Gwendolyn’s Story

In July 1943 the US Army took over the port of Southampton, putting the docks under the control of their 14th Port Transportation Corps, who would handle the huge influx of cargo necessary for the invasion of Europe. Before long, the city had become the chief supply centre for the Americans in Britain.

One local girl had a perfect vantage point from which to study the American officers as they zoomed in and out of the forecourt of the grand, red-bricked Polygon Hotel, where they were billeted. Gwendolyn Rowe counted herself lucky, at seventeen, to have scored a job as a shorthand typist at the Chamber of Commerce just opposite the hotel, where she and her female colleagues watched the new arrivals with great interest. When she cycled into work, her glossy black hair streaming in the wind, she always drew calls of, ‘Hey, baby – slow down for me!’ But she responded with a curt ‘I’m not your baby.’

Watching from afar was one thing, but Gwen’s first real encounter with an American soldier had been something of an embarrassment. A young GI, slouching along her road with his hands in his pockets, had made her almost jump out of her skin by suddenly pulling out a small box and waving it in her face. ‘Hey, want some talc, miss?’ he asked.

Gwen was infuriated. What did he think she was – a charity case? ‘No, I do not,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t take presents from strangers.’

The young man’s face fell. ‘Sorry, miss, didn’t mean to cause no harm,’ he said.

Gwen’s mother Mrs Rowe, a forthright Scottish lady with raven hair just like her daughter’s, had witnessed the scene from the doorway of their house on Padwell Road. As soon as Gwen reached the doorstep, she reprimanded her: ‘Those men are here to help us. You go back at once and say thank you.’

Gwen let out an irritated sigh, and went after the young man. ‘Sorry,’ she said, as she caught up with him. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’

‘No problem, miss,’ he replied with a smile, pushing the talcum powder into her hand. When she got the gift home, Gwen was secretly thrilled. Rose scented and luxurious, it was the most wonderful thing she had been given in four years of rationing.

Gwen and the girls at the Chamber of Commerce found that American officers were frequently coming in to ask them for local information, and it was sometimes difficult to know whether their enquiries were genuine. The Americans seemed particularly keen to solicit local information from Gwen, although so far none of them had actually asked her out – perhaps because, being very slender, she looked younger than her seventeen years. But one day, as she was going into work, a jeep screeched to a halt beside her. The driver called out ‘Hey, sugar!’ and Gwen, turning to give a smart reply, was caught speechless.

There, with one foot on the dashboard and a large cigar hanging languidly from the corner of his mouth, was a stunningly attractive GI with sparkling brown eyes and exotic good looks. ‘What you doing tonight, baby?’ he asked.

‘Um, I don’t know,’ replied Gwen, flustered.

He laughed. ‘Come to the dance at the Polygon with me. What’s your name, sugar?’

‘Gwen.’

‘I’m Ed. See you at eight, Gwen.’

His beautiful face zoomed off with a big smile on it.

That evening Gwen peddled home from work faster than she ever had before. A date at the Polygon would require a sophisticated outfit, and she knew there was only one dress that would be up to the task: her emerald-green one. Handmade by her mother from curtain material, since dress fabric was rationed, she knew the colour complimented her dark eyes and jet-black hair.

With relief she found the dress hanging up pressed and immaculate in the cupboard. After bathing in the regulation five inches of water and dousing herself in her rose-scented talc, she put it on – and immediately felt like a princess. Unfortunately, with no carriage and horses to transport her, she would have to make do with her bike to get her to the hotel, so she hitched up the dress with safety pins and rode off.

When Gwen arrived at the Polygon, she stowed her bike out of sight and walked through the grand revolving doors. The hotel had long been frequented by passengers from the grand ocean liners that came in and out of Southampton, including many from the fateful Titanic. Its elegant dinner dances were legendary, and had continued throughout the war, providing American officers with an upmarket setting in which to entertain the local female population.

As Gwen entered the room, Ed stood up to greet her and she felt giddy at the sight of him. ‘Just stand still for a moment,’ he said, looking her up and down. ‘My, that is such a beautiful dress. And you have such pretty eyes.’

Gwen smiled. Clearly the green dress was having the intended effect.

Sitting opposite Ed, she found herself hardly able to eat her dinner – he was just too distracting, and she was trying too hard to be sophisticated. But it was dancing in his arms that she was really looking forward to.