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СКАЧАТЬ Borgy wolfed the food down hungrily, declaring it to be the best meal he had ever had.

      Then he pulled out a packet of Lucky Strikes and lit up. ‘Want one?’ he asked.

      June nodded, and he handed her his cigarette, then lit another for himself.

      June had smoked before, but as soon as she took a drag on the Lucky Strike she realised it was much stronger than the English cigarettes she was used to, and she couldn’t help coughing. Borgy smiled. ‘Too much for you, huh?’

      ‘It’s fine,’ June said, smiling. She didn’t want him to think she was unsophisticated.

      June was shy enough at the best of times, but in the presence of the American she found herself more tongue-tied than ever. Fortunately, Borgy did enough talking for both of them, telling her all about his job as clerk to an army general, and how he had joined up straight out of high school.

      ‘I wanted to go to college, but I’m the oldest of eleven so I had responsibilities,’ he said.

      June couldn’t quite believe she had heard him correctly. ‘Eleven?’ she repeated.

      ‘Why, sure,’ Borgy replied. ‘There’s me, Ruth, Vincent, Alfred, Mary, Millie, Genevieve, Dottie, Louise, Butch and Rita.’

      Mrs Baker was listening in from the bar. ‘Your poor mother gave birth to all those children?’ she asked incredulously.

      ‘Yes, ma’am, she sure did,’ he replied. ‘And being the eldest, I had to learn to wash, cook and sew for all of them!’

      ‘Oh June, you’ve got a real catch there!’ said her mother, and again June felt herself turn red.

      June discovered that the Borgmeyers were of German ancestry, which accounted for Borgy’s blond hair. But he didn’t seem to have any qualms about fighting the Germans, and was quite the all-American boy.

      June felt she could have sat listening to Borgy all night, but to her disappointment he had to go. ‘They’re bussing us back to base,’ he told her. ‘But I’ll see you again soon.’

      He flashed her a smile, causing her to feel lightheaded and giddy, and then he was gone.

      June couldn’t believe her luck. Hollywood, it seemed, had come to Birmingham.

2

      Borgy was as good as his word, and one day a couple of weeks later, June arrived home from work to find him sitting at the bar. He was enjoying a beer on the house and chatting to her parents, who were both laughing heartily at everything he said.

      ‘Hi, June!’ Borgy said, turning to smile at her. ‘Can I get you something?’

      ‘Erm, why don’t we go somewhere else?’ she suggested.

      ‘Sure. You’re the boss,’ Borgy replied, downing the dregs of his beer and following her to the door. ‘Thank you, ma’am, sir,’ he called to her parents.

      ‘Any time, Borgy,’ replied Mr Baker. ‘You and your friends are always welcome at the Lister Tavern.’

      There was only one place June considered smart enough for an American, and that was the Midland Hotel. Located by Birmingham New Street Station, not far from the cathedral, it was an elegant Victorian building with a grand marble staircase and a stylish lounge bar.

      June glowed with pride as she walked into the hotel on the arm of her American. Sitting in the salubrious surrounds of the lounge she felt almost as if she were one of the Hollywood starlets she had idolised for so long.

      Borgy bought their drinks, and when he went to pay June noticed he had an astonishing amount of cash on him. The Americans’ salaries were far higher than those of British soldiers, so they could afford to splash out on dates.

      Borgy handed the bartender a large note, which made the man tut in annoyance – but his face soon lit up when Borgy told him, ‘Keep the change.’

      Borgy was a true gentleman, once again pulling out June’s chair for her, standing up respectfully when she rose to go to the lavatory and paying her little compliments. She had certainly never met an English boy with such good manners, nor been made to feel so special before.

      He was also so much more laid-back and open than the English people she knew, and he exuded a kind of warmth that she noticed made everyone around him more relaxed. I wonder if all Americans are like this, she thought.

      On the way home, Borgy and June held hands, and just before they came into sight of her parents’ pub, he turned and kissed her. June felt as if she was in a love scene in one of her favourite movies.

      Soon, Borgy was a regular visitor to the Lister Tavern, always coming to call for June on his days off. And his wasn’t the only GI uniform to be seen around the city, now that US bases had opened at Sutton Coldfield and other nearby towns. Whenever the GIs got leave they would be bussed into Birmingham, to make the most of the nightlife, and they were arriving in increasing numbers.

      One day, when June returned from work, her mother told her that Borgy had come into the pub hoping to see her. ‘He came to say goodbye, love,’ she told June. ‘He’s been sent down south.’

      June was disappointed to hear that her American had left, and upset not to have had a chance to say goodbye. But she wasn’t down in the dumps for long, since there was now no shortage of other GIs to distract her. Her best friend Margaret had discovered that the Americans’ favourite hangout was the Grand Casino, a beautiful former theatre that was being used as a dance hall, and she suggested they go there one Saturday night.

      Thanks to rationing, June’s wardrobe was woefully inadequate, but luckily one of her mum’s friends had given her a pretty skirt suit with a sash waist that she no longer wanted. That Saturday June put on the suit, applied a layer of Max Factor ‘Pan-Cake’ make-up, drew a line up the back of each leg with eyeliner to give the illusion that she was wearing stockings, and set out to catch the bus to the Grand Casino.

      ‘Mind you’re back by closing time,’ her dad warned as she left.

      Outside the dance hall, a long queue had already formed, and June could see many GIs among its number, slouching against the wall and chewing gum. Margaret greeted her excitedly and they joined the back of the line.

      At the entrance, men were sent to the right and ladies to the left, passing through a long corridor to the cloakrooms and then meeting again in the former auditorium, which was decorated in elegant crimson and gold. Tables and chairs were scattered around, and there were big columns against which several GIs were leaning nonchalantly.

      The band was playing American swing-style music, and the theatre’s enormous stage was now the dance floor. As June looked up onto it, she could see local girls partnered with Americans, performing a manic dance in which their feet barely seemed to touch the ground. Every now and then the men threw the girls out away from them and then pulled them, spinning, back into their embrace. Some even threw their partners behind them so that they literally rolled off their backs. June was fascinated, and not a little horrified.

      ‘It’s called the jitterbug,’ Margaret said, seeing her staring in awe.

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