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( Chapter Five: ❛ AN ARMY IN SKIRTS! ❜ ) SEPTEMBER, 1943
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"OH ANNIE, you truly can work a ration card like no other, can't you? This is an absolute feast! I bet those Marines with their Bully-Beef and Arnott's Biscuits are snapping their caps! You must tell us how you did it," rambled her father as they tucked into a hearty meal of rationed goods that evening, gravy and broccoli and beef with peas in pods and potatoes and carrots (mostly root vegetables from the allotment). "You're not in kahoots with that black market business, are you? Because these potatoes are out of this world!"
Ginny couldn't help but wonder how her parents were still so disgustingly in love with each other after being married all this time. It had been twenty years, now, and they still teased and praised one another the same. Saturday night had remained date night for twenty years. In theory, the blonde hoped to earn something similar for herself in the future, but she was convinced a man so honest and loving didn't exist anymore.
Even as they struggled through rationing and the crisis of pre-war, they remained steadfast in their love for one another. Still, in Melbourne, the use of victory loans to make life easier were all the rage, as people leant money to the Government. Everyone wanted enough money for cars and enough whiskey to crash them. After shoving another forkful of roast potato into her mouth, Ginny announced, "I saw Gordon yesterday."
Her mother, ever considerate, smiled softly and tilted her head, the gossamers of grey in her pale blonde hair catching in the overhead light, "Oh, really? And how was he?" she asked, placing her own fork down and picking up a napkin to wipe her hands with. So well mannered was her mother; her father always said it was one of the things that made him fall for her. That, and the chase she gave him beforehand. Men always want what they cannot have!
"Actually, he's grown a moustache," exclaimed the blonde, exhaling a small laugh. "Heaven knows why — it doesn't quite match his face, I don't think. It makes him look old."
"Finally, an appearance to match the age that man thinks he is," her father commented, quirking his eyebrows momentarily as he sliced a slab of beef in half. He was a stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard of the same colour, who bore little resemblance to his daughter bar his large eyes. He mused, "Always thought he was some wise old dog, didn't he?"
Ginny's mother reached over and gave her husband a gentle smack on the arm with the back of her hand. She chided, "You know he already has enough fun poked at him as it is, I'm sure he could do without your comments, Sam. I suspect he's probably just trying to mature himself. Stand out in the crowd. You know how easy it is to fall in the shadow of these American boys."
