GI Brides: The wartime girls who crossed the Atlantic for love. Duncan Barrett

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СКАЧАТЬ was spending with Lawrence, Taylor still hadn’t made any attempt to win her back. She decided the only way forward was to contact him herself, so one evening after work she called him at his flat.

      ‘Oh, hi, Margaret,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘How are you?’

      ‘I’m very well,’ she replied. She chatted for a little while, and then dropped in nonchalantly, ‘I’ve been dating a captain in the Engineer Service, Captain Rambo. Perhaps you know him?’

      ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Taylor replied, unconcerned. ‘Well, I’ve gotta go. See ya.’

      After she hung up, Margaret felt almost as wretched as she had done when Taylor had thrown her over. He clearly wasn’t the slightest bit jealous, and all she had done was embarrass herself again.

      When Lawrence called later asking if she was free, she ran to him. She didn’t want to be alone that night, and it felt good to be in the arms of a man who she knew really wanted her.

      The following week, Margaret was surprised to find she had missed her period. She put it down to the distress caused by Taylor and forgot all about it. But a month later, still it hadn’t come, so she made an appointment with a doctor.

      ‘I’m afraid to say you’re pregnant,’ he told her.

      ‘How is that possible?’ Margaret cried. ‘I used the cap.’

      ‘Oh, those things don’t always work,’ he replied.

      Margaret couldn’t believe it. She rushed out of the doctor’s surgery and hurried home as quickly as she could, afraid she might burst into tears in the street. Once in the house she ran up to her room and locked the door behind her, before collapsing on the bed and crying bitterly into her pillow.

      Margaret felt beside herself with fear and regret. She had only really gone out with Lawrence to make Taylor jealous, and now not only had her plan failed, but it had backfired in the worst way imaginable. To give birth to an illegitimate baby would utterly ruin her, and her family would never get over it.

      The next day was a Sunday, and Margaret spent the whole day locked in her room. The landlady came and knocked on the door, worried about her. ‘I’m all right – just a slight cold,’ Margaret called out. But inside the room she was in hell. She hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours and she had been crying all night long. To make matters worse she was feeling nauseous, and wasn’t sure if it was the pregnancy or her dread of it that was making her want to vomit.

      Once again she felt how alone she was in the world. If only she had a normal mother, perhaps she could have turned to her and confessed what had happened. But she hadn’t had any contact with Mrs Boyle since she had left Ireland. The thought of her military father finding out about the pregnancy filled her with dread. Margaret knew abortions were illegal, and that backstreet abortionists were often little better than butchers. If she was going to find a solution to this problem, she would have to find it for herself.

      She went to the cupboard, took out a wire coat hanger and untwisted it. Then she lay down on the bed, took a deep breath to steady her sobbing and inserted the hook.

4

       Gwendolyn

      In July 1943 the US Army took over the port of Southampton, putting the docks under the control of their 14th Port Transportation Corps, who would handle the huge influx of cargo necessary for the invasion of Europe. Before long, the city had become the chief supply centre for the Americans in Britain.

      One local girl had a perfect vantage point from which to study the American officers as they zoomed in and out of the forecourt of the grand, red-bricked Polygon Hotel, where they were billeted. Gwendolyn Rowe counted herself lucky, at seventeen, to have scored a job as a shorthand typist at the Chamber of Commerce just opposite the hotel, where she and her female colleagues watched the new arrivals with great interest. When she cycled into work, her glossy black hair streaming in the wind, she always drew calls of, ‘Hey, baby – slow down for me!’ But she responded with a curt ‘I’m not your baby.’

      Watching from afar was one thing, but Gwen’s first real encounter with an American soldier had been something of an embarrassment. A young GI, slouching along her road with his hands in his pockets, had made her almost jump out of her skin by suddenly pulling out a small box and waving it in her face. ‘Hey, want some talc, miss?’ he asked.

      Gwen was infuriated. What did he think she was – a charity case? ‘No, I do not,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t take presents from strangers.’

      The young man’s face fell. ‘Sorry, miss, didn’t mean to cause no harm,’ he said.

      Gwen’s mother Mrs Rowe, a forthright Scottish lady with raven hair just like her daughter’s, had witnessed the scene from the doorway of their house on Padwell Road. As soon as Gwen reached the doorstep, she reprimanded her: ‘Those men are here to help us. You go back at once and say thank you.’

      Gwen let out an irritated sigh, and went after the young man. ‘Sorry,’ she said, as she caught up with him. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’

      ‘No problem, miss,’ he replied with a smile, pushing the talcum powder into her hand. When she got the gift home, Gwen was secretly thrilled. Rose scented and luxurious, it was the most wonderful thing she had been given in four years of rationing.

      Gwen and the girls at the Chamber of Commerce found that American officers were frequently coming in to ask them for local information, and it was sometimes difficult to know whether their enquiries were genuine. The Americans seemed particularly keen to solicit local information from Gwen, although so far none of them had actually asked her out – perhaps because, being very slender, she looked younger than her seventeen years. But one day, as she was going into work, a jeep screeched to a halt beside her. The driver called out ‘Hey, sugar!’ and Gwen, turning to give a smart reply, was caught speechless.

      There, with one foot on the dashboard and a large cigar hanging languidly from the corner of his mouth, was a stunningly attractive GI with sparkling brown eyes and exotic good looks. ‘What you doing tonight, baby?’ he asked.

      ‘Um, I don’t know,’ replied Gwen, flustered.

      He laughed. ‘Come to the dance at the Polygon with me. What’s your name, sugar?’

      ‘Gwen.’

      ‘I’m Ed. See you at eight, Gwen.’

      His beautiful face zoomed off with a big smile on it.

      That evening Gwen peddled home from work faster than she ever had before. A date at the Polygon would require a sophisticated outfit, and she knew there was only one dress that would be up to the task: her emerald-green one. Handmade by her mother from curtain material, since dress fabric was rationed, she knew the colour complimented her dark eyes and jet-black hair.

      With relief she found the dress hanging up pressed and immaculate in the cupboard. After bathing in the regulation five inches of water and dousing herself in her rose-scented talc, she put it on – and immediately felt like a princess. Unfortunately, with no carriage and horses to transport her, she would have to make do with her bike to get her to the hotel, so she hitched up the dress with safety pins and rode off.

      When Gwen arrived at the СКАЧАТЬ