SOMEWHERE
February 1945. As the War in Europe reaches its climax, a group of US servicemen and women convalesce at an English manor house.
February 1945. As the War in Europe reaches its climax, a group of US servicemen and women convalesce at an English manor house.
It is February 1945. As the War in Europe reaches its bloody climax, a group of US servicemen and women convalesce at a manor house in rural England. Over the course of a single evening, the paths of American soldiers and British civilians will cross with romantic, tragic and far-reaching consequences.
Somewhere in England was conceived and produced as a site-specific, promenade production which led its audience on an immersive journey through a wonderfully atmospheric Manor House in Sidcup, Kent. The international cast featured performers from the UK, Europe and the United States.
Somewhere in England received its premiere in an American Theatre Arts production at Sidcup Manor House, Sidcup in April 2018.
“The stories you will hear this evening are all based on the accounts, letters and biographies of those who lived through the Second World War. There really was an all-female, all-African-American 6888th Central Postal Battalion stationed at a school in Birmingham and the 800 strong company redirected a two-year backlog of unidentified mail in less than six months, before doing the same in France. Also historically accurate is the fact that 75% of the drivers of the fleet of trucks known as the ‘Red Ball Express’, which kept the Allies supplied on their advance through France in 1944, were also African-American. The American Army was segregated to such a degree that British towns were designated ‘no go areas’ on alternate nights for black and white soldiers respectively. This did not prevent race riots breaking out in the likes of Bristol, Lancaster and Oxford, leading to several fatalities. By the end of the war, the military had also stepped up its interrogation and expulsion of homosexual personnel as America returned to ‘normalcy’ and the ultra-conservatism of the McCarthy period.
Most intriguing is that an institution such as The Rookery did indeed exist, the only facility of its kind at the time, dedicated to the psychological rehabilitation of American servicewomen. The female doctors who then worked in the field of neuro-psychiatry included pioneers who would go on to make vital contributions to the study of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Our ‘Rookery’ is based on the original in Headington, Oxford, a late 18th Century Manor House, which bears many similarities to our venue this evening in Sidcup. I am deeply indebted to the staff at Ruskin College, Oxford University, which now occupies the site, for allowing me to explore the facility, grounds and archives.
‘Somewhere in England’ is the address American soldiers stationed in this country were instructed to give their families back home. It is another indication of the many secrets that generation learnt to live with, and which we are only beginning to unearth today.”
Steven Dykes, April 2018
CHARACTERS
CHARACTERS
Upper Class English, Mid 20s, heiress to the Rookery Manor “I remember one night, gosh it seems an age away now, staying with friends in Mayfair. My pal’s big brother was a pilot in the RAF. Home on furlough. This must have been late ‘41, I suppose. Dark days. The only news coming through was ghastly. Kiev had just fallen, I think. Something horrific like that, forget what exactly. At any rate, things looked pretty bleak all round. This pilot chap. Freddie, his name was. He’d been through some frightful scrapes. I asked him – I hadn’t an idea what was going on, not really. I was younger then. I know, silly, it’s only three years ago, but I was completely dotty, always asking buffoonish questions. You could talk to Freddie, he wasn’t too fierce, he’d take pity on you. Anyway, I asked him straight out. ‘Do you think we’ll win?’ … And he said no. He didn’t think so, no. We were absolutely cornered. The Russians too. The only thing that could save us, according to him, was a ruddy miracle. … He told me not to think about winning. Just remember, Ronnie, he said, whatever else, we mustn’t lose. … It took me a while to understand the difference.”
Veronica
Middle Class English, Late 20s, war widow, The Rookery’s Estate Manager “First Christmas of the war they held a party at the Majestic. For the evacuees, the children, you know? Gerard and some of the other RAF boys pitched in with the arrangements. Must have been five hundred of us packed in. There was a group of Polish airmen stationed with Gerard. They sang songs and played the piano. Everyone joined in. Glorious, really was. … Of course these poor airmen had no means of visiting their own families, so Gerard had them all back to the house. We had the children in with us, they were only tiny then, and the Poles slept two or three to a bed and on the sofa, the bath-tub even! I remember waking on Christmas day to a house full of Polish voices – male laughter echoing down the hall. I lay in bed and listened. Such a foreign sound. Beautiful. ‘Dziękuję, pani.'”
Pamela
Working Class English, Early 30s, Estate Caretaker
“For Pity’s sake, who do you think’s going to win the war if not the Yanks? Fat load of good it’ll do us, we piss ‘em off. … Listen, if America sends its troops overseas, it stands to reason they gonna wanna send their values too. It’s all a matter of morals. The white man’s law, ‘s only natural. Their country’s built on it. Same as ours. You’d understand, you had the first idea of history!”
“For Pity’s sake, who do you think’s going to win the war if not the Yanks? Fat load of good it’ll do us, we piss ‘em off. … Listen, if America sends its troops overseas, it stands to reason they gonna wanna send their values too. It’s all a matter of morals. The white man’s law, ‘s only natural. Their country’s built on it. Same as ours. You’d understand, you had the first idea of history!”
Frank
American, Late 20s, State Department Official
“Year ago, the War Department undertook a survey. Findings indicated that eighty per cent of American women want to remain in the labor force after the war. Seems they’ve got a taste for it. Living alone in the big cities they’ve moved to, free from family ties. At liberty to join in the games young ladies like to play these days. The radical clubs, the subversive organisations. I have a list. It’s a long one … If that’s not socialism, I don’t know what is.”
“Year ago, the War Department undertook a survey. Findings indicated that eighty per cent of American women want to remain in the labor force after the war. Seems they’ve got a taste for it. Living alone in the big cities they’ve moved to, free from family ties. At liberty to join in the games young ladies like to play these days. The radical clubs, the subversive organisations. I have a list. It’s a long one … If that’s not socialism, I don’t know what is.”
Judith
Yorkshire, Early 20s, land girl
“I stand in that field when the dark comes on me. Sky lowering down. Sometimes I let it swallow me. Walk back up in’t pitch black, little crack of light from the house to guide me. I try and peer in, see you lot stood sat in the kitchen or serving supper. Me on’t outside, biding me time. I can wait. Just a while longer, I can wait. I’m ready, see. … We’ll throw ‘em out, all them stuck-up Czars and Czarinas in their castles. Profiteers and warlords and all that gang of robbers. Build some houses for families, running water, indoor privy. Get your lass some schooling, a decent job, a decent fella. Or not, her choice … I may be daft, I’m not stupid. We didn’t come through all this for nowt, did we? God, I hope not!”
“I stand in that field when the dark comes on me. Sky lowering down. Sometimes I let it swallow me. Walk back up in’t pitch black, little crack of light from the house to guide me. I try and peer in, see you lot stood sat in the kitchen or serving supper. Me on’t outside, biding me time. I can wait. Just a while longer, I can wait. I’m ready, see. … We’ll throw ‘em out, all them stuck-up Czars and Czarinas in their castles. Profiteers and warlords and all that gang of robbers. Build some houses for families, running water, indoor privy. Get your lass some schooling, a decent job, a decent fella. Or not, her choice … I may be daft, I’m not stupid. We didn’t come through all this for nowt, did we? God, I hope not!”
Connie
Yorkshire, Early 20s, land girl
“What I want is to take your hand and have us sneak down the ginnel on Cuckoo Lane t’ fields out back. What I want is to hike in’t open air at dawn and nob’dy for miles. Country lanes and you lifting me over stone-walls, swingin’ on’ gates like a pair of silly buggers. I want scribbled notes and secret rendez-vous, summat to look forward to after dark, soppy smiles to missen knowin’ what’s to come in’t black out. I want me touching you, you touching me, I don’t care owt for nob’dy else. I want what we had. I want it all again, and twice as daft.”
“What I want is to take your hand and have us sneak down the ginnel on Cuckoo Lane t’ fields out back. What I want is to hike in’t open air at dawn and nob’dy for miles. Country lanes and you lifting me over stone-walls, swingin’ on’ gates like a pair of silly buggers. I want scribbled notes and secret rendez-vous, summat to look forward to after dark, soppy smiles to missen knowin’ what’s to come in’t black out. I want me touching you, you touching me, I don’t care owt for nob’dy else. I want what we had. I want it all again, and twice as daft.”
Gwen
American, Early 20s, Private – now a patient
“You know I’ll do it, Lola. You know I will. Say I’m the sick one. I’m the, whaddyacallit, the pervert. They already got me outta uniform. You keep yours on. (smiles) Suits you, Corporal Stanek. Anyhow, I kinda like the notion, me seducing you. You my victim, Lola? Submissive little Dolores Stanek.”
“You know I’ll do it, Lola. You know I will. Say I’m the sick one. I’m the, whaddyacallit, the pervert. They already got me outta uniform. You keep yours on. (smiles) Suits you, Corporal Stanek. Anyhow, I kinda like the notion, me seducing you. You my victim, Lola? Submissive little Dolores Stanek.”
Alice
American, Mid 20s, Corporal
“The army wants us out. Soon as they can they’ll discredit the WAC, undermine the value of the uniform, the work, our rank. It’s how they see us after all. ‘The Petticoat Army’. I heard there’s plans afoot to send civilian women over to relieve us. Soon as it’s safe to transport ‘em. Step right into our shoes. Same uniform and everything. No training, no discipline, no anything.”
“The army wants us out. Soon as they can they’ll discredit the WAC, undermine the value of the uniform, the work, our rank. It’s how they see us after all. ‘The Petticoat Army’. I heard there’s plans afoot to send civilian women over to relieve us. Soon as it’s safe to transport ‘em. Step right into our shoes. Same uniform and everything. No training, no discipline, no anything.”
Ginny
American, Early 20s, Private – now a patient
“When you’re told you have five minutes to get from your bed to the shelter, told that when the siren sounds you better jump quick or else, you think ‘I’ll never get used to this’. Never get over the sheer panic of that first time. And then you do. … You left once. I got over it.”
“When you’re told you have five minutes to get from your bed to the shelter, told that when the siren sounds you better jump quick or else, you think ‘I’ll never get used to this’. Never get over the sheer panic of that first time. And then you do. … You left once. I got over it.”
Cora
American, Early 20s, Private – now a patient
“The strikes go on, the army goes on, the war and the love-making go on. Conditions improving every day. One day closer to peace. One day further from him. Can’t have that. Time? Nope. Doesn’t mean a thing. Life? Doesn’t mean a damn thing. I like sleep. Because then it stops, it all … stops.”
“The strikes go on, the army goes on, the war and the love-making go on. Conditions improving every day. One day closer to peace. One day further from him. Can’t have that. Time? Nope. Doesn’t mean a thing. Life? Doesn’t mean a damn thing. I like sleep. Because then it stops, it all … stops.”
Millie
American, Early 20s, Private, now a patient
“You know what I miss? Running to the drug store for ice cream. There’s nothing here even close to resembling ice cream. Bet my kid sister is tucking into a hot fudge sundae as we speak. I’m telling you, folks back home, they have no clue what we suffer!”
“You know what I miss? Running to the drug store for ice cream. There’s nothing here even close to resembling ice cream. Bet my kid sister is tucking into a hot fudge sundae as we speak. I’m telling you, folks back home, they have no clue what we suffer!”
Ruby
American, Early 20s, Private, now a patient
“You folks have a good Christmas? I was in London. One night ‘round then, I was coming back from the theatre, the night was just so bright and clear, I walked down to the river. Boy, was it cold, no cloud cover, you know? Just a pale old moon. Bomber’s moon. Well, the only place to look was up. You looked up and there they were. The planes. Our planes, y’know. The sky filled with them. Too many to count. Hundreds. I stood on the old Embankment there and … gawped, I suppose. I’ve seen maps of where they’re headed, of course. I’ve been in the drafting room when Bomber Command have drawn up campaign strategy, but to see the thing in flight. The beauty of it. The power of it. Gee, that’s something. There’s thousands upon thousands of families whose homes will burn tonight. Burn in some way thanks to me. Well, thanks to all of us, I guess.”
“You folks have a good Christmas? I was in London. One night ‘round then, I was coming back from the theatre, the night was just so bright and clear, I walked down to the river. Boy, was it cold, no cloud cover, you know? Just a pale old moon. Bomber’s moon. Well, the only place to look was up. You looked up and there they were. The planes. Our planes, y’know. The sky filled with them. Too many to count. Hundreds. I stood on the old Embankment there and … gawped, I suppose. I’ve seen maps of where they’re headed, of course. I’ve been in the drafting room when Bomber Command have drawn up campaign strategy, but to see the thing in flight. The beauty of it. The power of it. Gee, that’s something. There’s thousands upon thousands of families whose homes will burn tonight. Burn in some way thanks to me. Well, thanks to all of us, I guess.”
Effie
Yorkshire, Early 20s, land girl
“You can’t do it, you know. Put me to shame. It won’t work. There’s nowt we could do, nowhere we could go, no one who’d see us, and no dive so dingy would make me feel ashamed. I’m not. I’m not ashamed. It weren’t me called t’ MPs on yer that night, weren’t me set on you in that club, weren’t me chased your mates through the streets or locked you up. D’you see me throw owt? Chuck a glass at anyone? Batter someone? Not me, laddo. No, what I did were kiss thee, lay down wi’thee, give missen t’thee. … Best time o’ me life. Wakin’ up to you.”
“You can’t do it, you know. Put me to shame. It won’t work. There’s nowt we could do, nowhere we could go, no one who’d see us, and no dive so dingy would make me feel ashamed. I’m not. I’m not ashamed. It weren’t me called t’ MPs on yer that night, weren’t me set on you in that club, weren’t me chased your mates through the streets or locked you up. D’you see me throw owt? Chuck a glass at anyone? Batter someone? Not me, laddo. No, what I did were kiss thee, lay down wi’thee, give missen t’thee. … Best time o’ me life. Wakin’ up to you.”
Peggy
Norwegian, Late Teens, housemaid
“The conversations here are so dull – flying bombs, how long can the Germans hold out, are the French pleased or cross to be liberated? – No one knows anything, none of them can tell. And yet, the talk never ends. Perhaps these people are not enough amusing, but I would prefer no people at all … I have decided in my own mind what I want in life. I will tell you because it will explain many things. I want to work in the air. And read, I want to read. I said that. And music, listen to music. I said this also. But no conversation. No people. I think maybe Varangerfjord. You know this? Varangerfjord. Is very beautiful. Wild, ja. I would watch all day the mountains and the fjord, the whalers, the sky and the birds. A little red hut. Grow my own food. Fish.”
“The conversations here are so dull – flying bombs, how long can the Germans hold out, are the French pleased or cross to be liberated? – No one knows anything, none of them can tell. And yet, the talk never ends. Perhaps these people are not enough amusing, but I would prefer no people at all … I have decided in my own mind what I want in life. I will tell you because it will explain many things. I want to work in the air. And read, I want to read. I said that. And music, listen to music. I said this also. But no conversation. No people. I think maybe Varangerfjord. You know this? Varangerfjord. Is very beautiful. Wild, ja. I would watch all day the mountains and the fjord, the whalers, the sky and the birds. A little red hut. Grow my own food. Fish.”
Solveig
American, Mid 30s, Doctor, Lieutenant
“What I’d like to make clear, is that this is not a vacation home for debutants. The servicewomen in this facility have all been hospitalised with serious conditions. A young woman, a WAC, is discharged from the infirmary. In terms of pathology, she’s cured. She’s free of bodily disease or injury at any rate. But from the psychological standpoint, she would benefit from another week or so outside the hospital before reporting back to duty. This is where the Rookery comes in. The aim is two-fold: physical well-being and psychological rehabilitation. This way we alleviate the increase in patients exhibiting neuro-psychiatric problems … It’s taken two years to establish, but based on our results I think it’s fair to say the Rookery is a step in the right direction.”
“What I’d like to make clear, is that this is not a vacation home for debutants. The servicewomen in this facility have all been hospitalised with serious conditions. A young woman, a WAC, is discharged from the infirmary. In terms of pathology, she’s cured. She’s free of bodily disease or injury at any rate. But from the psychological standpoint, she would benefit from another week or so outside the hospital before reporting back to duty. This is where the Rookery comes in. The aim is two-fold: physical well-being and psychological rehabilitation. This way we alleviate the increase in patients exhibiting neuro-psychiatric problems … It’s taken two years to establish, but based on our results I think it’s fair to say the Rookery is a step in the right direction.”
Iris
African-American, Mid 20s, Corporal
“How many enlisted men in the ETO are named Robert Smith? How many Americans fighting in Europe, you think, their mammies named them Robert Smith? Seven thousand four hundred eighty-two. Ask me how I know? … When our company arrived back in the fall, they sent us to a school in Birmingham. Well, they show us into this old gymnasium, the room is ceiling high with mail. Just sacks and sacks of letters, parcels, packages. Some of the girls they burst out laughing. You see, much of that mail had been stored there for as long as two years. Just sitting there. The army is moving too fast, you see, no one knows where the heck in France or Italy or Belgium these boys are or might be tomorrow. The address on the letter, well it’s next to useless. Boy they’re writing to could be at another base, in another country or, God forbid, dead. How many troops we got fighting in Europe? Five, six million? And seven thousand four hundred and eighty-two Robert Smiths. Or Bob Smith. Or Robbie Smith, you name it. And all those Tommy Joneses too and lord knows how many Joe Johnsons, well, you get my drift … ““Imagine, all them pubs kickin’ out. All them unseen bodies pressing unseen bodies against unlit walls. All them nylons being pawed at. Bedsprings snappin’. … You wonder, don’t you? Is this what he finks he’s fighting for? Can’t get me ’ead round it. Makin’ love to a bloke could be dead tomorrow. Don’t make him any more pushy, mind. Don’t make you no more eager to please, but you find yerself clinging to him jus’ that bit tighter. Grind back against him, finkin’ of another bloke, half glad the one you’re with ain’t ‘im. All the while the stranger inside you might be that corpse dragged by the tide on a beachhead somewhere … “
“How many enlisted men in the ETO are named Robert Smith? How many Americans fighting in Europe, you think, their mammies named them Robert Smith? Seven thousand four hundred eighty-two. Ask me how I know? … When our company arrived back in the fall, they sent us to a school in Birmingham. Well, they show us into this old gymnasium, the room is ceiling high with mail. Just sacks and sacks of letters, parcels, packages. Some of the girls they burst out laughing. You see, much of that mail had been stored there for as long as two years. Just sitting there. The army is moving too fast, you see, no one knows where the heck in France or Italy or Belgium these boys are or might be tomorrow. The address on the letter, well it’s next to useless. Boy they’re writing to could be at another base, in another country or, God forbid, dead. How many troops we got fighting in Europe? Five, six million? And seven thousand four hundred and eighty-two Robert Smiths. Or Bob Smith. Or Robbie Smith, you name it. And all those Tommy Joneses too and lord knows how many Joe Johnsons, well, you get my drift … ““Imagine, all them pubs kickin’ out. All them unseen bodies pressing unseen bodies against unlit walls. All them nylons being pawed at. Bedsprings snappin’. … You wonder, don’t you? Is this what he finks he’s fighting for? Can’t get me ’ead round it. Makin’ love to a bloke could be dead tomorrow. Don’t make him any more pushy, mind. Don’t make you no more eager to please, but you find yerself clinging to him jus’ that bit tighter. Grind back against him, finkin’ of another bloke, half glad the one you’re with ain’t ‘im. All the while the stranger inside you might be that corpse dragged by the tide on a beachhead somewhere … “
Eunice
African-American, Early 20s, Private – now a patient
“You looked out for me all through basic, the voyage over, saw me through it all. Strange cities, strange people, air raids and bomb blasts, you were fearless, and you’ve made me so. Now it’s my turn to be brave. You gotta let me.”
“You looked out for me all through basic, the voyage over, saw me through it all. Strange cities, strange people, air raids and bomb blasts, you were fearless, and you’ve made me so. Now it’s my turn to be brave. You gotta let me.”
Ellie
American, Mid 20s, Corporal
“You remember how excited we were for D-Day? And then the invasion was announced and there was barely a ripple. We expected this huge reaction and the Brits went about their business like it was any other day … I don’t want to miss out again. Paris! Maybe even a transfer away from the mail-room, why not? They need telephone operators in the Signal Corps, switchboard operators at HQ. Most of the WACs being reassigned, why not me? Show ‘em I got whatever it takes.”
“You remember how excited we were for D-Day? And then the invasion was announced and there was barely a ripple. We expected this huge reaction and the Brits went about their business like it was any other day … I don’t want to miss out again. Paris! Maybe even a transfer away from the mail-room, why not? They need telephone operators in the Signal Corps, switchboard operators at HQ. Most of the WACs being reassigned, why not me? Show ‘em I got whatever it takes.”
Dolores
African-American, Early 20s. Private First Class “Tha’s where I been since I seen you last. Driving trucks. BVeen chasing Patton’s army with a thousand other truckers. Once the German lines cracked, see, the advance was four times faster than anyone had figured. By the time the Army reached the Seine, they was just about outta food, gas, you name it. It came down to us playin’ catch-up. Engineers blocked off all the roads save the one highway we drove. One way there, one way back, two hundred miles. Ten thousand truckloads in a constant stream. Dump your load in a depot and head on back. Steady fifty all the way. At night it was wild, only slit-eyes on your headlamps. Pockets of Gerries hid out in the woods. You’ve got high octane gas in back ‘n all kinds of ammo, so you hit a pot-hole that’s one hell of a bang. Kaboom, and you’s blown to kingdom come. Biggest headache was keeping them big ol’ engines running and yourself awake at the wheel. By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, the bigwigs reckoned we’d delivered about three tons a supplies every minute of the day, eighty days straight. They give us all a turkey dinner. Orders from the very top, every man gets a turkey dinner. We line up at chow time and they send us away. Jigaboos don’t eat with the white troops, “Thas’ your mess tent over there, nigger.” After we about killed ourselves transporting their food and ammo.”
Jerome
African-American, Early 20s, Private 1st Class
“I tell you I have a brother back in Detroit. Michael. He’s sitting in a cell there. They threw him in jail cos he refused to fight this white man’s war. He tells me, ‘Fool, don’t you go dying for no good reason. They don’t let you bunk with them, why you wanna fight with them?’ I’m tired of tryin’ to prove him wrong. It won out, I guess. Hate won out.” </em
“I tell you I have a brother back in Detroit. Michael. He’s sitting in a cell there. They threw him in jail cos he refused to fight this white man’s war. He tells me, ‘Fool, don’t you go dying for no good reason. They don’t let you bunk with them, why you wanna fight with them?’ I’m tired of tryin’ to prove him wrong. It won out, I guess. Hate won out.” </em
Eugene
African-American, Mid 20s, Private 1st Class
“Truth is, I’ve spent too much energy hating my own redneck officers to give the Germans much thought. You know those white boys call us savages. I reckon the war can do that to any man, turn him savage. I’ve seen it. Not me, though. I won’t ever be what they think I am.”
“Truth is, I’ve spent too much energy hating my own redneck officers to give the Germans much thought. You know those white boys call us savages. I reckon the war can do that to any man, turn him savage. I’ve seen it. Not me, though. I won’t ever be what they think I am.”
Henry
American, Late 20s, State Department Official
“Year ago, the War Department undertook a survey. Findings indicated that eighty per cent of American women want to remain in the labor force after the war. Seems they’ve got a taste for it. Living alone in the big cities they’ve moved to, free from family ties. At liberty to join in the games young ladies like to play these days. The radical clubs, the subversive organisations. I have a list. It’s a long one … If that’s not socialism, I don’t know what is.”
“Year ago, the War Department undertook a survey. Findings indicated that eighty per cent of American women want to remain in the labor force after the war. Seems they’ve got a taste for it. Living alone in the big cities they’ve moved to, free from family ties. At liberty to join in the games young ladies like to play these days. The radical clubs, the subversive organisations. I have a list. It’s a long one … If that’s not socialism, I don’t know what is.”
Donovan
”One day, that’s all we’ll be too, ghosts. Stories told by candlelight. Shadows that flicker on a wall, down a dark passage, the end of which … none of us can see.
LATEST NEWS
Check out the latest updates about performances of this play.