Free To The Grave by Steve Robinson Page B

he came home again, Mena, was gone.”
    “Was there any explanation?”
    “Vague,” Jonathan said.  “Dad always maintained it was because she fell in love with one of those GIs so many girls were falling for at the time.  He would have been with the 82nd Airborne, no question about it.  The 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment was camped up at Evington for a time in 1944.  There’s plenty of local history about them if you know where to look.”
    Tayte took his notebook out from inside his jacket and scribbled the information down.  It would help to identify the right man when he had the chance to look.
    “Dad always said how sorry he was that he hadn’t seen Mena again,” Jonathan continued.  “He said he’d even thought about looking for her once or twice, but I think life overtook him, as life has a way of doing if you let it.  He married just after the war.  I was born soon after that and my sister followed.  I suppose Mena eventually became little more than a memory to him - a face in a photograph of someone he used to know.”
    "You said on the phone that you’d found a few photographs of Mena,” Tayte said.
    Jonathan sat forward.  “Yes, of course.  You must be itching to see them.  I’ve got them in a box down here.”
    He reached beneath the coffee table and slid out a small mahogany chest that had brass corner caps.  He set it on the table, opened it and pulled out a collection of photographs, sliding them across the table like he was fanning out a pack of playing cards.
    Tayte leant in on his elbows to get a better look.
    “This is a good one,” Jonathan said, singling out the largest photograph.  It was mounted in a sleeve like it had been taken professionally.  “This was just before the war.”  He pointed to the figures in the middle.  Everyone looked like they were dressed in their Sunday best.  “That’s Granddad Pop and my grandmother, Margaret,” he said.  “Dad and Aunt Mary are this side.  Uncle Michael and Uncle James are on the other.”  He pointed to a small girl, sitting with her legs crossed in the centre of the photograph.  “That’s Mena,” he said.  “She would only have been ten or eleven then.”
    The girl’s hair was in ringlets tied with a pale blue bow and from her get-me-out-of-here expression, Tayte thought she looked far cuter than she wanted to with her big eyes, dimpled cheeks and a flouncy gown that made her look even younger than she was.
    “Here’s one from the war years,” Jonathan said as he slid another photograph across.  “There aren’t many from that time, I’m afraid.  Most of these were taken afterwards so you won’t find any more of Mena.”
    Tayte recognised her straight away.  She was giggling as she saluted the camera, wearing a military cap and a short army jacket over her dress.  “Who’s that with her?” he asked, indicating the dark haired girl giggling along with her as two young men in army uniforms sat and watched in the background.
    Jonathan took the photograph back and studied it.  “Her name’s Joan,” he said.  “That’s Michael and James laughing in the background.  I suppose Dad must have taken the picture.”
    “Joan?” Tayte said.  “Another family member?
    “No, Joan was Mena’s friend.  Her best friend, so Dad told me.
    “Mind if I hang on to it while I’m here?”
    “Not at all,” Jonathan said.  He continued to shuffle through the photographs.  “Here’s a better one of Aunt Mary,” he added, handing it to Tayte.  “That’s clearly from the war years.”
    Tayte took it.  It showed a man and a woman in military uniform, her arm linked through his.  A happy couple.
    “Aunt Mary moved away to South Africa soon after the war,” Jonathan said.  “She became a missionary.  I’ve heard that Margaret was very religious so I suppose that’s who Mary got her calling from.  She married an Afrikaner called Ingram and took her middle name, Grace, although I always