The Silent War (22 page)

Gary laughed. He wasn’t at all offended. ‘Is that true?’ he asked, turning to talk directly to Sunday again. ‘Are you Cockneys all as cheeky as that?’

Sunday looked puzzled. The first cigarette she had smoked since before the explosion tasted awful, so she quickly stubbed it out in the ash-tray. ‘What makes you think I’m a Cockney?’ she replied.

‘You come from Lond’n, don’t you?’

‘You don’t have to be a Cockney to come from London.’

Gary pulled on his cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs
for
a moment, then exhaled what was left, making quite sure he didn’t let it drift into Sunday’s face. ‘Can I ask you a question?’ he said, staring straight at her with a look of genuine care. ‘Why do you shout when you talk?’

Sunday was at first taken aback by his question. But she quickly answered it. ‘Do I?’ she said.

Gary nodded. ‘Yuh. It’s not easy, I know, but there
are
other ways of making conversation with people.’

To his surprise, Sunday answered, ‘Then why not tell me about them?’

Gary’s face changed immediately. For a split second he stared right at her. ‘The last time I offered—’

‘The last time you offered,’ interrupted Sunday, ‘I should have accepted.’

Again, Gary just stared in silence at her. Then he broke into a warm smile, and after resting his cigarette on the edge of the ash-tray, he held up both hands in front of her, as though he was a magician who was about to show her a trick.

‘
A
,’ he said, at the same time touching the thumb of one of his hands with the forefinger of his other hand.

Sunday pulled down a small handkerchief from the sleeve of her pullover, and wiped her hands on it. Then she held up both her hands, and did exactly the same as Gary was showing her.

‘This is called the two-handed alphabet,’ he said. ‘Just watch and copy everything I do.’

And for the next half an hour or so, Sunday did exactly that. At the start, it was an exhausting process, for her eyes were fixed on his eyes, his lips, and his hands. Time and time again both her hands formed a close union with each other, as she twisted them into strange shapes to make a different letter of the alphabet. As she did so, Gary’s lips would curl into, ‘That’s it, Sunday! That’s it!’ and just occasionally, ‘No, Sunday. Bend that finger more – no,
more
.’

After a while, the lady cashier started to turn off lights
around
the dining-room. ‘Sorry, dears,’ she said. ‘It’s ’alf past eight. We’re just about ter lock up.’

The young couple were so engrossed in their sign-language lesson, it hadn’t occurred to them that, apart from themselves, the dining-room was now deserted.

A few minutes later, Sunday and Gary were strolling down Trinity Street. Even though it was still only mid-evening, there weren’t many people around, for there was a hard frost and it was biting-cold. Unlike some parts of the county, where there was now a relaxation of the blackout, the streets of Halstead were still plunged into winter darkness, and the only light they saw came from a chink in the foyer curtain at the Savoy Theatre. But as they made their way up the High Street hill, a bright icy moon floated in and out of the heavy night clouds, and sent a dazzling shaft of light all along the rows of ancient beamed houses and shops.

At the top of the hill, they had to wait quite a while for the bus that would take them back to Ridgewell, and even when it arrived, they had an uncomfortable journey ahead of them, for there was no interior lighting or heating.

Apart from the driver, there were only three other people on the bus, a farm labourer who had spent the last couple of hours with his mates in the Royal Oak pub at the corner of Pickering Street, and two women who had been visiting a seriously ill relative in Halstead Hospital just round the corner in Hedingham Road. Gary and Sunday found their way to the back seat, and snuggled up together to keep warm. As the bus chugged along the lonely country roads, the young couple made no communication with each other. But there was plenty going through their minds, for the evening had made an impact on them both, for quite different reasons. Although Sunday couldn’t see Gary’s face in the dark, she could feel the gentle beating of his heart as she rested her head against his shoulder. There was something about this man that was quite unexpected. He wasn’t at all like any of his ‘buddies’ back at the base, or at least, not like the ones
she
had met so far. In many ways he was quite shy, and when two girls back in the restaurant had smiled at him, he quickly turned away in embarrassment.

Gary was thinking an awful lot about Sunday too. He liked her independence, the way she refused to take anything at face value. But he was also attracted to the sheer vulnerability of the girl, the way she kept trying to conceal her true feelings. In the dark country fields and woods that were flitting past outside the bus window, every so often strange dark shapes were suddenly illuminated, caught in the act by the glaring white moon, which revealed just how ordinary and natural they really were. For Gary, however, the ice-cold atmosphere inside the bus didn’t even exist, nor the endless chatter of the two female passengers sitting in the front seat. No. All that mattered to him was the warmth of the body at his side, and the breath that was escaping through those lips and drifting up towards his face. If he had had the nerve, he would have kissed those lips right there and then.

After they had got off the bus at Ridgewell Village Green, Gary decided to walk Sunday back home to the farm. They took the long way, past the base perimeter, where in the distance they could see the giant B17 Flying Fortresses already lining up on the runway for the night’s bombing. Although Gary had pointedly not discussed any of the missions he was regularly involved in, Jinx had often told her of the great dangers all the air-crews faced each day and night, some of them never to return.

When they finally reached the barn, Sunday took out her torch and directed the beam on to her own face. ‘It’s been a lovely evening, Gary,’ she said. ‘Thanks a lot.’

Gary took hold of her hand, and directed the torch beam on to his own face. ‘We’ve got a lot of work to do, Sunday,’ he said, squinting in the torchlight. Then, holding out his hands in front of the bright beam, he
used
his fingers to form a word that he had earlier taught Sunday to recognise: ‘persevere’.

Sunday acknowledged the young airman’s challenge.

But to her, the word meant a great deal more.

With Christmas now only a week or so away, Sunday began to think a lot about home. In her mind’s eye she could see all the flats in ‘the Buildings’ with their Christmas trees, home-made paper chains, and cotton wool stuck around the inside of every window pane, and the smell of her mum’s mouthwatering mince pies cooking in the oven. Christmas in ‘the Buildings’ was always special, because everyone talked together and went into each other’s place to have a Christmas Eve drink and a singsong. Yes, whatever ‘the Buildings’ was like at any other time of the year, Christmas was special all right. The only trouble was, this year people were just as nervous and ill at ease as they were during the darkest moments of the great 1940 Blitz. V-1s and V-2s were still coming over in their droves, and from one day to the next no one ever knew whether one of the murderous things had their name on it. Only a few weeks before, Sunday had heard about the V-2 rocket which had come down on a terrace of houses near the Archway, and despite the fact that the Allies were getting closer to the flying-bomb and rocket launch pads in France and Holland, the deadly machines still kept coming. More than ever before, Sunday feared for her mum’s safety.

The war also continued in North Essex, where the wide, open skies were constantly being savaged by ‘doodlebugs’ and V-2 rockets. Rumours in Ridgewell and the surrounding villages told of V-2s exploding on farmland and residential property right across the district, and one evening whilst they were passing through nearby Sible
Hedingham
, Sunday and Jinx narrowly missed a flying bomb, which came down close to the centre of the village, causing severe damage to the local school, the Gas Office, and several houses and shops. And as each day and night passed, stories of courage and tragedy filtered out from the US Airbase, where severe losses amongst air-crew on combat duty over enemy territory, and accidents on take-off and landing, were becoming only too frequent.

But even in the midst of all this anguish, there were lighter moments, and good things to look forward to. For a start, despite opposition from his commanding officer, Bombardier Erin Louis Wendell was reluctantly given permission to marry his Welsh girlfriend, Jinx Daphne Lloyd, who was now twenty-one and who luckily didn’t have to ask
anyone’s
permission. The ceremony took place on the penultimate Saturday before Christmas, and just prior to the Base Mission Dance, and as Erin was Jewish and Jinx a non-practising Welsh Chapel, for obvious reasons the service had to be a low-key inter-denominational ceremony, conducted by the Air Force Chaplain on the base itself. To her surprise, Sunday was asked to be maid of honour, but she only accepted when she was assured that she wouldn’t have to say anything. Gary was Erin’s best man, and the chapel was full of his Air Force ‘buddies’ and even a couple of the WAAC admin girls. Apart from her Land Girl mates from the farm, on Jinx’s side there was only her dad up from Wales and her elder brother, Eddie, who was in the Navy and came down on a few days’ compassionate leave from Scotland. As expected, the one person missing from the proceedings was Jinx’s ‘mam’, who had been so disgusted with the news of her daughter’s pregnancy that she wanted no part of what she considered to be Jinx’s mad rush to the altar.

The ceremony itself was short and to the point, and Erin positively glowed with pride as he kissed his bride, who in his words looked ‘a knockout’ in a pink, knee-length wedding dress, which had been loaned from the base
in
a generous American gesture of Christmas goodwill to any brides who were serving in the women’s forces, Civil Defence, or Women’s Land Army. When the ceremony was over, everyone made their way back to the Sergeants’ Mess, where a slap-up meal was provided, with a fair amount of bottled ale which had been smuggled in from a local off-licence. As best man, Gary made a very moving speech about how ‘Limeys’ and ‘Yanks’ were made for each other, how Erin was a ‘lucky sonoverbitch’, and, turning to Sunday to illustrate what he was saying in sign language, he expressed the hope that when the war was over, everyone would find what they were looking for in their life. Jinx cried all the way through the speech. In fact, she had not stopped crying since the start of the wedding service, which meant that every so often she had to keep rushing off to the girls’ room to fix her make-up. And when it was all over, everyone had a wow of a time swapping stories about their own lives back home, from Selly Oak to Kansas City, Swansea to Jersey City, and from Bagshot, Surrey, to Pea Green, Iowa! The celebrations ended with a British knees-up which somehow perfectly matched a selection of bawdy American baseball songs.

In the evening, however, Sunday had to face up to her hardest challenge of the day. The Mission Dance.

Her first sight of the inside of the giant hangar sent a shiver through Sunday’s entire body. Laid out before her were probably two or three hundred GIs dancing with girls who had been trucked in from local villages all over the district. On one side of the stage was a huge Christmas tree glistening with coloured lights, seasonal decorations hanging from the walls, and vast nets suspended from the ceiling, all bulging with hundreds of coloured balloons. And even though she couldn’t hear anything that was going on, over the tops of the dancers she could just see the Air Force Dance Band beneath a banner reading, ‘MERRY CHRISTMAS’. Sunday was transfixed by the
scene
and found herself holding back by the door through which she had just entered.

‘A few months ago we had Bing Crosby giving a show in here,’ said Gary, proudly surveying the packed dance floor. ‘Over four thousand guys, and babes from just about everywhere.’

‘Isn’t it fantastic, girl!’ yelled an excited Jinx over the sound of music booming out from the hangar tannoy system. She was quite a sight herself, for her lipstick was smeared all over her chin from the number of times she’d been kissed by her new husband. ‘Fancy ’avin’ Bing Crosby right ’ere in Ridgewell!’

‘Huh! That’s nothin’!’ added Erin. ‘We’ve had loadsa movie stars round here. Edward G. Robinson, Vivien Leigh, Clark Gable, James Stewart . . .’

‘James Stewart!’ squealed Jinx. ‘You saw
the
James Stewart!’

‘Sure I saw him!’ bragged Erin, chewing on the butt of a half-finished cigar. ‘I rubbed shoulders with the guy, fer Chrissake!’

Jinx gasped and turned to face Sunday directly. ‘Did you ’ear that, Sunday?’ she spluttered breathlessly. ‘James Stewart right ’ere where we’re standin’ now! I can’t believe it!’

‘I’m sorry, Jinx,’ Sunday replied, looking nervous and agitated. ‘I – I’ve got to go. I – I . . .’ She was already backing to the door. ‘I’ll see you . . . see you later. I – I don’t feel too well.’ To everyone’s surprise, she pushed her way out through the crowd, who were still swarming in through the main entrance door.

Jinx was upset and bewildered. ‘Gary?’ she asked anxiously.

Gary was already on his way back to the door. ‘Don’t worry,’ he called. ‘Leave it to me.’

Sunday rushed out of the hangar, and hurriedly made her way across the apron area where a clutch of giant B17 Flying Fortress bombers were being loaded with high-explosive bombs all ready for the night’s mission
over
enemy territory. There was quiet but concentrated activity everywhere, with bomb trolleys being wheeled towards the various undercarriages of the huge bomber planes, fuel trucks filling the wing and reserve tanks, and ground engineers checking out every part of the planes with various members of the air-crews who were about to embark on yet another night’s dangerous combat duties.