Beyond the Shadow of War (21 page)

23

20 September 1945 

London, England 

Anya made numerous trips to London, most of them by herself since Sybil would be with her once she arrived. On a trip in mid-September, she and Sybil endured the dreaded physicals. Anya received the required smallpox immunization, but since pregnant women were excluded from the requirement, Sybil didn’t have one. Afterward, Anya felt feverish and her arm ached for hours, both common side effects of the immunization. She was grateful for a chance to rest that afternoon at Sybil’s flat.

Sybil stretched out on the loveseat beneath a window and fanned herself. “I don’t know why you don’t go ahead and move in with me here and save all these trips back and forth to Framlingham.”

Anya took a seat on an overstuffed chair. “I suppose at some point I will. Maybe it’s childish, this attachment to Sophie and Charlie. Patrick too. But when I’m with them at the pub, so close to the base, I feel closer to Danny, strange as that may sound.”

“No, I understand. That’s why I still go to Rainbow Corner a few nights each week. There’s a reason that section of London is called ‘Little America.’ You can feel it when you walk in the door, even though most of the Americans are gone now. Still lots of personnel here, but mostly we see them on weekends. I’ve seen some of those boys from the embassy there. Nice fellas. Polite. We should go.”

“What?”

“You and me. We should go. You’re staying over tonight, so let’s pop down to Piccadilly and see what’s happening at the Rainbow. I can’t believe I didn’t think to take you before.”

“But I feel awful right now. All clammy and my arm still hurts.”

“Then take a little lie-down and let’s see how you feel later. I promise you’ll have a good time.”

Against her better judgment, Anya agreed to accompany Sybil that evening to the famous American Red Cross Club at the corner of Shaftesbury Avenue and Piccadilly Circus. The busy footpaths and bright lights of the area evoked a strange beating of Anya’s heart, as though she was encountering another world she’d never even imagined.

The blue bunting over the windows and the numerous red, white, and blue flags branded the corner building as distinctively American. Horns honked, buses sped by, and all around them people jostled one another as they made their way along the crowded footpaths.

Anya tried to take it all in. “I can’t believe all this. Is it always this crowded?”

Sybil laughed. “Oh, Anya! This is
nothing
. Imagine ten times as many people, most of them in uniform, all trying to get through these doors. Probably more like twenty
times as many.”

Even from outside, Anya could hear music pulsing through the lobby. Big band, they called it, and she finally understood why everyone loved it so. She was disappointed to find the music originating from a gramophone piped through the club’s public address system. She’d never seen a live swing band, though Danny had talked about them. Still, several couples danced to the raucous beat making the most audacious moves she’d ever seen.

“It’s called the jitterbug. Isn’t it great?” Sybil shouted, giggling at the silly expression on Anya’s face.

“I’ve never seen dancing like that before.”

“You should have a go! Let’s find you a dance partner‌—‌”

“No!” she cried, grabbing Sybil’s arm. “I wouldn’t dare. I’ve never danced before!”

Sybil stopped in her tracks. “You’ve
never
danced? Not ever?”

Anya shook her head. “No. And I’m
not
going to dance with anyone but Danny.”

Sybil grinned as she gave in. “Well, I suppose I see your point. Then come with me. I’ll give you a tour.”

She followed Sybil through the crowded halls, surprised so many Americans were still in London. She wondered what it must have been like before the war ended. In a corner on one of the floors, she saw what looked like a shooting gallery with Adolf Hitler’s face as the target. A long row of machines banked one entire wall, most of them attended by clusters of men in uniform.

“Pinball machines,” Sybil explained as they passed by. “Like arcade games. Very popular in America. And over there, you see the billiard tables which are also extremely popular.”

Overhead, Anya noticed strings of triangular flags in red, white, and blue crisscrossing the rooms. She followed Sybil to an upper floor designated for hobbies. “They can draw, paint, and sculpt‌—‌all sorts of artwork, as you can see. Seems terribly deserted now, but not long ago it was positively bustling with Yanks. Many of the pictures you see on the walls of the club were painted right here in this room. Scenes from home and images from the war‌—‌like that one there of planes flying in formation. It’s a creative outlet for them.”

On another floor, they peeked into rooms with rows upon rows of beds provided for those on leave. “Most of the time, we’d be at capacity and have to provide cots for the boys to sleep in nearby bomb shelters.”

Anya couldn’t imagine it. “You mean all of these beds were filled?”

“Oh my yes. We often had more than 25,000 visitors a day, so we couldn’t possibly provide enough beds for all of them.”

Sybil shared a steady stream of memories about the club in its heyday, conjuring up all kinds of images in Anya’s mind. She showed her the large and cozy library filled with books and stacks upon stacks of newspapers. “Those hometown newspapers were the lifeline for a lot of the boys. See how wrinkled they are? The boys would devour them.”

Sybil explained the various roles of the Red Cross volunteers, from helping the Yanks write home, to sewing buttons on uniforms, providing first aid, or arranging sightseeing tours of London. All sorts of services.

“And of course, the dancing! There were times you could hardly move on that dance floor, it was so crowded.”

“Must have been a lot of fun for you and the other girls meeting so many Americans.” So different from her war years back home.

“The most fun I’ve ever had in my entire life,” Sybil said. “Especially when we had live bands playing. Glenn Miller and Cab Calloway were by far the most favorite. When those horns would start playing and the drums pounding, and everyone singing along and dancing … it felt like electricity crackling through the air. Honestly, most of the time you couldn’t hear yourself think in the ballroom for all the music and chatter. It was wonderful!”

She led Anya to another staircase. “Let’s head downstairs to Dunker’s Den and get something to drink. Have you ever had a Coca-Cola?”

“No. What is it?”

“It’s a bubbly beverage they call a soda. You’ll love it.”

A few moments later as they descended the basement stairs, Anya couldn’t believe the vastness of the room coming into view. Obviously designed like a restaurant, yet completely different.

“Why do they call it Dunker’s Den?”

“I have no idea, but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s the strange way they dip their doughnuts in their coffee.”

“What is a doughnut?”

“It’s a pastry. A round confection with a hole in the middle that’s deep fried. Really quite good, especially if you have a hankering for sweets like I do.”

“We have something like that in The Netherlands called
oliebollen.
They’re round, like fritters, and we serve them sprinkled with powdered sugar.”

“Sounds heavenly. You’ll have to try one of our doughnuts. I’ll show you how the Yanks dip them in their coffee.”

Anya looked around at the enormous room filled with tables and chairs and booths. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“It’s a re-creation of the corner drug stores they have back home. Quite popular amongst the younger crowd in America. They serve hamburgers and French fries, which are potatoes similar to our chips. And they drink lots and lots of Coca-Cola. Let’s take a seat over there at the counter.”

As they made their way through the room, Anya marveled at the shiny chrome and red vinyl booths, some filled with uniformed Americans and English girls, tables covered with plates and cups and ashtrays, the air hazy with cigarette smoke. They passed a group of soldiers gathered around a strange piece of furniture that played another big band tune.

“It’s called a jukebox,” Sybil said. “Ever seen one before?”

Anya shook her head. “What is it?”

“It’s like a gramophone that plays different records. You select the songs you want to hear by punching a few buttons. The Americans adore them.”

Soldiers greeted Sybil warmly by name, and she laughed and teased with them as Anya followed her to the long counter. Following her lead, she took a seat on one of the round red stools tucked alongside the counter. A young woman wearing a white apron over her gray Red Cross uniform stood at a tap filling a chilled glass mug.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Sybil? I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Just popped in for a bite with my friend Anya. This is her first time at the Rainbow. She’s a war bride too. Anya, this is my friend Kate Miller. ”

Anya blinked as the young woman turned to face them, her abdomen easily twice the size of Sybil’s. “Oh my goodness, when is your baby due?”

“Not soon enough,” she groaned, “but one more month according to the doctor. Nice to meet you, Anya.” She placed the mugs on a tray which another volunteer picked up and carried away.

“Nice to meet you too, Kate.”

“Anya’s from Holland,” Sybil explained, “but her husband was stationed with the 390th in Framlingham up in Suffolk.”

“Well, then. Welcome to Rainbow Corner. Give me just a moment then I’ll join you. It’s time for my break. Let’s sit at that table over there so I can put my feet up. What do you fancy this evening?”

“You sit down, Kate,” Sybil insisted. “I’ll pour some Cokes for us.”

“Oh, thank you, dear.” Kate eased herself onto a chair with a grateful sigh and propped her feet up on an empty chair.

Sybil returned with a tray and set three chilled mugs on the table along with a paper-lined basket of fried potato strips, then took her seat. “I don’t understand why you’re still working, Kate. We have plenty of help and not that many Yanks about tonight. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

“Because being home alone is ever so much worse. At least here, the time passes a lot faster. It’s too depressing at home and makes the waiting all the harder. Plus, the old man who lives in the flat next to mine plays music all hours of the night and day and refuses to turn down the volume. Might as well be here and doing something worthwhile. But enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Anya. How did you and your husband meet?”

“AAACK!” Anya blinked and sputtered after taking a sip of the fizzy beverage, her hand flying to the bridge of her nose.

Sybil and Kate laughed. “We forgot to warn you!”

Anya’s eyes watered. “It’s prickling up my nose. What’s
in
this? And why is it so cold?”

“Carbonated syrup,” Kate answered. “The carbon is what makes it bubble. As for the cold, the Yanks want all their drinks icy cold. Which I find extremely odd, don’t you?”

She nodded, dashing the corners of her eyes with her fingertips.

“But it’s actually very good, don’t you think?” Sybil took a sip from her straw.

Anya smiled with a nod. “Well, yes, I think so. Very sweet, but good.”

Sybil handed her the small basket of fried potatoes. “Now try one of these.”

Anya took a tentative bite of the narrow potato slice. Salty and crisp on the outside, soft on the inside. “This reminds me of our
friets
.”

“All right,” Kate began, “now that you’ve had your first Coca-Cola and a taste of American snack food, tell me how you and your husband met.”

Anya gave an abbreviated version of the long history she and Danny shared. The three chatted amicably, noting many of the same feelings about their long wait to go to America and the idea of moving to a country so different from their own.

“I must say it’s helped having a chance to work here, surrounded by all these Yanks and their strange ways,” Sybil added. “Might’ve been too much of a shock finding ourselves uprooted to a land where everyone talks with such peculiar accents and eats all this fried food.”

Kate fanned herself with a menu. “Anya, where does Danny live in America?”

“He lives with his family in Chicago. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes, sure I have. My Joe lives in Long Island, same as Sybil’s Jack. I expect we’ll all be neighbors, though I don’t know how far Long Island is from Chicago. Surely not that far?”

“I have no idea,” Anya said. “I was told the ship will pull into the harbor in New York City, then I’ll have to take a train from there to Chicago.”

They’d been talking about fifteen minutes when another of their friends approached their table. Anya couldn’t help staring at the pretty blonde with big blue eyes beneath thick black lashes; her lips painted with bold red lipstick so many of the English girls wore.

“Just the girls I’ve been looking for!”

“Gigi, meet my friend Anya,” Sybil said. “She’s a war bride just like us.”