Time Goes By (24 page)

‘Yes, that’s right. I’ll introduce you to her when they’ve finished the dance. And I suppose that must be the famous Hank who’s with her.’

Barbara’s first impression of the girl, Mavis, was that she was the word ‘glamorous’ brought to life. ‘Glamour’ was a word much used with regard to the stars of the silver screen: Betty Grable, Vivien Leigh, Rita Hayworth, Ginger Rogers and countless others. This Mavis, to Barbara, was a Rita Hayworth sort of girl. Her bright-ginger hair, worn in a pageboy style, bounced around her shoulders as she danced. She was very pretty, and small, but curvaceous in the right places. Her tight-fitting emerald-green dress accentuated the swell of her bustline, and clung alluringly around her hips as she jigged and jumped about to the
rhythm of the music, affording a frequent glimpse of shapely knees and thighs. Hank, if that was who it was, swung her around in an uninhibited way, pushing her away from him, then grabbing her and whirling her around in a frenzy. Barbara found herself gasping as the American lifted her off her feet then flung her over his shoulder, giving the onlookers a momentary glimpse of her stocking tops and frilly pink panties. The next minute she was back on the floor and upright again, seeming not a jot embarrassed.

The couple next to them were dancing in an equally reckless manner, and quite a crowd was gathering to watch the fun.

‘D’you fancy a try?’ said a voice at Barbara’s side. She turned to see a pair of humorous grey eyes smiling down at her. A GI, of course; she could tell by his accent at first, and then by his uniform. She knew in that instant, though, that he was not aiming at a ‘pickup’; he was just trying to be friendly.

‘No, not me!’ she laughed. ‘Fun to watch, but … no thanks! Not my scene at all.’

‘Nor mine,’ he smiled. ‘But I wanted to see Hank doing his stuff. I’ve heard such a lot about it.’

‘You know him, then?’ she enquired.

‘Yes, we’re in the same unit, stationed at Warton. And the other chap, that’s Marvin.
Quite a lively pair, as you can imagine. And I’m Nat, by the way.’ He held out his hand towards her. ‘Nat Castillo. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance …’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Whoever you are?’

She didn’t hesitate to shake his hand. He seemed such a nice fellow, or ‘guy’, which was what the Yanks said. ‘Oh … I’m Barbara,’ she said. ‘Barbara Leigh. I’ve come with my friend, Dorothy.’ As she glanced around she could see that her friend, too, was talking to another of the GIs. ‘I’m … I’m pleased to meet you too.’

‘You don’t mind me talking to you, do you?’ he continued. ‘I know we Yanks have got a reputation for being brash and too familiar. Some of us are, or at least that’s the impression we give, I guess. But me … I’m quite shy, really.’ He grinned as he gave a little shrug. ‘I’m just wanting to be friendly, that’s all …’

And that was how it all started. In that instant Barbara’s life was completely turned around, although she wasn’t aware of it at first. She was aware, though, of the immediate attraction between herself and the American soldier.

Looking back on how it had begun, a long time afterwards, she recalled a sermon she had once heard about temptation, and how one could either give in to it or turn away. She recalled
the preacher’s words … ‘Maybe you can’t help yourself at the first look, but you can avoid the next look, and all the subsequent ones …’

What, then, should she and Nat have done? Should she have refused to go for a drink with him, which was the next thing that happened? They had been in the company of others, though, and it would have been impolite to refuse. And after that, although it had begun so slowly and innocently, it was as if they both had known that it was inevitable; there had been no stopping the attraction they felt for one another.

She had known very soon that she and Nat were what was known as ‘kindred spirits’. When she was in her early teens, Barbara’s favourite book had been
Anne of Green Gables.
It was in that book that she had first come across the term. Anne Shirley, the heroine, with whom Barbara felt a great affinity, had gone on at length about how she and her friend, Diana, were kindred spirits. They thought and felt the same about everything, like the two halves of a complete whole; they were truly compatible.

Barbara was not sure that she had met anyone before, of either sex, to whom the term could apply. But now she had. She and Nat Castillo were, without doubt, ‘kindred spirits’. And very soon they knew, come what may, that they belonged together.

W
hen introductions had been made, the group of GIs and young women made their way to the nearest refreshment place, not far from the ballroom. It seemed perfectly natural for them all to gravitate there. The couples who had been jitterbugging were ready for some sustenance, as well as being too hot and dishevelled for comfort. Mavis and her friend Hilda, the other dancer, went off to the ladies’ cloakroom to repair the damage done to their hair and apparel. They rejoined the party a few minutes later looking spruce and composed again.

‘Over here, you guys,’ shouted the fellow called Marvin, standing up and waving. ‘We’ve already got yours in.’ Barbara was to learn that everyone was referred to, in the American parlance, as a ‘guy’, whether they were male or female.

‘Gee, thanks, Marvin,’ replied Hilda. She had obviously picked up some of their vernacular already. ‘Ginger beer shandy, for both of us? That’s just hunky-dory!’

There were eight of them, and it seemed inevitable that they should pair off. Mavis and Hank, and Hilda and Marvin, already seemed to know one another rather well. Dorothy had struck up an acquaintance with Howard who was Nat’s closest friend, or ‘best buddy’, as he called him. And so Barbara found herself with Nat …

Barbara had gone along with the rest of the girls and agreed that she would have a shandy, lemonade ones for herself and Dorothy. She and Nat were sitting side by side on a red velvet bench that ran along the side of the bar room, with Dorothy and Howard on stools opposite them. They were sharing a glass-topped table, and the other four were seated near to them.

Nat lifted his tankard – a pint of bitter – saying ‘cheers’, and so Barbara did the same with her smaller glass. They clinked them together, then smiled a little shyly and uncertainly at one another.

‘So … Barbara Leigh, are you enjoying yourself?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I am, very much,’ she replied. ‘I wasn’t sure that I wanted to come here tonight, but Dorothy persuaded me. It’s the first time I’ve been here for … ooh, for ages.’

‘The first time for me too,’ agreed Nat. ‘And I must admit I’m real impressed with your Tower Ballroom. I haven’t seen anything like this back home.’

‘Really?’ said Barbara. ‘I’m surprised. I thought everything in America was bigger than what we have over here.’ She had been going to say ‘bigger and better’, but realised it might sound rather rude.

Nat laughed. ‘Yeah … I know that’s how some of us Yanks like to talk. When we say bigger, we are sometimes implying that it’s better as well, but it ain’t always so. There are always guys who like to boast that everything’s giant-sized in the good old US of A, but it all depends on where you come from.’

‘And … where is that?’ asked Barbara.

‘Me? I come from a village called Stowe – well, a small town, really – in the state of Vermont. The loveliest little old place in the world to me, but we ain’t got nothing like this.’ He waved his arm around in the direction of the ballroom.

‘Oh, I see,’ replied Barbara politely. She sounded, and was aware that she probably looked, rather vague. She didn’t think she had ever heard of Vermont, although she had heard of lots of places in the USA: New York, and Chicago, and Tennessee …

Nat smiled. ‘Vermont is one of the New
England states. You know … the Pilgrim Fathers sailed from England in the
Mayflower
and landed in Plymouth?’

‘Yes, I know a little about that,’ replied Barbara. ‘We learnt about it at school, but the facts are rather hazy to me; and so is my geography of the United States … I’m sorry.’

‘Nothing to apologise for,’ said Nat. ‘It can’t be as bad as my scanty knowledge of your little country, and that goes for most of us Yanks … Anyhow, the settlers called the area New England, to remind them, I guess, of the old England they had left behind. That’s why we have a lot of towns with the same names as yours. We have a Plymouth, of course, and a Portsmouth, Manchester, Boston, London, Norwich, Windsor … Dozens of them, I guess.’

‘You must be missing your hometown,’ said Barbara. ‘Stowe, did you say? I should imagine it’s nothing like Blackpool.’

He laughed. ‘You can say that again! Nothing at all. Except that we depend a lot on tourists, as you do here. It sure is a lovely place where I live, surrounded by mountains, and in the winter we get hordes of skiers staying there; we have some of the best ski slopes in the whole of the USA. And in summer there’s lots to do as well – rock climbing, fishing, canoeing, or just enjoying the scenery.’

Barbara smiled at him sympathetically. He surely must be homesick for that lovely place, although he was cheerful and bright, clearly determined to make the best of his exile in what must seem a very strange and different sort of land. ‘And … what do you do there, Nat?’ she asked. ‘Your job, I mean?’

‘Like scores of others, my family run a hotel,’ he replied. ‘We’re busy all year round with guests. I help out wherever I can, like the rest of the family, my parents and my aunt and uncle. I’m studying to be a chef, though, so that I can take over from my father, eventually … God willing,’ he added. ‘And in the winter I’m a part-time ski instructor. We all learn to ski, from an early age.’

‘That’s quite a coincidence,’ said Barbara, ‘about the hotel, I mean, because that’s where I was brought up as well, in a hotel. We call them boarding houses here, though, unless they’re bigger and have more amenities, then they’re called hotels. And … my husband had a similar boarding house background. Actually, his family’s boarding house is just next door to ours, and he helps with the cooking and everything else, like you do. At least he does when he’s here. At the moment he’s in the army, stationed up in the north of England …’ She found her voice petering out as Nat looked at her thoughtfully.

‘Yes, I noticed you were married,’ he remarked.
She was wearing her wedding ring, of course, which she never took off.

‘We were married in 1942,’ Barbara told him. ‘We have a baby girl, Katherine. She’s eight months old,’ she said, trying to smile brightly.

‘Gee, that’s swell!’ commented Nat. ‘I can understand why you were hesitant about coming here tonight. You must miss her.’

‘Well, yes, but I know she’s being well looked after, by my aunt and uncle. They brought me up, you see, after my parents died when I was quite small. And I’m still living there, because it just makes sense to do so. When Albert – my husband – comes back, no doubt we’ll move into a place of our own.’ Why am I telling him all this? she asked herself. She had only just met him, but already it seemed as though they had known one another for ages.

‘And … what about you, Nat?’ she asked; she knew she had to ask. ‘Have you a wife, at home in the USA?’

‘No, not me.’ He smiled a little ruefully. ‘I guess I never met the right girl … not yet.’ He paused, and they looked at one another steadily for a few moments, Barbara’s brown eyes mesmerised by the intense regard in his silvery-grey ones. She knew then, as she often told herself later, that this was probably the point at which she should have said to herself, ‘No! No more; turn away now
before it’s too late.’ But, of course, she didn’t turn away and neither did Nat.

He smiled then, and gave a little shrug. ‘I guess I was always too busy working in the hotel, all the hours God sends … No, to be fair, that’s not strictly true. I found time for leisure in between. I ski, as I told you, although that can be classed as work as well. I play baseball, though not very well; I canoe and I’ve done a little rock climbing. At least I did, until Adolf Hitler – and, of course, our own Franklin D. Roosevelt – thought otherwise, and now I’ve found myself over here.’ He grinned. ‘Yes, I know what they’re saying about us – overpaid, oversexed, and over here!’

Barbara smiled at him. ‘I believe you always have to speak as you find.’ Then she added, rather daringly, ‘You seem a nice normal sort of fellow to me.’

‘Thank you kindly, ma’am!’ He touched an imaginary forelock. ‘You know, we were all given strict instructions as to how we must behave while we’re over here in your country. In fact, we were all issued with a little booklet with a list of dos and don’ts. The worst thing we can say, apparently, is to tell a Britisher that, “We came over here and won the last one – and now we’re here to see that you win this one.”’

‘It’s true, though,’ replied Barbara. ‘We’ve stood alone for a long time, since 1940, when
our allies were forced to surrender. None of us believed it would go on for so long.’

‘Ye-eh, that’s what it says in our little book, that the Brits are weary of it all. How the houses might look shabby because they haven’t been painted for years; the factories are making planes now, not paint. And that British trains are cold because the power is being used for industry, not for heating. And how the rationing of food is affecting you all. That sure must be hitting you hard, being restricted to – what is it? – two ounces of butter a week, four ounces of bacon?’

‘Something like that,’ Barbara nodded. ‘We manage. We’ve got used to it and I haven’t heard of anybody starving. Actually, some people regard it as being fair shares for all.’

‘You sure are a tough breed of people, and I take my hat off to all of you,’ said Nat. ‘That goes for most of us guys, I guess.’

Barbara didn’t know how to answer that. She knew they all put up with the hardships and inconveniences because there was nothing else they could do. But they all did their share of grumbling from time to time, which was only human nature. It was probably true, however, that on the whole they had rallied round as a nation and supported one another, more than they had been inclined to do in peacetime.

‘I notice you’re a sergeant,’ said Barbara, to
bring a new topic to the conversation.

‘Sure,’ Nat replied, ‘and so is my pal, Howard. We were both made up recently. And we’re the genuine article, I can assure you. No badges of rank that we’re not entitled to.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Barbara.

‘Oh, some of these corporals and sergeants that you might see around are real phoneys. They’re privates in disguise. Artificial stripes that are taken off when they leave the dance hall, or if they’re in danger of being seen by an NCO or an officer who knows them. Stripes put on to attract the girls, don’t you know? Medals as well, sometimes; they’re known as “Spam” medals.’

‘Well, fancy that!’ said Barbara. ‘That’s something I didn’t know. Mind you, I’ve heard of some of our lads pretending to be something they’re not. RAF lads telling stories of how many German planes they’ve shot down, when they’re really ground crew … My husband’s a sergeant as well,’ she went on, feeling somehow that she ought to make some reference to him. ‘Probably because of his age and maturity – he’s fifteen years older than me – and he’s in charge of the meals at the officers’ mess. He’s doing pretty much the same thing as he did at home.’

‘So … how long has he been in the army?’

‘He joined up almost straight away, in 1939. He’s never been sent abroad – he escaped Dunkirk
– and there’s not much likelihood of him having to go now. What about you, Nat?’

‘Who can tell?’ Nat shook his head. ‘One never knows. We all know there are preparations going on for a second front later this year. That’s why we’re here. I sure would like to have a bash at old Hitler but, like your hubby, I’m in charge of catering. Coincidence, eh?’

Barbara nodded. ‘Well, I’m sure it’s as important a job as any other. I’ve been relieved that it’s kept Albert away from the battle zone.’

‘That’s exactly what my parents say,’ agreed Nat. ‘But some think, of course, that we’ve got a cushy number. At least I’m seeing the world, aren’t I? Or a part of it at any rate. I hope to see some more of your little old country before I’m through. Blackpool sure is a swell place.’ He smiled and nodded appreciatively. ‘I’ve walked along your prom a time or two, and been drenched when those mighty waves came crashing over the sea wall. Gee, what a sight! It puts me in mind of the coast of Maine. That’s the furthest I’d ever been from home, apart from a week in New York.’

‘I’ve never been very far from Blackpool either,’ said Barbara. ‘I spent a week in London with my aunt and uncle just before the war, and I’ve been up to the Lake District. But since the war started we’ve been encouraged to stay at home. Tell me, I
know I may sound terribly ignorant but … what does GI stand for?’

‘General infantryman,’ replied Nat. ‘It’s as simple as that.’

Barbara nodded. ‘Well, I’m sure glad to know that,’ she smiled. ‘Another thing – I’m being real nosey, aren’t I? Did you say your last name was … Castillo?’

‘Yes, that’s correct. Nat – short for Nathaniel – Castillo.’

‘It sounds Italian …’

‘That’s because, way back, my forefathers must have come from Italy. We’re a cosmopolitan nation, you see. Folks from all over Europe came to settle in America: Italians, French, Spaniards, Germans, and the British, of course. We’ve got our fair share of Smiths, Browns and Robinsons, same as you have over here. But I suppose my great-great – I don’t know how many greats – grandad must have been Italian. I can’t speak the language, though. Eventually, you see, we all ended up speaking English.’

‘Or your version of it,’ smiled Barbara.

‘Ye-eh, point taken.’ Nat laughed. ‘Some quite amusing differences, aren’t there? I know that when we talk about a “bum” we mean someone who’s lazy, but it has rather a different meaning to you, hasn’t it? We have to be careful or we might be thought indelicate. Although, I asked where the
restroom was, in one of your big stores, and the girl looked at me as though I was crazy. Apparently you have no qualms about calling it a toilet or a lavatory? Goodness knows why we Yanks have to be so discreet about it. On the whole, though, we’re united by a common language, aren’t we? And I’ve sure been glad of that. It would have been quite a problem to struggle with a new language as well as everything else.’

The band had now taken over from Ena Baga, and the music of ‘Moonlight Serenade’ was being played. Glenn Miller’s captivating tunes had become very popular in Britain, especially since the arrival of the Americans. ‘
I
n the Mood’, ‘American Patrol’, ‘Pennsylvania, 6-5000’, ‘String of Pearls’; these tunes were heard on the wireless and in dance halls all over the country, but none was more popular than the haunting melody, ‘Moonlight Serenade’.