GI Brides: The Wartime Girls Who Crossed the Atlantic for Love (31 page)

Although he had been gambling while Sylvia was in labour, Bob proved to be a very proud father. He was over the moon at having a son, and Sylvia hoped it would spur him on to stop gambling and save up the money for a deposit on an apartment so that they could move out of his parents' house.

Meanwhile, now that she had brought a new grandchild into the family, Sylvia felt she had more to contribute to conversations around the dinner table. She had always been quite shy, unable to join in with talk about Leo and Bob's work at the post office, or the goings-on of all Mrs O'Connor's relatives. But now she could chat about baby Barry's latest developments – his first tooth or his attempts to crawl – and she didn't feel like such an outsider.

She was also hoping that the new arrival would soften her father-in-law's heart and stop him ignoring her, making snide remarks and letting doors slam in her face. To begin with, Mr O'Connor seemed to take quite an interest in the baby, and he joined in with all the other family members who came round to dote on him. But it wasn't long before his old jealousy reared its ugly head once more. By the time Barry was old enough for a playpen, Mr O'Connor took to simply ignoring him, just as he had Sylvia, walking straight past as if he wasn't there.

Perhaps he saw the child as an affront to his vanity, thought Sylvia. He was a handsome man, and he didn't even like anyone at the post office to know that his son worked there, fearing it would make him seem old, so she was sure that he wouldn't want anyone to know that he was a grandfather. He had stormed out in a rage one day when Sylvia tried to teach the baby to call him Granddad.

Sylvia was becoming increasingly desperate for her and Bob to move out, but her hopes that little Barry's arrival would curb her husband's gambling seemed to have been misplaced. The card-playing in the basement still continued every weekend, and while she stayed at home with the baby, he would go off for games at his Uncle John's, sometimes not coming home until the early hours. Meanwhile, the family continued to bet on the horses every week, encouraging Bob to do the same, and Sylvia frequently found the money in their little savings tin raided to fund his flutters. When she tried to talk to him about it, he simply grumbled and walked off.

As Barry grew older, Mr O'Connor's behaviour towards him only worsened. At eleven months, Barry started to toddle, and one day, seeing his granddad in the room, began wobbling over towards him, his little chubby hands outstretched. Mr O'Connor stood there until the child had almost reached him and then, at the last moment, stepped aside so that Barry fell over. Sylvia witnessed the incident, but told herself that it must have just been a mistake. Perhaps Mr O'Connor wasn't very good with children.

But a few days later the same thing happened again. This time Barry began to cry, and his grandfather laughed at him. Sylvia's heart filled with a mother's rage and, uncharacteristically, she confronted her father-in-law. ‘You can't let a child fall over like that!' she told him.

But Mr O'Connor ignored her completely, nonchalantly lighting up a cigarette and leaving the room.

The next time Mr O'Connor let Barry fall over, Bob was there to see it too. Mr O'Connor laughed as the child fell and hit his head against a table. Bob rushed over to Barry, rubbing his injured head to soothe his tears, and Sylvia was sure he was about to say something to his father. But he simply picked the boy up and walked out of the room.

Sylvia ran after him. ‘You've got to say something to your father,' she begged him. ‘He's deliberately hurting his own grandchild!'

Bob sighed. ‘I can't do anything,' he said, shrugging. ‘We're living in his house.'

Sylvia felt utterly desperate. Living with Bob's father was a nightmare and her husband would do nothing to stand up for her or their son. And with Bob gambling their money away, they were never going to be able to leave. There was only one thing she could do.

The next day, while Bob was at work, Sylvia took their savings tin out of the cupboard and stuffed all the money into her handbag. Then she took Barry and rode the tram downtown to the Cunard office, where she asked for a third-class ticket on the first boat to England. She handed over the money from her handbag and was given a ticket for the
Queen Mary
, departing in three weeks' time.

When she and Barry got home it was gone 4.30 p.m., and Bob was awake after his afternoon nap. ‘Hi, babycakes,' he said. ‘Where have you been?'

‘I went downtown,' Sylvia replied.

‘You went where?' Bob said, surprised. ‘Downtown?'

‘Yes,' Sylvia said. Then she ran upstairs as quickly as she could and put Barry in his crib. He was tired from the outing and fell asleep straight away.

Bob followed her into the bedroom. ‘What's the matter with you?' he asked.

‘Nothing's the matter with me,' Sylvia said, her heart beating fast. ‘I just bought a ticket home.'

‘
What
?'

‘I'm fed up with the way I'm being treated,' Sylvia blurted out. ‘I can't stand your dad's meanness and rudeness, and with you gambling all our money away we're never going to get out of here. I'm going home.'

Sylvia had tears streaming down her face by now, and at the sight of her, Bob began to cry too. ‘How long are you going for?' he asked.

She could see he was devastated, but the anger that had driven her to come this far was still burning. ‘As long as it takes for you to find us a place of our own,' she told him. ‘I'm not coming back unless you do.'

Before long, Mrs O'Connor called them down to dinner. They wiped their tears away and went into the kitchen, Bob looking like a man who'd had the biggest shock of his life. He couldn't believe that his normally docile wife had made such a bold decision.

‘What did you do this afternoon, go shopping?' Bob's mother asked Sylvia absentmindedly as they sat down to eat.

‘No, Mom,' Bob said quietly. ‘She went downtown and bought a boat ticket. She's going back to England.'

Mrs O'Connor looked astonished. Like her son, all she could say was, ‘What?'

Sylvia remained calm and collected, but she could feel her cheeks burning red. ‘We need our own place,' she said, ‘and it doesn't look like we're going to get one at the moment, so I decided I'm going home until Bob can find us somewhere.'

‘I thought you were saving up for an apartment,' Mrs O'Connor said, flabbergasted.

‘I had to use that money for the ticket,' Sylvia replied. ‘Bob's been gambling it away on the horses so I thought I'd better get in there quick while there was still some left.'

Mrs O'Connor couldn't argue with that – after all, Sylvia had pleaded with her to stop asking Bob if he wanted a flutter and she had ignored her.

Sylvia almost felt like smiling. Despite her bright-red cheeks, for the first time since she had arrived at the O'Connors' she felt powerful.

For the next three weeks, Bob stuck to Sylvia like glue, following her around as if he was scared she might do a runner early. He was on his best behaviour, not gambling at all, but it didn't change her mind. She knew that as long as he was surrounded by his family he would go back to it.

Sylvia wrote to her parents, telling them that she was coming home for a visit. She didn't say why – she still hadn't told them how bad things had got, knowing how much her mum would worry. And she had never forgotten what Mrs Bradley had said at the airfield the day she left: ‘You've made your bed, and now you'll have to lie in it.'

Since Sylvia had read that the
Queen Mary
had an onboard swimming pool, she went out specially and bought herself a green woollen swimsuit to take with her. But while she was packing the rest of her things for the trip, she made a discovery that filled her with sadness. In a box in the basement of the O'Connors' house, where Bob had spent so many hours playing cards, the wax headpiece she had worn on her wedding day had melted all over the beautiful white dress her mother had made, and it was completely ruined.

When the day finally came for Sylvia to leave, Bob rode the train with her to New York. All the way there he kept playing with little Barry, bouncing him up and down on his knee. ‘I'm going to miss you, buddy,' he said sadly. But Sylvia's mind was completely set on the course of action she had begun.

They took a cab to the port and Sylvia's luggage was taken by a steward to be put on the boat. They hung about for an hour or so until the announcement was made for
Queen Mary
passengers to embark.

Bob turned to Sylvia and hugged her tightly. ‘I'll find a place for us soon,' he told her. ‘It won't be long.'

‘Goodbye, Bob,' Sylvia said quietly, hugging him back. All the frustration of the last two years, and her disappointment that he hadn't stood up to his father, had never stopped her loving him.

She walked up the gangplank carrying Barry, and turned to wave at Bob. Barry copied her, and then they were gone.

Now that the war-bride transport operation was over, the
Queen Mary
was once again a luxury liner, and even third-class passengers like Sylvia had a cinema, a wood-panelled lounge and library, a hairdresser's and a large dining room with crisp white tablecloths and mahogany chairs.

The luggage had been delivered to the passengers' rooms, but Sylvia found hers had not arrived. She caught sight of a friendly looking young steward and asked him if he could locate her suitcase. He promised to find it and went off to look.

An hour later, the steward knocked on her door. ‘I'm sorry Mrs O'Connor,' he said, ‘but there's no sign of your luggage. I don't know what's happened to it – it's definitely not anywhere on the boat.'

Sylvia couldn't believe it – she and Barry had a six-and-a-half-day voyage ahead of them, and all she had were half a dozen nappies and a change of clothes for the two of them. At least she had packed her swimsuit in her hand luggage, she thought. ‘Where's the swimming pool?' she asked the steward.

‘I'm afraid only first- and second-class passengers can go swimming,' he told her.

He saw Sylvia's disappointed face and felt guilty knowing she had been left without her things. ‘Well, I might be able to arrange something,' he said quietly. ‘The second-class pool is closed for a couple of hours in the middle of the day – I might be able to sneak you in.'

The next day the steward knocked for her and took her towards the back of the ship where the second-class swimming pool was located. It was a beautiful Art Deco room with columns around the pool, and Sylvia gasped in delight as she saw it. She handed Barry to the steward and went into one of the ladies' dressing boxes to change into her new green swimsuit. Then she dived in, feeling like a movie star.

As her body cut through the water, to her horror Sylvia felt her engagement and wedding rings slip off her finger. She came to the surface as quickly as she could, and swam round in circles trying to see where they had gone. ‘I've lost my rings!' she shouted to the steward, who rushed over to the edge of the pool. ‘What am I going to do?'

‘I'll get someone to help,' he replied. Sylvia hastily got out of the pool, wrapped herself in a towel and took Barry from him.

A few minutes later, the steward came back with one of the life guards, who dived in to search for the rings. Sylvia looked on anxiously as time and again he came back to the surface empty handed. ‘There's only one thing for it,' he told the steward. ‘We're going to have to drain the pool!'

Sylvia looked on, mortified, as the
Queen Mary
's swimming pool was drained just for her – a third-class passenger who wasn't even meant to be there in the first place. To make matters worse, her woollen swimming suit had stretched a good five inches in the water, leaving her looking very far from the movie star she had felt like when she arrived.

Sylvia's rings were eventually returned to her, but the poor steward got in trouble for sneaking her in and she never saw him again.

When Sylvia arrived in Southampton, her mother, father and two little sisters – now eleven and thirteen – were waiting for her. She could see that her normally strong mother was struggling not to cry, but as Sylvia approached tears began rolling down her cheeks.

‘You've made it, love!' Mrs Bradley cried, throwing her arms around her daughter.

Seeing her mum's tears, Sylvia realised just how much her family had missed her. When she had left England, all her thoughts had been about her future with Bob and she hadn't really thought about the impact her departure would have on the lives of those around her. But her sister Audrey told her that, when she left, their mother had cried every night for three months.

Mr Bradley's face lit up as soon as he saw Barry – his first grandchild – and he covered him in kisses. Meanwhile, Sylvia's sisters were delighted to have a little nephew to pet.

Back in Woolwich, all the neighbours came round, eager for news about America. ‘What's it like?' ‘Is it as big as they say?' ‘Does everyone have a car?'

‘Well, not everyone has a car,' Sylvia had to admit. ‘But it is very big.'

Sylvia hadn't wanted to burden her mother with how bad things had got at the O'Connors', but once everyone else had gone home, she told her a little of how her father-in-law had treated her. Mrs Bradley was outraged. ‘Bloody old sod,' she fumed. ‘I'd like to punch him on the nose!' Nor was she happy to hear that Mrs O'Connor had her daughter doing all the housework for a mere two dollars a week. ‘She must have thought you were her skivvy,' she said.

Over the next few days, Sylvia saw how different Barry's relationship with his English grandfather was to that with Mr O'Connor. He was the apple of Mr Bradley's eye, who clearly loved having a little boy in the family. Barry, meanwhile, could call him Granddad without incurring his wrath.