大象传媒

The sight of soldiers in Newry, in World War II, was nothing strange. Not long after war came, the Welsh Fusiliers arrived - small, intense,dark-haired men, in ill-fitting khaki uniforms. But,as they marched to church on Sundays behind their mascot, a large white goat, their well polished, hobnailed boots striking sparks from the cobbles, they had the cut of real soldiers about them.
A couple of years later the other partners in the Atlantic Alliance came on the scene.With a cavalier disregard for the geography and history of the United States, they were universally descibed as 'the Yanks'. Their outriders disembarked at Dufferin Dock in Belfast on 26th January, 1942 and soon they began to spread out over many areas of Northern Ireland.This first batch had come to train for the invasion of North Africa, or 'Operation Torch', as it was called.While some of them shot up the country-side around the Mourne Mountains, they didn't appear in Newry. It was troops bound for the later invasion of Europe in 1944 who came to Warrenpoint and the Newry area.
The effect of the arrival of several thousand well-paid, handsome,young men into the area could only be described as staggering! It was as if a gigantic bright light started to shine on what had been up to then a gloomy, depressed town.The Yanks brought glamour,excitement and a hugh buzz to the place. It was the third year of the war and everything that wasn't obtainable was severely rationed. Then along came these cheerfull young fellows with lots of money, which they spent freely. But not only were they financially well-off, they also had plenty of the worlds goods, some of which we hadn't seen for years, and others (like Nylons) which we had never seen before. They would give away - or sell for a pittance- many of the items of personal equipement and apparel provided by Uncle Sam. Soon it seemed that practically every adult male from the town was wearing one of their marvellous, olive-green waterproofs while the girls sported Nylons, and everyone who smoked had Camels and Lucky Strikes ad lib.
We children, whose normal sweet ration was three ounces per week, also fell in for our shareof candy and chewing gum!
Of course, anyone living on our street was especially lucky, for it was here that the PX, the Post Office, was to be found. It used to be an old empty shop, but it had now become a veritable Aladdins Cave of long-forgotten delights - cigarettes,chocolate, chewing-gum,tinned fruit,and the ulimate secret weapon - Nylons! If, as a small boy, you just happened to be passing as the cheerful GI's emerged from this treasure-house, you might fall in for a packet of gum or a Superman comic.Of course, it was cultural imperialism of the worst kind, but no town ever went into such delightful slavery so willingly! Foe some reason I missed the Christmas party they threw for the towns children, but the ice-cream and doughnuts served at it were for long afterwards th subject of nostalgic recall in junior circles in Newry.
The US Army all dressed in well-ct uniforms of olive gabardine and even the privates wore a collar and tie. They had soft, comfortable rubber-soled boots so that when they marched it was almost soundless. In fact, they did not march like British soldiers. It was somehow more of an amble, and though they had no band, their progress seemed to be to the interior strains of something like Glenn Miller's 'American Patrol', certainly not Colonel Bogey'!
Newry revelled in its visitors for as long as they stayed. There was always some excitement when they were around, jitterbugging at dances, and fist-fights with British troops outside pubs or dancehalls. As a nipper, I watched a huge brawl outside the Star and Garter in Marcus Square - it had to be broken up by American and British Military police. And then one day in late spring 1944, just as suddenly as they had arrived,they left, to trytheir strength against Rommel's Wehrmacht on the Atlantic Wall. Omaha Beach was their destination, and no rearguard stayed behind in Newry, to hand out to the disconsulate children the last strategic supplies of candy and gum. The town as in a state of shock for days, as if soem terrible catastrophe had struck all the inhabitants simultaneously. That giant light was switche off, and we went back to shortages and our old, pre-Yank humdrum existence. The special tragedy for the children of North Street, where I lived, was that the PX disappeared and Aladdins Cave became just an empty shop once again.
We learned a little later that some of the Yanks made it as far as Paris, for a few cards and letters drifted back to Newry, but we didn't have to wait to see the film 'The Longest Day' to realise that many of those young, carefree 'invaders' of our shores never succeeded in leaving the rich meadows and villages of Normandy. Too many documentaries have shown us too many long lines of white crosses marking the graves of all those who lost their young lives in what they believed was a crusade for Freedom.

Fred Goodman, Dublin

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