The Silent War (23 page)

‘Restricted area, miss!’

Sunday didn’t hear the armed white-helmeted military policeman calling to her, so she just continued winding her way in and out of the apron activity.

Receiving no response, the MP caught up with her and grabbed hold of her arm. ‘You’re out of bounds, miss!’ he said, firmly this time. Then pointing her in a return direction, added, ‘The party’s back there – in the hangar.’

Because of the sparse lighting on the apron, Sunday couldn’t read what he was saying. So, as she was agitated, she tried to struggle with him. ‘Let me go!’ was all she could say.

‘It’s OK, Mike,’ called Gary, as he approached. ‘The lady can’t hear you. I’ll take over.’

The MP looked a little concerned, but when he recognised Gary, he released his hold on Sunday’s arm, and left her to him.

‘Sunday!’ Gary said firmly, knowing only too well that where they were standing in the half-light, she couldn’t see what he was saying. So he took hold of her around the waist, and quickly led her towards a position directly beneath the nose of one of the B17s which was lit up by a mobile maintenance lamp.

The first thing he did was to stand directly in front of her, and hold up the finger of his right hand in a vertical position, which he accompanied by saying, ‘Bad, Sunday! What the hell’s got into you?’

Although she could understand what he was saying, Sunday tried to pull away.

‘Don’t fool around with me, Sunday!’ snapped Gary,
holding
on to her. Then he let her go and stood facing her. He knew there was no way she was going to understand his hectic sign-writing, but he still used it to accompany what he was saying. ‘Why d’you do that?’ he snapped, slamming the fingers of one hand against either the fingers or palm of his other hand. ‘Why d’you run out on Jinx like that?’

‘I can’t do it!’ Sunday pleaded, her face racked with anguish. ‘I can’t go into that place and see it all, see what they’re doing . . . seeing without hearing, without being able to do something I’ve loved all my life! Why can’t you understand? Why can’t
anyone
understand?’

If Sunday expected a sympathetic response from Gary, she didn’t get it. ‘Tough shit!’ he said, pummelling his fingers against each other. ‘Is that all you can think of?
You
? Just
you
?’

Although Sunday had now spent several sessions learning the basic structure of sign language, she clearly had a long way to go before she got to grips with it. But, as her eyes flicked back and forth from Gary’s lips to his hands, she knew what he was saying to her.

‘For Chrissake, Sunday – this is your best friend’s wedding day. It’s
her
day, not yours! OK! So dancing means a big deal to you, so it tears you apart because you can’t hear the music any more. But that doesn’t mean you have to spoil other people’s pleasure, it doesn’t mean that you have to just – cut off!’

‘I’m not cutting off!’ yelled Sunday. And as the sound of her distorted voice rose up from the apron, one of the four great engines of a nearby B17 was beginning to chug into life. ‘Don’t you understand, Gary,’ she continued, ‘I’m scared. I’m scared to go into that – that place, and see people doing all the things that I should be doing, all the things that I
want
to be doing. Why
me
, Gary! Why does it all have to be taken away from me?’

One by one, the engines of the B17 were now starting up. But as it was Gary’s lips and hands that Sunday was
concentrating
on, he didn’t have to raise his voice to cap the overpowering noise.

‘Let me tell you something, Sunday,’ he said, his fingers moving much more calmly than before. ‘I’m scared too. And d’you know what of?’ He pointed one finger to the B17 they were standing beneath. ‘Of this,’ he said, letting her read his lips. ‘All of it.’ He turned slowly, and with Sunday watching him, he took in all the warlike preparations going on around them. ‘I’m scared,’ he continued, looking back at her again, ‘because every time I go up in one of these things, I’m convinced I’ll never come back.’

Gary paused, allowing Sunday time to consider what he’d said. ‘Come back with me, Sunday,’ he said, hands flicking back and forth in the light from the apron lamp. ‘Come back to the hangar.’

Sunday, her face twisted in anguish, slowly shook her head.

‘If you don’t stop thinking of yourself, Sunday, there’s no future for you. You’ve got to stop thinking of the past. It just doesn’t exist any more. Tomorrow starts right now.’

Whilst they were standing there, one of the B17s started to taxi off along the runway. As the giant heavy bomber plane turned, the backdraught from its four engines caught up with Sunday and Gary, and they had to hold on to each other and bend their bodies against the rush of air to keep their balance.

One by one the Flying Fortresses taxied along the hard concrete runway, and gradually their speed increased, and the eerie dark shapes took off into the dark night sky, like huge eagles off to hunt their unsuspecting prey.

When Sunday and Gary got back to the hangar, the lights were turned low, and a spotlight was picking out a huge crystal ball suspended from a steel girder in the centre of the ceiling, sending a torrent of tiny dazzling lights across the dance floor.

Although she couldn’t hear the music, Sunday knew at once that the dance was a waltz, for the vast crowd of dancers were clutched to each other and moved their feet and bodies in perfect unison to the one, two, three tempo. As the tiny lights from the crystal ball flicked across her face, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of deep yearning inside, a yearning for all those happy Saturday evenings at the Athenaeum back home in Islington, a yearning for the times when she gave her body freely to the sway of her favourite music.

In the middle of the swarm of dancers, Sunday was just able to pick out Jinx, who seemed to be transported to another planet as she hugged her Bombardier around the neck, eyes closed in ecstasy, and her feet shuffling around the heavy concrete floor. Amongst the dancers, Sunday also caught a glimpse of her other pals from the farm, all enjoying an evening they would never forget. Not far away, Ruthie was enjoying a chat with a bright-eyed young airman she was dancing with, and who looked at least half her age. And even Sheil had managed to take the floor with a rather large master sergeant, who insisted on dancing with an unlit cigar in his mouth. Sue, however, was the exception. She had found herself the perfect partner, a full-blooded Air Force colonel, and she spent most of the time looking all around her to make quite sure that everyone was aware of the fact.

Sunday closed her eyes and hardly moved a muscle. All she wanted to do was to try to
hear
the sound of the music in her own mind, to see every instrument that was bringing it all to life. When she opened her eyes again, however, she was startled to see Gary standing right in front of her, facing her, his hand outstretched towards her.

She knew what he was suggesting and immediately panicked. Shaking her head firmly, she started to back away. But Gary quickly grabbed hold of her hand, gave her a gentle, reassuring smile, and calmly led her on to the dance floor.

Her entire body shivering with fear and apprehension, Sunday reluctantly took up her dance position with Gary. Her brain was rejecting this. If she couldn’t hear the music, how would she be able to move her feet without the rhythm and tempo? But as soon as Gary started them off by moving the first step forward, she responded immediately by simultaneously moving her own foot backwards. Their two bodies were soon clasped tightly together, and as Sunday began to feel the rhythm surging through Gary’s body, her feet instantly responded to the tempo of the slow, shuffling waltz. Gradually, Sunday felt the life seeping back into her. It was as though nothing had changed, as though everything that had happened to her over the past few months had been nothing more than a horrific nightmare. This is where she belonged, right here on the dance floor, and if she couldn’t actually hear the sounds that were bringing her feet to life again, she could certainly
feel
them.

On the other side of the dance floor, Jinx and Erin watched Sunday dancing cheek to cheek with Gary. Erin liked what he saw; a deaf girl dancing with a pretty regular guy was, in his book, a great end to his wedding day. And as for Jinx – well, from the way she was watching Sunday with her young air-crew sergeant, swirling around quite naturally amongst the vast throng of dancers, it looked certain that she would soon be off yet again to the girls’ room to check her make-up.

In the run-up to Christmas, the Ridgwell Airbase was still suffering heavy casualties amongst its air-crews, many of whom had not returned from hazardous combat missions over enemy territory. At Cloy’s Farm, Sunday and the girls were often in despair as they watched battle-scarred B17s crash on take-off, and early every morning their eyes scanned the sky, as they anxiously awaited the return of the previous night’s mission. There were several occasions when they watched in horror as one of the giant airplanes limped back over the rooftops
of
the surrounding villages, sometimes with part of a wing or tailplane missing, sometimes chugging in desperately on one remaining engine only to end up as a blazing inferno in a frosty field at the end of the runway. Every take-off and landing Sunday watched distressed her. Since coming to Ridgewell, she had lived amongst these almost childlike young men, and found it unbearable to accept the inevitable fact that so many of them would never return to their families and homes.

However, despite the anxieties, these last two weeks before Christmas had been some of the happiest Sunday had ever known. Getting to know Gary was beginning to change her whole attitude towards life, for not only was he helping her to develop a whole new style of communication, but he was also giving her back her confidence, her will to live. Yet, most important of all was the fact that she was falling in love with him, even if she didn’t realise it.

A few days before Christmas, Sunday and her pals from the farm were asked to help out at a Christmas children’s party to be held at the base. Despite the fact that this was the season when the girls’ farm duties were somewhat fewer than throughout the rest of the year, as it was during official working hours, Farmer Cloy was none too pleased to give the girls the time off. However, as he had no wish to fall out with his contacts at the base who were keeping him supplied with a regular flow of luxury goods that he would never have been able to get on his family’s ration cards, he reluctantly decided to give the girls permission to have a few hours away from the farm.

The Christmas party started with Santa Claus stepping out of a B17 Flying Fortress, which had landed on the runway to be greeted by over four hundred children from all parts of the district and neighbouring counties. This was followed by a slap-up tea party in the base canteen where Sunday and her pals joined officers and other ranks to serve the kids with Spam sandwiches, cookies, candy bars, ice-cream, and gallons of a funny
drink
they had never heard of before called Coca Cola. And when they had filled themselves up so much that they could hardly move, they all settled down to the entertainment which included games of musical chairs and hide-and-seek, followed by a mass singsong, with Jinx doing her best to sing louder than all the kids put together. Then, led by servicemen and women of every rank, all the excited youngsters formed a line and jigged around the canteen doing the hokey cokey. Jinx and Erin quickly joined them, and Gary found a place in the line for him and Sunday. When that was all finally over, it was time for the highlight of the afternoon – the distribution of Christmas presents by Santa Claus.

‘This is where I need your help,’ Gary said, suddenly grabbing hold of Sunday’s hand and dragging her up to the front of the surging mass of young party-goers. On the way, he also collected Sunday’s pal, Maureen.

Santa Claus was already on the small, makeshift stage, and when he was quite sure that everyone was quiet enough to hear him, he yelled out, ‘Hi, kids!’

With Sunday and Maureen standing either side of him, Gary simultaneously conveyed Santa’s words by launching into brisk, animated sign language. It was directed straight towards a small group of bright-eyed deaf and dumb kids, who were all huddled together to the left of the stage.

A great roar came back from the kids, ‘Hi, Santa!’ For Sunday, however, the most overwhelming response came from the small group immediately in front of her, all of whom had replied in sign language.

Santa, in reality a tail-gunner with the 381st Bomb Group, looked duly pleased. So before getting to the important part of the proceedings, he asked, ‘Have you all been good boys an’ girls this year?’

Another great roar echoed around the canteen, accompanied by a frenzied activity of hands from the deaf and dumb group. ‘Yes!’

Spurred on by his success, Santa bellowed out one last question, ‘An’ do you believe in Santa Claus?’

The final response nearly raised the canteen roof, ‘YES . . .!’

With that great roar, coupled with the flutter of small hands from the special front-row group, Santa was convinced that it was now time to open up his many sacks of Christmas presents.

For the next hour or so, Sunday helped Gary and Maureen to hand around dozens of small packages containing candy, Hershey chocolate bars, chewing-gum, all kinds of toys including model USAF jeeps and trucks, and dolls, and compact puzzle games, and so many things that these wartime kids had had to do without for so long. Sunday was totally immersed in the excited, happy atmosphere as she handed out presents and received eager thanks by mouth and hands from the sea of young faces, some of whom were orphans from the London Blitz. Nearby, a group of young blind kids were receiving similar treatment, and they laughed excitedly as several of the GIs placed Santa’s gifts in their hands. For Sunday, it was an astonishing, wonderful occasion. During those past few hours she had learnt so much, as she watched Maureen conversing in frantic sign language with her own group of kids, and Gary doing likewise, using his lips and hands to tease and joke with them, pulling funny faces, turning their paper hats back to front, and making them all feel very special. Before the party came to an end, Santa Claus led all the kids in a singsong of Christmas carols, and as a finale, the place echoed to the sound of ‘Jingle Bells’.