to use that money for the ticket,’ Sylvia replied. ‘Bob’s been gambling it away on the horses so I thought I’d better get in there quick while there was still some left.’

  Mrs O’Connor couldn’t argue with that – after all, Sylvia had pleaded with her to stop asking Bob if he wanted a flutter and she had ignored her.

  Sylvia almost felt like smiling. Despite her bright-red cheeks, for the first time since she had arrived at the O’Connors’ she felt powerful.

  For the next three weeks, Bob stuck to Sylvia like glue, following her around as if he was scared she might do a runner early. He was on his best behaviour, not gambling at all, but it didn’t change her mind. She knew that as long as he was surrounded by his family he would go back to it.

  Sylvia wrote to her parents, telling them that she was coming home for a visit. She didn’t say why – she still hadn’t told them how bad things had got, knowing how much her mum would worry. And she had never forgotten what Mrs Bradley had said at the airfield the day she left: ‘You’ve made your bed, and now you’ll have to lie in it.’

  Since Sylvia had read that the Queen Mary had an onboard swimming pool, she went out specially and bought herself a green woollen swimsuit to take with her. But while she was packing the rest of her things for the trip, she made a discovery that filled her with sadness. In a box in the basement of the O’Connors’ house, where Bob had spent so many hours playing cards, the wax headpiece she had worn on her wedding day had melted all over the beautiful white dress her mother had made, and it was completely ruined.

  When the day finally came for Sylvia to leave, Bob rode the train with her to New York. All the way there he kept playing with little Barry, bouncing him up and down on his knee. ‘I’m going to miss you, buddy,’ he said sadly. But Sylvia’s mind was completely set on the course of action she had begun.

  They took a cab to the port and Sylvia’s luggage was taken by a steward to be put on the boat. They hung about for an hour or so until the announcement was made for Queen Mary passengers to embark.

  Bob turned to Sylvia and hugged her tightly. ‘I’ll find a place for us soon,’ he told her. ‘It won’t be long.’

  ‘Goodbye, Bob,’ Sylvia said quietly, hugging him back. All the frustration of the last two years, and her disappointment that he hadn’t stood up to his father, had never stopped her loving him.

  She walked up the gangplank carrying Barry, and turned to wave at Bob. Barry copied her, and then they were gone.

  Now that the war-bride transport operation was over, the Queen Mary was once again a luxury liner, and even third-class passengers like Sylvia had a cinema, a wood-panelled lounge and library, a hairdresser’s and a large dining room with crisp white tablecloths and mahogany chairs.

  The luggage had been delivered to the passengers’ rooms, but Sylvia found hers had not arrived. She caught sight of a friendly looking young steward and asked him if he could locate her suitcase. He promised to find it and went off to look.

  An hour later, the steward knocked on her door. ‘I’m sorry Mrs O’Connor,’ he said, ‘but there’s no sign of your luggage. I don’t know what’s happened to it – it’s definitely not anywhere on the boat.’

  Sylvia couldn’t believe it – she and Barry had a six-and-a-half-day voyage ahead of them, and all she had were half a dozen nappies and a change of clothes for the two of them. At least she had packed her swimsuit in her hand luggage, she thought. ‘Where’s the swimming pool?’ she asked the steward.

  ‘I’m afraid only first- and second-class passengers can go swimming,’ he told her.

  He saw Sylvia’s disappointed face and felt guilty knowing she had been left without her things. ‘Well, I might be able to arrange something,’ he said quietly. ‘The second-class pool is closed for a couple of hours in the middle of the day – I might be able to sneak you in.’

  The next day the steward knocked for her and took her towards the back of the ship where the second-class swimming pool was located. It was a beautiful Art Deco room with columns around the pool, and Sylvia gasped in delight as she saw it. She handed Barry to the steward and went into one of the ladies’ dressing boxes to change into her new green swimsuit. Then she dived in, feeling like a movie star.

  As her body cut through the water, to her horror Sylvia felt her engagement and wedding rings slip off her finger. She came to the surface as quickly as she could, and swam round in circles trying to see where they had gone. ‘I’ve lost my rings!’ she shouted to the steward, who rushed over to the edge of
the pool. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘I’ll get someone to help,’ he replied. Sylvia hastily got out of the pool, wrapped herself in a towel and took Barry from him.

  A few minutes later, the steward came back with one of the life guards, who dived in to search for the rings. Sylvia looked on anxiously as time and again he came back to the surface empty handed. ‘There’s only one thing for it,’ he told the steward. ‘We’re going to have to drain the pool!’

  Sylvia looked on, mortified, as the Queen Mary’s swimming pool was drained just for her – a third-class passenger who wasn’t even meant to be there in the first place. To make matters worse, her woollen swimming suit had stretched a good five inches in the water, leaving her looking very far from the movie star she had felt like when she arrived.

  Sylvia’s rings were eventually returned to her, but the poor steward got in trouble for sneaking her in and she never saw him again.

  When Sylvia arrived in Southampton, her mother, father and two little sisters – now eleven and thirteen – were waiting for her. She could see that her normally strong mother was struggling not to cry, but as Sylvia approached tears began rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘You’ve made it, love!’ Mrs Bradley cried, throwing her arms around her daughter.

  Seeing her mum’s tears, Sylvia realised just how much her family had missed her. When she had left England, all her thoughts had been about her future with Bob and she hadn’t really thought about the impact her departure would have on the lives of those around her. But her sister Audrey told her that, when she left, their mother had cried every night for three months.

  Mr Bradley’s face lit up as soon as he saw Barry – his first grandchild – and he covered him in kisses. Meanwhile, Sylvia’s sisters were delighted to have a little nephew to pet.

  Back in Woolwich, all the neighbours came round, eager for news about America. ‘What’s it like?’ ‘Is it as big as they say?’ ‘Does everyone have a car?’

  ‘Well, not everyone has a car,’ Sylvia had to admit. ‘But it is very big.’

  Sylvia hadn’t wanted to burden her mother with how bad things had got at the O’Connors’, but once everyone else had gone home, she told her a little of how her father-in-law had treated her. Mrs Bradley was outraged. ‘Bloody old sod,’ she fumed. ‘I’d like to punch him on the nose!’ Nor was she happy to hear that Mrs O’Connor had her daughter doing all the housework for a mere two dollars a week. ‘She must have thought you were her skivvy,’ she said.

  Over the next few days, Sylvia saw how different Barry’s relationship with his English grandfather was to that with Mr O’Connor. He was the apple of Mr Bradley’s eye, who clearly loved having a little boy in the family. Barry, meanwhile, could call him Granddad without incurring his wrath.

  After three weeks, Sylvia’s luggage finally arrived with an apology note from Cunard. It turned out that her suitcase had gone on the Queen Elizabeth by mistake. ‘Typical!’ she said.

  A letter also arrived from Bob. ‘I miss you and Barry so much,’ he wrote. ‘I’ve gotten used to having you around, and now I’m all on my own at home. Please come back soon.’

  But Sylvia knew she had to be strong. ‘If you find somewhere for us to live, I’ll come back,’ she wrote to him.

  As the weeks went by and she waited to hear whether Bob would be true to his word, Sylvia settled more and more into her old life. She felt an enormous sense of relief to be surrounded by familiar things and familiar people once again. She met up with her former workmate Peggy for lunch in London, taking the train up to Charing Cross, just like she had done so many times when going to work at the Piccadilly Hotel. She remembered how exciting it had felt the first time she made the journey, when she had gone to work ‘Up West’, and smiled to think how much further west she had ended up travelling just a few years later. After eating at Lyons Corner House, they took Barry to feed the pigeons in Trafalgar Square. It was strange to see central London now empty of Americans – as if the ‘friendly invasion’ had been just a dream.

  After a few months, Bob had still not written to say he had got them an apartment, and Sylvia realised people were beginning to wonder whether she was really planning to return to America. A friend had even offered her a job in the offices of the Woolwich Co-op. It was hard for Sylvia to know what to say to such offers when she herself didn’t know how long she was going to be in England.

  When a letter finally came announcing that Bob had found them somewhere to live, Sylvia felt torn. She still loved Bob, and she was glad that he had at last done what she wanted, but she had been so unhappy in America that part of her recoiled at the idea of returning.

  Sylvia was a girl of strong principles, however. She had sworn in her marriage vows that she would stand by Bob for the rest of her life, and she had promised him she would come back to America once he found them a place to live. She didn’t feel she could break either of her pledges.

  The next day, Sylvia went up to the Cunard shipping office in London to book her return journey. But it seemed that every man and his dog suddenly wanted to travel, and she was told there was no availability. A small part of her felt relieved that she had been given an extension to her trip. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t get passage at the moment,’ she wrote to Bob. ‘I’ll try again soon.’

  Back in Baltimore, her husband was getting more and more nervous. He feared that if Sylvia stayed too long, she might change her mind.

  A few weeks later, Sylvia tried again to buy a ticket at the Cunard office, but again she was turned away.

  Bob was now frantic. It was nearly seven months since he had waved his wife and son goodbye in New York. In desperation, he contacted a local politician in Baltimore, mentioning that he was an ex-serviceman and begging for help in returning his wife to him. A month later, he wrote to say that he had managed to get Sylvia passage on an American ship, the SS Washington.

  When she gave her parents the news, Sylvia could see the pain in their eyes. Once again, they dutifully went to see their daughter off as she left them for America, not knowing how many years they would be parted. ‘Promise you’ll write this time if things get really bad,’ Mrs Bradley said.

  Sylvia could see how difficult it was for her dad in particular to be parted from the grandchild he had grown to love so much. Poor Barry called out ‘Granddad! Granddad!’ as they set sail on the ship, looking around desperately for the man who had become like a second father to him.

  The SS Washington was nothing like the luxurious Queen Mary, and when they hit stormy weather in the Irish Sea, it rocked ferociously. Sylvia was very seasick, but she had to keep going to meal sittings in order to feed Barry, no matter how queasy she felt.

  Despite her sickness, Sylvia began to feel more and more hopeful the closer they got to New York. At last, she and Bob would be away from his hateful father, and free from the influence of his gambling relatives. They could finally make the proper start they should have done before.

  When the ship arrived and Sylvia finally saw Bob, she felt a rush of love for him. He threw his arms around her and Barry, and they were a family once again.

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ he said. ‘The apartment we’ve got isn’t going to be ready for a few days . . .’

  ‘Okay,’ Sylvia said cautiously.

  ‘But my best man Don’s moved into a new place and he says we can stay there while he’s on holiday.’

  They took the train back to Baltimore, and then rode out of town several miles on the bus to an area of new-build starter homes called the Elmwood Development, which had recently been constructed on former farmland.

  ‘This is Don’s place,’ Bob said, taking out a key to one of the houses and ushering her inside. ‘What do you think?’

  Sylvia took a look around. Everything was brand, spanking new – a white L-shaped kitchen with a wall of cabinets, a washing machine and a small refrigerator, a sitting room furnished in American colonial-style furniture and a good-sized master b
edroom.

  ‘Did you see the back room?’ Bob asked. He led her into a smaller room that had a child’s bed in it.

  ‘I didn’t know Don and his wife had a child,’ Sylvia said, confused.

  ‘They don’t. It’s for Barry,’ Bob said, grinning impishly from ear to ear. ‘This is our house. I got a GI loan and bought it for us!’

  ‘Bob!’ Sylvia cried, throwing her arms around him.

  She was overjoyed. The painful eight months of separation had all been worth it. Now she had a beautiful, fully furnished house to call her own. And best of all, it was a good six miles from Bob’s parents.

  26

  Rae

  Since she had confronted Raymond about his past infidelities, Rae had done her best to put her feelings of hurt and betrayal behind her. She had thrown the letter she had written to her family onto the fire, watching the corners of the paper curl in the flames as she tried to exorcise from her mind the awful things she had heard about her husband.

  In a way, it surprised Rae how quickly things had gone back to normal, at least on the surface. Raymond would go off to work every morning, she would stay at home as before and do the ironing, and when he got home she would scrub the coal off his back like a dutiful wife. But there was a crack in the relationship that no one else could see – Rae and Raymond were no longer sleeping together.

  At the weekends, Raymond was also spending less and less time with her. When he wasn’t out hunting or fishing with the other men in the family, he and a friend would often drive to Steubenville, a town just over the state border in Ohio. Raymond explained that his friend was buying costume jewellery for a business he was setting up, and that he enjoyed tagging along for the ride. Rae was a little disappointed that despite repeated trips Raymond never bought any jewellery for her, but she didn’t push the issue. She already felt like there was a growing distance between them and she had no intention of provoking another argument.