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and now she barely looked at the other GIs. Margaret, too, had met a GI who she was really falling for. His name was Hank and he was tall and good-looking. He and Margaret were soon joined at the hip. Both the girls were blissfully happy.

      But one day, June met Margaret after work, only to find her friend’s face red and tear-stained. ‘Hank stood me up!’ she cried. ‘We were meant to meet at the Midland Hotel, but he never showed.’

      ‘Oh Margaret, I’m sorry,’ said June, giving her a hug. ‘Maybe it was just a misunderstanding.’

      But as the days and weeks went by, Hank never got in touch again.

      Margaret wasn’t the only one to have her heart broken by a Yank. The girls who hung around the Grand Casino and the Midland Hotel often shared stories of GIs who had romanced them and then done a disappearing act – and when they had asked around they sometimes discovered the men were married or even had children back home in America. ‘They just want a bit of company while they’re here, but that’s all it is to them,’ said one of the girls bitterly.

      June thanked her lucky stars that she had met a guy as genuine as Michael. But Margaret’s love affair with the GIs was over. ‘I’m never dating another Yank!’ she proclaimed.

      June thought she was mad – how could she ever go out with a boring English bloke after the Americans?

      Margaret was determined, however, and soon she was dating an English man who worked in the bank. June couldn’t understand it – he seemed so dull and stodgy compared to the GIs.

      Margaret no longer wanted to join her at the Grand Casino, and inevitably they began to drift apart.

      Michael usually came to call for June at her parents’ pub on the weekends and whenever he had leave. Since they didn’t have a phone, it was the only way for them to get hold of one another. But one Saturday he still hadn’t shown up by mid-morning.

      June came downstairs for the umpteenth time to check for him. ‘Are you sure he hasn’t been in for me?’ she asked her mum.

      ‘No, sorry, love,’ came the reply. June went back up to her bedroom and perfected her make-up. Then she came downstairs again, but still there was no sign of Michael.

      June waited all day long in vain, and that night she cried herself to sleep. In the weeks that followed, she didn’t hear from Michael, and she began to realise that, just like Hank, he had done a disappearing act. Perhaps he too had a wife and family back home, and had just been after a bit of company to fill his time. She had no way of knowing. After all, while they were in England, away from family and friends, the GIs could be whoever they wanted to be.

      ‘You shouldn’t bother with the Americans any more,’ Margaret told her. But June wasn’t like her friend – she couldn’t imagine dating anyone else now.

      The problem was, the available pool of GIs was shrinking rapidly. As D-Day loomed, they were all being sent south in preparation for the invasion of occupied Europe. Before they left, many of them proposed to the girls they had been dating, and some even made it to the altar.

      To June’s horror, American uniforms were becoming increasingly rare on the streets of Birmingham, and one day they were gone completely. There were no more GIs propping up the bar in her parents’ pub, no loud American voices in the street, and no more jitterbugging at the Grand Casino.

      All over the country, people shared a sense of loss as they realised that the breezy young men who had raised their wartime spirits were suddenly gone, perhaps never to return. Some found boxes of fruit or tinned goods on their doorsteps, left by American friends who felt too sad to ring the doorbell to say goodbye.

      As the Americans departed, a kind of hush settled over the communities where they had made their presence felt so strongly. Over time the Brits had grown used to their strange new friends, and many missed them more than they would ever have expected.

      June felt she had lost her one opportunity to escape from miserable Birmingham and a dreary life helping out at her parents’ pub. If only one of the GIs she had dated had proposed to her, she would have been on her way to America soon, she thought. But it was too late for that now. Instead, she would have to settle for a life of compromise, with a boring English husband.

3

      It was over a year since June had seen her last American, and with every day that passed her memories of the ‘friendly invasion’ felt less and less real. All she had left of the men who had wooed her was the charm bracelet made from their insignia that she wore around her wrist. One day, she took off the bracelet to wash her hands in a public toilet, and forgot to put it on again when she left. She rushed back for it moments later, but it was too late – her precious trinket was nowhere to be seen. The only physical token of her time with the GIs had been lost.

      In May 1945, the end of the war in Europe was celebrated with an almighty booze-up at the Lister Tavern, followed by all-night partying in the streets, where bonfires had been lit. The mood of elation was infectious, and suddenly the English seemed as friendly and outgoing as the Americans who had once lived in their midst.

      But for June, the feeling was short-lived. Her life had now shrunk back to its old, familiar routine – going to work and coming home each day to her parents’ pub, where once again she was called on to help out behind the bar. Her friend Margaret was still seeing her stodgy English boyfriend, so June’s only pleasure was going to the cinema alone, gazing up at the American movie stars and thinking sadly of the dates she had once enjoyed with her GI boyfriends.

      One morning, as she got ready for work, her mother called from downstairs, ‘June, love – there’s a letter here for you. Looks like it’s from Europe.’

      June ran full pelt down the stairs, snatching the envelope from her mother’s hand.

      She ripped it open and pulled out the letter inside. It was from Omar Borgmeyer – aka Borgy – the tall, blond American who had been the very first GI she had met.

      ‘Hi, June,’ he wrote. ‘It’s been a while. Long time no see!’

      June couldn’t believe it – when she and Borgy had gone their separate ways there had been no tearful farewell, no promise to write, yet after all these months it turned out he had been thinking of her.

      ‘I still remember your perfect little face and your beautiful skin,’ he told her. ‘I was hoping that maybe we could stay in touch.’

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