The GI Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

been injured. However, we survived, and I was relieved to
arrive in one dishevelled piece.

4: Chicago and the In-laws
    We arrived at Chicago’s Midway
Airport in the small hours. It was freezing cold so we were glad that Bob’s
parents were there, waiting to take us home to the suburb of Elmwood Park. We would stay
with them until we could find our own apartment.
    I’d been excited about seeing
Bob’s mother again we had met briefly when she was in England for our wedding. She
had stayed only five days, during two of which Bob and I were away on our brief
honeymoon in London. We’d had a longer honeymoon planned but had to cancel it
because of Mother Irvine’s visit. Afraid of flying, she’d had to take the
long journey from Chicago to New York by train to board the ship. After the wedding
she’d had to get back to America for the birth of her first grandchild. Lucky her,
I thought. Her voyage on the
Queen Mary
had taken five days, compared to our
ten.
    There was an emotional reunion between the
Irvines well, between mother and son. All his father did was grunt and shake hands. I
was to learn later that he never had much to say unless he was complaining: he was a
miserable, cigar-smoking curmudgeon and I was already intimidated by his abrupt
manner.
    ‘Welcome home, son,’ Mother
Irvine said, through squalls of tears. Then she turned to me. ‘Welcome to America,
dear.’ She gave me a quick hug. ‘Oh, my, you look awful.’
    Thanks a lot, I thought. You don’t look
too good yourself. Could this be the same gushing woman who had come to England for our
wedding only months before? The first thing she said when she met me was how much
prettier I was than I appeared in photographs, which had endeared me to her. She had
hugged me and my parents and told us how happy she was to be there, meeting her
son’s new family. She almost froze to death while she was with us, but she got on
well with everyone she met and had nothing but praise for all that she experienced. She
had even laughed at the craziness of the traditional dances at our wedding reception,
especially ‘Knees Up, Mother Brown’ and ‘The Lambeth Walk’,
although she wouldn’t join in. We had all thought she was warm and fun-loving,
just like us. I saw nothing of that now. Perhaps she’s as tired as we are, I
thought, giving her the benefit of the doubt. After all, it was the middle of the
night.
    ‘Yeah, hi, Robert,’ grunted his
dad, then grunted something else at me and shook my hand with just the tips of his cold,
bony fingers.
    I’ll always remember my first
impressions on the journey from Midway Airport to the Irvines’ house. First, we
drove down Cicero Avenue, one of the city’s main thoroughfares, which still had
streetcars running on overhead electric lines. They reminded me of the old British
trolley buses, except they were not double-deckers. The streets were strewn with litter,
which I hadn’t expected, and the apartment buildings were dreary, all with open,
grey-painted back stairways. So far, what I had seen was ugly and disappointing. Also,
the street lighting was dim, which added to my impression of a city that was old and
tired.
    We were in an industrial area on the south
side of the city, heavily populated by working-class people, but I was shocked to see so
many people living on top of one another. I wondered where all the lovely white
clapboard homes were, with their rolling lawns and white picket fences. I had expected
congestion in New York but, for some reason, not in Chicago.
    Bob and his mother chatted on the drive home
but his father clutched the steering wheel as though his life depended on it; he
reminded me of a vulture, his head, atop a scrawny neck, thrust forward in grim
determination as he pulled towards the kerb at each corner. I later learned that he had
developed the habit during his years of driving buses and pulling over at the stops.
    Bob burst out laughing.
    ‘What’s so funny?’ his