1
Another Time, Another Place
They said that it would only last a year at the most, those faceless civil servants I had learned to despise. A propaganda ploy to enlist the young and vulnerable I thought? The war was portrayed as a big adventure for those who had never strayed beyond England’s coastline. A ‘jolly’ I remember someone saying at the time, paid for by Winston Churchill. A quick visit to France, miss out winter in England, which wasn’t a bad thing for most people given the employment crisis and poverty, and back home before anyone knew that they had been away. When a year came and went, quickly followed by another, the mood of the great British people changed to a more sombre one. Realisation about the war wasn’t far away and any notion of it being a great adventure quickly disappeared. The grieving for some had started within months of the declaration of war as once young smiling faces returned home in body bags, the lucky ones, as far as their families were concerned, still intact bodily.
For others it was arguably much worse. ’Missing-in-action’ had become a well-used phrase in those early months and would continue to be so for at least another three or four years. Neither lost or found, relatives were left in a state of limbo not knowing whether to grieve or keep their spirits up in the hope that their loved ones would return home some day. How many families were suffering or had suffered to date, I could only guess. Couples like John and I, married only a year. There was always a mixed opinion on the wisdom behind marriage during wartime. For us it was a conscious decision we decided on as the war took hold. We simply couldn’t wait until it was all over. After all, when would that be? Nobody knew, not even Mr Churchill. We had to marry right away. There was no in-depth discussion about the perceived urgency; it was something we both understood and agreed on. Certainly, there wasn’t an indication of what the war may have had in store for either of us. That would have meant acknowledging horrors that had been placed at the back and deepest parts of our minds. It was enough to accept, without the spoken word, that our time together could be short and that we should be happy, if it was only for a moment.
All these thoughts raced around inside my head as I walked arm-in-arm with John along the cobbled platform. It was a cold bitter night for May, but for the last five minutes, I’d become quite oblivious to the biting effects of the northerly wind as it raced out of the tunnel entrance, just beyond the end of the railway platform. Far away in the distance, sirens announced the arrival of enemy aircraft, their monotone drone a familiar sound 4 years into the war.
“A penny for your thoughts darling?” John asked, squeezing my arm gently as he did. His breath bellowed out into the cold night air. With my petite 5’3” frame beside John’s 6’ 2”, heavy set build, I had to crane my head back to see him clearly. We had been childhood sweethearts living in the same country village until John’s father was forced to relocate further north, having been promoted by his employer. We were both just 11 years old when John and his family left the village and I cried none stop for a month.
My mum tried her best to console me bless her, but nothing worked. Then, 6 months later I received a letter. It was from John. Over the years we wrote regularly and even met a couple of times as our respective families found excuses to get together or mysteriously bump into each other on day trips to the seaside. One year when I was 15, I had planned – no orchestrated – a cunning ruse to stay at a friend’s house for a week during the school summer holidays. She lived a short distance from the Laine’s family home. The only problem was my friend caught chicken pocks the week before my visit and all arrangements had to be cancelled. Once again, I bawled my eyes out for a full week. Little did I know that alternative plans were already in place? I stayed at Calverly Sands a few weeks later visiting my grandparents and guess who was also staying there that week on business, John Laine senior, along with his family. I sometimes wonder whether the whole business was contrived for our benefit? Perhaps John was as inconsolable as I was when we were apart? The thought made me feel warm inside.
