Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [609]
There was blame to be apportioned on the other side too, and this was even simpler: the people of Sarum thought their country was the best. Were they not still the British Empire?
But on one thing both visitors – to whom it was a novelty – and townspeople came to a surprising and total agreement; this was the benefit of British fish and chips, eaten off British newspaper. The G.I.s’ consumption of this impressed even the locals.
The most important rendezvous and general information post for the G.I.s in Sarum was the Red Cross Club in the High Street. Besides the usual canteen and recreation rooms a most important service was provided by volunteers at the information desk: the flower service. Nowhere else in Sarum was it possible for an American G.I. or officer to arrange for flowers to be sent home.
It was here that Patricia Shockley went immediately after leaving John Mason. She felt in need of reassurance, and her friend Elizabeth, a sensible young married woman, who was doing a stint at the desk that afternoon, always provided sage counsel.
“I did right, didn’t I?”
“Absolutely. You couldn’t do anything else.”
“Thank God for that. Will he leave me alone now?”
“I shouldn’t think so. He looks persistent.”
“Damn.”
The young American Air Force officer who now entered made his way towards them. He had a light athletic walk: his blue eyes seemed to take everything in.
“I must be off,” Patricia said. But she lingered for a moment.
“This is flowers?” he enquired of Elizabeth.
“It is. To America, I assume?”
“Right. Philadelphia.”
“You will wish to send red roses, of course, with long stems?”
“That’s right. How did you know?”
Elizabeth groaned pleasantly.
“Because no American we have yet encountered at this stall has ever sent anything else. Except one, who sent his mother a poinsettia for Christmas, but I expect he came to a bad end. We couldn’t I suppose interest you in carnations, tulips, gladioli . . . ?”
“Roses. Red,” he laughed.
“For your fiancée?”
“No such person. My mother. It’s her birthday.”
“Red roses, to Philadelphia, then.” Elizabeth leaned forward with mock confidentiality. “Do tell us though, Lieutenant, why is it always red roses with American servicemen?”
“Because it’s what they expect us to send.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “You wouldn’t like to surprise them?”
“No.”
“And the name?”
“Shockley. Adam. For Mrs Charles Shockley.”
It did not take them long to find out all about him, including the fact that he had never been to Salisbury before.
Yes, his family had come from England once, but he did not know from where. Yes, the name Adam was common in his family. Patricia tried to remember. There had been an Adam Shockley, she was sure, on the family tree that her father had lovingly preserved in his study. He had gone to Pennyslvania, she thought.
“There’s a chance we may be related,” she told him. “There aren’t that many Shockleys about, you know.”
“And what is there to do in Salisbury now that I’m here?” he asked.
“If you’ve a couple of hours I’ll show you around,” she offered.
“Are you sure . . .”
“I’d be happy to. I’m off duty,” she replied. Besides, it would be a relief to put John Mason out of her mind.
She showed him the cathedral and the close, with its sedate old houses and the shady plane trees round the choristers’ green. She showed him the river with its long green river weeds and its swans. She took him past the poultry cross and into the market place. He was astonished by the age of everything he saw.
“You really mean that little gabled house,” he had pointed to a little timber house with an overhanging front in New Street, “has been there just like that for six and a half centuries?”
“Yes. Funny isn’t it?” She grinned. “And you realise, don’t you, that this is only the new town? The old town’s up there.” And she waved in the direction of Old Sarum.
“It’s incredible,” he admitted.
They wandered through the market. It was a market day,