We Two: A Story of War and Love

By Zoe Myers

February 1944: Sgt. John Harris arrives at Stansted, England with the U.S. 344th Bomb Squadron, the B-26 Marauders. Soon after, he meets Muriel Rumble, a student at the college in the nearby town of Bishop's Stortford. Though World War II has brought them together, the war also threatens to destroy them. Based on a true story, this tale explores th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blackwell Press
• Release date: Jul 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781938205088

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We Two:

A Story of War and Love

Dedicated

to the men of the 344th Bomb Group

and to the women who loved them

Copyright 2013

Zoe S. Myers

All rights reserved

Published 2013

First printing

Printed in the U.S.A.

ISBN: 978-1-938205-08-8

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013941750

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311 Rivermont Avenue, Lynchburg, VA 24504

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Crossing the Atlantic

John took a long drag from the last of his cigarette, and flicked the butt into the green waves of the Atlantic. The salt air was cold, but he enjoyed being outside watching the waves, and the cold was better than the boredom inside. He nodded at a couple of guys who walked by him on the deck, then turned back to look out over the water. Five days out here since the Queen Elizabeth had left New York.

Hey Johnny. See any German submarines? Marvin came up beside John.

John grinned. No, and we better hope we don’t see any either, or there’ll be a load of GIs in a lot of trouble.

Marvin leaned over the deck beside John. Does watching the waves make you seasick?

No, but isn’t that the hell of it? Couldn’t pass pilot school because I got sick doing the loops, and this doesn’t bother me at all. I could have been an officer. John shook his head with disgust.

Well, we made sergeant and be grateful that you’re not like that poor bastard in the room down the hall from us, said Marvin

John had to laugh. I know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human being that shade of green. I bet he’s glad he’s not in the Navy.

Chuckling, Marvin said, I heard some of the guys are going to be playing some music below deck.

Yeah? How’d they get their instruments aboard?

Good question. I don’t know. Man it’s cold out here, Johnny. How long have you been up here?

Not too long, but it feels good. Sure is a change from Lackland, isn’t it?

Shoot yes! Wonder if this is some sort of Army torture? Train us in Florida and Oklahoma, then send us to England in the middle of February.

They own us body and soul, my man, body and soul.

Ours is not to question why began Marvin.

Ours is but to do or die! replied John.

The two made their way along the deck as the sun began dipping below the horizon. John glanced at his watch and thought, It’s too early for the sun to be setting, then he realized how far north the Queen Elizabeth must have sailed. He and Marvin hunched their shoulders inside their Army jackets and ducked inside the first door they came to. Making their way down to one of the lower decks, they entered a large room through a haze of smoke.

Some of the men were playing poker, and some were just sitting talking. John heard the sound of a harmonica from the back of the room. He followed the sound to where the harmonica player stood flanked on one side by a young corporal with a fiddle and on the other side by another with a guitar. They began playing hillbilly music, and it was a tune John recognized. A fourth guy began singing plaintively.

Hillbilly music wasn’t his favorite, but John had heard it all his life. He motioned to Marvin, and they moved over to a table and sat listening. The second song, The Ballad of Freda Bolt, reminded John of a time when he was a child. A neighbor of his grandparents had sung that ballad while the family was sitting on the farm porch. For some reason, the tune and words had always stayed with him. As the soldiers played, he listened to song after song, feeling a connection to Virginia and to Mom and Dad, whom he’d seen only once over the past three years. He shook his head. What a kid he’d been when he enlisted. Since then, he’d taken part in training and maneuvers from Louisiana to Florida. Now he wondered if he’d ever return to Virginia to hear the familiar sounds and sit at the dining room table and taste his mother’s cooking.

The little band seemed to be winding down, so Johnny and Marvin headed to the dining room. There was already a line, and they slipped in at the end.

Hey you two—come over there and sit when you get your food. Harry Richardson stood with a tray full of food and pointed to a table next to the far wall.

Johnny nodded his head and grinned. Marvin, Harry and he were all assigned to the 344th as aerial photographers, so they knew they’d stay together for the duration of their time in Europe. He hoped they’d be billeted together.

Arriving finally at the food, he looked at it without much interest. Beef with gravy, boiled potatoes, some beans, hot bread, and some chocolate pudding. Nothing exciting, but ok.

When he sat down with Marvin and Harry, Harry had begun devouring the pudding. John tasted the beef and reached for the salt shaker on the table. The gravy lacked flavor, but it helped make the boiled potatoes palatable.

Harry asked, Heard anything about when and where we’ll land?

John snorted and replied, I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard someone ask that question today.

Marvin laughed and added, Well, the QE is known for speed, so we’ll probably see land tomorrow. I heard two of the ship’s sailors talking about taking a northern route, so my guess is Ireland or Scotland. Anyone want to wager on another port?

Harry and John shook their heads. No lad, I’m sure you have more information than either one of us. Don’t forget we know you well, old friend, remarked Harry.

Marvin grinned. Ok, how about a wager about the time we put into port? I don’t know any more than either of you about what time we’ll dock.

They agreed on 25 cents apiece and decided to see if they could get a pool going. Drawing a grid on some paper that Marvin happened to have folded in his pants pocket, they mapped out possible times in 30-minute increments. Marvin happily took the grid to nearby tables and could be seen pocketing some coins after brief conversations.

John smiled and said, Why do I think he’s going to come out ahead on this deal?

Because he always does, Johnny. He should be in intelligence. How he gets his information is amazing. He said he just keeps his ears open, but he always seems to be in the right place at the right time, Harry said.

Isn’t that the truth? John agreed. I’m going to head back to the cabin. I want to write a letter to Mom and Dad. I need to thank them for that birthday package they sent. I’m lucky it arrived before we left Florida. Even though I don’t know where we’ll land, at least my parents will know I’m alive.

A few minutes later, he sat on his cot and began writing. He knew he couldn’t put the date on the letter because of the censors, so he wrote undated at the top.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Tonight I’m writing to you from the middle of the Atlantic. The waves are rather high, and every now and then, I can hear them thrash against the side of the boat. The boat itself slowly rolls from side to side, but I’m accustomed to it by now. As yet, I haven’t been sea sick.

I like to stand by the rail and watch the sea as it rolls off into the horizon and feel the clean air on my face. It is useless to describe it, for you cannot get a true picture until you’ve experienced it yourself.

A few of the boys tonight got a ‘hillbilly’ orchestra together and played some old hillbilly music. Even though I’ve never liked it much, it made me feel a little closer to home since that is American music, and these boys had brought part of the U.S. with them.

Thanks for the package with the candy and books for my birthday. Can you believe I’m 22? I feel like I was such a kid when I last saw you. I hope I’m man enough to face what we have in store for us.

There is a lot I would like to write, but it will have to wait. I will write again as soon as I can.

Love,

John

Peering out of her second-floor bedroom window, Muriel looked up the street to see if Dad was walking home for his noon meal. Seeing no sign of him, she turned back to the suitcase on her bed and continued packing. She folded each item of clothing and smoothed it so there were no wrinkles. She then placed each item like a piece of a layered puzzle on one side of the suitcase. She rolled some socks into balls and fitted them into the toes of her shoes. The shoes were worn, but she’d been able to get new soles put on them and then had polished them and buffed them until they had a soft gleam. Wrapping the shoes in brown paper, she placed them carefully side-by-side on the opposite side of the suitcase.

Just then she heard the front door open and the sound of Mum and Dad talking. Smiling to herself, she left the packing and went downstairs to the dining room where Dad’s meal was ready at the table. Dad stood in the kitchen doorway drying his hands on a towel.

Well love, ready for the train ride back to your college? he asked.

Nearly so, Dad, said Muriel as she reached up and kissed his cheek.

His blue eyes sparkling, Dad grinned and hugged her, nuzzling her neck with his mustache.

Oh Dad! Stop! I’m not a child you know! Despite her protests, Muriel laughed.

Sit, both of you. Muriel, here’s a bowl for you. Mum handed Muriel a bowl of steaming soup.

Muriel carried it to the table, and Mum followed with her own bowl and a plate with three slices of brown bread. Muriel went into the kitchen and brought the teapot, setting it beside Mum’s place. Before they ate, Dad asked the blessing, and also asked God to help the English defeat the evil Nazis. Since butter was rationed, there wasn’t any to put on the bread, so they used the bread to help sop up the steaming soup.

Lil, I don’t know how you do it. Even with the rationing, this soup is delicious, said Dad.

Tis, Mum, agreed Muriel.

Mum smiled. I added something extra to give it a little more flavor since this is your last home meal for a bit.

What might that be? asked Dad.

Cooks don’t give away all their secrets, replied Mum, still smiling. "How-

ever, I can’t make up for the sugar rationing, so just add a bit to your tea."

Muriel didn’t put any sugar in her tea, but she made a face when she drank her first sip. She wondered if they’d ever see the day when food wasn’t rationed. When she was finished, she carried her bowl and teacup to the kitchen and placed them next to the sink.

Mum, would you like me to wash up?

No, dear, you should finish packing. It’s nearly time for you to leave for the station.

All right, I’m going upstairs. Dad, give us a kiss.

Here’s a kiss for my girl, Dad kissed her cheek and gave her a long hug. You see that you’re careful. I hear there are a lot of American troops moving into that new airbase outside Bishop’s Stortford.

So I’ve heard, also. Don’t worry, Dad, I’m not interested in any American soldier.

Good girl.

Muriel finished packing and slipped her feet into the oxfords that her sister could no longer wear. She hated oxfords, but it was easy to walk in them, and since she’d be carrying her suitcase, ease was what she wanted. She looked at them and felt guilty for not being grateful for having an extra pair of shoes. Grabbing her wool jacket, she eyed it before she slipped it on. It had grown threadbare, but she’d managed to find some elbow patches that she’d sewn on. At least they kept the jacket from having holes in the elbows. How many years had she worn this jacket? Six? Thankfully, it’d been oversized when Mum had bought it for her, so at least it wasn’t too tight. She sighed. It would take her clothing ration for an entire year to get a new jacket or coat, if she could even find one in a store. She pulled on a pair of wool socks, and eyed the heel that she’d darned while she’d been home. She smiled approving.

I did a nice job, even if I say so myself, she thought.

Still, she wished she had something to keep her legs warm. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had nylons. Her legs were always cold during winter. Skirts were shorter because material was in short supply due to the war, so they didn’t offer any protection from the cold.

Reminded of her knitting, she quickly grabbed the two balls of yarn she’d need for a sweater. She’d been lucky to get the soft, pale blue yarn on the black market.

Lugging the suitcase downstairs, she gathered her purse and the money for her train ticket. She kissed Mum and hugged Dad. Mum noticed her knitting, and said, Oh, love—I almost forgot! Here, wait a sec.

Mum walked into the front room and returned with a wool lap rug. Here, this will help keep your legs warm on the train.

Mum! Wherever did you get that? I can’t take it; you use it.

I made it from an old blanket that had become threadbare over the years and had holes in it. I took binding off and used the good bits to go round. Now you take it, don’t argue, she said.

Lil, I’ll see you later, my love," said Dad kissing Mum and softly pinching her cheek. Mum smiled and returned his kiss.

Muriel folded the lap blanket over her arm and kissed Mum. Thank you, Mum, ever so much. I’ll write this week and let you know if I meet any Americans, Dad, she smiled impishly.

Eh now! None of that, you cheeky girl. Dad kissed her again and grabbing her suitcase, carried it out to the street for her. Following behind him, she took it from him for the walk to the station.

I wish suitcases weren’t so heavy, she thought as she trudged through Kensington to the train station that would take her to Bishop’s Stortford. Making a turn, she walked past the bombed-out remains of a green grocer’s store that her family had used for years. She thought about the grocer. He’d been friendly and nice to her since she was a child. He and his entire family had been killed in the first week of the Battle of Britain. In the time since, the City of London had pulled down the walls, lest they fall on a passerby.

She shuddered, remembering those nights of hell. Seventy-six nights straight London had been bombed. She was a few weeks shy of her 16th birthday when the bombing began. Her family had just begun a tea time celebration for her brother Ern’s birthday when the warning sirens began. Everyone at the party had paused, hoping it was just another readiness test. At that moment, her sister Dorothy came running in, Run! The planes—you can see them!

Muriel remembered the sky filled with German planes. The entire family had run to the subway shelter and spent the night there, listening to the sounds of planes, bombs, screams, and fire engines. But sometime during the following months, Mum and Dad had decided to go on with life.

No more spending the night in the subway. We’ll trust God and stay in our own home, Dad had decreed.

As she continued walking, she thought of all the nights when bombs had landed near their house. She and her sister Ena shared a bed, and they would cling to one another as the shock of the bomb would cause the bed to move from one side of the room to the other. The bombing of London by the Luftwaffe had ended, but she was glad to have spent the past two years at her college where planes went over on the way to their targets. Bombs hadn’t fallen on the college since 1940. She hadn’t been there then, but three girls lost their lives when two buildings took direct hits. The remains of the bombed buildings were a constant reminder to her that no part of England was entirely safe.

Reaching the station, she walked down the steps, and went to the ticket window. After she’d purchased her ticket, she realized she’d have almost 30 minutes before time to embark. She found a bench where she could watch the rail for her train and took out her knitting. Somehow, concentrating on the stitches and rows helped her relax. She tucked the lap blanket over her legs and was grateful for its warmth. It seemed she had just begun knitting when she heard the conductor call out for her train.

After she gathered her bags, yarn, and lap blanket, she joined the queue to board the train. The porter loaded her suitcase and she settled into her seat. Once again, she covered her legs with the lap blanket. She ran her hands over it, and saw where Mum had cleverly crocheted over some places. She turned up the binding and saw Mum’s beautiful embroidery along the edges. Muriel smiled, thinking about Mum’s love of handwork.

Then she heard the train whistle, followed by the first movement of the train. She watched the station pass behind as the train moved along the rail. Outside the window, London, her home, slid by. The train gathered speed and was soon outside the city, heading to Bishop’s Stortford.

Bishop’s Stortford

After six days at sea, the Queen Elizabeth weighed anchor off Greenoch, Scotland. Johnny and over ten thousand soldiers were loaded onto numerous small craft over several hours and taken into port. The man who captained the skiff that took John ashore kept up a friendly banter as they moved across the water.

Eh, lads, you’re right welcome to Scotland. Here’s hoping you put Jerry on the run.

John listened, entranced with the man’s brogue, but his back was soon cold and wet from the saltwater spray coming across the side of the boat. As soon as they reached land, the troops were marched a short distance to wait to be transported by train to their new base in England. Volunteers with the Red Cross handed out doughnuts and hot coffee, which the soldiers took gratefully. Later in the morning, each of the troops was issued a bagged lunch.

It was afternoon by the time John boarded and was seated in the train. Thoroughly chilled, he looked around the train car. One of the Scotsmen had referred to the car as the coach. The interior was wood, and the coach was divided into compartments. Johnny remembered seeing trains like this in movies.

I guess we’ll have to learn the English lingo, he said to Harry, who was seated beside him.

Yes, that’s the easy part, I guess. Wonder where Marvin is? Harry responded.

Don’t know. Probably gathering intelligence. I guess we’ll see him when we get there, wherever ‘there’ is, answered John.

As he leaned back, he felt some warmth, and he discovered a vent behind the seat. It was the first time all day that any part of him wasn’t chilled through. A clang was heard, and then the train’s whistle. Despite his aching tiredness, he watched intently as the train moved south into the countryside. Even in February, the grass was green, greener than any grass he’d seen at home. As long as the daylight lasted, he watched as the northern countryside gave way to villages of thatched roofed houses and rock walls, followed by fields and farms. Once there was a farmer standing close by the track, and he raised his hand to his cap and saluted smartly as the train sped past.

Guessing the bagged lunch might be his last food for a while, John had saved his, and inside the bag he had found a sandwich of brown bread with some sort of cheese spread. He made himself chew slowly when what he wanted to do was wolf it down. Tasting it, he’d thought, Not bad! Finished, he looked over at Harry and found him nodding his head, already nearly asleep. Outside the coach window, the landscape was dark. John frowned. None of the buildings had any lights. With a sinking feeling, he realized the total darkness was due to the mandatory blackout. With that realization, the war became real. He closed his eyes and slept.

The next morning, John watched as more of the English countryside slipped by. His stomach growled and he wondered when they’d reach the base. Harry stirred and stretched. John climbed over him and joined the line of soldiers waiting to use the lavatory. A porter came through and announced they be arriving at Bishop’s something—John didn’t understand the second word—in about 15 minutes. He knew they’d need to gather their knapsacks, so he didn’t waste any time returning to his seat.

With a loud huff and clang, the train pulled into a train station and all the soldiers stood in the aisle, waiting for the order to disembark. Once outside, the order was given to begin marching to the base.

As he and Harry marched with the others, they looked around, taking in the small English town.

I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of Bishop’s Stortford, said Harry.

What’s that second word?

Stortford, replied Harry.

Wonder what that means? asked John. Harry shook his head, indicating he didn’t know.

Though the sun was shining, the air was biting cold. John wondered if it snowed here often. About 30 minutes later, the soldiers were at Stansted Air Base. John and Harry were directed to a small metal hut on one side of the base. Ducking inside, they found Marvin had just arrived. There were six cots, but so far, they were the only three. There was a small coal stove for heat and one bucket of coal.

I think it’s colder in here than outside, said Marvin.

Yeah, where’s the rest of the coal? asked Harry.

This is it my man. We’re rationed just like the English.

John and Harry both stood silent, somewhat dumbstruck.

Muriel paused at the entrance to Hockerill College. A chilly rain was falling. She sighed and pursed her lips. There was no way she could hold her umbrella and carry her suitcase and bags, and she was already soaked.

Despite the load she was carrying, she walked briskly, willing herself to cover the distance to her dorm quickly. When she was inside the dorm entrance, she shook the water out of her hair. Once she’d climbed the stairs, she turned right and went to the second door on the right. Female voices could be heard inside, and she called,

Molly, Inez—help! Open please.

Almost instantly the door opened, and a pretty girl with dark brown curly hair and green eyes laughed and said, Mu! Been out in the rain?

Rather! It’s so cold, too! I’m surprised it’s not snowing.

As she set her suitcase down beside her bed, the leggy blonde girl on the bed closest to hers said, Muriel, the American airmen have arrived at Stansted. A large number of them, too. In uniform with money, chocolate and food.

Muriel looked at her roommate. Inez and she were both academic scholarship students; neither of them came from families that could have afforded college tuition. Molly lived across the hall in a room with Audrey. Muriel found Molly to be a jolly girl, but Audrey, though nice enough, was often silly, which tried her patience.

Goodness, Inez. You sound rather mercenary. Would you get involved with an American for a chocolate bar?

Oh Muriel, good grief! Don’t be so serious! Inez isn’t going to marry someone for food, but she can flirt with them. Besides, some of them are handsome. I saw one who looked just like Errol Flynn, said Molly with an arch of her eyebrow and a mischievous grin.

You two and Audrey have fun. I’m not interested in the Americans or their chocolate. My father would have a fit if I dated one. They’re not worth the trouble. Where is Audrey?

"In the library, working on