‘She’s goin’ home, folks!’ he called to everyone present. ‘To my home, my folks. An’ lemme tell yer somethin’, huh? When my kid’s born, I want every one of you sonoverbitches to go out and toast him with a tank of Bud!’
‘Him!’ screeched Jinx, excitedly. ‘Who said anything about him? If I ’ave anythin’ to do with it, we’re ’avin’ a bloody girl!’
‘Over my dead body!’ growled Erin.
This brought the house down. But just then, one of Erin’s buddies started to sing, ‘Happy Birthday To You’. Soon, the whole Mess Hall was echoing to the rowdy sound of GIs bellowing out in a hell-raising chorus.
At the back of the Mess, Gary threw his arms around Sunday, and hugged her tight. Although it was a celebration that no one could fail to enjoy, at the back of her mind, Sunday still couldn’t forget Ernie Mancroft.
Sunday woke up at about three o’clock in the morning. She wasn’t sure of the exact time, because the wristwatch her mum had given her on her eighteenth birthday had stopped, so during the night she had to rely on her small alarm clock. But something woke her, although she wasn’t quite sure what. It was pitch-dark, so she reached for her torch. After checking the time, she directed the beam around the other beds to make sure everyone was asleep. When she was satisfied that they were, she turned off the torch again, slipped out of bed, and put on her towelling robe and slippers.
She made her way first to the bathroom at the back of the sleeping quarters. Her torch beam scanned the old stone sinks, and the chipped enamel bath itself, where a large house spider had settled down for the night. Everything seemed to be in order, until she suddenly noticed that the outside door had been left slightly ajar. Before closing it, she peered outside. Her torch beam picked up nothing but the shadows of trees bending in a lively gale, which was making it seem far colder than it actually was. Nonetheless, she decided to explore just a little further, so pulling the towelling robe snugly around her neck, she stepped outside. The night clouds were racing across the sky, and every so often the moon managed to make a subliminal appearance, flooding the farmyard with light for no more than a second or so before hurrying back to safety again.
Sunday had no idea why she was being so brave. She had often seen girls doing this sort of thing in the pictures, putting themselves at risk as they roamed dangerous places in the middle of the night. But that was what she was doing right then, and like all those girls in the pictures, she was scared out of her life, scared because she could only experience all these strange, distorted images without sound. For her, the silence of the night was far more disturbing than the day. Why, oh why was she connecting this to Ernie Mancroft all the time? Yes, he was a brutal thug all right, but surely he wasn’t the sort who would go around stalking girls just to frighten them? And in any case, what reason had he to frighten her? If he loved her as much as he was always saying, why should he want to harm her? However, no matter how hard she tried, she was unable to convince herself. She turned and hurried back inside the barn. Once she had closed the door, she paused for a moment, suddenly feeling quite stupid to have behaved more like a silly child than an eighteen-year-old.
When she got back to her bed, all the girls were still fast asleep, so she turned off the torch, removed her towelling robe and slippers, and quietly sneaked back under the covers. But as she laid her head back on to the pillow, and turned over to one side, she felt something cold against her cheek. She sat up with a start, reached for her torch, and switched it on.
The torch beam picked out what was lying on her pillow. It was a small snapshot of Ernie Mancroft.
A few days later, there was great excitement in the barn. Not only was Jinx regularly feeling her baby kicking around inside her stomach, but she had also received her tickets for the journey to New York, where Erin’s entire family were planning to meet her at the dockside.
Ever since Erin’s birthday party at the base, Sunday had talked a lot to Jinx about the new life in America that she was about to experience. Despite the caustic way her own mother had reacted to her wedding, Jinx’s loyalties were divided. It seemed a crazy thought, but she still loved her mam and dad, and as the time grew closer for her to leave Blighty once and for all, she knew that, like all the other GI brides who were embarking on a strange new journey, she had misgivings.
‘Of course, I’ll come back from time to time,’ said Jinx, as she showed Sunday the new maternity dress Erin had had sent over from the States. ‘After all, whatever she says, my mam’s goin’ ter want ter see this.’ She placed her hand on her stomach and gently rubbed it. ‘Depends ’ow much money Erin’s got in the kitty, I suppose.’
Sunday put her arms around Jinx and held her. ‘Your mum’ll have to get used to it,’ said Sunday. ‘The only things that are important in your life from now on are Erin and your baby.’
‘You’re right,’ replied Jinx, looking up at Sunday. ‘Stupid, in’t it? But I really love Erin, ugly lookin’ goat ’e is.’ Even so, there was a touch of uncertainty on her face. ‘You do like ’im too, don’t you, Sun?’
‘He’s one of the nicest blokes I know,’ replied Sunday. ‘I can’t believe there’s another man in the whole wide world that you could trust more than Erin.’ Sunday had good cause to believe what she had just said, for Erin had been the only person she had told about the snapshot of Ernie Mancroft she had found on her pillow.
‘Thank God they’ve at last finished those bombing raids,’ said Jinx. ‘At least I won’t ’ave to worry about him being missing or killed in action any more. Unless they send ’im out to bomb the Japs in the Far East or somethin’. That’s all I need!’
That same afternoon, Jinx received a call from the CO’s office at the base, asking her to come along to see him. Erin had already warned her to expect this interview, for it was normal procedure for all war brides to be given a friendly but formal lecture before entering the United States. Nonetheless, Jinx was very nervous about the interview, and had to be persuaded not to put on too much make-up to meet the CO, just in case he got the wrong impression about her!
‘She’s making a big mistake,’ said Sue, once she was quite sure that Jinx had gone off to her interview. ‘These things never work.’
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Sunday curiously.
‘Well, for a start, Erin’s Jewish.’
Sunday was taken aback. ‘So what?’ she said.
Sue was perched on the edge of her bed, using the mirror of her compact to powder her nose. ‘Jinx was brought up Welsh Chapel. They’ll never accept her in the Hebrew faith.’
‘That’s absolute rubbish!’
Everyone was astonished to hear Sheil contribute to the discussion. It was something she had never done before.
‘It doesn’t matter what faith you belong to,’ said Sheil, making a rare excursion away from squatting on her bed. ‘If you’re a human being, you’ve got the right to love anyone you want.’
‘Romance has got nothing to do with it, Sheil,’ Sue said, in her usual condescending tone. ‘It’s all to do with what you’ve been brought up to believe in.’
‘I was brought up to believe in God,’ replied Sheil, calmly. ‘But He let me down. Now I only believe in me.’
Sunday was impressed with Sheil for saying what she felt, even if she didn’t agree.
Some time later, Sunday went off to see if she could help Ruthie to feed the chickens. But when she got to the chicken runs, Ruthie had already left, so she decided to take a stroll along the public footpath close to the woods where young Ronnie Cloy had often taken her to see the pheasants.
The weather had at last broken, and the sharp, cold spring air had given way to a mild spell that was inducing tufts of grass everywhere to green up in the gradually warming sun. She felt a twinge of excitement as she looked around at the bare branches of the trees, knowing that within the next few weeks they would be bursting into life again after their long winter sleep.
When she reached the woods, there seemed to be more pheas
ants than ever. But then, this was not the time of year to shoot them, despite the fact that once the new crop of wheat had been sown they would undoubtedly ignore the dumb scarecrows that were placed across the fields, and peck up as much seed as they could get their beaks into.
To her astonishment, Sunday noticed that someone was walking through the woods. It seemed an incredible thing for anyone to do, for even though the Civil Defence and USAF engineers had given the all-clear for explosive devices in the area, there was still an outside chance that one or two might remain.
She came to a halt for a moment, and after a while the figure emerged from the woods, and made straight towards her on the footpath. The encounter was making her quite nervous, until she suddenly identified the figure of Arnold Cloy. Unfortunately, there was no way she could avoid him, so she carried on walking in the direction she had started out. A moment or so later, Cloy brought her to a halt again, barring her way. She hadn’t really seen him since Ronnie’s funeral back in March, and thought he was looking much older and more frail. After keeping his eyes lowered to the ground for a brief moment, he raised them again and looked straight at her.
‘You think you know, don’t you?’ he said, his voice strong and firm. ‘You think I didn’t love that boy?’ He walked a few steps towards her, and stopped again. ‘Well, you’re wrong.’
With that, he brushed past, and headed off back towards his bungalow.
When she got back to the barn, Sunday was surprised to see a jeep waiting outside the front door. Recognising it as the one Gary had taken her out in once or twice, she started to run towards it.
Gary was just coming out of the front door when she arrived. She immediately wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him as tight as she could, but the look of anguish on his face told her not to.
‘Jinx is inside,’ he said gravely. ‘She needs you, Sunday.’
Then he sighed. He was close to tears.
‘Erin’s been killed. A collision. Two B17s.’ His voice was cracking with emotion. ‘A goddamn bloody accident.’
Chapter 20
The village railway station at Great Yeldham was bathed in warm spring sunshine. It seemed incongruous that the temperature for early April should already be hot enough for people to shed their jackets and pullovers, when just a few weeks before great clumps of ice-hard snow were still obstinately refusing to thaw.
As a small kid, Sunday had always loved railway stations. To her they had always seemed such vast, busy places, with people hurrying from one platform to another to catch their trains, and thick dark smoke billowing up from the funnels of dusty old engines as they puffed out of the station on the way to magical places, like Thorpe Bay. It was only when the war started that she’d realised that railway stations could be tragic places too, the places where families and lovers were parted, with the prospect of never seeing each other again. Although there was nothing vast about Great Yeldham, over the years this tiny village station had also had its share of grief and tears. Throughout the war the modest setting had played host to so many village women and their children who had gathered to wave farewell to their menfolk. Sunday felt a bit like that now as she waited with Jinx on the small sun-drenched platform.
‘Funny, in’t it?’ said Jinx, her face pale and drawn as she gazed up the railway track for the first sign of her train. ‘The day after termorrow, me an’ Junior ’ere should’ve been on our way to fresh coffee and thick juicy steaks in the Brave New World. Now, it’s back to tea an’ oatcakes in good old Swansea.’
Sunday only caught part of what Jinx had said, but she knew how her mate was feeling. ‘You know, Jinx,’ she said. ‘It won’t be as bad as you think. I’m sure, after what’s happened, your mum and dad will take good care of you and the baby.’
Jinx threw out a wry grunt. ‘Oh, me mam’ll do that all right. Now she knows there’s no father around to compete with. I tell yer, me dad knew what he was doin’ when ’e named me Jinx.’
Sunday put a comforting arm around Jinx’s waist. She found it unbearable to recall everything Jinx had had to go through during the past week. The death of Erin had been such a cruel act of fate, to have been killed in a midair collision with another B17 after surviving nearly two years of hazardous bombing missions over enemy territory. Sunday knew that she would never forget those harrowing few moments when she stood beside Jinx and the men of the 381st Bomb Group, as they watched the giant Flying Fortress taking off from the runway at Ridgewell Airbase, carrying the bodies of Erin Wendell and his buddies back home to their last resting-places in America. No wonder Jinx never stopped stroking her stomach with such loving care. Her baby was all she had left now of a man with whom she had shared barely a year of her life.
‘’E was a good man, yer know, Sun,’ Jinx said, again feeling the tiny movement inside her stomach. ‘They all are, that bunch up the ’drome.’ And making quite sure that Sunday could read her lips, she added, ‘And that includes your bloke too.’
Sunday unconsciously bit her lip. As usual, Jinx had known exactly what was on Sunday’s mind.
‘Erin thought the world of ’im, yer know. ’E told me several times that if you two didn’t stick tergether, you’d be a couple of chumps.’ The strained smile she tried to offer looked odd without any of her usual smattering of make-up. ‘You won’t be a dumb idiot, will you, Sun?’
Sunday smiled weakly, and shook her head.
Although the sound of a train whistle was heard approaching from the distance, Jinx resisted the temptation to turn and look up the track. ‘In any case, I want you two to be Junior’s godparents!’
This brought a more relaxed smile from Sunday. ‘Then you’re still convinced it’s going to be a boy?’ she asked.
‘Don’t be so silly!’ Jinx replied. ‘If Erin says it’s goin’ ter be a boy, a boy it is!’
From the corner of her eye, Sunday caught sight of the train slowly chugging towards the end of the platform. It was the moment she had been dreading, and it prompted both girls to throw their arms around each other in a tight embrace.
‘I want to tell you something, Sunday Collins,’ Jinx said, pulling herself away just enough to be able to let Sunday read her lips. ‘I’ve only known you a few months, an’ yet I feel as though I’ve known you all my life. An’ that’s just what I want to do, girl. I want ter know you all my life. You’re the best I know. Please keep it that way, won’t you?’
Sunday was doing her best to stop the tears flowing down her cheeks.
Whilst they were standing there, thick black smoke from the engine momentarily engulfed them. When the train finally came to a halt, Sunday quickly opened the door of an empty compartment. Then, after helping Jinx to get her luggage on board, she slammed the door behind her.
Jinx immediately leaned out of the window, and stretched down to grasp hold of Sunday’s hands. ‘You better keep in touch, girl – or else.’
Sunday squeezed Jinx’s hands. ‘Just try to stop me,’ she replied. There were only two other passengers boarding the train, but as the train guard at the end of the platform blew his whistle and raised his green flag, a young British sailor wearing tunic and bell-bottoms suddenly rushed along the platform. Jinx immediately took advantage of the boy’s panic, and opened her compartment door for him.
‘Thanks, mate!’ said the sailor, as he leapt on board and took a seat by the window facing Jinx.
Jinx slammed the door behind him, and leaned out of the window again. ‘Well now,’ she said, with a touch of the old twinkle in her eye. ‘Looks as though it’s not goin’ ter be such a borin’ journey as I expected!’
Even though the train then started to move off, Sunday just had to laugh. It was the way she wanted to remember Jinx.
A few moments later, the train was easing out of the tiny station, winding its way through the friendly green landscape of the Colne Valley, and leaving behind a thin trail of dark black smoke which gradually rose up into the azure-blue sky.
Sunday watched the train ch
ugging off for as long as she could, and she was still waving madly to Jinx as she caught her last sight of her. Then the engine picked up speed and headed out further and further into the valley. For a moment or so, Sunday just stood there, feeling very empty and lost. But then she started thinking about Jinx, sitting opposite that young Jack tar, all alone together in their compartment. And as she strolled off slowly along the platform, a comforting smile came to Sunday’s face.
There was no doubt about it. Jinx Daphne Lloyd was going to be all right.
During the middle of April, East Anglia experienced a record heatwave. With RAF and USAF bombing raids on Germany now at an end, there was actually some spare time for the exhausted air-crews to enjoy the premature hot sunshine, and the main task was now to use the giant Flying Fortresses to bring home liberated Allied prisoners of war.
At Cloy’s Farm, the girls were biding their time. With the end of the war expected within the following few weeks, all of them had decided to return to their homes. However, for their remaining workdays, they were given the arduous task of hoeing out the weeds in the freshly sown barley fields. Owing to the heatwave, the Essex clay was particularly rock-hard, and breaking it down whilst coping with temperatures in the 80s was tough going. There was also a great deal of anger amongst the girls, who had been told that on their release they would not be entitled to the same treatment as other conscripts, who could expect wartime gratuities, clothing and ration coupon allowances, and opportunities to take part in a free government training programme for other jobs.
Since the beginning of April, Gary had been relieved of any further operational flying duties, and this gave him and Sunday the chance to spend more time together than they had ever done before. With near-perfect weather and long hours of daylight, they used their time to cycle around some of the neighbouring villages, where time seemed to have stood still, and little churches that were tucked away behind ancient graveyards and whose bells were poised to ring out the end of a long and brutal war. Everywhere they passed, people were standing outside their cottages and houses, either taking in the hot evening air, or preparing their gardens for the oncoming season. In one small village called Stambourne, they stopped to talk to a middle-aged couple, known affectionately as Jessie and Ted, who even asked them in for a cup of tea and a piece of Jessie’s home-made custard tart. It was at times like this that Sunday realised just how slow and different life in the countryside was from the congested streets of London.
The Silent War Page 27