We Were As Two Ships (15)

The Long and Short Of It

3. We Were As Two Ships

"We've been lucky"

While motorcycling to the East Coast in 2010, especially after reading some of my father's stories related to his experiences during World War II, I began to feel a part of a very lucky generation, in that we haven't been called upon to give up several years of our lives to battle overseas against a determined enemy. 

At some time during the third day of my travels I wrote the following in my ever-present journal: 

   My gosh we've been lucky, i.e., my generation. Longest I've been away, 10 days, 2007,
   Thunder Bay on bike. Now 14 days to Halifax to send off a wee boat w dad's remains.
   When my promise is fulfilled I just want to get back home to my own family.

According to my notes, my thoughts about my family were triggered by my father's story about a female friend he had while in England. His tale, started in the previous post, concludes below. 

The Silent Pact and its Epilogue  

The remainder of this story doesn’t sound so consistent with the Silent Pact. I suppose it is a Silent Tribute to all the WAAFs, I don’t know, but it’s all true. Events were to prove, in my own mind at least, that I did not lose in the shuffle in the black-out doors of the Top-Hat Pub at Southend.

I am reminded of those often repeated words by Humphrey Bogart to Audrey Hepburn in the movie African Queen, “This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship” because that was what it turned out to be although it wasn’t to last too long.

The WAAF Cpl who worked in the kitchen or bakery of an Air Force barracks nearby was named Gracie Purvis. Her home was in Croydon and she established very early in our relationship that she was engaged to an English Army Lieutenant with Montgomery in North Africa. She was firm that she wished to remain faithful to him. I accepted this loyalty which gained my respect for Grace and our friendship was free of all encumbrances and we became very good friends. 

"Our dreams and aspirations"

Each day or evening we were free of duty we met at the Top-Hat Pub and had a drink or two, a sandwich, a game or two at the Penny Arcade and sometimes we walked arm and arm around Southend wishing in our hearts that there wasn’t a war and things could be different. We spoke of Mums and family and the Army Lieutenant. Also we spoke of letters sent and received, about after the war, our dreams and aspirations. They were quite the same; a home, a family, a time free of war.

The barracks I was at was HMS Westcliff, I believe, and I think the time was after Dieppe and prior to the North African invasion. Grace and I arranged that if either of us were no-shows for two nights, she had been posted or I was on my way somewhere else and she alone promised to write. We had pleasant time because she was a pleasant person. I often think of her and her fine qualities. It wasn’t to last because I became a no-show. There were no good-byes or “I’ll see you again.” No more spearmint gum or cookies from the baking either.

Six weeks later we arrived back from North Africa to Liverpool on the Reina-del-Pacifico and in a few days the mail arrived from FMO and among my stack was a letter from Grace, now serving at the summer resort town of Blackpool. Could I get a weekend leave and if so she said she would arrange rooming quarters and give me a phone number to call at a precise time? If things became favourable for me, which they did, and quite soon I was stepping onto the train platform at Blackpool with Grace waiting with open arms.

Blackpool, 19402: Photo credit - British Isles Past and Present

I had a 72 hour pass and stayed at a Seniors Boarding House with a lovely room. I sat down at meal times with Seniors dressed in formal bib and tucker to shepherd’s pie - and Brussel sprouts, of course.

Friday night and Saturday night we had a drink or two and enjoyed a dance and restaurant and renewed our friendship. Then I went back to the boarding house. Sunday (this would be late November, 1942) we went to see a large aquarium, sharks and all. The weather was foreboding, like the feeling in our hearts. On the surface we were enjoying ourselves but underneath I think we were both quite sad for we feared the end.

We walked with arms about each others’ waists out over the shallow beach water on Blackpool’s famous long pier. The cool wind blew our hair and we sat on a bench at the end of the pier. I shared my Burberry (raincoat) as we huddled there and I confess I felt more than a friend as we spoke again for what we both knew would be the last time, of our meeting at Southend, our homes and what we both hoped would be in our future. This loyal lady had still kept up correspondence with her Lieutenant. I had deep admiration in my heart for her as I felt her warmth and sadness under my coat.

Blackpool's Pier: Photo credit - Postcards of the Past

We strolled back to the beach area where there was a type of midway still operating along the beach and we attempted to lift our mood by taking rides on ferris wheels, etc. Grace had a few small red burns on her face from flying burning fat and declined to have her photo taken.

I returned to the boarding house to pick up my attache case and all too soon I am again on the train platform, whereas 72 hours earlier we had had such a happy reunion. A mist swirled around us as we once more shared my Burberry. Through it all not a word was spoken of future letters or anything else. We were friends just hanging on through the tears. I’m not prepared for the “All Aboard.” I never liked good-byes. I still wanted this moment over with. It was taking too long. “All Aboard.” We kissed good-bye. I climbed aboard and my guts were churning as I took a seat by the window. Grace stood so alone. This was not a happy moment. The train slowly moved out and Grace Purvis of Croydon turned and walked away. We were as two ships that had passed in the night.

I have been unable to locate Grace. I pray her Lieutenant came safely home and all her dreams were fulfilled. We filled a need in each others lives and I have no regrets. From St. Nazaire to Singapore, pages 47 - 48

Eleven days after reading the above I was safely back home in London, definitely a tired man, and perhaps even a wiser, more understanding son thanks in part to my father's wartime stories.

And what about the task of burying my father at sea?

More to follow.

Link to A Few More Miles to Go (14)

Unattributed Photos by GH