Untold resilience
A TALE OF LOVE, LOSS AND LONGEVITY FROM MARIE WYNN, 94.
I was 16, he was 20 and Leslie was the first person I ever fell in love with. It’s difficult to try to describe the intensity of emotions in regard to relationships during that period. Those times were different; we were so aware of the horrors of war. The daily war bulletins took over our lives. People say you can’t fall in love when you’re very young like that, but I did.
I lived in Wellington, New Zealand: a country at the bottom of the world that was in the process of making a slow, difficult recovery from the Great Depression. In 1939, World War II came. Though we were spared the everyday tragedy faced by others around the world, we did do it tough. Jobs were scarce and my parents, along with so many other folks, had a hard time trying to make ends meet.
Living through the Great Depression and having to get by with what we had has stayed with me. My kids laugh at me now because I still waste nothing. Back then, it was a time of deprivation. Along with the blackouts, strict rationing was introduced. Meat and sugar were rationed and you couldn’t buy sweets in the shops. As young girls, we were without male company, too. Our young men were all serving overseas, so we spent our free time dancing. We had no pretty clothes or make-up. Silk stockings were unobtainable, so it was customary to paint your legs and draw a black line at the back to give the illusion of wearing stockings.
With the bombing of Pearl Harbor in 1941 and America’s entry into the war, everything changed for us. The threat of invasion by Japan was real and, even at my age, I was aware of the tension that hung over my country. American armed forces had been sent to the South Pacific to combat the Japanese, then were sent to New Zealand for rest and recuperation. With all these young men returning, battle-weary, from the Solomon Islands, the citizens of
Wellington were requested to open their homes and welcome them; to provide some home comforts as part of the war effort. There were also requests for young women to enrol at the various service clubs to entertain the troops. This we did very willingly, as we all loved to dance. Since our young men were off serving, it was great to meet lads our own age. These clubs were strictly run, and no alcohol was permitted. We were carefully scrutinised before acceptance and told we had to behave like ladies. This was the time immediately preceding rock ’n’ roll; a time of the jitterbug and the waltz and the foxtrot. I loved to dance and had been going out with a particular marine named Pat. But one night, everything changed.
It was a Sunday evening, and a friend and I went to the dance hall. Shortly after we arrived, a tall, handsome young marine asked me to dance. But as it turned out, he couldn’t dance – he absolutely had two left feet! We spent the evening in each other’s company and he eventually asked to take me home. His name was Leslie and that was the beginning of our story. We caught the tram back to Strathmore Park where I lived. As we were walking up the street – arm in arm, laughing together – I heard a voice saying, “Is that you, Marie?” It was my father and he was accompanied by Pat. You see, Pat had been waiting at my house all evening, expecting me to be there. What a situation.
The arrival of Leslie’s division in Wellington made such a huge impact on our lives. We had the company of young men, who were personable and charming. They were extremely well-mannered, these boys. Wherever you went they opened doors for you, they pulled out the chair for you to sit down, and they treated you with absolute respect. Of course, we’d known the US marines would eventually be going into battle, but we had no idea when, and it
was kept a secret. When it did happen, it was confirmed only on the morning of their departure.
Leslie and I had been gifted six glorious months together when our romance came to its sudden end. When all the ships in the harbour were being loaded, my friends and I went to the top of the building where I worked. It’s a sight I’ll never forget. We were standing on that big, tall building overlooking Wellington Harbour, watching the entire fleet leaving, without even a chance to say goodbye. I was really upset that night, and my mother, trying to comfort me, said, “You will never forget your first love.” She was right.
Over the years I was married twice and sadly lost both husbands, but I always had this memory of Leslie. I was in Australia visiting my daughter Jenny and her family some years later when the topic came up. Jenny suggested I get in touch with Leslie. I said, “Heavens no. Not at this stage of my life! And who knows, he mightn’t still be around, and if he is, he might be married, and if he is, there’s no way I’m going to do anything about that!”
One month later, I was home in New Zealand and received an email from my granddaughter Amanda saying, “Nanna, I’ve found a whole list of people in America and I think one of them might be the Leslie you were talking about.” I thought, “Oh well, maybe I will write and just find out if he’s still around. There’s no harm done.” I included my email address on the bottom of the letter, along with the words, “If you’re a relative or if you know him, I would be interested in making contact with this man I knew all those years ago.”
A few days later I received an email. It said: “It’s me.” From then on, we never missed a day.
Leslie hadn’t forgotten me. He’d married, had two boys of his own and later divorced, but he’d kept every one of my photos. I’d destroyed all of his, but there you go. I flew out to America when I was 81 and he was 85. I walked off the plane and, well, there he was. I remembered Leslie as this young, very good-looking man in uniform. All those years later, he was still a tall, fine-looking man who had aged, of course, but was still handsome. I didn’t even hesitate. I walked straight up to him and he took me in his arms.
My life has been blessed with love – and not just romantic love, either. My daughters, their husbands, along with my five grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren, are my pride and joy. They give me support and comfort. Who could ask for more? I want younger people to know that even when hard things happen, you do recover. You never forget, but you learn to cope, because you have to. If you don’t learn this, you’ll make yourself miserable.
you never forget, but you learn to cope, because you have to