GI Brides: The Wartime Girls Who Crossed the Atlantic for Love (18 page)

‘Nurse!' he shouted, summoning one of the sisters. ‘Take this woman's temperature.'

The nurse did so and told him it was 103 degrees.

‘My God,' he said. ‘It's puerperal fever.'

Margaret was terrified. She knew the disease was often fatal.

The fever was making her shiver uncontrollably and she felt increasingly woozy. Another doctor was called and Margaret struggled to focus on what they were saying.

They seemed to be arguing over whether or not to give her a new drug. ‘But can you have an adverse reaction to it?' the second doctor was asking nervously. The other was arguing for administering the drug. ‘It's the best chance of saving her,' he insisted.

In the end they seemed to reach a decision, and the nurse brought in a needle and syringe.

‘We're going to give you something called penicillin, Margaret,' the doctor told her. ‘It's rare as hen's teeth.'

The doctors kept a close eye on their patient after that, anxious to see whether the new ‘miracle drug' would live up to its name.

Within four hours of the injection Margaret's temperature had dropped considerably, and by the end of the day it was back to normal.

A couple of days later she was allowed to go home. ‘Well, Mrs Rambo,' said the doctor who had first seen her. ‘It seems we've saved your life here!'

‘Thank you,' Margaret said quietly. But the whole experience in the hospital, from the hours left alone in a room without pain relief to the power cut and the life-threatening fever, had been so terrifying that she didn't feel grateful – only desperate to get out of there.

First, however, she would have to pay the bill. ‘Hasn't my husband been in to see to it?' she asked. But she was informed that Mr Rambo had not been seen.

‘The bill needs paying before you leave,' she was told.

Margaret handed over all the money she had, but it wasn't anywhere near enough. ‘I'm sorry, but that's all I have,' she told them. ‘I'll ask my husband for the rest when I see him.'

The wife of Lawrence's colleague came to collect her, and she hurried out of the hospital shame-faced, clutching baby Maeve to her. She was shocked that Lawrence could have left her in hospital all alone, with no way of paying the bill.

Back at the other couple's house Lawrence was waiting for her, and was thrilled to see baby Maeve. Margaret felt too embarrassed to bring up the issue of the unpaid bill, but once they were on their own in the summer house, she confronted him about it.

‘I told them to send the bill on to me,' he said angrily. ‘I can't believe they demanded the money from you, after all you've been through. I'm so sorry, my dear.'

He sounded so adamant that Margaret didn't question him further, but she couldn't help thinking of all those unpaid bills back in England.

Sylvia had been dating her military policeman Bob for more than six months, but every time she saw him her heart still raced just as it had on their first dates. They went dancing together at the Hammersmith Palais, took day trips into the countryside and spent weekends at the Bradleys' in Woolwich, going down the pub with her parents – who had become almost as fond of him as she was. Now she knew what people meant when they said they were ‘love sick' – she felt she was in a state of almost feverish passion, and every kind attention, every generous gift and every joke he told just made her love him more.

Since their first kiss in the graveyard of St Mary's Church, Sylvia and Bob had come back to visit it often. He still loved to read the ancient tombstones, marvelling at their age and inventing funny stories about the lives of the people buried there. One day, after strolling around the gravestones, they took a seat on a bench beneath a beautiful statue of a lion. Bob had been fascinated when Sylvia had told him about the man it commemorated – a nineteenth-century coal porter turned bare-knuckle boxer, known as the ‘Black Diamond', who had become a world champion.

It was November and starting to turn chilly, and as they sat in the windy graveyard, Bob pulled Sylvia close and put his coat around her. Sylvia didn't mind the gloomy setting – she was glowing inwardly, happy just to be close to him. It was there, underneath the proud lion, that Bob asked her to marry him.

When they got back to St Mary Street, Sylvia could see from her parents' faces that Bob had already told them his intentions. ‘Off to the pub, then,' Sylvia's mother said. ‘We've got something to celebrate!'

But beneath her smile, Mrs Bradley was struggling. She wanted more than anything for Sylvia to be happy, but at the same time the thought of her eldest daughter going to the other side of the world, where she could no longer protect her, filled her with fear. ‘I hope you know what you're doing, Sylvie,' she said, when Bob was out of earshot. ‘It's a very big step.'

But her worried remarks couldn't pierce Sylvia's bubble. Sylvia had no thoughts beyond the fact that the man she adored wanted her to be his wife, and anyway Bob had promised her that when they did finally move to the States, he would bring her home to England on regular visits.

In the pub, Mr Bradley bought his daughter her first ever glass of wine. The alcohol burned Sylvia's throat and turned her face bright red, but she drank it nonetheless, feeling very grown up.

‘To Sylvie and Bob,' her dad said. ‘Good luck – and I hope all your troubles are little ones!'

Sylvia began excitedly planning the wedding, while her mother put her skills as a seamstress to good use making a beautiful wedding dress, giving up her own clothing coupons to buy the satin, taffeta and material for the veil.

But one night, four weeks after the engagement, Sylvia turned up for her shift at the Washington Club to find Bob waiting there with a concerned look on his face.

‘What's wrong?' she asked him.

‘Babycakes, I've got something to tell you,' he said gently. ‘I'm being sent back to the US next week.'

Sylvia was stunned. ‘But what about the wedding?' she asked.

‘Don't worry, we'll still get married,' Bob said. ‘It may take longer than we planned, and it might have to be in America, but it will happen.'

Sylvia felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under her. While all the other GI brides were getting ready to sail across the Atlantic to join their husbands, she had, quite literally, missed the boat. The War Brides Act did not cover fiancées, and since Sylvia would not be eligible for free travel courtesy of the Army, she and Bob would have to fund her trip themselves.

‘I know it's a lot of money, but if we both start saving, hopefully we can get it together within a year,' he said.

Bob had two days' leave before he had to travel to Southampton to await embarkation. He and Sylvia spent their last afternoon together going to the pictures in Woolwich, but she found it impossible to pay attention to the movie. All she could think about was the fact that Bob was leaving.

Afterwards they stopped in the local pub so Bob could say goodbye to Mr and Mrs Bradley, and then Sylvia went to see him off at the station. They held each other tight for a long time, and Sylvia closed her eyes, wishing that the hug would never end. ‘It won't be long until we see each other again,' Bob told her.

Sylvia was too choked up to reply. As she watched the love of her life walk away, she felt crushed.

Christmas of 1945 was a lonely one for Sylvia, and although she did her best to be cheerful for her younger sisters, she felt like a part of her was missing.

In the new year she carried on going to work at the Piccadilly Hotel as before, but around her everything was changing. Bit by bit the foreign uniforms were disappearing from the streets, and it seemed as if London was emptying out. Many younger British men were glad to see the Yanks go, relieved that the competition had finally been removed, but families like Sylvia's, who had got to know the GIs personally, felt bereft. The Americans had made the Brits more relaxed and less reserved than they had been before the war, and their happy-go-lucky, laid-back attitude had been appreciated. ‘I miss chatting to all those Yanks you brought home,' said Mrs Bradley mournfully. She might have been wary of the GIs to begin with, but in the end Sylvia's various boyfriends had proven to be an opportunity for her to relive her youth.

At work things weren't the same either. Peggy had got a job nearer to her home in Battersea, so Sylvia no longer had her best friend in the office. Worst of all, the Red Cross clubs were beginning to close. When Rainbow Corner had first opened in 1942, the key had been thrown away to demonstrate its intention to be open twenty-four hours a day, but now a new key had had to be made to lock the doors. It closed with a ‘GI's jamboree' and a visit from Eleanor Roosevelt, who announced, ‘This club has proved we can work together. More than 80 per cent of the people working here were British, and they worked with our American staff and made this club what it was and what it will always be in the hearts of our servicemen – a wonderful success.' But now those English volunteers were no longer needed, and Sylvia had to say a sad farewell to the Washington Club, which had been her social life for so long.

Meanwhile, she wrote to Bob all the time. Although he wrote back, it was only a couple of times a month, and she couldn't help wishing he would write more. She lived for his letters, and loved to hear about his life in America. He had got a job in the post office, he said, just like his father, and he painted a happy picture of going for picnics and playing cards at Chesapeake Bay with his family.

The weeks turned into months as Sylvia worked and saved to get the money for her boat trip. It seemed that the rest of the country was beginning to move on from the war, but her life was on hold.

One day, Sylvia rushed to pick up the post as usual, and to her delight found a letter from Bob. She ran up to her room to read it in private, sat down on her bed and tore open the envelope. As she pulled out the letter, to her surprise something else fell out: a Pan Am ticket from London to New York.

‘Hey, shortstuff!' Bob wrote. ‘I won $1,000 in a craps game and I'm sending you an airline ticket to come marry me!'

Sylvia gaped at the words in astonishment. ‘Mum!' she shouted, running full pelt down the stairs. ‘Guess what? Bob's sent me an aeroplane ticket to America!'

‘An aeroplane?' Mrs Bradley replied incredulously. ‘Is that safe?'

They had never met anyone who had travelled on a passenger plane, and Sylvia suddenly felt a little fear mingled in with her excitement. But she told herself that at least she wouldn't have to endure a week at sea before she could be reunited with Bob.

On her last day at the Piccadilly Hotel, the girls in the billing office all gave Sylvia goodbye presents – a little address book, lace handkerchiefs with her initials on them, a cake server in a little box and a few clothing coupons they had saved. Even her manageress, Miss Franks, had bought her a big box of fruit jellies. Sylvia was touched, and as she went home on the train for the last time, she knew she was going to miss her life at the hotel.

The next day, she used the coupons to buy a brand-new tweed skirt suit, which she planned to wear on the aeroplane so that she could turn up at Bob's in style. In the evening, her parents took her to see her Auntie Lil in Forest Hill, who had organised a surprise party for her. Her mum and aunt had spent hours making mini sausage rolls, finger sandwiches and a cake. Her grandpa led the party in games of pass the orange and blow the feather, and Auntie Lil played the piano as everyone sang along. By the end of the night, Sylvia was worn out with singing and laughing.

The day before she was meant to leave, Sylvia was surprised to receive a visit from one of her old pen pals. It was Tom, whose friend Frank had taken her to Nottingham to meet his mum, thinking they were going to get married. His time serving in the North African desert seemed to have aged him, she noticed.

‘Hello, Tom,' Sylvia said. ‘What brings you here?'

‘I wanted to ask you something,' he said awkwardly. ‘Will you do me the honour of being my wife?'

‘What?' Sylvia gasped. Could it be that yet again she had unwittingly given a man the impression that she was interested in marrying him? She had seen her letter-writing as a patriotic activity – was she now going to receive a stream of proposals as all the men returned home?

‘I want to marry you,' Tom insisted.

‘I'm sorry, Tom, but I'm leaving for America tomorrow to marry someone else!' Sylvia said.

Tom looked at her mournfully with his big brown eyes. He reminded Sylvia of a spaniel. ‘Oh, so I'm too late!' he said bitterly.

Mrs Bradley bustled into the hall. ‘Well, since you've come all the way from Nottingham, you must stay,' she said. For the rest of the day Sylvia went about preparing for her journey, trying to ignore the reproachful looks Tom shot her.