Elisabeth Jones - Gold Beach

The 25 thof June of 1944 marked a turning point in the way the diary was written. From noting down short phrases, feelings and particular events, it changed into something very like a life story. My mother didn’t want to remember only moments anymore, now she intended to preserve every detail of what she had lived.

The first words of that story made me forget how frightened I was.

Birmingham, June 26th 1944

Yardley Wood School gymnasium became very like a ballroom on Saturday evenings. Coloured lights and non-stop music made me forget that World War II was being fought outside those walls for a few hours.

Those evenings meant far more than just enjoyment to me —it was the only time when I was able to forget the loneliness and sadness that accompanied me ever since my father died. Dancing used to make me feel like they were still alive. I would dance as if they were watching me. I was happy during those hours. Everyone in that gymnasium waited for my performance eagerly. When my name was announced through the speakers, people would burst into applause as if a great star was going to perform. I was already a local celebrity at my sixteen years of age. According to Ms Connolly, my dance teacher, I had a bright future ahead. I started my dance lessons two months after my father died. During the last four years I had become an expert dancer. Although my origins had nothing to do with Scotland or Ireland, my feet moved to the sound of the Gaelic dances as if I had grown up there. That eagerly awaited dance marked the beginning of the party and turned the whole gymnasium into a kind of céilidh. Although I lacked three people to complete the dance, no one there seemed to care. It was on one of those evenings that I kissed him for the first time.

I never dared ask my aunt who was paying for those classes because all I knew for certain was that she wasn’t. She never came to watch me dance although Ms Connolly kept insisting that she should. For those four years I didn’t stop asking my teacher who was financing all that, but the only thing I was able to get out of her was that it was someone especially fond of me. That person became the closest thing to a guardian angel. You imagine they exist, you think that they take care of you and protect you but you can’t see them or enjoy their company, why? It was just what I needed.

In those dark years of my life, Ms Connolly’s words kept my hope alive. She told me that if the war hadn’t broken out, we would have already travelled to London for an audition and most certainly I would already have become a famous dancer.

To me that journey represented getting away from Birmingham and my aunt Jennifer for good to start a new life. Before knowing Elwyn I only wanted that war to end as soon as possible so I could escape from there, but when I met him my priorities changed. Dancing was relegated to second place, superseded by my only wish that he would come back as soon as possible to begin my life beside him.

On Saturday 11 thof March, as I went up to my room to change my clothes and leave for the gymnasium to dance, I found a box on my bed. I opened it with as much enthusiasm as a child opening their Christmas presents. Covered with a very thin pink paper I found a blue dress with short sleeves, a pair of short white socks and a pair of shiny patent leather black shoes. There was a handwritten note on top of them: You’ll shine like a star this evening. I held the dress in my arms and began to spin with a smile of such happiness that I hadn’t felt for a long time. When I put it on, it fitted me perfectly, as if it were made-to-measure, and so did the shoes. Looking at myself in the mirror I felt tremendously beautiful. Only one thing didn’t match that image, the rollers hanging in my hair. I sat in front of my dressing table and started to get rid of them quickly. With some simple strokes with my brush, I finished styling my long hair. I ran hastily down the stairs to the living room to thank my aunt. I always knew that our relationship would return to how it used to be. She was sitting on the sofa knitting a pullover with the radio on. I stood in front of her while my right hand spread out my full skirt. She didn’t even deign to look at me. ‘Don’t thank me, I wouldn’t spend a shilling more on you, I have more than enough expenses supporting you,’ she said, without looking up from her work. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth hard to try and ease the pain her words inflicted on me. My hand descended slowly until the folds of my skirt returned to their place. I went to the front door, took my coat and my keys and left for the school gymnasium to try to shine like the star everyone said I was. I kept crying all the way. The last years of my life hadn’t been anything but suffering and unanswered questions. The only friend I could trust was Brenda, and even though I was a little afraid of her mother in a certain way, whenever I was at her house I felt as if I were at a home where I was accepted and loved.

In those moments of feeling so miserable, the Samuel Johnson quote that my father wrote for me before leaving for Dunkirk always came to my mind: ‘It is necessary to hope, though hope should always be deluded; for hope itself is happiness, and its frustration, however frequent, is less dreadful than its extinction.’ How much longer did I have to wait? I asked myself repeatedly when I woke up every morning. Thankfully, the waiting had come to an end.

When Brenda saw me arriving, she ran to me as I hurried to dry my tears. Her enthusiastic hug confirmed that she had something important to tell me.

‘He’s here!’ she said smiling nervously.

‘Who is?’ I asked confused.

‘Well, Colin and his friend!’ she whispered hysterically. ‘His name’s Elwyn and according to what Colin’s told me, ever since he saw you dancing three weeks ago he hasn’t stop talking about you. He says that when he gets off work he spends his time opposite the bakery trying to see you. I guess he sits on a park bench and waits for you to finish working so he can walk you home. The poor fellow still doesn’t know that you live upstairs.’

As I heard her words I closed my eyes in excitement. Apparently Brenda didn’t seem to know that I had already talked to him. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. At last I was going to see him again. I’d had my eyes on him too for days. On the third day of seeing him sitting on the same bench staring at the bakery, I knew that he wasn’t there by chance, but rather to see me. During those weeks I tried to find an excuse to go out and provoke a meeting, but I didn’t do it out of fear of my aunt’s rebukes. I think I fell in love with him on the very day he came in to buy some bread. Without my knowing, my parents’ story was happening again. When I saw him walking towards the bakery door I began to tremble nervously but at the same time happily. In my head I just kept willing my aunt to stay inside the house and let me enjoy that moment. He seemed nervous too. I found the way he looked at me, his muddled words caused by shyness and his glowing cheeks tremendously charming. I’m sure he didn’t need to buy any bread for when I asked him, ‘How can I help?’ he stared at me not knowing what to answer. Finally I asked again ‘Sliced bread?’ Before he answered, he smiled. The dimples on his cheeks made him look friendly but most of all, very appealing. ‘Yes, of course,’ he replied. When he asked me the price of it, I told him that all those days he’d been sitting in front of the bakery had already paid for it.

‘So you’ve seen me? And there I was thinking you hadn’t noticed me,’ he said a little more relaxed.

‘Of course I’ve seen you,’ I replied.

After a moment of silence staring into my eyes, he spoke again. ‘I love how you dance,’ he said directly in a soft voice, almost whispering.