There were many lonely soldiers and airmen who visited the local canteen where I helped out. Many tried to know me better, but I never yielded to any such temptation. Spence had been correct when he’d said on that long ago summer afternoon, in 1935, that we had known one another forever. I still believed that he was my soul mate, and if I hadn’t believed that I couldn’t have endured.
The Western Allies raced the Russians to be first into Berlin, and the Russians won. They reached the Capitol on 21 April, and three days later Hitler killed himself. That was two days after Mussolini had been captured and hung by the Italian partisans. Germany finally surrendered on 7 May, and the war in Europe was over. On 8 May, Victory in Europe Day was celebrated the world over. Throngs and throngs of people by the thousands crammed into London streets, shouting and singing. The King and Queen and their family came onto the balcony to receive the praises of their people. It was reported that the Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret were allowed to put head scarves on, and go out into the crowds to celebrate like any other ordinary young girls.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
June, 1945
Home
The question foremost in my mind in May 1945, was when or if Spence would be coming home. My whole life hung in the balance. I still had no certain confirmation that he had been a Prisoner of War. Then, finally, we received a wire from the war department informing us the Group Captain Spencer Ryan Stanton had been a Prisoner of War at a permanent camp for officers, south of Berlin. In close proximity was a nearby hospital that made use of captured doctors and medical corpsmen to treat wounded prisoners. So Captain Ian French had been correct. I was relieved to learn that this camp was considered a model of civilized internment. At that site, The Geneva Convention of 1929 was complied with. But, it was still a Prisoner of War Camp and had to be beastly. A second wire arrived saying that Captain Stanton had been liberated and would be setting foot on English soil again very soon. He was being flown to RAF Fowlmere, where he would be processed and allowed to proceed by train to his home. I didn’t yet know the precise date, nor the train’s timetable, but no matter. The vitally important elements were present. Spence was alive, well, and coming back to me. I felt a myriad of emotions. Elation, of course, quickly followed by apprehension. What if he’d changed? What if I had changed? I tried to push such fears aside, and concentrate upon the memories we’d made together, and those we would continue to make through the years that lay ahead.
The French were apparently the first prisoners to be flown out, as General Charles de Gaulle obtained first priority from General Dwight Eisenhower. The Americans and the Brits waited, but finally were moved out to nearby German airfields and transported to Combat Personnel Replacement Depots on the French Channel Coast. From there they were taken to various bases throughout England. It was then that I finally learned the horrific story of what my husband had endured. I had a call from Captain Ian French, shortly after VE Day, asking if I could make time to see him. Of course I told him that I could see him at any time he wished. We made arrangements for him to come to Willow Grove Abbey for dinner and a sleep-over. When he arrived, Papa mixed him a drink and we settled into the drawing room, while he launched into the tale of Spence’s last ordeal. He had already spoken to some of the other men who had been imprisoned with Spence, so he knew the entire story.
We learned that Spence had been seized almost immediately after his Spitfire had crashed. He had been taken first to the Luftwaffe Aircrew Interrogation Centre, where all Allied aviators were deposited after they were captured. There, each new soldier was put through horrific questioning, and then kept in solitary confinement. Subsequently they were moved to the camp south of Berlin. During the years he was there, he had been busy patching up wounded Germans, and sending them back out to their death. There was no question that he had been terribly glad to be able to use his medical skills. That probably kept him sane. Up until the end, the imprisonment was certainly no worse than that of many other captured soldiers, and probably much better than some, He was not beaten, and received an adequate diet. He was also allowed six hours of sleep a night, in order to be clear headed when he performed surgery. The end of his imprisonment was what brought the nightmare. In January of 1945, Hitler apparently wasn’t ready to surrender just yet, although it was plainly clear for everyone to see that the Allies had conquered Germany, and kept the world free. It was only a matter of time until triumph was complete. Hitler issued an order to vacate Spence’s camp in January of 1945. Apparently Hitler was worried that the Russians would free the over 11,000 Allied pilots in the camp and he wanted to detain them as hostages.
The prisoners were queued up outside in vicious weather, and remained there for hours while the piercing wind actually froze their uniforms. Beginning to move near midnight, they hadn’t the slightest notion where they were destined. It was an evil, atrocious trek. They were in the midst of a savage snowstorm, and they staggered along in sleet and ice. There were seven Allied doctors, and they were given no medications or aid by the Germans. Spence was one of them. After trudging all day, they spent their nights giving assistance to those who were sick. They were on the march again when dawn broke. When no medication was available, their encouragement and wit helped men who thought they couldn’t keep going.
Finally, on 29 January, they stumbled into a small German town, where all of them crumpled. They stayed in that place for nearly twenty-four hours, before they were ordered to make the sixteen mile trek to a bit larger village, where they were then crammed into railcars. Half stood, while the other half sat. The cars were designed to hold only forty people, but they were filled with nearly sixty. It was a three-day horror story. There was only one, small pail for use in relieving themselves, and it soon overflowed. There was nothing to eat. The odor of vomit and feces permeated the air. At long last, the train came to a halt, and the soldiers were then placed into a broken down complex, surrounded by barbed wire fencing, which encircled wooden billets. They were in deplorable condition, and had been erected to house other prisoners. There were fleas and the buildings were rat infested, and absolutely filthy. There, Spence spent the remaining days of World War II, knowing that the Allies were pressing forward, and praying for freedom, but still suffering from trauma, anxiety, and hunger.
On the morning of 29 April, 1945, elements of the 14-Armored Division of Patton’s third Army attacked the SS troops guarding the camp where Spence was imprisoned. The prisoners all scrambled for safety. Some kissed the ground, while others crawled into open concrete incinerators. Bullets flew haphazardly, but finally the American’s broke through. The first tank entered, taking the barbed wire fence with it. The prisoners went totally bonkers. They clambered to the top of the tanks in huge numbers, and nearly suffocated one another. They were free. Spence was at long last freed, and he would be coming home to England. Coming home to me, and his daughter, and a world that had changed in every way imaginable.
Captain French stayed as our guest two days, and he was so overcome with the comfort he found waiting for him at Willow Grove that he made us promise him he could bring his wife back to visit our splendid home someday. Naturally, we were more than happy to make such a pact. I told him that he could stay and greet Spence with us if he wanted, but he was most anxious to return to his own home, in Yorkshire, and said that he thought it would be inappropriate to intrude on such a private event.
The entire world had been engulfed in Adolph Hitler’s insane desire to rule the globe. The War had stretched from Europe to North Africa, from the Philippines to Burma and Japan. When it was over, nearly 50 million people were dead, and hundreds of cities had been completely destroyed.
My brothers had come through those awful years, and of course we were all thankful for that. Blake had been at RAF Kinloss in Morayshire, Scotland, so had never been far from Susan. In fact, by that time, they had a little girl, Alexandra, of whom I knew little, since there was still an estrangement between my brother and me. I supposed that
Blake and Susan would remain in Scotland, following the war, although it had always been planned that he would take over the London offices of Somerville Ltd. someday. Things seemed in a bit of a muddle as far as Blake was concerned. It had been so long since I had been close with him or even had any sort of conversation. I scarcely felt it mattered what he chose to do with his life.
Andrew had been posted to Scotland as well, at Scapa Flow Naval Base, where he’d performed the duties of Chaplin. While he’d seen no action at sea, he’d certainly experienced his share of sorrow in dealing with those men and women who’d faced the trauma and fear of battle. Annie had been with him throughout, and there’s no question that, while happy for them, I also felt some envy at their togetherness. They too had become parents. In 1944 a little boy named Nigel, after his grandfather, was born. They came to Willow Grove Abbey on three occasions during the war, and it was lovely to see that they had formed such a nice family. Isabella thought it wonderful to have a cousin. I didn’t know what their plans would be now that the madness had ended. Of course, my parents hoped that Andrew would choose to return to his home, and take up the clerical duties as vicar at St. Mary and St. Edward Chapel. That had always been the original plan, but so much seemed to have changed since the time when we’d been young, making plans for a future that hadn’t included violent upheaval in all of our lives.
Finally, another wire came, telling me that Spence would be arriving on the 4:57 p.m. train at Bedminster-with-Hartfcliffe. Everything became chaotic. Mummy automatically expected that she and Papa would be accompanying me to the station. I, on the other hand, wasn’t certain that I wanted them to be there. I would be seeing my husband for the first time in four, long years. In addition, there was the question of Isabella. Would it be better for me to greet Spence alone, and then let him become re-acquainted with his daughter in the natural surroundings of Willow Grove, or would he want her to be there, with me, at the station? Isabella solved that dilemma, for she insisted firmly that she would indeed be at the station to see her Papa come home from the war. Once I realized how strongly Isabella felt about the subject, there was no question that the two of us would be waiting for him on the platform. I finally decided, however, that my parents would have to wait to share in the joy of his homecoming. I simply chose, for once in my life, to selfishly savor the moment without the interference, and often-stressful presence, of my parents.
On June 6th, 1945, one year to the day that the Allied Forces had stormed the beaches of Normandy, turning the tide of the War, Isabella and I stood nervous and anxious at the small station house at Bedminster-with-Hartcliffe. There were no other persons waiting to meet the train. I was much too tense to sit down, so I paced up and down the platform peering as far as I could down the tracks to see if there was a locomotive in sight. I’d taken great care with my appearance although I’d had to make do with a not-so-new ensemble. Still it was a lovely summer dress, with a halter-top and nipped-in waistline, made of white cotton pique. I decided against gloves and hat, opting to let my hair, which had grown quite long, spill across my shoulders in a cascade of curls. I clipped it to the side with a pearl-encrusted barrette. Around my neck, I wore a simple, pearl cross. I was still only twenty-eight years old, although I had enough tragedy in my life to make me feel ninety. Isabella was also in white... starched cotton with pleated top and full skirt, and white Mary-Jane shoes with anklets. I held her hand as we waited, although at close to nine years of age, she was beginning to want more independence. She was still tiny for her age, a petite little girl, with long, dark curls and wide blue eyes. Finally, a train whistled in the distance, followed by the familiar roar of a diesel engine. My pulse was thumping, and I could scarcely contain myself. Isabella let go of my hand, and began to jump up and down, yelling. “Here comes my Papa.” I wanted to shout along with her. The train came to a slow stop and suddenly there he was, standing between cars waiting to leap to the platform.
If I had been worried that I wouldn’t know him, or that I’d think him a stranger, I quickly found that those fears were laid to rest. He was the Spence I had always known. My handsome, dear, dashing RAF pilot. Older yes, and weary, of course, looking thinner and somewhat gaunt, his dark hair flecked with silver. Nevertheless, his blue eyes still held their piercing quality, and he still flashed his wonderful dimpled smile. I ran to him as he leaped to the platform. In one quick movement I was in his arms. He kissed me hard and long, and I couldn’t believe that it was finally happening. I buried my face in the rough fabric of his uniform, as I’d always loved to do, and rubbed my cheek against his, whispering how very much I had missed him, and how dearly I loved him. Isabella stood anxiously awaiting her turn, and while still holding an arm about my waist, he reached down and scooped his daughter up with his free arm.
“Oh, my beautiful daughter! You have gone and grown up while Papa has been away. But, you’ve grown more beautiful too,” he laughed, giving her a big kiss.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and said, “I love you Papa and I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Oh my precious, I’m so glad too,” he smiled. We have so much time to make up for, don’t we?”
We presented a lovely picture, standing there at the station. A father who hadn’t seen his daughter in four years, a little girl who was so proud and happy that she was about to burst with joy, and a glowing, wife, whose love and happiness radiated from her being. Spence shook hands with Joseph, who had tears in his eyes. Bags were fetched, and in the blink of an eye we were in the car and headed back to Willow Grove Abbey. It felt so wonderful to have him there beside me. So right. Isabella kept up a constant stream of chatter about all of the things she wanted to show him, and the plans she had for him. Those included meeting all of her school chums, watching how well she played tennis, going for ice cream together in the village, playing chess with him, and his helping with her homework, just to name a few. Spence and I smiled at one another, and he reached over and put his arm over my shoulders, pulling me closely.
“Have I told you how utterly lovely you are?” he whispered to me.
“Have I told you that you’re still the most devastatingly handsome man I’ve ever known?” I replied. He squeezed my hand, and I felt the familiar tingle go down my spine. In that moment I knew that everything was going to be all right. The worst was behind us. We had weathered such an enormous storm... storms, really... and I knew that the future held many, many years of happiness. Finally we could look ahead to our own home. Finally, there was no more worry about Edwina. I could be independent again, with no more listening to the bickering of my parents. Spence and I would watch Isabella grow to be a young lady and woman, basking in our happiness. I couldn’t imagine that anything on Earth could compare with what we had been through. I had no idea what lay ahead. However, there was no question that I believed with all of my heart that we were meant to be together, and we would face the future with that uppermost in our minds.
About The Author
Mary Christian Payne is an accomplished business woman, who has held high ranking, management positions with Fortune 500 companies, in New York City, St. Louis, Missouri, Orlando, Florida, and Tulsa, Oklahoma. She is a recipient of the Mayor’s Pinnacle Award in Tulsa, for directing a highly successful program at The Women’s Resource Center at the University of Tulsa. All of these positions involved significant amounts of writing. She has also acted as a speech writer for high profile political figures, and for executives of major corporations.
She is now a retired Career Psychologist. She was the founder and President of Transitions Counseling Center, in partnership with her father, the retired CEO of a four billion dollar retail organization. She has taught seminars throughout Oklahoma. Mary Christian is a world traveler, and has spent extensive time in England, thus creating an excellent foundation for writing novels set in Great Britain. The era of World War II has always held tremendous appeal for her, and she is a committed Anglophile. The daughter of an Army Major during W
orld War II, she grew up hearing countless stories of that tumultuous and romantic time.
Willow Grove Abbey: A Historical World War II Romance Novel (The Somerville Trilogy) Page 44