Anit

I left you when I was feeling abandoned, without money to pay train fare to South Wales. It's September 1944. I was directed to a nearby hostel to spend the night. My husband was "somewhere in England," and I didn't have a clue where he was. I couldn't telephone his mother because phones were few and very far between in South Wales.

I spoke with others stranded in Liverpool but they expected to be picked up the next day. A young lad who had sailed on one of the Royal Navy ships told me the ship behind the Ariguani had been torpedoed and gone down, that accounted for the explosion that had rocked our ship.

As I pondered my fate I sank into a hot bath, "a shallow hot bath". A ring had been painted around the tub showing how much water a bather could use. Tired, I went to bed and could not sleep. I was frozen, could not get warm. I learned later about "damp beds" a phenomenon because of unheated houses and perishing cold bedrooms.

A brilliant thought filtered into my head during the night. One of Bill's fellow officers, Tom Ellis, whom I knew well, his wife, Norah, lived in Liverpool. I remembered her address, 32 Chalfont Rd.

With the help of kindly tram conductors, I found my way to the address and knocked on the door. "Are you Norah Ellis?" I asked. Before she could reply, I blurted out my name. "I'm Anita Birt and i don't know where Bill is. He was supposed to have money waiting for me but didn't." I don't remembered crying but Norah put her arms around me and invited me into the house.

"Come in, I'll put the kettle and make some tea." She turned to me. "I know where Tom is and he'll know where Bill is. I'll telephone him while the kettle boils."

For the first time since I'd stepped on to British soil, I relaxed. Tom was summoned. I spoke with him as tears trickled down my cheeks. Tom knew where Bill was and in short order tracked him down. Oh joy, Bill telephoned. Was horrified to learn I'd been left without money. A screw-up somewhere.

Bill was stationed close to Hereford and arranged to have a day off to meet me in there. Norah loaned me five pounds. We returned to the hostel, picked up my enormous suitcase and she escorted me to the railway station. I had never seen a five pound note. It was large and seemed more like tissue paper than proper paper money. Norah had to sign her name on the note before purchasing my ticket. She gave me the change. Of course, I promised to pay her and did.

She saw me off on the train. I felt as if I was in an English movie on this funny little English train. The whistle peeped, the conductor blew his whistle an off we went. During the war all the train station signs had been removed to fool German paratroopers should they land in the area and needed to know where they were.

I introduced myself to the three passengers in my little carriage and they kindly told me the names of the stations as the train sped along the track.

"Hereford is the next station." I gathered up my suitcase and purse. As the train slowed and stopped there was my wonderful husband waiting for me.

It was wonderful to be safely in his arms. I shall pass over the following twenty-four hours before he had to return to his base. He gave me explicit instructions when and where to change trains. He had wired news of my arrival in Britain to his mother and the train I'd be on.

I boarded the train and headed off to Pontypool Road. Change train to go to Hengoed High Level and change again to Hengoed Low Level and catch the train going up the Rhymney Valley.

Praise the Lord for my wonderful fellow passengers who kept me company and made sure I got off the train at Pontypool Road. I vaguely remember the train crossing a long, long trestle bridge over a steep valley. At Hengoed High Level Bill's sisters waited for me with open arms.

I had made it. Crossed the Atlantic Ocean during war time, came close to being blown out of the water, had found Norah Ellis, a wonderful friend in Liverpool, met Bill, had taken trains half way across England to South Wales and was safe with his family.

How did I end up somewhat like Bob Cratchit in A Christmas Carol, toiling over accounts in pounds shillings and pence, with a wonky typewriter for a weekly wage of one pound, six shillings and sixpence?

But before i went to work in the Goods Office at Pengam railway station, I met Bill's uncles, aunts and cousins, the elderly spinsters who ran the local post office in Penpedairheol and Mrs. Walters, the shop and the Evans family who were fish mongers, many of them characters right out of Dylan Thomas, a Child's Christmas in Wales.

If you like I shall return. Remember my books are for sale. Check my web site for names, covers and short synopses. www.anitabirt.com

I'd love to hear from you. Comments please. I hope this wasn't too dull.

Anita