During the Second World War many Bermudians went overseas to serve. More than a few fell in love and subsequently married their wartime sweethearts. Here, Royal Gazette reporter Nancy Acton speaks to one such couple, who reveal what life was like for both of them as Britain stood alone against the enemy in the 1940s.

Jacob Johnson was, literally, one in a million as he danced the nights away at one of London's famous landmarks during the Second World War.

More than three thousand miles from home, the young man did what countless other servicemen on leave did: he sought solace in the dance halls, where for a few hours at least the dangers of an uncertain future could be forgotten.

Of similar mind was a pretty, 22-year-old London lass by the name of Ivy Brenson.

"There were a million troops in London before D-Day,'' she recalls, "and they held dances for the Americans at the stripped out Covent Garden Opera House. You went along, paid your admission fee, danced, and went home.'' At one such event she met Mr. Johnson, and he soon confessed he was not only lonely, but also never got mail, and worse, his family back home had no idea whether or not he was alive.

The forlorn tale struck a chord in the young woman's heart, and the duo met up to dance again and again.

"I'm going to marry you one day,'' Mr. Johnson vowed.

Ignoring the uncertainties of life in wartime, the couple kept hope alive, and their friendship blossomed.

Whenever Mr. Johnson went on leave, it was with extra cigarettes and a small sum of money doled out to local servicemen and women from a special Bermuda fund operated by the West Indian Committee.

"They were away from home, so it was like pocket money so they could enjoy themselves,'' Mrs. Johnson explains.

Because of this, and in order not to impinge on the Brenson family's ration coupons or limited food supplies, Mr. Johnson insisted that the couple eat in a restaurant -- a rare treat indeed for the average Briton.

"You didn't need coupons in restaurants and you could eat what you liked. Of course, ordinary people never ate out, it was just people with money who did,'' Mrs. Johnson explains.

In 1943, Mr. Johnson -- who had transferred from the Fleet Air Arm to the Royal Navy as a cable splicer shortly after arriving in England, was sent with his ship to the Far East to participate in the Japanese campaign.

The couple corresponded, and of course distance lent enchantment, so when the sailor returned to Britain in May, 1946, they saw each other when they could, and also kept in touch by telephone.

With the war over, it was the Royal Navy's duty to discharge Mr. Johnson and return him to the place from whence he had enlisted. Although he was born and raised in Saba in the West Indies, he had made his home in Bermuda.

Thus it was that he sailed back to the Island in July, 1946 to resume civilian life at the firm which had originally employed him: the Bermuda Electric Light, Power & Traction Company, as a line foreman.

Mr. Johnson's area of responsibility stretched from Dockyard to Riddell's Bay, and the job included a cottage in Somerset. All that was missing was the girl of his dreams, who was still in Britain.

"I was supposed to join him in Bermuda to get married, but the problem was getting here because all the ships were being used to take war brides and Canadian troops back to North America,'' Mrs. Johnson explains.

Eventually, her fiance n was told that if he paid a specific sum, the Royal Navy would do its level best to transport his fiancee from England to Bermuda.

"And that's what happened,'' Mrs. Johnson relates. "It was quite a journey.

I travelled from Southampton, England to Halifax by ship, and from there to Montreal, New York and Baltimore by train. The last leg of the long journey, from Baltimore to Bermuda, was by flying boat,'' Mrs. Johnson recalls.

"We landed at Darrell's Island, and Jacob wanted to be on hand to meet me.

This was against all the rules, apparently, but he pleaded with the authorities, finally convincing them that unless I saw his face at my final destination, he didn't know if I would stay.'' That was on January 4, 1947 and the wedding took place three days later at St.

Joseph's church in Somerset.

In the tightly-knit west end community, where everybody knew everybody else's business -- "from the post office to the Police station'' Mrs. Johnson chuckles -- curiosity was at fever pitch as word got out that "Jacob Johnson is going to get married to an English girl.'' Three days after her arrival, on the morning of January 7, the 34-year-old groom went to mass at 8 a.m., and his bride-to-be and the two witnesses walked down the street to the church for the 8.30 a.m. ceremony.

"I just wore a suit. There were no flowers, and no reception,'' Mrs. Johnson recalls. "That was my introduction to Bermuda.'' In her naivete, the then-Miss Brenson assumed no-one knew her from Adam, and it wasn't until years later that she found out everybody was aware of her wedding day, and had been secretly watching her make her way to the church.

Later, when the couple wanted to buy a house, they found they could not because they were officially foreigners. Having been born and raised in Saba, Mr. Johnson was still a Dutchman, and under the then-UK immigration laws, having married a foreigner, Mrs. Johnson was no longer British but Dutch.

"It was incredible,'' Mrs. Johnson recalls. "My husband served as a Bermudian in the Royal Navy, but after the war they said he was Dutch!'' In time, however, by renouncing Dutch citizenship, the couple officially became Bermudian. They went on to have three children, and own their own home.

Today, Mrs. Johnson is a widow and grandmother, and this year celebrated her eightieth birthday by being taken on a cruise to Alaska. She is very active, plays bridge, and recently returned from a trip to Saba.

While her lifestyle is not luxurious, it is a far cry from wartime London, the memories of which are as vivid today as they were in the 1940s.

"It was a very uncertain time for everyone, and you couldn't think about the future,'' she says of those days. "The bombing went on for years, and there were several kinds of bombs: doodle-bugs, incendiaries, rocket and regular bombs. You really got tired of it.'' One of eight children ranging in age from eight to 30 at the start of the war, Mrs. Johnson recalls the family's agony when the two youngest boys were among thousands of children evacuated to the more peaceful countryside.

"Along with their whole school, including teachers, my eight and 11-year-old brothers were sent to Looe in Cornwall. We had no say in where they were going, and for the first 48 hours we had no idea where they were. My mother cried for days.'' Mrs. Johnson, who was 19 when war broke out, went to work from her family home in Lambeth, and each morning her married sister would meet her on Blackfriars Bridge to enquire how her family had survived the night.

Twice Mrs. Johnson spent long periods in hospitals with pleurisy and pneumonia caused by sleeping in underground shelters when the bombs were falling.

Given the dangers of London, and the never-ending stream of patients, including war casualties, requiring attention, initial treatment was at a major hospital, where Mrs. Johnson remembers nurses diving under the beds when the bombs were falling, following which she was sent to a cottage hospital in the country to recuperate.

Of course, rationing was very strict, and coupons did not go far.

"Every six months you would get 20 to cover all your clothing, including underwear and stockings, and food was severely rationed,'' Mrs. Johnson relates.

As hard and dangerous as life was, however, people went about their lives as best they could, and never made a fuss.

"You just got on with it,'' the ex-Londoner says. "The British are very stoic.''