This story is inspired by the 1979 film "Yanks." http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0080157/

“Yanks” is a story of intercultural relationships, between GI’s stationed in Northern England during WWII and the local girls. The main story is the relationship between Richard Gere and Lisa Eichhorn’s Characters. They have lots of drama thanks to the script writer. His sidekick has a smoother time, as the script writer didn’t notice him, and gets to marry his girl (her friend). There’s also the relationship between the officer played by William Devane and the posh Red Cross volunteer played by Vanessa Redgrave. The script writer also gives that pair a hard time. The film ends when the GI’s are shipped off to invade Europe. Giving rise to the lines:
“Excuse me, please. I’m pregnant.”
“So’s half the bloody town, love.”
Around 100,000 such relationships lead to the girl emigrating from Britain after WWII. (There were many more hundreds of thousands from around the world as well.) There must have been many more relationships which didn’t end that way. At its peak there were about 1.6M US personnel in UK, that’s over 3% of the UK’s population at the time.


There are also references to:
"The Halfway House" (1944) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0035962/
"A Bridge Too Far" (1977) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0075784/
"Battle of the Bulge" (1965) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0058947/

This mostly just shares the title with the 1941 film, "How Green Was My Valley" http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0033729/ There are a few other thematic elements it shares with that film.

—

My darling daughter,

I’m writing this letter to you so that when you’re old enough you’ll understand. You’re barely old enough to get in to see “Yanks”, let alone understand what the film meant to your Dad and me.

Its thirty-five years since I met your Dad, in those days he was even more handsome than Richard Gere ever was. He was just so handsome, and exotic. I’m not sure I’d ever met a foreigner before, growing up in my little village. Even after we moved down to Cardiff, after South Duffryn closed down. Mam didn’t want me going to Tiger Bay, or hanging around the docks where you’d find the foreigners, along with spivs and girls with reputations.

“Howdy Mam.” Was the first thing your Dad said to me. It was on platform 6 at Cardiff General Station, I thought he sounded like a cowboy, him being from Texas and all, and I wondered why he was calling me “mother”.

I forgot all that when I looked at him though, he was the most handsome thing God had put on this green Earth. The uniform, his height, the broad shoulders and most of all that smile.

I don’t know if I managed to say anything, but he took off his cap and continued, “I just arrived in y'all's beautiful country, and y'all's beautiful town, …” It took him forever to say that, you know Texans speak so slowly.

He wasn’t getting anywhere fast so I interrupted, “Are you a cowboy?” It was a pretty dumb thing to say, but the only thing I could compare him to was the movie stars in the westerns at the pictures.

“No mam.” Calling me his mother again, “If I weren’t here in y'all's charming country, fixing to fight the evil Nazis, I would be at Texas A and M fixing to be a teacher.” I didn’t understand half of what he said, but I was impressed that he was smart enough to be a teacher. “I do ride, though I don’t own a horse.” You know how your Dad would say that, “Ahhhh, dooooo.”

Impressed as I was, I did still wonder, “Why do you think I’m your mother?” That flummoxed him. He didn’t know what to say, so I said, “You keep calling me ‘Mam’.”

“Well, errr, Mam, my Daddy raised me to be polite to the ladies. It’s polite to call a lady ‘mam’. At least it is in Texas, where I come from. What should I call you?”

“Well, ‘Gwynn’, is me name, why don’t you call me that? 'Gwynn Llewellyn'”

“I will do just that, ma… Gwynn” He'd started to say, “Mam” again, but changed to, “Gwynn.” Then, he introduced himself. “Lieutenant John Burnett, US Army, at your service, Miss, err, … Gwynn.” He couldn't manage to say, "Llewellyn" (that double-l sound in Welsh is tricky), so he settled on just Gwynn. He held out his hand, I wasn’t sure what that was about, but I held out mine too, he took mine and shook it. “Mighty pleased to make your acquaintance Gwynn.”

I just looked at him, I didn't know how to react, I think I just smiled. He did eventually ask, "Say, what do you do for fun in these parts?"

It was very forward of him, I really shouldn't have been speaking to a stranger; My Da would have had a fit if he'd known. But, I just couldn't leave him there, so I said, "I'm going to the pictures. 'The Halfway House' is playing at the Capitol." I summoned up all the courage I had and asked him, "Do you want to come along?"

"Now Gwynn, that sounds lovely, I would be honoured to accompany you."

I was starting to think we weren't going to make the show, so I said, "We'd best hurry then." And I guided him out of the station. I don't remember much about the film, apart from it was set in Cardiff, which is why I was going to see it. There was a little Welsh in it, like "Borre da" (good morning), or "Diolch yn fawr iawn" (thank you very much, the first words of the film), which he asked about after. I was thinking how polite it was, him not asking during the film. Mostly during the film, I was admiring his profile, towering above me, silhouetted in the flickering light. I was just drinking him in. He had this unique scent, fresh and intoxicating, I was thinking if clean cut and manly was a smell then your Dad had it in spades.

I was thinking that American film stars like Tyrone Power or Buster Crabbe weren't a patch on him. And the American film stars were much more handsome than the British ones, like the ones in the film we were watching. He had better manners than I expected, GI's had a reputation, but he never tried to lay a finger on me. It was quite a contrast with some of the less pleasant (British) characters in the film. He didn't touch me even when I grabbed hold of him when it got to the creepy parts (the film had ghosts in it), and then the scene when the pub got shot up in the air raid. I was surprised to find I was a bit disappointed that he didn't.

After the film, we queued at the chippy (just like in Yanks). Fish wasn't rationed, nor was eating out, so there was always a long queue at the chippy. We talked about the film whilst we queued: I explained the Welsh; What an "Eisteddfod" was (mentioned in the film, a music and poetry festival); How ironic the film was in black and white and they were saying how green the scenery was. He said Wales was such a vibrant green compared to Texas. Then I told him about the time a Jerry plane had shot up my school whilst I was in the playground. The scene of the pub being shot up had brought all that back, but his presence had kept me from being frightened. He was very reassuring, I couldn't imagine being frightened with him around.

We finally got served. I didn't often eat out, even at the chippy, as it was expensive. It was about ten pence for fish and chips, almost a shilling (12 pence in a shilling). That's a lot when I was barely making a pound a week. I was only making as much as that as I’d been working the same job for the past 4 years since I left school. What with the new P-A-Y-E (tax) system, it took 9 shillings (of 20) in every pound, and Mam took most of the rest. I had about three shillings a week for myself.

He paid for me. Not that I asked about it, but I eventually found out he made about ten pound a week as a Lieutenant. I was astounded. That was a bloody king's ransom, particularly to an eighteen-year old girl, living at home like me. There were three things said about the GI's, "over paid" was the first.

He was still bemused by the British coinage. It was one and eight for the two of us, he took a handful of change out of his pocket and stared at it. So I grabbed a bob, tanner, and thrupenny bit (1s, 6d, and 3d all silver coins of different sizes) and got a penny change. He was also bemused by the size of our penny, about four times the size of the ones he was used to.

He pointed out the inscription on the penny, it had lots written on it, including "D : G" and "F : D". He said that was Latin abbreviations, meaning "By the grace of God," and "Defender of the faith." He was fascinated by this, he could (and did) go on about that sort of thing for hours. I just liked listening to him, the sound of his voice, it made me melt inside. And there was his mouth, his perfectly formed kissable mouth. Thinking of kissing that (perfect) mouth captured all of my attention. I was dreaming of those lips kissing me, I could have watched them for hours. I don't remember that much of what he actually said.

After that we went dancing. At the dance, all I could think about was how good he smelled and the closeness of his body, and how a decent young girl shouldn't be having these thoughts. Then the next thing I knew, he kissed me. "Over sexed" was the second thing said about GI's. I didn't know how to react to that, not least because I was so guilty about imagining that. I mean, no Welshman would have done that, not one I'd be with anyway. I hit the roof at that, I should have slapped him, but I was shocked and turned on, not that I knew it then. I didn't know what that was, not what the words meant and definitely not what "turned on" felt like. "I'll have you know: I'm a good girl; I go to Chapel." He backed off and apologised.

That was when I knew he was special. I'd expect a GI to lose interest at that point, and find a softer touch. But, he seemed to like the fact I stopped him; he seemed to respect me more. It was a good job he didn't see the smile playing around my lips at the time, and if he knew what I was feeling on the inside he'd have known to totally ignore my protestations.

I was totally mixed up, shocked by his forwardness but excited by him. Then there was his mouth, again, I was just thinking how his lips would feel pressed against mine, and the proximity to his body and how my body was reacting to it all. As I said, I was feeling, I didn't know quite what. But that kiss had me on fire, I was tingling all over, especially down there. I had an ache deep in my belly, and I felt wet, wet but slippery. I was confused. I thought my period had started, but there was no blood. I even had to go to the loo to check, just to make sure.

Anyway, we made it through the evening without further incident. Then, he walked me back to the station. When we got there, my train was just leaving, so I just rushed off to catch it without thinking. Da didn't like me staying out past dark, not when there might be an air raid. The next train would have got me home too late. All I thought about was trying to catch it and not the fact I didn't know how to get to see him again, nor him me. I just rushed off babbling a thank you and that I'd had a good time.

I wasn't thinking of that when I got home. I went to bed, but I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop thinking of him. I still ached down there, and my hand brushed my cwm through my nightie. (Cwm means valley in Welsh, the "w" is pronounced like an "oo" sound. That's what I called it back then.) That felt good, it usually felt good, but I was sure it was a sin, so I didn't usually touch myself there.

I couldn't think of him and of sin at the same time. I touched myself again as I imagined him smiling at me. I didn't know about anything more, I was so green then, so all I could think of was him smiling. I pulled up the hem of my nightie and trailed a finger through my cwm. I shuddered again, and a shock of pleasure shot through me. It was slippery, and my finger came out wet.

I remembered him kissing me, I imagined he was with me, kissing me. I imagined his hands running over me, fondling my bosoms. My hands mirrored my imagination, and I felt myself there as well. With the covers tucked under my chin, I pulled the nightie up further, and my bosoms were uncovered to my hands. My hands roamed over them and down to my cwm again. I was panting, all that time I imagined him doing that to me.

My finger ran up my cwm, making me shiver again, and then ran over my little button. My body shuddered, and I almost screamed. I wanted to do that again, but didn't want to disturb Mam and Da next door. So I pulled my pillow over my face and held it in place, whilst my finger played with my button again. My body was wracked in spasms, and I screamed into the pillow as he just smiled in my imagination. He approved.

Then I could relax, panting and totally happy I drifted off to sleep.

It was the next morning when I finally realised that I'd probably never see him again. I moped around for the next week not knowing what to do. Mam and Da noticed, but didn't pry. I even prayed that I might see him again, which worked as on Saturday, the phone rang. Da answered, "Whitchurch 5-double-8. … Yes. Who's calling? …" He looked up, worried, "Gwynn, it’s for you, it’s the Red Cross."

I was worried, as a call from the Red Cross was never good news. I haltingly said, "Hello?"

A posh woman's voice said, "Do you know a Lieutenant John Burnett of the US Army?"

"Yes." I started to panic: something had happened to him.

"Would you hold please."

I didn't expect your Dad's cheery, unhurried voice, "Gwynn, is that you?"

"John? John! What? You scared me half to death."

"Well, Gwynn, I'm sorry for that, would you like to meet for lunch? I have a weekend pass.”

I think I started floating three feet off the floor after that. I don't remember much else, except him asking, "Do you know how many Llewellyns there are in the phone book for Cardiff?" I didn't, so he told me, "At least 16."

It seems he'd looked up Llewellyn in the phone book and found ten on the Cardiff exchange, and several more on adjacent exchanges. I'd mentioned the station I was going to was named "Llandaff", but it served Whitchurch instead. He'd gone through Cardiff and Llandaff and was working his way through Whitchurch by the time he rang us. He'd got a friend in the Red Cross (like Vanessa Redgrave in the film) to ring them all, asking if a Gwynn lived there. He got the woman to do it as a strange American man asking for Gwynn would probably raise suspicions. Even with a British woman doing it, it certainly made my Da have lots of questions.

I tried not to answer his questions as I got ready to meet your Dad again. Then he rang again, this time he said he’d arrived at the station and was staying at the Railway Hotel.

I ran out of the door, and I got to the hotel in about 5 minutes flat; it’d usually take me 10 minutes to walk to the other end of Station Road. I was huffing and puffing like a steam train when I got there, I found him in the lounge, ran up to and hugged him tight. I was just so glad to see him again.

Then, I realised I was in public and Dai was behind the bar looking askance at me. Dai was a friend of Da’s (despite Dai dealing in the demon drink, Da was teetotal and temperance), so Da would find out.

We had lunch and talked about lots of things, including Dai and what to do about it. In the end, we decided your Dad should come home and meet my Da, and Mam. He had come prepared for that, he’d got presents for everyone, including some tinned food. The presents were a big hit all round, but it was him I wanted. I'd have wanted him presents or no. It was a good job I mentioned Dai and the temperance thing: one of his presents for Da was a bottle of whisky (just like Richard Gere in the film). We left that at the hotel.

We discussed a lot of things at lunch, it was just so natural talking to him, but we were from very different places. The war hadn’t touched Texas, apart from young men going into the forces, and going overseas. They didn’t even have rationing. The small size of the rations we did have a was a shock to him.

When I said having lunch with him was allowing the rest of the family to have my rations for lunch, he was surprised. We discussed him staying for dinner, he was bound to be invited to stay, even if it’d leave us short for the rest of the week. So he came up with the idea of him inviting the whole family out to dinner at the hotel. He booked a table for everyone that evening.

I told him I was originally from “Pentrebach”, which literally means “Little Village” in Welsh. He was having enough trouble with the Welsh he was coming across, but he said he’d seen that name. It’s a station on the way down from Merthyr Tydfil, Merthyr was the station nearest to his camp. I told him about how we’d had to move when the pit (coal mine) closed down. That'd meant I had to get a job and couldn’t stay on in school past 14. Mr. Butler's Education Act would have meant I'd have stayed on longer, but that wasn't put into effect until after the war.

He told me a bit about his part of the army. He pointed to the patch on his shoulder, it had a stylised T and O in red: "blood red" he said. He said it stood for “Turf Omm-Brays”, at least that’s what it sounded like, it made no sense. Eventually, we worked out it was “Tough ‘Ombres”. Hombre being Spanish for man, and it'd dropped it's H. But it was a slang meaning that we couldn’t work out the English for. The closest would probably be “hard man”. Texas is close to Mexico, where they speak Spanish. That was news to me.

I moaned that my Birthday was exactly 3 weeks before the Princess' (Elizabeth, she’s Queen now), that meant my birthday was April Fools' Day. He was also surprised when I said that’d mean I’d be drafted for war work on my next birthday (at 19) and I was thinking of volunteering for the ATS (the Woman’s Army), hopefully so I could shoot anti aircraft guns and get back at the Jerrys. For me that was personal, after being shot at by that Jerry plane. I didn’t know it then, but Cardiff had already had its last air raid of the war that March.

So I took him home to see Mam and Da. The meeting went a lot better than I’d feared. Certainly, a lot better than it did for Richard Gere in the film. Da was impressed he was an officer. Da had been a Sergeant in the great war, and now in the Home Guard, so the British class system was working for me there. Da was also impressed he would have gone to university if it weren't for the war, and that he was considering becoming a pastor.

Your Dad also hit the right note when he asked about Chapel and if he might come along the next day (which was Sunday of course). What with his studies in theology, he was interested in seeing a Presbyterian service. He was a Lutheran himself of course.

We had tea of course. Mam found some cake and we had some of the biscuits he’d brought as presents. That was a treat, it seemed even more of a treat, and so exotic with him calling them “cookies” all the time. Then, we all walked back to the hotel for dinner, that was a really big treat for everyone. Again, there was a little confusion when we called the meal “tea” as we usually would. (Tea can mean the drink, afternoon tea with cake etc, or the evening meal.)

There’s a lot which can trip you up between English as the British speak it, and as the American’s speak it. One example, when I finally left that evening, I asked him to “knock me up tomorrow.” I was just asking him to be there for Chapel, it meant something entirely different to your Dad.

He did come to Chapel the next morning, I didn’t get knocked up in the American sense. He managed to avoid being invited to Sunday lunch; we went out to eat. But, he was invited to tea again (afternoon tea). This time Mam made bara brith (fruity bread) and welshcakes (little hearthcakes). That must have taken our entire flour, butter, and sugar ration for the week. I was horrified, but Mam’s pride meant she had to serve something, and she'd never let on if it meant going hungry for the rest of the week.

I managed to get him not to have more when it was offered, so at least we’d have something left. Mam would have happily fed him our whole ration. He was horrified when I told him the sacrifice she was making for his cake. The next time he came to tea, his presents included flour, butter, and sugar. They could get just about anything at the American camps.

In the film Richard Gere baked a cake (he was a cook in the film) and gave it to Lisa Eichborn’s Mam who promptly put it away to eat later. I couldn’t imagine Mam doing that, they must be really different up there in Yorkshire (where the film is set).

I saw him a few more times over the next few weeks. Each time I saw something new in him, he still behaved impeccably even though I may have hoped he'd go further. Then, he rang and he was staying at the Plough Hotel instead. That was further away, past the station at the other end of Church Road, but it did mean we weren’t under the scrutiny of Dai all the time. It was the Whitsun bank holiday that weekend, and he was going to be there until Monday morning.

When I saw him, he was trying to keep things light, but something was obviously up. He said something was happening, most GI’s were being confined to camp, he was lucky to get a pass. He didn’t think he’d be able to see me for a while, and I shouldn’t worry if I didn’t hear from him.

I knew what that meant. The invasion of Europe was on, and he was going to be a part of it. There had been a lot of GI's passing through Cardiff recently. They’d even commandeered the race track (horse racing) as a temporary camp. Cardiff was an important port, so a lot of men were going to be embarking at the docks.

I was devastated, afraid, I might never see him again. I must have cried, because the next thing I knew he was wiping my cheek, and trying to console me. I think it was me who suggested we go to his room to discuss it in private. That was the height of impropriety, but I didn’t care at that point.

In his room, I asked him to, “Kiss me.” Hesitantly he leaned in, and we kissed. It was a very chaste kiss, neither of us were at all experienced. It was brief, but oh, so nice, I knew I wanted more. In those days, It's what was called a "Film Star kiss" (something we'd got from the movies). I leaned in again and those beautiful, perfectly formed lips of his pressed against mine, we held that kiss for what seemed like an eternity. It was just as they describe in those corny romance books which Da didn't like me reading. Fireworks exploded, something inside me just burst; my heart pounded. Though I think I fell for him from the very first time we met, that kiss cemented it, I was his and I'd want nobody else, ever.

There was something else I wanted, but I didn’t know how to tell him exactly. When you’re at a loss for words, the Bible has a lot going for it. All those R.E. lessons and Sunday School weren’t wasted on me. “I want you to know me, like Adam knew Eve.” The Bible has a lot of euphemisms, to spare your blushes, for things I didn’t yet know about, but knew I wanted to find out.

He responded to that in the thoughtful manner he has, “Now Gwynn, you know in your heart that would be a sin. We’re not married.” What is in your heart is what matters, God sees it. You can make all the rationalisations about something you want, but you yourself ultimately know if something is a sin.

He had suggested a solution though, so I said, “Well, let's get married.”

He’d obviously thought about this, his response was, “Its not that simple, it’ll take time, even if we were to get a licence, not banns.” I didn’t know about the licence thing, having banns read for three Sundays in Church was the usual way to do it. “We couldn’t get to Scotland and back in time either.” He even knew that things were different in Scotland, or I might have suggested running off to Gretna (it’s got a reputation for this as it's the first village you come to in Scotland).

I hugged him some more, I held him tight. I’m sure I was still crying. “Couldn't we just be married in the eyes of the Lord? He knows what’s in our hearts, that’s what we want.” The question of wanting to be married was no longer in doubt; it was the practicalities which mattered now.

“But God has said we have to be subject to the law: the law here doesn’t allow it.” That seemed to be the end of it. We sat and hugged in silence, before he mused, “You know, in Texas,” He was always bringing up how things were different in Texas, it did sound like such a magical place. “You can be married, just by agreeing to be married, and telling people you are married.”

That sounded like just what we needed, but it didn’t seem to help us. That was until I had an idea, “You know how you say it’s Texas in your heart?” He nodded, “Well, couldn’t we be married in your heart, in Texas, just by agreeing to be married?”

I reinforced my enthusiasm for the idea by climbing on him and kissing him, repeatedly, and saying, “Please” a lot. I probably wasn’t being fair to him, the poor dear obviously wanted it as much as I did, but couldn’t let himself do that. Now, I was giving him an excuse. He could probably have worked out why the idea didn’t work, if I’d just let him think. We probably should have prayed for guidance first, but we had so little time left.

He was thinking with his other head just then. He just said, “OK.”

I smiled and kissed him again and thought, "Now what?" I didn't know what to expect, no one told young girls about that sort of thing in those days, except maybe your parents on your wedding night. It was my wedding night, but my parents weren't handy; I don't think they'd have helped in this situation. "Lie back and think of England." Would have been about it, though Mam wouldn't have mentioned England. I really hope I'll have prepared you better when it matters.

Your Dad didn't know much more than I did, what he did know probably came from his army buddy's. Not a reliable source of information. Before anything else, he asked, "Are you sure? You could get pregnant." The added, “That's what I mean by ‘knocking someone up.’”

It dawned on me, what I'd said to him must have meant to him. I giggled. But, I was dead serious about this, "Yes, it’s what I want. I'll accept any blessing the Lord bestows on me." I didn't want to say aloud the idea that, if he got himself killed, a baby would be a part of him I could keep. I wasn't worried about the drawbacks of becoming pregnant just at that moment. There was plenty who did get pregnant, just like in the film.

With that he started undressing me. I wore my "Sunday best" clothes. They were about the only decent clothes I had, as the clothing ration didn't allow for much. When he finished, I lay there, naked. He commented, "As innocent as Eve before the apple." He had a point, as I basked in his appreciation, I had not tasted any forbidden fruit. I felt no shame, not like Lisa Eichhorn in the film, going to bed with him in her nightie. "You are truly my glory." Like I said, the Bible is a handy source for things to say.

Now, I got to watch him take his stuff off. Not that he was trying to put on a show, he was just taking his clothes off and stacking them neatly on a chair. I looked on enraptured. If I thought he looked good in his uniform, he was tastier than a plate of Welsh rarebit out of it! He was perfect. Perfectly proportioned, perfectly muscled, just perfect. He still smiled his smile. All that just turned me on more, particularly the smile. Not that I needed any help in that department by that point.

Then of course there was his willy. I didn't know any other word for it then, and it was unlike any willy I'd known or imagined. Not that I'd ever seen many, but you see things when you live in a small house like we did with my brothers and sisters. I'd help bathe the little ones.

You know how they say everything's bigger in Texas? This was no exception. We eventually called it his "twr" instead (Welsh again, meaning "tower"). It truly was a mighty tower! Especially to an inexperienced 18 year old virgin like me. I was fascinated, it was thick, veined, and pointed straight up to the ceiling, and I'd swear I could see it throb. I didn't really know what he was supposed to do with it, but I knew I wanted to find out. If I had known what he was going to do with it, I'd probably have been frightened, I'd have been sure it wouldn't fit. Though, as I said, I can't imagine being frightened with your Dad around.

He joined me on the narrow bed (he'd only got a single room of course), and I soon found out what it was for. He kissed me and lay over me, I felt a sharp pain from down there, then just waves of pleasure radiating out from there. I just lay back and closed my eyes. Bugger England, or Wales, I was thinking I was in heaven.

You know in the film, Richard Gere never manages to finish that. Lets just say that wasn't a problem your Dad had. I'm not complaining. Back then, I didn't know any better, now I'd know he was a bit eager for his first time. I was just starting to get into it. This was what I'd been wanting without knowing what it was. I was just so fulfilled (and filled!) Then all of a sudden there was a waft of cold air, I felt lighter, and oh so empty, I opened my eyes bewildered and he was laying off to the side smiling at me, looking like he was just about to go to sleep.

I felt like there must be more, like I was rushing toward something, something building in my core, I was almost there (where ever there was). I needed something, I didn't know what. I don't know why I did it, it just seemed like the right thing to do, but I grabbed his hand and pushed his fingers against my little button and guided them. I showed him those movements that felt, oh so good, when I touched myself. Then I lay back, and closed my eyes again, back into heaven. I don't remember making any noise, but he says he was a little worried by the noise I was making, he probably needed to use a pillow like I had. But anyway, he continued working his magic with his fingers until I'd finished.

So I look up at him after, and he was smiling. As I said, I could never resist that smile. He said something, I can't remember what exactly, something about me enjoying that, and noise I think. He did look down to his willy, which was the twr again. My excitement had turned him back on. A twenty-year old will recover quickly on his first time (and most times after that even).

At first, I thought he'd get to know me in the biblical sense again. That was until I realised, with a frown, there was blood there and I was sore. I was so disappointed when I thought I couldn't manage that. I didn't think I could do it again, not just then anyway. I reached down and took his twr in my hand. He liked that. It was his turn to lay back, close his eyes and moan.

I had an idea of what I could do with his twr, but it was sticky. So I reached down to my cwm and got some of our fresh combined juices (and blood) and smeared it over his twr. Now, my hand could slide up and down, he really liked that. He said something about not spilling his seed. Now in that Bible verse, the Lord is annoyed with Onan "that he spilled it on the ground." So innocent me assures your Dad that I wouldn't spill any. He gave up protesting at that point.

I liked what I was doing, I liked the effect it had on him, and I liked the effect it had on me. I had so much power over him that much was plain from his reaction. I wanted to serve him like a wife should (remember feminism hadn't been invented then, but that's a different subject), I wanted to bring him pleasure. I was bringing him pleasure, and it turned me on like nobody's business.

So I kept at him and the inevitable happened. He finished, again. It went spurting all over like a fountain. Luckily, I thought, it went over him, not on the ground. Then, I put my hand over the end to catch the rest. When he's finally done, I let him go, and rubbed my sticky hands over my cwm and little button.

That felt really good, so I start pushing and rubbing, like I'd been doing at night. Only this time, I didn't have to imagine him, he was lying naked in front of me. He was looking so very peaceful until he opened his eyes. Then, he looked really surprised at me kneeling there, doing that. But he smiled. That smile that did it. I finished then. I collapsed as I shuddered, he caught me and held me to him. I felt so fulfilled, and so at peace at that moment. I wished it would last, that I could stay here in his arms, forever.

Of course, it couldn't last forever, and there were a few questions left over. First, I'd misinterpreted his "spilling" of seed, he wasn't thinking of that particular verse in the Bible, but one where God commanded us to "be fruitful and multiply", so wasting his seed like that was just as bad as using a contraceptive. And anyway, in the verse I was thinking of, the Lord was annoyed at Onan for other reasons, the ground was really irrelevant. So where the seed was spilled was not the point, it was the spilling that was the issue. He didn't seem upset at me, more philosophical on that point.

Then there was the question of whether feeling myself like that was a sin. He said he couldn't think of any reason why it was, but he'd have to research that. He did think of two ways it might be a sin. What I was thinking of at the time would matter. If I fantasised about someone else that would be committing adultery in my heart. I hadn't, so I was fine there.

That also let me off for the previous times, all I'd been thinking about was him smiling, so that was alright. (That wasn’t quite right, I had been thinking of him kissing me, and his hands on me, that would have been more dodgy ground, I may not have mentioned that. But that would be fine from then on.)

There was the more slippery question of whether I was glorifying God with my body by doing it. I think we worked out that it was possible I was, and I probably was. So it seemed it hadn't been a sin, I'd been worrying about nothing, and I should carry on doing it if necessary, as long as I thought about him. I did that a lot in the days to come, mainly thinking about that day.

Finally, there was one more thing, if we were to be married according to Texan law as we'd decided, we'd have to mean it. If it were just an excuse as I'd thought then everything else was a sin, even if it didn't seem like a sin to me. And if we were to be married according to Texan law, we also had to live together as man and wife. So first we got a different room, we went to reception and he said now that his wife was with him, he needed a double room instead. They didn't question us about being married or anything, and they did have a room for us, and this one had a bigger bed.

Next we had to tell my Da about it and that I wasn't going to be coming home that night. I needed to pop home to collect some things, so we went home and he talked to Da about it. Luckily your Dad had already asked my Da for permission to marry me. He'd have needed that permission under English law as I was under 21, still a child. Well sort of a child, a child that can get married, with permission, or have sex. Under Texan law, I was alright as I was over 18. This could get confusing. Da didn't enquire how we'd suddenly managed to be married so quick. I think he realised just how much I loved him and that in these times we were living in, how we had to grab happiness wherever we could.

So I spent the next two blissful nights with him and all of Sunday. We did go to Chapel on Sunday, that's about the only time we did leave our room. Then, he had to leave. That’s where the film ends, Richard Gere going off on the train. That’s hardly the end of the story, it was just the beginning for us. I didn’t hear anything from him for a while as he'd warned me. I saw lots more GI's passing through. I’d even go down to the docks and just stare at ships, hoping to catch sight of him.

There were lots of men, on lots of ships, and lots of forlorn girls hanging around in the drizzle, trying to catch a glimpse. Then a week later on Monday, the ships left, around 7.30 in the morning, as I was watching. He was no longer "over here", the third things said about the GI's. The next day, we heard about the D-Day invasion. I had no idea if he was involved in the worst of it, or if he was still alive. The news never told you which part of the army was doing what, just that some had been fighting here or there. I just prayed that he was still alive.

In July, I finally heard from him. He WAS alive! I burst into tears with that news, and apparently it broke the dam in my whole body, my period which was late, started not long after. I'd been afraid he had knocked me up, in the American sense. I really was in two minds about that. Now, it was like my body had been holding on, just in case he'd been killed. Now I knew he was alive, I could breathe again.

For a couple of weeks they hadn’t been allowed to write home, then it took a couple of weeks for the letter to arrive. He hadn’t been at the actual landings. Parts of his division had stormed “Utah” beach, which wasn’t as bad as some others like “Omaha” beach next to that. He'd arrived two days later, on D+2 as they called it. On D-Day itself they were travelling along the South Coast of England, feeling very sorry for themselves. The weather was not the best, and the seas were rough.

I wrote back, saying I was thinking of him, often, every night, in fact. After I prayed for him. I hoped he understood what I meant by that, I hoped it'd raise his spirits. He told me later that he got the message, and it did lift his spirits, among other things.

Then, his division was involved in just about all the major battles of the war, except for Monty’s “A Bridge too Far.” They were even involved in the “Battle of the Bulge” at Christmas. I’d just got a letter from him saying they were going to have a rest at Christmas. They were just about at the German border and exhausted. They’d been set where there wasn’t any action expected. He even complained, in a good natured way that one bloke in the regiment had got a three-day pass to Paris, they'd picked that bloke by lots. I could tell he was tired and envious and just wanted to go home.

Instead of a rest, the Jerrys threw everything they had into one last gasp effort. When the reports started, I knew that he was in that area. I just prayed. Eventually, I heard from him again, then they started off, through Germany and on.

I did join the ATS when I was 19, the Princess had also joined a couple of months earlier. There was newsreel of her repairing army trucks. I’m sure it was staged for the cameras, but it did lift my spirits. I did start training for the anti-aircraft guns, but the war ended. Your Dad had got to Prague by that time. He was a major by then. When someone dies, someone has to be promoted.

Finally! I thought, we could get back together. Then, I got the most disheartening news. They were to stay on in Germany as the occupying force. They’d also be training for the invasion of Japan. They had a points system, you got points for being in the Army, for being overseas, and for battles you'd been in. He hadn’t collected enough points to be sent home. He needed 12 more points. Thankfully, it’d only take him 6 more months to earn those points. He said, a kid at home was worth 12 points, so if he had knocked me up, he’d be on the way home now. He was more amused than regretful at that.

He said General Patton came by to say farewell to them. As much as he admired Patton, I don’t think he was thinking charitable thoughts at that point.

Six months later, they did ship him home, to Texas. That was almost worse than before. I was in Wales, and he was in Texas, Lord knows how many thousand miles away. Now there was a different nightmare, getting me to America. There was an immigration quota for fiancees, and it’d already passed for the year. With no documents, I couldn't be a bride, I had to be a fiancee.

Praying didn’t even seem to be helping, or maybe it takes the Good Lord a little while to affect the American Government. At the end of the year, the War Bride’s Act was passed in the US. That lifted the quota for brides, but not fiancees. I was still competing against millions of women to get a visa. It was so frustrating that only a silly scrap of paper was all that was keeping us apart.

Finally in June, 1946 by this time, some hope. The Fiancee’s act was passed. That allowed me to get a visa. I still had to go to the American Embassy to be quizzed. I went with Mam, so she could tell them I was a good girl. So in October I boarded a ship headed to New York. I probably should have got a ship to somewhere nearer to Texas. I didn't realise how big America was, how far New York was from Texas. In Britain, I could get just about anywhere in a few hours, London was only a 3 hour train journey. It took us two full day train journeys to get to Texas. At least the crossing was smooth.

He was there to meet me at the dock, and oh, he was smiling that smile again. I just flew into his arms, and kissed him, there they were, those beautiful lips. After too few kisses, we went straight to his hotel. He had a double room this time. So we lay on the bed and kissed. I really wanted him to know me again, but my pesky period had just started. In those days it put me off things, not just because of several passages in the Bible.

However, on the ship there had been lots of fiancees and brides. We had a common bond, and we talked a lot. Most of them had not seen their husband or fiancé for years, so you can imagine the talk could be a little immodest at times. I heard about things I never imagined, and I also heard of things I could imagine and wanted to try. One thing in particular, I wanted to try, now.

I asked him to "Stand up a sec." He did, I stood in front of him and undid his trousers and pants. Then, I pushed him back so he was sat on the edge of the bed. Sinking to my knees in front of him, I grasped his twr. That felt good, I loved that, I’d missed that. He seemed to enjoy it as well, but looked a bit apprehensive, so I said, "Don't worry, I shan't spill any."

With that, I licked him around the head of his twr. I don't think he was expecting that, he gasped. I think he might have been starting to protest, so I popped my mouth over the end. It barely fit. There was a sharp intake of breath from him, and a moan. This I liked; this was even better than using my hand. The feeling of power I had over him was intoxicating, and I was serving him as best I could. There could be nothing wrong with this.

I continued licking around the head whilst it was in my mouth. I tried to get more in, there was no space for it, but I did what I could. What I could do did seem to be appreciated, he was quite vocal about that. Again, he was quite eager; it didn't last long. I must say, I was ever so slightly disappointed by his eagerness, but I tried not to show it. I ended up with a mouthful of his seed, and I didn't spill a drop.

I know that's not the issue here, but it seemed like a good thing to point out when he recovered enough to look like he was going to say something. He burst out laughing and hugged me. He said he was going to have to study that passage in Genesis again. He did let me persuade him to allow me to do that again that night, and in the days to come. When he did reread that passage, and prayed for guidance, he now thought it was a blessing, not a command, so no longer objected to spilling seed. That suited me.

So we got to Texas, your Dad continued his studies, greatly aided by the GI Bill. We got officially married, and we had your brother and your two sisters pretty quickly. After your sisters, we thought we had enough kids for now, we'd done our part to "replenish the Earth", so we were more careful. We'd accept any kid the lord saw fit to give us. I still tried not to spill any seed (that had become a little joke for us). I used my mouth more at my fertile times and the "right time" of the month (to me those were the right times, another little joke). I liked this arrangement. We'd also worked out what your Dad could do with his mouth. That I really liked, my only regret is we didn't think of that sooner. No one on the boat had mentioned that. Your Dad seems to like it as well, so that's good.

Then, your Dad finished college and got a teaching job out in California. After his part in the war, he'd given up on the idea of becoming a pastor. He thought he could do more good as a secular teacher. We bought the house, again aided by the GI bill. I did my GED, then went to college myself, finally I also became a teacher.

Then you came along, 18 and a half years after your younger sister. A surprise, but a welcome surprise, nevertheless. Though after you, we've been even more careful.

I can't believe how fast you're growing up. Soon it will be time to have "The Talk". This I hope gives you a taste of how it was for me in those days. Things were different, you fell in love and married so quickly then you had to, you didn't know if you'd live from one day to the next. During the war, questions which should have been clear had blurry answers. These days, everything's more blurry: you have to make your own choices, follow your heart, I hope I can help you make the right choice.

Your ever loving Mom.

 

Second story read, and another great job!

A letter to your daughter... what a great idea! I loved this one. I laughed more than once, felt wam and fuzzy, and even got a little turned on by the innocent sex. Very well done author!

The writing was done well. The use of Welsh, was handled nicely with the meanings explained when used. I didn't see grammatical issues. (Well maybe one tiny one.) The story was so good, I wonder if it is true, either you, or perhaps an older relative.

My only complaint, and PLEASE this is such a stupid minor thing, the polite form of address to a woman is Ma'am. Though I loved that Gwynn thought he was calling her mother."

There was so much about this story I loved. I can't praise it enough. This will definitely be re-read.

 

From the writer:

Thank you Uncle B for the kind words.

I just wanted to address your "stupid minor thing", as this question also came up in review. I was deliberately spelling it "Mam" (the welsh for "Mom") as this is how Gwynn heard it. I am well aware that John would have been saying "Ma'am". (I lose a few paragraphs of joke if she hears him correctly.)​

 

A beautiful story, easy to read (with the help on the language thank you very much) enjoyed it immensely. Thank you for your time and effort

 

Awesome stuff! I loved the letter to her daughter manner in which you told the story. Well done!

Hush....an alias

 

Well-written entry. The sex was good, the characters were solid, almost like they were real people who had actually been there at that time. Impressive how that was done. I'm sure the daughter who read this would enjoy it. The observation made by the mother in the last paragraph was quite true. I haven't seen any of the movies mentioned in this entry, but they sound interesting enough. Not my kind of story, but it's definitely a good one. Looks like a CAW winner. Thank you very much, author.

 

I was too young for Yanks, I remember my Dad complaining there were too many bedroom scenes (he was into military history). Great love story.

Cardiff again. Interesting background of life in wartime, and the problems of demobilization. Definitely useful to have the notes on Welsh, it looks just like misspellings.

Not sure how the title fits in.

 

As Mark Twain once said about the English and the Americans, "two peoples separated by a common language." I too was going to mention the "man" vs. "ma'am" but I see you addressed that and at I was an "ah" moment. Now I get it.

I have to echo what others have said, the letter to the daughter format made it seem very natural. I enjoyed it very much, thank you.

 

bump...

 

Bump...

 

As many have said, the letter format really works nicely. I was thinking about the "ma'am / mam" thing. I, however, gathered that it might be intentional when it came up again in the story. Thanks for contributing!

 

Bump...

 

I had the opposite reaction to Norton and hush.
I'm late to the reading and commenting party sorry.
I got really squidgy at the letter to the daughter concept mixed with sex. Hey darling daughter sit here and listen to how your old mum used to Jill off to your dad... And then I sucked his cock... In so many words I thought it was unsettling.
Imagine getting such a letter and trying to hold your gorge.
Not saying that it wasn't well written it certainly was. It is a matter of personal preference and others, most others, I'm sure will disagree.
I liked it in the parts I was able to blank out the intended filial audience.

 

Well, as I'm getting ready to post my comments, I see Redlust's above, and I have to agree on the squidgy part. I'm just having a tough time accepting that a Mom would write that kinda' letter to her daughter. To a friend? Perhaps. A daughter. Can't buy into it.

I also thought that we were to pick out one film, not multiple films. Maybe that's not a big deal, but I didn't see anywhere in WSF's original post that you could meld film ideas.

There were a few grammar issues:

"Howdy Mam" Was the first thing your Dad said to me. Should have a comma before the closing quote mark, and Was should be was.

..."honoured"... that was said by a Texan, so I expected it to be spelled "honored". I believe the writer of this story is British or European, so that's why there were plenty of spellings of that nature, but that was the only one I saw that seemed out of place.

"Then you came along, 18 and a half years after your younger sister." Should that have been older sister?

The part about knock me up tomorrow was hilarious. I actually did LOL on that!

Okay, with all that out of the way, the quality of writing in this story was nothing short of phenomenal! The phrasing, the idioms, everything about it exuded 1940s. I felt I had a God's eye view into this life. Several times I paused and tried to think of who I know could write this quality. You'd think it was a woman, being a woman writing to a daughter, but I think this was written by a man who lives on the European continent. A well-established writer.

Color me impressed with the overall quality of this work!

 

From the writer --

In reply to Horse's comment's:

"I also thought that we were to pick out one film, not multiple films."

The theme of the story is "Yanks" as mentioned. The other films are incidental, not part of the theme.


"Howdy Mam" Was the first thing your Dad said to me. Should have a comma before the closing quote mark, and Was should be was.

There is a full stop there.


..."honoured"... that was said by a Texan, so I expected it to be spelled "honored".

The letter is written by Gwynn, so she's using her spelling.


"Then you came along, 18 and a half years after your younger sister." Should that have been older sister?

The darling daughter has two sisters. One of those is older, one is younger.​

 

It's a nice story. I liked that it was written in a form of a letter, and as someone else already mentioned, the Welsh was good as well. Kudos on a good job.

 

I LOVE THIS!!!!

I've never even heard of most of the film's you referenced, but it seems they are there, so I'll leave it that it fits the theme.

What a great story idea! Okay... I would die if my mother wrote me a letter telling me about sex with my father, (Not least of all that I have never met the jerk.) but at the same time, I wish I had that kind of open dialog with her that it could happen. It might be that everyone should be able to open up like this. There is also the thought that this was a letter written, not actually sent. More of a diary that might be found years later and enjoyed. I think the idea is sweet.

This was so well written! I felt like I was there! In a way, the movie tie in was unnecessary... This, to me, felt like it's own black and white movie. I was picturing the characters all dressed in 1940's clothing, the streets lined with old cars, the English country side, though still beautiful, devoid of color. It was like so many of my favorite black and white movies!

The sex... MMMMMM. Writing a sexy scene without using vulgarities and being graphic is no easy task. This was done so awesome here. We already talked about this being a letter to a daughter, and while telling the story, she wouldn't want it to be smut. Once again, I would love to have a relationship like this with my mother. It made me ummm... feel amorous, without feeling dirty. Nothing wrong with raw, passionate sex, but this was a nice sexy story without crossing over into porn.

Top of the list for me! Thank you so much for your entry!

 

From the writer:

For Horse about younger sisters.

Do you have siblings?

My mother has three daughters. Oldest, middle and youngest.

I am the youngest daughter.

I have two sisters. One is older, one is younger ( than the oldest).

My younger sister is the middle daughter.

of the three daughters she is middle. Of my two sisters she is the younger. They are both older than me.

The middle daughter is AN older sister to me. She is MY younger sister.​

 

As I make my way through this contest I find each submission better than the one I just read before.This is the main reason I visit this site as the writers here are outstanding and the contests bring out the best in all of them.I want to thank you for your submission and for the enjoyment that this particular story brought to me.