Cast No Stones Part 1

CAST NO STONES.

Kevin Mach.e.l.l.

Introduction.

UK best-seller, Cast No Stones by Kevin Mach.e.l.l.

Cast No Stones is the extraordinary true story of a lonely U.S. soldier, an impoverished English rose from a slum in northern England and the damaging impact their romance was to have on Kevin, their confused, illegitimate son.

Das.h.i.+ng American GI, Harry met young English girl, Laura in 1942 while stationed in Britain during WW2. There followed a lengthy and pa.s.sionate affair resulting in Laura giving birth to a son while Harry's unit were preparing to land on the notorious Omaha Beach.

Mach.e.l.l recounts the often sad, sometimes hilarious experiences of a "GI boy" growing up in a post-war British slum. He details his search for his long-lost father, their emotional first meeting in America and the dramatic twist that left Kevin and all around him in a state of shock.

Photograph source: Ladytiggy72.

Prologue.

Following America's entry into the Second World War in December 1941, there began a ma.s.sive build-up of American troops and equipment into the United Kingdom. By the time of the D-Day landings in June 1944, approximately two and a half million American service personnel were stationed on these sh.o.r.es. This number represented almost five per cent of the UK's total population at that time. To put it another way, one in every twenty people in the country were American military personnel.

This was to have a major impact on the lives of the British people - a brand new chapter in the country's social history was written. Inevitably, romances blossomed between the American servicemen and British women. The attraction was mutual. To the young British women, the Americans were like a breath of fresh air. They had plenty of money to spend, and they brought vitality at a time when the British girls were more than ready for a little fun and adventure. Equally, the American troops, who were very far from their homes, family and friends, were not slow to appreciate the reception being given to them by the British girls. By the end of the war many had married American servicemen and following the war they sailed off to a new life in America as 'GI Brides.' Many women became pregnant by their American lovers and were left behind - literally holding the baby! An estimated eight thousand illegitimate children were born to American servicemen stationed in this country between 1942 and 1945.

After the war the Americans returned home. For the British, life slowly returned to normal. For some, particularly the couples involved in the wartime relations.h.i.+ps and their offspring, nothing was ever going to be normal again. It is against this background that the story unfolds. This is the story of one of those illegitimate children.

It is my story - I was one of those children.

Chapter 1 Take No Notice.

My sister had been spending the day with her father and grandmother and she was expected home any minute. 'Why don't you go to the end of the street and check if you can see her coming?' my mother asked. Happy to agree, I went down to the street corner and looked into the distance. Yes, there they were. My sister and her grandmother were walking hand in hand towards me. I ran up to them excitedly and took hold of my sister's free hand. I was really glad to see her. What happened next was to have a very profound effect on me for many years to come. It was also to become the precursor for an unspoken relations.h.i.+p of hatred on the part of "Grannie" Mach.e.l.l towards me. 'Get off! Get away!' the old lady said. She immediately grabbed me by the arm and smacked my wrist until I let go of my sister's hand. 'Get off, go away, don't you dare hold her hand.' she said. I looked at Ann. She didn't know what to do or say. She was clearly uncomfortable with her grandmother's conduct but she avoided my eyes by looking down at the ground. They continued to walk away from me; the old lady held my sister's hand more tightly and frequently glanced backward to check that I was keeping my distance. I followed a few yards behind them nursing my sore wrist.

I didn't know what I had done. I didn't even know this old woman. I knew she must be Ann's grannie, but I didn't know why. I wasn't even sure what a grannie was. Lots of children seemed to have grannies. The only thing I knew was that they were old women who had some kind of authority over you. I didn't know that they were a mother of your own parent. It had never been explained to me. Even when some children had two grandmothers, the relevance was lost on me. I suppose it wasn't relevant because both of my mother's parents were long since dead. I didn't have a father so therefore I didn't have any paternal grandparents either.

Grannie Mach.e.l.l was very angry with me and I was upset, but I didn't know the reason for her ire. When they reached the corner of our street, the old lady kissed my sister goodbye then quickly walked away, but not before giving me a long lasting, and nasty look. I was only about four years of age at the time of this incident but I remember the feelings of anguish and isolation. I knew that if Ann could have changed the situation she would have done so. Like me, she was also a victim of circ.u.mstances neither of us understood or was able to remedy.

As soon as her grandmother was out of sight, Ann held her hand out to me and waited until I caught up with her. 'Don't tell me mam about me gran smacking you or I'll get done.' she said. Together we walked up our street and into our house. Mother was waiting for us. She asked Ann about everything that she had been doing and everywhere she had been during the day. She wanted to know about all that had happened. I listened impatiently while Ann recounted her day. I couldn't wait tell my mother what the old woman had done, but I certainly didn't want to get Ann into trouble by telling her about the smacking incident.

Eventually my mother spotted that I was sulking and asked me what was bothering me. I told her that Grannie Mach.e.l.l wouldn't let me hold Ann's hand. As I was speaking, Ann glowered at me, afraid that I might mention the smacking. Unsurprisingly, my mother used one of her pet lines, 'Take no notice of her, just take no notice. She's just a silly old woman.' She didn't tell me why she was a silly old woman or why I should take no notice of her. In any case, how did she expect me to take no notice of an adult shouting at me and smacking me? I didn't even know what taking no notice actually meant. I was certainly aware that a grown up and a very old grown up at that - was angry with me. What was I supposed to do? Should I have kept hold of my sister's hand and try to ignore the pain that was being inflicted? Was she suggesting that I should just accept the pain this old woman had caused me and then forget all about it?

Without a proper explanation as to what taking no notice meant, I had to resort to protecting myself in the only way I knew by any future avoidance of the cause of my discomfort and pain. As a consequence, I avoided the old woman at all times. She was equally happy to avoid me. In any event, the number of times she called at our house was very few and far between. I grew up never knowing this woman; who she really was or what she was. But she had made it abundantly clear to me that she did not like me or anything about me. My mother simply ignored the situation. Of course, it might have been different had she known of the smacking incident.

Clearly, Grannie Mach.e.l.l must have resented me as a child. At the time I had no idea why. I realize now, that I must have represented the manifestation of everything that had transpired to cause her and her son, Charlie so much distress; namely, the break-up of his marriage to my mother.

During the writing of this book, my sister, Ann, revealed to me, that towards the end of her grandmother's life, when she was clearly dying, she actually spoke of the way she had treated me as a child. She apologized and told Ann that she regretted what she had done. I didn't learn of this until many years after her death, but I was touched by the old woman's contrition. However, it would have been nice if she could have told me herself. I hold no grudge towards this old woman and I would have forgiven her. I forgive her now and hope that she is resting in peace.

The incident was not an isolated one. By that, I don't mean that Grannie Mach.e.l.l frequently smacked me, on the contrary, I hardly ever saw her. I am referring to similar incidents of unexplained cruelty and nastiness. It was not always physical cruelty- although that occurred quite a few times. I was mistreated by many adults and often bullied by their children. I learned to accept that some people just didn't like me - for what reason I didn't know. There was an occasion when I was playing in the street with other small children. One of the children went into his house, so naturally, being children, we all followed him in. That alone did not cause a problem. This was a common enough action by children. The problem arose when the boy's mother recognized me. She told me to go home and not to come in her house again. She didn't tell any of the other kids to go home. While I was making my way out of the house, I could hear her telling her son not to bring me in the house anymore. She never explained why. Once again, I suffered the feelings of rejection and of being ostracized. To my simple mind, apart from physical pain, the feeling of not being wanted was the worst form of hurt a child could possibly suffer.

On another occasion, there were two older boys; one had a younger brother who I used to play with. He threw me to the ground and told me not to play with his brother again. He didn't say why, but he did say that he didn't like 'Yanks.' Of course it is entirely possible that this and other incidents were just coincidental and unrelated to anything that I may have contributed to - or even represented. Bullying is not new. It has always gone on, but I am sure other children in the street were not picked on in this way. Whatever they not liking Yanks had to do with it, I had no idea. I didn't even know what Yanks were!

From the age of about seven or eight, the frequency of incidents reduced quite dramatically. They didn't actually stop until I was well into my teens; however, they did lessen after my mother remarried and we moved to another part of town where we were relatively unknown.

It occurred to me while writing this book, that the majority of these unpleasant incidents took place when I was very young. So I thought it surprising and a little strange that I was able to now recall things that my conscious mind had long forgotten. Perhaps to protect myself, I'd so efficiently blocked out these ugly incidents that I'd in effect sealed them up in a kind of mental time capsule. I concluded that the writing process had acted to release all these perfectly preserved and acutely harrowing memories. Sadly, the intensity of the emotional pain has not lessened over the decades.

During my childhood, instead of explaining things to me, my mother would always be telling me to take no notice of people or incidents. My learning to "take no notice" was only ever partly achieved. However, it didn't take me long to learn that no proper explanation would ever be forthcoming! I could almost antic.i.p.ate what my mother was going to say whenever I asked her questions about certain topics or whenever unusual situations arose. An example of this occurred just before I started school. I guess I must have been about five years old at the time. One of my young friends from a few doors away had called me 'A little Yankee b.a.s.t.a.r.d.' It wasn't said maliciously- he was my friend. It was said in playful conversation.

'What's one of them?' I asked.

'I don't know, but me mam said you was one.'

Are you one?'

'I don't know.' was my reply.

I had never heard the phrase before, so it stuck in my mind. I had heard the word Yanks said but I hadn't connected it. A little later when I was back at home, I said to my mother, 'I'm a little Yankee b.a.s.t.a.r.d.' I was really pleased with myself for remembering what my friend had said. My mother hit the roof. 'Who have you heard saying that?' she demanded to know.

'Martin said it. Why what is it?' I answered.

I quickly realized by her tone that I was in trouble again.

'Nothing, but don't you ever say that again. It's very naughty to say that. You just keep away from him in future. Don't you play with him anymore. Do you hear me?' She said.

'I won't, mam, I'm sorry mam.' I replied.

This incident left me totally bemused. I didn't know what I had done, what the term meant or why I should be in trouble.

During my childhood there were so many incidents that my mother had told me to take no notice of, that pretty soon I wasn't sure what to take notice of, and what not to! My early childhood years were very confusing. I desperately tried to please everyone in order to keep out of trouble. However, at times my willingness to please only resulted in causing even more trouble. It became so much easier to just accept that I must be a naughty child and would always be getting scolded for one thing or another. That way, whenever I was in trouble, the hurt felt a little less because it came as no surprise.

Sometimes I would find myself being treated as though I had done something wrong when in fact, I hadn't done anything. Clearly, incidents had taken place between my mother and local residents that resulted in my being either kept indoors or prevented from playing with certain children at the time I didn't know why.

There were many occasions during my childhood and particularly during my infancy and early school days, when I had experienced being scolded for unexplained reasons. It all served to cause total confusion in my young mind. I began to believe that I was somehow different to other children. I don't mean that I was different in any tangible way; I didn't look different than other kids. I knew that other kids had dads and I didn't. It was much more than that. Outside of my immediate family, I often felt that I was treated differently. I was spoken to differently - often in an uncaring way and sometimes in an aggressive manner. People would look at me differently. I now know those people were looking down their noses at me.

Often, people used to stare at me while they were speaking to my mother. It almost seemed as if they were searching for something within me. They wanted to compare the differences between their own children and me. Their conversations were directed at my mother yet their attention was directed towards me. What was it they were expecting to see in me? I never did find the answer to that question. Maybe it was just curiosity. Maybe pity - although I doubt that, at least not by judging from their conduct towards me on many occasions.

On the whole, other children generally treated me quite well because they were also innocents in this world of adult complexity. Some of the residents of our street didn't want me playing with their children. I didn't know why. As usual, my mother would tell me to take no notice and to play with someone else. I would have happily complied in order to avoid getting into trouble but I didn't know how to. My mother hadn't explained to me how to take no notice! I didn't realize it at the time but the hostility of some people towards me was not actually intended for me. It was misdirected. It was my mother that they held in contempt. I was the manifestation of her 'wrongdoing' in their eyes. It was easier for them to show malice towards me than towards her.

Some were very two-faced regarding my mother. They were friendly when speaking to her, but then gossiped behind her back. I heard this gossip on many occasions, but it was adult talk and nothing to do with me. I grew accustomed to the gossips and learned to ignore them.

I was often treated unfairly, including by my own mother on some occasions. Her unfairness was in her not telling me the essential things that I needed to know as I was growing up. It was grossly unfair that a good many people including perfect strangers to me, knew so much more about me than I did. This of course is inevitable during early childhood. But it should not be the case for an older child. It was wrong that extended family members including my younger cousins knew about this ma.s.sive skeleton in my cupboard long before I did. By ignoring these important issues and always telling me to "take no notice,' my mother only served to compound my feelings of confusion and uncertainty.

During my formative years, I learned that asking certain questions was pointless. So as I grew older I stopped asking them altogether. Any questions that I asked of my mother that related to my father or my sister's father or her grandmother were always met with comments like; 'mind your own business.' or 'you wouldn't understand.'

Questions relating to my real father or grandparents would cause mother to get angry. I remember on one particular occasion when I was six or seven years old, I asked my mother, 'Is Uncle Bill my real dad?' She went mad at me. 'Who have you been talking to? Who has been saying things to you?'

Uncle Bill was in fact my stepfather and at the time of my asking the question, he had been married to my mother for about twelve months. My mother had recently given birth to my youngest brother, Graham. I was totally confused at the time. I obviously knew nothing of s.e.xual matters or where babies came from. There had never been another man in my life that I could relate to in any way, so it seemed reasonable to me that if my Uncle Bill was married to my mother then he must be my dad.

I had two sisters and two brothers. My older sister, Ann, used to visit her father at weekends but I had never seen him. I didn't think he was my dad although n.o.body ever told me he wasn't. It wouldn't have made any difference even if he was my dad, because he didn't live with us and do the things that dads did with their children, therefore I couldn't relate to him. Uncle Bill was the daddy to our new baby and this baby was being taught to call him daddy. My sister Ann called him Bill. My other brother and sister along with me called him Uncle Bill. I was totally bewildered by it all. Where had this baby come from? Who is this man I called Uncle Bill? Why does Ann have a dad who my mum refers to as, 'Charlie Mach.e.l.l?' These and many other unanswered questions played on my mind almost continuously throughout my childhood. I needed many questions answering in order for me to be fully able to deal with the problems that I was already beginning to experience and would continue to experience for many more years to come.

Chapter 2 Happy Birthday.

The only straightforward and uncomplicated aspect of my story was that of my actual birth. I was born in Hope Hospital, Salford, in May 1944, and was given the name Kevin Albert Mach.e.l.l. I was the second child born to my mother, Laura. My older sister, Ann, had been born five years earlier. I was given the surname of my mother's husband and not the surname of my biological father. I was the illegitimate child of an American soldier who my mother had been having an adulterous affair with.

The name of my father, or indeed, anything to do with my father was to remain a complete mystery to me for the next 45 years. His name does not appear on my birth certificate. The s.p.a.ce where my father's name should be was left blank. This was due to the rules governing birth registration in those days. If the child's father was not married to the mother then he was not afforded paternity on the birth certificate - it was always left blank. The surname of the child would be officially registered as that of the mother.

Throughout most of my life my mother deliberately denied me any information about my father. In later years, she claimed that in doing so she had been trying to protect me from emotional harm. She had not only failed in her attempts to protect me, but actually compounded the problems. I believe that her true motive in denying me this information was that she was more interested in protecting herself and her reputation.

I didn't just reach a certain age then discovered that my father was an American. It was more a process of accidently stumbling across bits of information throughout my life - from infancy to adulthood. As events occurred, they often caused me some upset but without any meaning. It was only when I reached middle age that I was able to piece together the information and incidents and make any constructive sense of it.

Notwithstanding the unfairness of being the innocent victim of my parents' irresponsible actions, the main issue causing me problems was my not knowing anything about my father. Details about him and his relations.h.i.+p with my mother were fairly common knowledge to others. Many people knew about it: friends, residents of our street, family members and in some cases, their children. I didn't know who my father was, what he was, or where he was. It seemed to me that within our family, if the issue was ignored then it was as though it didn't exist. In not talking about it, my mother rather hoped that it would just go away.

She was not alone in trying to ignore the matter but she did so for very different reasons. Despite the fact that I and many other illegitimate wartime children of American fathers officially existed, many attempts were made by government departments to ignore our presence for the sake of preserving the wartime morale; in particular, the morale of serving British troops. A certain resentment towards the presence of Americans on our sh.o.r.es definitely existed among the male population, and not without good reason. These Americans or "Yanks" as they were commonly referred to were having the time of their lives with the British women.

One of these Yanks - who I later found out was called Harry - was now standing on the pavement (sidewalk) on Stott Lane outside Hope Hospital in Salford and staring up at the windows of the maternity block. He knew that the birth of his son or daughter was imminent. The hospital did not know the circ.u.mstances surrounding this pregnancy, and both he and Laura saw no reason to tell them. It was better to just let the medical staff believe that Laura was having her husband's baby and that he was away on active service. Harry knew he would not be welcome in the hospital because it would quickly become apparent that he and not her husband was the baby's father. The social stigma a.s.sociated with the adulterous relations.h.i.+p would have caused them both a great deal of discomfort and embarra.s.sment. Added to this was the fact that Laura's husband was a serving soldier during a time of war, the whole of society would have condemned her for her actions.

Harry knew that following the birth of his child, Laura's problems would only just be beginning. He imagined that the pain she was presently experiencing would be nothing compared to the difficulties she was going to have to deal with in the future. She would not only struggle to provide for and raise her two children, she would also have to deal with all the consequences of a hostile and condemning society. At this very moment he was unable to do anything. Circ.u.mstances had conspired against him. He was not in control of the situation and for the first time in his life he was experiencing a feeling of despair.

'Got any cigarettes Yank?' a pretty young woman asked him. He was slightly startled by her. He hadn't noticed her approach him. She was about the same age as Laura. He reached into his pocket and gave her a half pack of cigarettes. 'Thanks, gorra a light?' she asked. He handed her his lighter and she lit one of the cigarettes. 'Do you wanna buy us a drink?' she asked. He declined her invitation and watched as she walked away. The incident momentarily took his mind off the birth. It caused him to reflect on everything that had happened and what had ultimately led him to be standing on that pavement getting wet from the very fine rain that was soaking into his clothing on this miserable May evening.

Harry cursed the rain. He hated the Manchester weather. Even in the alleged summer months, rain seemed to be a constant companion. It seemed to him that it rained almost every day. He was not used to it. Back home in America, the summers were very long, hot and dry. During the winter it would get very cold, the temperatures often falling below zero for weeks on end. Rain was necessary for the crops and it was most welcome when it came, but unlike here in Britain, it did not last forever and did not preoccupy their lives. It certainly did not rain during the summer time or at least, very rarely.

He suffered immense pangs of guilt. He desperately struggled with his emotions. He never antic.i.p.ated that this would have happened. He was just a soldier in a foreign land trying to survive and doing what most soldiers do in their leisure time trying to have a social life. The conscience he never knew he had was now p.r.i.c.king him quite badly. His. .h.i.therto irresponsible and somewhat cavalier approach to life was confronting him in a way that he wasn't used to, and he didn't like. He wanted to distance himself from the situation. He wanted to turn the clock back and walk away, but he was unable to. He stood outside that hospital and quietly cried. The rain disguised and diluted his tears as they slid down his cheeks and dripped off his chin. He did what he always did when he was upset or depressed, he sought solace in a couple of beers in a nearby pub. The pub was called appropriately 'The Inn of Good Hope.' He drank a toast to his new son - or daughter. 'Happy Birthday.'

Up in the maternity delivery room the new born baby was handed to Laura. All her pain during the last few hours suddenly disappeared. She held her son and studied his features carefully. There was no mistaking that this was Harry's child. It had his eyes and nose. She thought the mouth and chin were possibly hers. Overall coloring was definitely Harry's; brown eyes, fair hair her eyes were blue and her hair was brown. She thought the forehead was a little large although the body was generally well proportioned - even for a baby. Within a short s.p.a.ce of time she settled down to feed her baby for the first time. As the child suckled at her breast, she felt totally protective of it. It was so tiny, so helpless and wholly dependent upon her. She determined to let nothing happen to her precious little bundle. She was going to take very good care of it no matter what she had to do. She was a very determined woman.

The reality of her situation was however very far removed from the relative safety and comfort of that hospital ward. Laura was well aware of her situation and as her baby slept, she was haunted by the specter of their very uncertain future. Not just hers and the baby's future, but that of her older child, Ann. Where had her life gone wrong? How was she going to manage? What was she going to do? These and many other questions played on her mind as she struggled to find the answers. Eventually, those long arms of exhaustion, both physical and emotional, wrapped around her and gave her a little respite as she fell asleep.

Chapter 3 At First We Were Happy.

Laura was one of six children. She was possibly the cleverest of her siblings. After pa.s.sing her 11 plus exams she went to the local grammar school for girls. She left school at the age of fourteen and pursued a career in catering. Throughout her teenage years she was a very attractive young woman. She was a very talented singer and dancer and regularly appeared in on stage in concerts. Laura didn't go short of suitors. As was the norm in those days, many of her friends married while still in their late teens. She however, didn't marry until the age of twenty-three. She claimed that the right man hadn't come along until then. When he did come along she was swept off her feet. His name was Charlie Mach.e.l.l. He also lived in Salford, very close to Manchester's famous racecourse, Castle Irwell.

Laura became pregnant during their courts.h.i.+p and in haste they arranged to get married. This was the done thing in those days and surprisingly, these, 'shotgun marriages' usually lasted. Laura and Charlie set up home close to where Charlie and his mother lived in the Littleton Road area. They were ill-prepared for married life and neither of them adapted to their new lifestyle easily.

In recounting her story to me, my mother recalled the old adage; 'Marry in haste repent at leisure.'

'Well I certainly did!' she said.

This how she recalls her marriage to Charlie: 'At first we were happy. Charlie was a good looking man with a wonderful outgoing personality. He made me feel very special and we were in love at least I thought we were in love. We were going out for a few months when I discovered that I was pregnant. We probably would have got married some time anyway but we decided to marry straight away. It was normal in those days to get married if you fell pregnant.'

'I don't think Charlie's mother was very happy because I don't think she really liked me. I think that she thought her son could have done better for himself. My relations.h.i.+p with her was fraught from the beginning. I tried hard to please her but whatever I did, it was never good enough. With her a.s.sistance, we managed to rent a little house just around the corner from her. We had absolutely nothing and we had to rely on family and friends helping us to furnish the property. Even though at first we both worked full time, money was always short because setting up a home from scratch takes every penny. We started to have problems early on because Charlie still insisted on going out socializing regularly. Apart from us not really being able to afford it, he couldn't stand being stuck in the house day after day. He argued that after working all week, he was ent.i.tled to go out on occasions. Because of my condition I didn't always feel like going out after working all week myself. I was often too tired and in some discomfort. Sometimes his mother would encourage him and actually treat him to go out. I used to go mad at him because we needed any extra money for more important things for our home.'

'Our quarrels became more frequent and lasted longer. Often we didn't speak for days on end. There was no domestic violence least not by Charlie. I hit him on many occasions because he used to get me so infuriated. He continued trying to lead the social life of a single man. I suspected almost from the start that he was involved with other women. Women can sense these things. There were too many clues and I became increasingly mistrusting of him. I was lonely and unhappy in my marriage. I tried to get his mother to talk to him but she was completely on his side. He could do no wrong in her eyes. She accused me of being the cause of our problems, and claimed that I wasn't treating him right. I even think she held me responsible for getting myself pregnant!'

'One day, a friend of mine came to the house to tell me that my husband was across the road in the Racecourse Hotel and 'carrying on' with another woman in full view of everyone. I was eight months pregnant but I gave him what for! I went to the hotel and there he was, sitting with his arm around her - canoodling with her. The pub was packed with people. I swept my arm across the table knocking the drinks flying. I turned the air blue with my language and frightened everyone to death. I called him a dirty cheating b.a.s.t.a.r.d and asked him just what he thought he was doing. He stood up so I shoved him; he fell backwards into another table resulting in even more gla.s.ses cras.h.i.+ng to the floor. By this time the place was in an uproar. Some customers thought the whole thing was hilarious and others were entirely sympathetic to my heavily pregnant condition. The woman quickly made her exit and Charlie was eventually persuaded by his friends to leave as well. I was in a rage and had to be escorted home. I thought that the baby might have even been born in the bar, amidst all the spilled beer. Charlie slept at his mother's for the next few nights. I had suspected that he was being unfaithful to me from the start of our marriage. I think I knew then that this incident was going to be good indicator for our future life together.'

'Our relations.h.i.+p improved slightly for a while, but things were still not right between us. Shortly after Ann was born things worsened again. Eventually, we both found ourselves trapped in a loveless marriage for the sake of our baby daughter. We were married for less than twelve months when war was declared with n.a.z.i Germany. Our Ann was only six months old.'

'Following the outbreak of war, Charlie was called up for military service. He became a member of the Military Police (Redcaps). I hardly saw anything of him. His times of leave were few and far between. On some leave periods, he never came home at all and spent his rest and recuperation elsewhere. He claimed it wasn't always practical to come home. I was often very lonely. Me and the baby were almost always short of money for essential things. I had hardly anyone to turn to. Both of my parents were dead. Charlie's mother lived around the corner but our relations.h.i.+p was hostile. The old lady loved and cared for her granddaughter but could only find fault with everything I did or even did not do.'

'I know that Charlie had soured his mother against me. It seemed to me that in trying to have any friends or semblance of a social life, I only made matters worse. It just was not worth it. The old lady seemed to know everything that went on in my life. Whenever Charlie came home on leave there was always a blazing argument about one thing or another that his mother had reported to him. I will admit that I was not totally innocent in all of this. I had sometimes been out with other men behind Charlie's back, but it was only after the marriage had irretrievably broken down - and even then, I never slept with them, we were just good friends.'

'It was about this time in our lives that I was able to find a child minder. I managed to get a part-time job working in the canteen at Salford Docks. The extra money was most welcome. It was while I was working there that I met Harry. He was an American soldier and was stationed at the racecourse camp- close to where I lived.'

'By Christmas of 1942, the Castle Irwell racecourse had already become a well-established American army depot. Over one thousand troops with their thousands of tons of military equipment were stationed there. To the citizens of Salford and to the rest of the country, these American troops were regarded as young, brash, arrogant and compared to the British soldiers, very highly paid. The well-known cliche, 'overpaid, overs.e.xed and over here,' certainly did apply. The local residents were fortunate in having a large American base on their doorstep. It had a lot to offer both financially and socially. Many local shops and businesses were doing a roaring trade while the women were enjoying the attention that was afforded them by these young soldiers. The Americans were more than happy to spend their money on the local women.'

Chapter 4 Sergeant Ledrew.