Julie - Who Drew On This Banana?

‘Who drew on this banana?’

Mary Fletcher held up the offending fruit, on which the word ‘YUK’ had been clumsily hewn in pencil.  The two boys seated in front of her at the table exchanged glances and giggled nervously.

‘Well, who was it?’

Charles looked at his friend.

‘David doesn’t like bananas.’

‘Are you trying to get your friend into trouble?’ Mary asked her son.

‘I ain’t never had one,’ David retorted defensively.

Charles giggled again.  ‘What, a friend or a banana?’

David smiled, showing a gap where his front tooth had fallen out earlier in the week.  Mary had had a coin sent round to the cottage where he lived, for his older sister to sneak under his pillow from ‘the tooth fairy’.  His mother was ill, and David’s older siblings took care of things as best they could.

Mary sighed, and wandered over to the fireplace.  She looked at the black and white framed photograph of her husband Thomas, resplendent in his Army uniform.  Times were difficult for everyone.  The eight years of marriage she and Thomas had enjoyed on the large country estate of Highfields, where he had been born, had been brought to an abrupt end by the onset of the War.  He was serving with the British Army at El Alamein on the North African front and she hadn’t heard from him for three months.  His last letter to her was tucked behind the photograph.  How she missed him, and how difficult it was for Charles.  Not a day went by without him asking ‘When will Father be home?’  War was difficult enough to understand at any time, but particularly so when you were seven.

Mary felt sorry for the young children.  All they’d ever known was war, rationing and shortages.  The able-bodied men-folk had gone to fight so most of the children in the village had no father at home.  Morale had been low, until the Yanks had come, like a breath of fresh air.  They were stationed at the nearby airbase, and would often stop their jeeps at the local school.  They were popular with the children, who had soon took up the chant ‘Give us some gum, chum’ whenever they saw an American uniform.   As well as sweets, the airmen had brought stockings for the ladies, and occasionally exotic fruit for all.  Bananas had been in short supply for some time now, so Mary had been pleased when GI Jed Laxey had procured her some. 

Despite the gifts, some of the villagers had not been quite so welcoming.  Mary’s widowed mother-in-law, with whom they lived at Highfields, was particularly vocal in condemning the Americans who were living here in relative safety while her son was facing danger abroad.  She did have a point, Mary thought, but it went against the grain to agree with Ruth Fletcher too much.

Mary patted her blond hair, which she had painstakingly pinned up that morning, and wondered if Jed might be able to get her some more peroxide, as she was running short.  He was jokey and fun to be with, and he lightened her often dark moods, as well as her hair.  She turned back towards the table. 

‘This was supposed to be a treat for you from GI Laxey,’ she began.  ‘He thought you’d like to try it.’  As she laid the banana down, she noticed teeth-marks on the opposite side from the writing.  One tooth, at the front, was clearly missing as it had left no mark.  ‘Silly boy,’ she laughed kindly, rubbing David’s dark head.  ‘You’re meant to peel it, look, like this.’

Her demonstration was cut short by a sharp knock on the door and a shout. 

‘Mrs Fletcher!  Telegram!’