Our Yanks by Margaret Mayhew Page B

right after Pearl Harbor I quit college and enlisted as a cadet with the Army Air Corps. Trained in Georgia and Texas and here I am.’
    â€˜I rather think you’ve left out some of the story.’
    He’d left out plenty: the whole way he felt about flying. That being in an airplane was the place he really belonged to in the world. That it was as natural to him as being on the ground was to others. That whereas most guys were real nervous when they first soloed, he’d felt like he’d come home. ‘I put it in a nutshell for you, sir.’
    â€˜And what do you think of our country, now that you’re here?’
    The Limeys always wanted to know that. He answered truthfully. ‘It’s straight out of a storybook. I’ve never seen such beautiful green countryside. Or such great old houses. Or such beautiful old churches.’
    â€˜Surely there are a great many of those in Italy?’
    â€˜I’ve never been to Italy, sir. This is my first trip to Europe. First time outside the US. And I sure didn’t reckon on my first visit ending up this way.’
    When they had finished the bubble and squeak the daughter cleared away the dishes. ‘There’s baked apple and custard for pudding, if you’d like some.’ She said it as though she knew damned well he wouldn’t.
    â€˜Sounds good to me.’
    It
was
good. She’d put some sort of dried fruits in the middle and sweetened them with honey. He skipped the custard, though. His turn to ask some questions, he decided. That way she’d have to talk to him.
    â€˜How long’ve you been teaching at the school, Miss Dawe?’
    â€˜Two years.’
    He reckoned she must be about twenty. ‘You teach the little kids, that’s right?’ He knew very well that she did and she knew that he knew that she did. She’d seen him looking in through the window. ‘What do you teach them?’
    She was going pink in the face again. ‘The alphabet. Numbers. Counting. Painting and drawing. Reciting and singing.’
    â€˜Anything else?’
    She hesitated. ‘Well, we have a Nature Table.’
    â€˜What’s that?’
    â€˜We collect things on walks – leaves, fir cones, flowers, nuts, feathers, snailshells . . . whatever we can find. They’re put on a special table and labelled. The children learn something about nature. They have a rabbit, too, and some guinea pigs that they look after themselves.’
    The British were in a class of their own, he thought. Their country had been engaged in total war for four years, bombed to bits, struggling all alone for survival, but these little kids were still busily collecting stuff for their Nature Table.
    A telephone started ringing somewhere and the rector headed for the door. ‘Excuse me. I must answer that. Agnes, will you take care of Lieutenant Mochetti?’
    She didn’t look too thrilled about that and he reckoned it was time to leave and said so. He followed her back down the dark passageway to the hall and collected his cap and jacket. She was holding the front door open for him; outside it was still raining cats and dogs. He shrugged on his A2 and zipped it up. ‘Say, we’re having a dance Saturday at the Officers’ Club. We’ve a pretty good band and we’ll lay on the transport. How about you coming?’
    â€˜I’m afraid I couldn’t.’
    â€˜That’s a shame.’ He twirled his cap round on one finger. ‘How about the next one after that? It’s going to be a regular thing.’
    â€˜I’m sorry.’
    â€˜You don’t like dancing?’
    â€˜Sometimes, yes.’
    â€˜Then why not come along?’
    â€˜I’d just prefer not to, thank you.’
    â€˜Come on, give it a try?’
    â€˜No, thank you.’
    â€˜You that sure?’
    â€˜
Quite
sure.’
    She’d got him figured for just another skirt-chasing Yank. No point