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The Yanks are Coming

by
Ken Clark

He leaned down from his jeep and scooped me up into the passenger seat and I was dazzled. Gleaming white smile, flashing brown eyes, shining brown skin and a beautiful uniform. He was the first American that I ever saw in real life. Homer was a black American soldier who arrived at Bluetts’ Road, Woodlands, Talywain, in the Autumn of 1943. He was awesomely attractive, a huge man, with a uniform that was well tailored - all smooth cloth, colourful insignia and very smart. The first impression gained was of a bright, sparkling person. The only black man I had seen before this was the turbaned Sikh who used to come around our houses selling clothes from a large suitcase. In those days when we asked where our mam, aunt, neighbour had gone, the stock reply to avoid further discussion was, ‘She’s run away with a black-man’. I could never understand why anyone would run away with that fearsome looking Sikh, but, after seeing my first black American, I now understood.

The white Americans that came into our world shortly afterwards were also impressive, but paled into insignificance when compared to our black friends. They were friends despite swarms of children following them, tugging at their clothes and asking, " Got any gum chum?" They never lost their tempers, were always smiling, and were extremely generous. We loved those first American soldiers and did not even think about colour except that they were black and we were white, a natural state of affairs.

The general resentment felt by local men and British servicemen towards all ‘Yanks’ led to the saying, "We don’t like Yanks because they are over sexed, over paid and over here". There was a lot of jealousy and resentment amongst them because they were more confident, had more money and were much smarter. The uniforms they wore were beautiful compared to the rough, drab, ill fitting khaki uniforms of our army. This wasn’t the whole story though because the Americans were well mannered, polite, gregarious and confident, Most of our British counterparts were shy, tongue tied around women, poor, and felt that they compared badly with the Americans, so resented them even more.

Grown up males, unlike the children and young women, could not admit that the Yanks were more glamorous, so the late arrival of the USA into the war, their poor discipline, and too much money were put forward as reasons for anti American feelings. As there was an element of truth in these charges, relationships between Americans and Britons soon became strained in some areas. The gossip group in our house really went into top gear during this period and I borrowed lots of books to be able to sit in the corner and listen. They were of the opinion that anyone who went out with an American soldier was a sex crazed hussy. Later this became more vitriolic if it was a black American soldier. I am sure this charge was imported by the white Americans, willingly adopted by our people because it gave more spice to the tale, as well as the apparent need to always have a group on which resentment can be focused. There was no resentment from us because the Americans were particularly kind to children. Whereas most local adults had little or no time for children, there was always chewing gum, chocolate and friendliness from these attractive new friends. They were certainly different if only because they were patient to the many children who appeared as soon as they drove their jeeps into Bluetts Road. Who they spent their time with, and where, soon became of great interest to everyone.

The perception about the sexual aspects of the relationships was well founded. Around the time I saw my first real American I saw my first real condom, then always known as a French Letter. One of our gang’s favourite past times was to track any girl walking with an American. Homer was our first successful mission: we tracked them down the Incline towards Cwmffrwd and snuck up on the hollow where they lay down in the prone position. At school we had been trained in the prone position in the event of being caught away from shelter in an air raid. We were to lie down on our tummies, keep our legs together, press our foreheads to the ground, with our elbows splayed out with the heels of our hands pressing on the eardrums. This would make us smaller targets and protect us from the loud noises. The young lady most certainly hadn’t been trained in the prone position for she was the wrong way around and had her feet in the air. I suppose the danger from broken glass and shrapnel was a bit remote and anyway she was being protected by the man shielding her with his body.

Our next task after the couple were well rested, and gone on their way, was to insert a stick into the used condom and hold it up for examination. Not knowing what it was, it was perfectly natural to take it home and ask our mam what it was called and what was its function. This upset my mother especially when she realised that it had been trailed through the streets waving on the end of a stick. What would the neighbours think! She was so angry that she didn’t ask me who had been in the vicinity during the action until a few days later. Although my mother didn’t explain about condoms, we soon found out all about them and the danger of bringing such things into the open. So we used to mark the spot and collect them afterwards to hang on the gates, letter boxes and clothes lines of the people who were nasty to us when we played in the streets. There were plenty of chances to display our dislike because there were more condoms on Talywain Incline and the Lasgarn Wood than there were barrage balloons around London, and, according to our mam’s gossip group, almost as big.

It was also said that the Americans were responsible for introducing Venereal Disease to our area. This has probably been said about every military group wherever they served throughout history, but there must have been an increased incidence in our backwater to have caused comment from locals who knew so little about it. My mother’s gossip circle went in to whispered overdrive and it was very difficult for me to listen in. Although I accepted everything they said on the subject, it became apparent in later years that they were fairly ignorant on the topic of VD. They told each other it could be transmitted by kissing, caught off lavatory seats, and was incurable. Not only that, but it could make your fingers drop off, send you mad, and affect unborn babies!

Despite all that was said about the Americans and the girls who went out with them, I never forgot the first Black American soldier I saw on Bluetts Road. If I had been a girl of the right age then I wouldn’t have hesitated to have gone out with the American soldiers. The sheer glamour of these people had such an impact on everyone, for good or bad, and it was difficult to know how to deal with such an impact in a relatively isolated area, such as ours was in those days. The young girls who succumbed were swept off their feet and were the ones who suffered most. For every good outcome there were other personal disasters that left sadder and wiser girls to live with the consequences. I hope their memories remain, in most respects, as gleaming as mine.

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