Thursday, February 14, 2013
12:54 PM | Posted by Jill | | Edit Post
In honor of Valentine's Day I wanted to post the story of my grandparents, Stan and Jill, as written by my grandmother. They have been married for 67 years and met in England during WWII. For greatest effect, read in your very best British accent.
Marry Me, Marry Me
By: Jill Adelman (my grandmother)
In September 1944 I took the train from Holyhead, Anglesey to Braintree, Essex on a weeks leave. I was a wireless operator in the Women's Royal Naval Service. It was a sad for me going home as things were desolate in England at the time. Everyone was fed up with the war. My mother was really war weary and although her health was alright my father was suffering from cancer that would eventually take his life. I couldn't bear to see him in pain and my mother so distressed. None of my friends were around and I was bored and guilty because I was bored. It was then that I met Stan Adelman, a young American.
He was stationed at Andrew's Field just outside of Braintree. I bumped into him in a blackout outside the bank across the street from the White Hart Pub. He was with a group of guys from his squadron, the 451st Bomb Squadron flying B-26 Marauders. There were four or five of them, all laughing, handsome, and dashing in their pinks and greens, the uniform of the Army Air Corps.
Stan grabbed my shoulder and yelled, "hey fellers, look what I found!" He then asked me to have a drink with him, which I did since he was the best looking of the bunch. We talked for a couple of hours and really liked one another immediately. During the evening he said, "will you marry me?" which I took to be a joke. Very cleverly I answered, "ask me tomorrow". We met again the following evening, different pub this time, for more drinks and talk during which Stan asked me again to marry him. I again replied "ask me tomorrow!"
I forgot an important point. On our first date I noticed a signet ring on his finger with the initials SA engraved on it. "What does SA stand for?" I asked, "Sex Appeal!" he replied without hesitation.
The following evening we had another date. Stan did not appear. Oh well, I thought, too bad. He was very nice and a star in my drab existence at the time, but c'est le guerre!
The next day my leave was up and I had to return to my base in Holyhead. Back to radios, the Morse code, dreary Naval watches, and our ghastly Chief Petty Officer. Life went on. I eventually recieved a letter from Stan explaining that his base had been locked down on the night of our third date and that the squadron had been shipped out to France. Stan was flying bombing missions during that long winter off 1944-1945, and flew 53 combat missions.
On April 5, 1945 I got a sudden phone call from Stan to say he was coming to visit me in Holyhead. He had been sent to a hospital in Southport on, what the boys called "flak leave", for rest and relaxation. Well, he would have none of that, so he skipped out and found his way to Holyhead. This was amazing as it was so difficult getting around in those days as public transportation was severely limited. I went to meet him from the 1:45 train and I knew I would marry him as soon as he threw his B-4 bag on the platform. There he appeared, looking thinner but still my glamorous flyboy. We were married in June of 1945 and have been together ever since.
Stan and Jill on their wedding day
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