Follow-up

FURTHER to Bob Readman’s memory of GIs throwing sweets at the railway station (Peterborough), my story took place at a Wolverhampton railway station in late 1943. I was six years old and waiting with my mother and older brother for a train to take us to Worcester to meet my father. He had a job as caretaker at the technical college, which had been taken over by the RAF for classroom training. While waiting for the train to arrive, I became aware of a soldier sitting opposite us. There were a couple of things about him that I’d never seen before. He wore a different uniform to our soldiers, which obviously meant he was foreign (American, as it happens) and he was black. After a few glances, I apparently asked my mother if the soldier’s colour went all the way through him. This comment became the talking point in our family for a long time afterwards. Rather than taking offence at what was a child’s innocent remark, the GI roared with laughter and called me over. He told me to hold out my hands and filled them with chocolate bars and spearmint chewing gum from his pockets. What a wonderful lesson in racial harmony it was for me without being aware of it. Since I have grown up and become aware of the sacrifices made by these young Americans thousands of miles from home, I have often thought of that young man and sincerely hope he made it back and lived a long and happy life. Darrell Blackham, Long Eaton, Derbys.