It was 1944, the year after my brother died, the year my father came home briefly. But before that there was the arrival of the American army prior to the invasion of France that year. The way those men, some of whom were still only boys themselves, treated us English kids was great. This is probably where my affinity with the United States began.
My first encounter with the U.S. Army was coming home from school one day with two of my friends. We were passed by truckload after truckload of American soldiers in convoy. It seemed there were hundreds of trucks one after the other without a break. They were traveling in the same direction as we were and in the two-mile walk from school there was not a break.
As each canvas top truck came by we saw smiling faces, men waving and calling out to us. My friend Freddie Brooks who was a year older than me and seemed to have more knowledge of current events, told me when I met an American I had to say, "Got any gum chum?" And they would give me chewing gum.
I had never tasted chewing gum before.
"You only chew it." Freddie told me "Don’t swallow it or it will clog up your bum and you won’t be able to shit."
"What do you do with it if you can’t swallow it?" I asked.
"Well, you chew it all day long, and when you go to bed you stick it on the bedpost so you can chew it again the next day."
It sounded wonderful to me and I couldn’t wait to try chewing gum.
More trucks came by, this time the smiling faces were black. I had never seen a black man before.
"The white soldiers don’t like the black soldiers," Freddie told me.
"Why not?"
"I don’t know, they just don’t."
"Well, I like them," I said, returning their waves.
When I arrived home I had a dilemma. How could I cross the road to my home, with all these trucks coming by? There were no breaks. Freddie and my other friend were okay, they lived on the opposite side to me. When I got to my house I could see my mother standing at the garden gate. She called across to me between the trucks roaring by, "Don’t cross yet!"
I saw her step carefully out onto the narrow road and hold up her hand. Just then a jeep came by with white-helmeted military police on board. They saw my mother and held up their hands to stop the convoy.
"Come across now!" my mother called and I ran to her.
The policeman tipped his white helmet to acknowledge my mother’s thank you, and the convoy moved on.
"Mummy, Mummy, I saw some black men. Freddie told me the white soldiers don’t like the black soldiers. Why is that, Mummy?"
"I don’t know," my mother answered.
"But aren’t they all here to fight the Germans?" I said. "You would think if they’re all on the same side they would like each other."
"You would think so," my mother said in agreement.
In the days that followed I thought a lot about the black soldiers. When Freddie Brooks came to me that weekend and said he knew where the American camp was, I said, "Let’s go see the black men."
The camp was in the next village about three miles away; Freddie and I walked there. When we arrived we squeezed through a gap in the hedgerow and came across rows of wooden huts with corrugated tin roofs. I walked in through the open door of one hut; inside were rows of double bunk beds. A young fair-haired man greeted me.
"Hey kid, what are you doing here?" he asked.
"I’ve come to see the black men"
"There are no black men here. Why would you want to see a black man?"
"Because I’ve never seen one up close."
The young man laughed and called further down the hut to another man, "Hey, there’s a kid here who has never seen a black man."
"Well, damn, I guess he’s lucky. I’ve seen too many in my life."
As he spoke he walked down the hut toward me and pointed to another young man seated alone under a tree some yards from the hut. "There’s the nearest thing you’ll find to a black man around here. He’s an Indian, his name is Running Horse."
I looked at the young man under the tree, he was dark skinned and had close-cropped black hair. I walked over to where he was sitting, "Hello, is your name Running Horse?"
The young man looked up and smiled. "Yep, that’s what they call me."
"That’s a funny name."
"You think so?"
"Oh, I meant funny peculiar, not funny ha ha."
The young man laughed. "So, kid, what’s your name?"
"My name is Eddie. My real name is Edward, but everyone calls me Eddie."
"Well, hi, Eddie, I’m very pleased to meet you." He reached out and shook my hand.
"That man over there said you were an Indian. Is that right, a real Indian like in cowboys and Indians?"
He laughed again. "Yes, Eddie I’m an Navajo Indian or Native American, and yes like cowboys and Indians but around here there’s way more cowboys than Indians."
I looked around. "I don’t see any cowboys"
"Oh, they are here, they’re just not wearing their hats, but they’re here."
Running Horse was carving a piece of wood with the most beautiful knife I had ever seen. It had a deer antler handle and a large blade about six inches long.
"Can I see your knife?" I asked.
It was a lock-back knife and he pushed in the lever and folded the blade before handing it to me. It felt heavy in my hand.
"How do you open it?" I asked.
"It’s very, very sharp, so it’s best you don’t open it."
"Where did you get it?"
"This knife is very special; my father made it."
"My father’s in the war," I said as I handed back the knife. "What are you making?"
Running Horse held up the piece of wood he was carving. "What does it look like?"
"It looks like a bird with its wings open."
"That’s exactly what it is; it’s an eagle."
"What will you do with the eagle when it’s finished?"
"Maybe I’ll sell it to a cowboy." We both laughed.
I suddenly remembered I still hadn’t seen any black men. "Where are the black soldiers?" I asked.
"They’re not at our camp; they have their own camp."
"I heard the white soldiers don’t like the black soldiers, is that true?"
"Some of them don’t."
"Why not?"
"Well, Eddie, how can I explain it so you will understand? My father told me a story when I was about your age.
"A man was out hunting one day when he saw a dark figure approaching in the distance. It was too far off to see if it was a man or a wild beast. Maybe it was a bear, so he was afraid. Then as the figure came closer he saw it was a man, but he was still afraid because he didn’t know if it was a friend or an enemy. Then when the man got closer he saw it was his brother.
"So, Eddie, maybe the white man is not close enough to see the black man as he really is, that’s why he doesn’t like him."
I didn’t fully understand the meaning but the story was good and would stay with me.
"Say, Eddie, I like to go fishing, is there anywhere around here I could catch fish?"
"Yes, I know a place; my brother used to take me. I’ll show you where it is. Do you have a fishing rod?"
"No, but I could make one."
"You can borrow my brother’s fishing rod."
"Would your brother mind?"
"My brother is dead; he was killed in the war." I felt a lump come to my throat as I realized this was the first time I had said the words "my brother is dead." I had finally accepted that he was not coming home.
Running Horse reached out and touched my shoulder. "I’m so sorry, Eddie."
"That’s all right," I said, fighting back the tears. "Do you still want to go fishing?"
"I would love to, but we have to clear it with your mother first."
"We can go now. We have to go past my house to get to the river, so we can pick up the fishing rod and ask my mother at the same time."
"Okay. It’s Saturday, so I’m free today. I have to tell my sergeant where I’m going, but that won’t take a moment."
My new friend walked to the hut I was in earlier and came out seconds later. "Let’s go catch some fish. You lead the way."
I ran ahead, out through the same gap in the hedgerow I had used when I entered the camp and on to the narrow country road on the other side. "This way," I called back as Running Horse strode out and was soon by my side. We had gone about a mile when I suddenly remembered Freddie Brooks. We had separated the moment we arrived at the camp. I stopped.
"I forgot my friend Freddie."
"Do we need to go back?"
I thought for a moment. "Nah, he knows his way home."
We covered the three miles to my house in very short time; I opened the garden gate and ran ahead into the house. Running Horse waited outside.
My mother was ironing at the kitchen table.
"Mummy, Mummy, Freddie and me went to the American camp. We didn’t see any black men but I met an Indian, you know like cowboys and Indians, his name is Running Horse and we want to go fishing. Can we please, please, Mummy?"
My mother stopped ironing, her eyes open big and wide. "Now slow down, and tell me that one more time. You did what?"
I grabbed my mother by the hand and dragged her to the door. "Mummy, this is Running Horse."
There was silence for a moment as my mother stared at the young man standing before her in his army uniform. "Good morning, ma’am, your son offered to show me where I could catch fish, and I said we must clear it with you first."
More silence, then my mother stammered, "Yes, why don’t you come in for a moment and have a cup of tea?"
In any situation where the English are not sure what to do they offer you a cup of tea. And so it was, we found ourselves inside the house. My mother quickly cleared the ironing from the table, and we sat down. As always there was a large iron kettle of water permanently simmering on the coal stove, so tea was quickly made and homemade cake was brought out too.
"So you want to go fishing. Well, I suppose that’s all right. Actually Eddie hasn’t been fishing since his brother was—" My mother’s voice trailed off.
"Eddie told me about your other son. I’m very sorry, ma’am."
"Thank you. Might I ask how old are you?"
"I’m twenty, ma’am. I’ll be twenty-one at the end of this year."
"Alan would have been twenty this year." She paused shaking her head. "My God you’re all so very young."
I looked up and could see her eyes were beginning to fill with tears, as she must have been comparing this young soldier with Alan. I got up from my chair and stood beside her to give her a hug. I hated to see her cry. She hugged me back and reached out to hold the hand of my new friend.
"Why don’t you boys finish up your tea and cake, and go fishing? Otherwise the day will be over," she said as she got up and left the room.