saw him all right.'
'Did you recognize him?'
Here she paused. 'Well, it was dark, what with the blackout and all that. But I suppose in a way that's what made it easier.'
'What do you mean?'
'The blackout. His face, it just blended right in, didn't it?' She lowered her voice to a whisper and turned her head towards me. 'He was a nigger.'
'Evelyn, that's not a polite word to use.'
'Well it wasn't a polite thing he did to me, was it?' She pouted. 'Anyway, Jim, that's my sweetheart, Jim's a GI and he says them niggers are good for nothing and they have their way with white women at the drop of a hat. Said they're hanging them over there for it all the time. They're not the same as us. Not as intelligent as us. They're just like big children, really. They can't control themselves. I know what folks thought of me, that I'd go with anybody, but I wouldn't go with a nigger, not for a hundred pounds. No, sir.'
'Was it someone you recognized?'
'I'd know him if I saw him again.'
'But you'd never seen him before?'
'I didn't say that. My head still aches. I can't think clearly.'
'Did you scratch him?'
'I certainly tried hard enough . . . Funny thing . . .'
'What is?'
'Well, it's just a feeling I got, I don't know, just about when I was passing out, but at one time I could have . . .'
'What?'
'Well, I could have sworn that there were two of them.'
Apart from one or two brief consultations with Lieutenant Clawson and another US military lawyer called William Grant, the case was taken out of my hands, and whatever investigation was done was carried out by the US military. It's a sorry state of affairs indeed when a British policeman has no powers of investigation in his own country.
Naturally, the Americans were tight-lipped and I could discover nothing from them. Evelyn came out of hospital after a week and soon got back to her old self, and her old ways, though she seemed to be avoiding me. At least, she never came to the Nag's Head any more, and I got the impression that whenever she saw me approaching in the street she crossed over to the other side. I guessed that perhaps the Americans had found out about our little chat and warned her off. Whatever the reason, they were keeping everything under wraps and hardly a snippet of information even got out to the papers.
Of poor Cornelius, I had no news at all. I didn't see him again until the general court martial at the base. As he sat there, flanked by a guard and his lawyer, he seemed lifeless and mechanical in his movements and the sparkle had gone from his eyes, though the look of innocence remained. He seemed resigned to whatever fate had in store for him. When he looked at me, it seemed at first as if he didn't recognize me, then he flashed me a brief smile and turned back to examining his fingernails.
I had never been to an American GCM before and I was surprised at how informal it all seemed. Despite the uniforms, there were no wigs in evidence and the language seemed less weighty and less full of legal jargon than its British equivalent. There were twelve members of the court, all officers, and by law, because this was the trial of a Negro, one of them also had to be coloured. This turned out to be a young First Lieutenant, new to command, who seemed nervous and completely intimidated by the other eleven, all of whom had higher ranks and much greater seniority.
Cornelius pleaded not guilty and his defence was that he had interrupted the attack and chased off the attacker, whom he had not recognized because of the blackout. When he realized he was a coloured American GI standing alone in a deserted park after nightfall with a raped and beaten white girl, he did what any coloured man would do and hurried back to camp.
Naturally, I was called quite early in the proceedings to present my evidence, much as I would have been in an ordinary court. I described how I had been woken up and led to Brimley Park by Harry Joseph, what I had seen there and what I had
'Did you recognize him?'
Here she paused. 'Well, it was dark, what with the blackout and all that. But I suppose in a way that's what made it easier.'
'What do you mean?'
'The blackout. His face, it just blended right in, didn't it?' She lowered her voice to a whisper and turned her head towards me. 'He was a nigger.'
'Evelyn, that's not a polite word to use.'
'Well it wasn't a polite thing he did to me, was it?' She pouted. 'Anyway, Jim, that's my sweetheart, Jim's a GI and he says them niggers are good for nothing and they have their way with white women at the drop of a hat. Said they're hanging them over there for it all the time. They're not the same as us. Not as intelligent as us. They're just like big children, really. They can't control themselves. I know what folks thought of me, that I'd go with anybody, but I wouldn't go with a nigger, not for a hundred pounds. No, sir.'
'Was it someone you recognized?'
'I'd know him if I saw him again.'
'But you'd never seen him before?'
'I didn't say that. My head still aches. I can't think clearly.'
'Did you scratch him?'
'I certainly tried hard enough . . . Funny thing . . .'
'What is?'
'Well, it's just a feeling I got, I don't know, just about when I was passing out, but at one time I could have . . .'
'What?'
'Well, I could have sworn that there were two of them.'
Apart from one or two brief consultations with Lieutenant Clawson and another US military lawyer called William Grant, the case was taken out of my hands, and whatever investigation was done was carried out by the US military. It's a sorry state of affairs indeed when a British policeman has no powers of investigation in his own country.
Naturally, the Americans were tight-lipped and I could discover nothing from them. Evelyn came out of hospital after a week and soon got back to her old self, and her old ways, though she seemed to be avoiding me. At least, she never came to the Nag's Head any more, and I got the impression that whenever she saw me approaching in the street she crossed over to the other side. I guessed that perhaps the Americans had found out about our little chat and warned her off. Whatever the reason, they were keeping everything under wraps and hardly a snippet of information even got out to the papers.
Of poor Cornelius, I had no news at all. I didn't see him again until the general court martial at the base. As he sat there, flanked by a guard and his lawyer, he seemed lifeless and mechanical in his movements and the sparkle had gone from his eyes, though the look of innocence remained. He seemed resigned to whatever fate had in store for him. When he looked at me, it seemed at first as if he didn't recognize me, then he flashed me a brief smile and turned back to examining his fingernails.
I had never been to an American GCM before and I was surprised at how informal it all seemed. Despite the uniforms, there were no wigs in evidence and the language seemed less weighty and less full of legal jargon than its British equivalent. There were twelve members of the court, all officers, and by law, because this was the trial of a Negro, one of them also had to be coloured. This turned out to be a young First Lieutenant, new to command, who seemed nervous and completely intimidated by the other eleven, all of whom had higher ranks and much greater seniority.
Cornelius pleaded not guilty and his defence was that he had interrupted the attack and chased off the attacker, whom he had not recognized because of the blackout. When he realized he was a coloured American GI standing alone in a deserted park after nightfall with a raped and beaten white girl, he did what any coloured man would do and hurried back to camp.
Naturally, I was called quite early in the proceedings to present my evidence, much as I would have been in an ordinary court. I described how I had been woken up and led to Brimley Park by Harry Joseph, what I had seen there and what I had
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