大象传媒

NOW YOU SEE THEM - NOW YOU DON'T.

Something funny is going on. I haven't seen Chuck and Joe, my Yank friends for over a week. I told my mother that I thought I might have said something bad, as they don't pick me up to play with anymore. My mother said they were very busy being soldiers at the moment, and didn't have time to see me. I hope that she is correct. I like Chuck and Joe and, besides, I've run out of Hershey bars.
Another funny thing that鈥檚 happened is all the soldiers who live opposite have left. This morning, all of them paraded as usual, but they had big khaki sacks with them as well as their rifles. Before they turned together toward the road, they heaved the sacks onto their shoulders, and instead of marching down the road, they marched up.
When my father came home for his dinner, he was very excited. "It's on Rose," he kept saying, "we're going for sure. Take a walk up London Road this afternoon. Take the nipper. This is history in the making." Even my mother was smiling. "It will soon be over," she kept saying.
After my father had ridden his bicycle back to work and my mother had washed the dishes, she helped me put on my shoes and socks. We didn't need coats, as it was quite warm, in spite of it being cloudy. We walked together up the road. All of the women seemed to be outside their houses, talking to each other. They were passing lumps of chalk to each other, making a 'V' mark alongside their front doors. I asked my mother why they were doing it, she told me it stood for 'victory'. I asked her what 'victory' was; she said it was to help us beat Mr. Hitler. I shall put one on our doorpost when we get back, if someone will lend me some chalk.
By the time we got to the top of our road we could hear a continuous roaring sound. There were lots of people going the same way as us and some were carrying little flags on sticks. Everybody was talking, even to people they didn't know. Some even spoke to my mother. "Good news, missus. We're going." "Yes", my mother would reply, "it would seem so. I hope it is not just an exercise though." "Not this time, missus," another man replied, "I heard that the docks are full of boats. Full of them. Three and four deep at each berth. It's on for sure."
What's on? Nobody would tell me. Something big and beautiful was happening it seemed. Everyone walking around had big smiles on their faces, but nobody would tell me why. "What's on, mother?" I asked. "The invasion. Our soldiers are going to invade France and drive the Germans back to their own country. It will be peace soon. No more war." No more war? Why ever not? War is normal. What are we going to do if there is no more war? All of the soldiers will be unemployed. They'll have nothing to do.
We walked from Bedford Place to London Road and what a sight met our eyes. The roaring had been getting louder and louder - then we saw what was causing it. Two continuous lines of trucks, roaring down the road towards the town, and the docks. Some trucks had tarpaulins covering huge piles of boxes and crates, but most had soldiers, standing up smiling and waving at us. A lot of trucks had 鈥淏loody Yanks鈥� but lots had Tommies. These are our soldiers. Their uniforms are not as nice as the 鈥淏loody Yanks鈥� but their buttons are shinier. They also have different metal hats to the 鈥淏loody Yanks鈥�. Ours looks more like Uncle Ern's bowler hat.
My father explained why we called our soldiers 'Tommies' and why I should be proud we did. He said that during the last war, (crikey, just how many have we had?) a poster aimed at getting men to join the army had a sample form on it. It said 'Surname' followed by a written 'Atkins', then First Name followed by 'Thomas'. Since then all soldiers have been called Tommies, short for Thomas. My grandfather who is really named Thomas Atkins, has suffered greatly from ribald remarks every time he has to state his name.
No other traffic except that of the army is being allowed onto London Road. At every junction there are men in uniform with armbands and white helmets, they stop every car and make it turn around and go back, unless they are army. A lot of jeeps, full of officers, join the trucks from the side streets. The officers are smiling and waving as well, a bit undignified really.
Occasionally, one of the 鈥淏loody Yanks鈥� throws some Hershey bars, and the people around me go wild, almost fighting each other to pick one up. I miss out every time as they are bigger than me, until a nice man says to one of the fat women who has three in her hand, "give the boy one. Don't be greedy. You've already got enough." She doesn't want to but the people around us are all agreeing with the man, so she holds one out for me. It's a good job they don't know about my friends, Hank and Joe, and that I am a Hershey bar expert. "Say 鈥榯hank you鈥�," says my mother, once again, before I can open my mouth. If they gave prizes for a quick-draw mouth, my mother would come first every time.
We stand there for over an hour, the trucks and jeeps still keep coming. Some of the trucks have a large gun towed from their rear. "This is no bloody exercise," says a man, "this is the real bloody thing." Then he puts his hands to his mouth and shouts at a passing truck of soldiers, "Give them bloody hell, mates." The soldiers are pleased and stick their thumbs up at him.
"Come on," says my mother, "we've seen enough. Let's go home and have a nice cup of tea." I can't believe my ears. Here we are watching history and my mother wants a 'nice cup of tea'. What a way to win a war.
"There was nothing on the news," said my mother as soon as my father came home. "What do you expect?" asked my father. "Do you think that we want Hitler to know we are coming? Oh, by the way Adolph, we are going to try and land at Cherbourg tomorrow. Put the kettle on." My father can be cutting at times.
My father rushes through his tea and has his wash. He is going out early tonight to visit other pubs and see what news he can gather. My father would have made a good spy, but then, I expect he is a better painter; otherwise Mr. Churchill would have given him a job.
The next morning, it was on the news. Our troops had invaded France at a place called Normandy. Everybody was happy. My mother thought we should go and visit grandmother. Goodness me, not twice in a week.
After my father had gone back to work, in the afternoon, we set off. It was quite a long walk, and every step was strange. There were no uniforms. Nobody left. The parks we walked through were empty of soldiers, not one around. The barracks in the cricket park was empty, nobody to be seen. Just one door banging in the wind. A strange silence had settled over the whole town. No sound of trucks or jeeps. No shouting out. No laughter. Really, one doesn't appreciate just how noisy armies are - until they're gone.

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