The Gift of a Year

The Gift of a Year

Fifteen coupons for a dress, seven for a pair of shoes; that made twenty two out of a year’s supply of sixty clothing coupons.
Peggy had decided to get married. There was a big argument with her father who objected because she was only 18 years old. He did not want the responsibility of a failed marriage laid at his door, but her two older sisters prevailed upon him to grant the permission required for her to marry before the age of 21. There was no tomorrow; they lived only for today. Everyone was getting married and they even wanted a “proper do”, veil and all! Now or never! It could be the last of anything; indeed, the last of everything. So, a collection was made amongst all their friends and relatives. For money? No, much more precious than that: for clothing coupons to outfit the Bridal Party.
The wedding was beautiful. No one, dropping in from Mars or any other place, would have realized there was a war going on, with drastic rationing of food and clothing. In fact, rationing of everything used in normal life. The radiant bride, dressed in a long gown of white chiffon velvet, wearing the same veil her eldest sister Katie had worn the summer before, and carrying her mother’s bible, was accompanied by four attendants in shimmering burgundy velvet. It was a grand affair on that chilly January day, in war-time England 1942.
The girl across the street had her wedding two weeks later, and felt no shame or embarrassment in borrowing the wedding regalia en bloc. It saved her an enormous amount of clothing coupons. Everyone was doing it. That was the norm.
Gayle was not married. In fact, she did not have, nor want, a steady boyfriend. She moved around with a crowd, and spent many evenings dancing. The favourite meeting place was a roadhouse, called The Dutch House. It was a familiar, well-known pub, set back from the A20, the arterial road running from London to the coast. Three times a week dances were held there, and the place was always packed with men and women, all trying to find relaxation, rest and diversion from the gruelling ordeal of everyday living. There were soldiers, sailors, airmen, firemen, ambulance drivers, Ack Ack civil defense personnel, and women in the WACs and WRENs. It was a treat for the gals to get out of uniform and into a pretty dress.
Gayle was not in the forces. She had wanted to be a WREN in the women’s navy, the last of the women’s forces to be mustered, but was denied permission to leave her key position with British Rail. Key positions were jobs in vital industries taken over by women; thus releasing men to serve their country when their Calling Up Papers arrived. Men from ages 18 to 25 were the first to go; then as the war progressed the 25s, 30s and later the 40 year olds followed. Soon all women 18 to 25 were also drafted into the forces, whether armed, civil, or the land army. Every girl in that age bracket had to go, except those in key positions.
Peggy was employed as a telephone operator. Katie was a firewoman stationed in an abandoned school. The school kids had all been moved to some place in the country, billeted with complete strangers, for better or for worse! The school was three storeys high; the top floor housing the staff with sleeping quarters, cafeteria and living rooms. The second floor was fully occupied by the auxiliary fire fighters; civilians as opposed to the regular fire brigades, which of course were still very much in operation. The bottom floor served as home to the anti-aircraft crews, who manned the balloons and Ack Ack guns. The balloons? They were huge inflatable barrage balloons mounted on trucks for easy mobility. With the warning of an air attack they were inflated and hoisted by means of a winch, on massive cables strong enough to withstand the rigours of the elements, and wicked enough to slice a house in two should a balloon break free from its mooring. They were strategically raised willy-nilly to various heights, as protection against enemy planes attempting to dive bomb the scattered sites containing vital installations, very precious searchlights and anti-aircraft guns. Thousands of these balloons formed a lattice-like parasol protection over London and all the big cities. At a moment’s notice they could be driven around the country to congregate en masse to be placed strategically around any site which might be under bombardment.
The three sisters were very close and, except for the times Katie was on duty at the fire station, they were all living with their parents in the family home. Katie’s own home had been boarded up and abandoned for the duration since all its windows had been shattered and doors blown off from the blast created by a bomb which had destroyed several neighbouring houses. They used to play "musical bedrooms" when either Peggy’s or Katie’s husband came home on leave from the war, so that the couple could occupy the guest room.
Then Gayle met him. Dancing one night at The Dutch House, her partner Neil, spotted his friend John dancing with a very attractive, if somewhat flashy girl who was clinging to him like ivy and chatting away like a magpie. It took two or three attempts to attract his attention, but finally John was drawn over to their crowd. Fifteen of them were bunched around four tables pushed together to accommodate them all. “Hi, John” bellowed Neil, “come and sit here. I’d like you to meet a very nice girl.” “Say, Gayle, this is John.” With that he sped off after the clinging blonde number and was lost for the evening. Gayle was annoyed at being deserted in that manner, and was not a bit interested in the eager attentions showered on her by the newcomer, but danced with him nonetheless.
Going home was always an adventure in itself. Looking back it should be described as an ordeal of terror, but it would not be true to say it was regarded as such. There were never any cars or taxis, and the buses had long since ceased to run, generally going back to the garages at midnight, and certainly not around at 2 a.m. when the dancing broke up. So it was always “shank’s pony” as they referred to it, i.e. on foot, after the dancing, and no one seemed to care. The mile and a half trek home would take anywhere between a half to 2 or 3 hours, depending on the air raids which may or may not be in progress.
With gas masks slung over one shoulder, steel helmets squarely planted atop the head, everyone slipped out of the huge front entrance carefully closing one set of outer doors before opening the next ones, cautiously preventing any vestige of light from penetrating the outside. To allow even a tiny glimmer to escape was a criminal and punishable offence. Everything was pitch black and the friends gathered on the front porch searching each other out to make the trip home in groups. Some this way, some that. Someone had a truck, gassed up with purloined or scrounged petrol, illegally no doubt, and a whole crowd of them squeezed in to be conveyed precariously, with no means of headlights or other assistance, for such was totally banned, back to the school which was the home for a number of them.
John had insisted upon seeing Gayle home, against her first inclination, but she accepted his offer since her date for the evening had disappeared with the voluptuous blonde. Side by side they hurried through the blackness of the night, the adrenaline high and hearts pounding, not caused by the effects of each other, but from the air raid taking place in the sky above them. They looked up searchingly and, by the now familiar engine sound, could identify the enemy aircraft! Suddenly the Ack Ack boys had their searchlight focused on a plane, once trapped in the circle of light it was almost impossible for the enemy to escape. They fired at it with their guns. At the sound of the blast John and Gayle began to count, while making a dive into the porch of somebody’s house. They had ten seconds to reach shelter. Ten seconds before the earth would be showered with falling shrapnel … flack as it was commonly known. Ten seconds before that bomb, which had been sent up into the heavens, would disintegrate and scatter the ground below with millions of tiny bullet-like missiles, some not so tiny, to create havoc on those who were foolish enough to be out in an air raid, and not under ground in their own back yard in the ‘dug-out’ shelter. It was against this flack that the law required everyone on the streets to wear a steel helmet to provide a modicum of protection.
It took them a long time to reach home that night giving them the opportunity to exchange a great deal of information about themselves. Because the raid was a heavy one it was after 4.a.m. when they reached her house and Gayle invited John to stay for what was left of the night. He could spend a few hours resting on the sofa and make his way home the next morning in the safety of daylight. In wartime it was not necessary to ask parents’ permission to invite guests to spend the night. Everyone stayed with anyone; it was all quite normal. Complete strangers sleeping side by side, on the floors of hotel lobbies when caught in air raids, was a common sight. Nightly, subway stations were crowded public dormitories.
Unexplainably, John found himself falling in love with Gayle. Could this be love at first sight? At his age? He could not believe this was happening to him. He was 30 and she 22. It was rare in those days that neither was married, nor intended to be. He had been engaged and jilted a few years back, becoming cynical and hard. Now, in the air force, he was intent upon making the best of things and having as good a time as possible, with no strings. Gayle had never met any one she could possibly think of living with for the rest of her life, war or no war! Yet, out of an unpromising start there began a friendship which, neither had expected, nor believed possible.
Then, he was assigned to a new posting, which threatened to be a treacherous one. He was about to become a member of a Lancaster bombing crew. She could not understand just why she hated the thought so much. Why it hurt to think of it. He was not the only one of a bomber crew that she knew; why did she feel so disturbed? For the next six weeks he wrote and telephoned her constantly, and she found herself awaiting his return with anxiety and anticipation; longing for that seventh week. Aircrew had six weeks on duty and one week leave to go home to recuperate! That was the drill. They shared six beautiful days of carefree enchantment and whirlwind courtship, and on the seventh day John asked her to marry him.
“Gayle,” he implored, “please marry me. I’m asking you for very selfish reasons. I want you more than I have ever wanted anything in my whole life. I never thought I could ever love anyone as I love and need you. I am asking you to give me one year of your life. ONE YEAR. I am very afraid. With the war getting so bad, the bomber crew casualties getting so high, I don’t expect to live longer than a year. Please, darling, give me that one year of happiness.”
Six weeks later, on his next furlough, they were married in a beautiful garden ceremony, with the pungent aroma of fragrant sweet peas pervading the air. Roses, daisies and lily of the valley grew in abundance. War could not limit or ration their prolific growth.
The ensuing months were spent meeting sporadically. From time to time she would take a few days off and join him near his camp. He was billeted at one period in a private house in a tiny little village near Lincolnshire. The lady of the house, a motherly, elderly woman, very kindly allowed Gayle to stay with them as often as she could get away from her job in London. They spent some blissful days and nights together, except on those occasions when a message would be sent surreptitiously, secretly and furtively. John would not be joining them that night. Terror would strike in the hearts of all, but no one would speak a word of it. No one could or would voice what was in their hearts and minds. Walls could have ears. Not one word was uttered, but they all knew. John would be flying that night in a thousand-bomber-raid somewhere over Germany. Utter secrecy was imperative. The enemy, the Fifth Column, infiltrated all through the British Isles, was everywhere. If the enemy could learn which bases would send out bombers that night, the German defenses could be suitably alerted, and interception of the bomber fleets so much more successful and efficient — for them! Each night, squadrons of Lancasters would be sent out from various bases at a synchronized hour, to meet up and total one thousand aircraft to attack vital targets in Germany. The next day, newspapers would report the raid, usually declaring the success of the mission and destruction of the enemy site. Invariably regretting that “Seventy Five of Our Bombers Failed to Return”. A most familiar headline; that was the average loss each time. It occurred with clock-like regularity.
John was home on seven days leave when Peggy's baby was christened. He was asked to be the child’s godfather. There was a beautiful gathering in the church and a happy party followed at the family home. They even had the top tier of John and Gayle’s wedding cake to celebrate their first wedding anniversary, which was the very next day. He had to leave that night, as he was due back at the base very early the next morning. Travelling by train overnight, although he arrived very tired, he immediately sat down to write his beloved.
“Darling. We have been married a year today, and I want to thank you for the happiest year of my life. I love you with all my heart, and always will, forever. Thank you for marrying me. We are going out on a mission tonight, so I must get some rest. I will finish this letter to you when I return ………………….……………………”

A few weeks later, I found that letter amongst his belongings when they sent home a pathetic little parcel containing his personal effects ………….. to me …his wife.

Notes to the above.

Gayle, my aunt, who recounted the above story, now lives in Canada. My mother, Peggy, died last year and the baby who was christened - that was me.

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