‘But there is, Daddy. We want to marry before he leaves.’
Eventually, fed up with arguing with his eldest daughter and feeling like he couldn’t make her see sense, Pierce said that they would talk about it later. His delay tactics made no difference to Mary’s position, though. He realized he wasn’t ever going to change her mind and so, after one more attempt to talk her round, he gave his blessing, despite his reservations.
As soon as they could, Mary and Frank travelled up to London where they met the parish priest to make arrangements to marry.
‘It takes time to arrange these things,’ Father Spillane told them, as they sat in the presbytery. He gave a little shake of his head. ‘Months, not weeks.’ Mary felt her face drop as he leafed through an appointments book. ‘However,’ he added, glancing up at them. ‘I do have a cancellation.’
Mary was startled by his reply. ‘When?’ she asked eagerly.
‘Next Saturday,’ he said.
Mary looked at Frank.
‘Other than that, it couldn’t happen until late summer,’ Father Spillane explained.
Frank gave Mary a little nod. ‘We’ll take it,’ she said.
They bought a marriage licence for 7 shillings and sixpence and Mary spent her journey back to Hailsham wondering nervously what her father was going to say about the wedding taking place so soon, and how she was going to get herself prepared in time. What on earth was she going to wear?
Mary and Frank’s wedding was set for 1 April 1944, a date that made Mary giggle – April Fool’s Day.
Pierce, as Mary had expected, was both alarmed and cross when she broke the news to him.
‘That’s ridiculous, Mary,’ he said. ‘There’s so much to do.’
‘But it’s the only chance we have,’ she replied. ‘Please, Dad. It’s something we want to do. I want to marry him before he goes away.’
Pierce held his hand to his head in frustration. He didn’t want to have this conversation with his daughter again, though. ‘OK,’ he said eventually. ‘Seeing as you’ve set the date and bought the licence.’
Mary smiled and gave him a hug. ‘It’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘You’ll see.’
Her sisters, in contrast to Pierce, were hopping with excitement at the news, particularly Sheila, who had waited a long time for Mary to get married. At least, to a girl of her age, it had seemed a long time. When the girls’ cousin Kit married before the war, Sheila was going to be her bridesmaid. She was looking forward to it eagerly, only to come down with measles days before the wedding and Joan had to step into her shoes.
Mary had comforted an upset and tearful Sheila. ‘Never mind. When I get married you can be my bridesmaid,’ she promised her. Sheila had never forgotten this vow and was determined to fill the role now the time had arrived.
For a few days before the big day, all of the sisters stayed with their father at their aunts’ house, sleeping in beds and on sofas, cushions and floors. The excitement was palpable. Mary didn’t have enough clothing coupons to buy a wedding gown but she did manage to find a pretty turquoise dress and a short, off-white jacket which she thought would serve well enough. A wartime wedding required all kinds of compromise, after all.
However, two nights before the big day, the Jarmans were sheltering from the bombs in an Underground station and Mary was talking about her forthcoming wedding when, to her surprise, one of her friends from Bermondsey, Julie Burbage, said, ‘You can borrow my wedding dress if you like, Mary. But it’s a little bit grubby.’ Before she could answer, another friend offered to clean the dress for her. Mary couldn’t believe her luck, especially when Julie then offered to lend her a bridesmaid dress for Sheila.
Mary and Julie were about the same size, and when she later tried the dress on it fitted her perfectly. However, the bridesmaid dress was not such a good fit for Sheila.
‘It’s too short, Sheila,’ Mary told her. ‘I think it would fit Kath well, though.’
Sheila’s face dropped. ‘You promised me, Mary,’ she said. ‘The dress is fine.’
Mary sighed. ‘OK,’ she said, unwilling to shatter Sheila’s dreams. ‘I suppose it will do.’
Sheila looked at herself in the mirror; the dress ended six inches above her maroon suede shoes. Even if it was a bit short, she thought to herself, she still looked beautiful.
The wedding was a low-key wartime affair with just immediate family and a few friends in attendance. Frank’s best man was his army pal, Freddy Bettger. The convent venue was rather small but Mary walked the length of it proudly on Pierce’s arm to join Frank, dressed in his army uniform, and exchange vows in front of Father Spillane. A glum Pierce looked on, but even her father’s subdued spirits couldn’t dampen Mary’s joy.
The reception was held back at the aunts’ house, in what they grandly called the parlour. It was a squeeze and, although there was no money for a wedding cake, there was a spread of cold meat, salad and boiled potatoes, which seemed like a feast to the girls, for whom wartime rations were the norm. After some singing and dancing, the night ended with Mary and Frank sleeping on the couch; Mary’s friend Nelly Taylor in one armchair, Freddy Bettger in the other; and another of Frank’s army pals, Tim Miles, on the floor. It was not a conventional wedding night but Mary had enjoyed the day, and felt happy and relieved that they had managed to marry. Now she was Mrs Marshall and it felt strange to no longer be a Jarman. It was a new chapter.
The following day, the newlyweds set off for their honeymoon – at Frank’s sister’s house in Oakamoor. There, once more, they spent much of their days going for long walks, but Mary felt that even the most mundane activities or chores were extra special now that they were married. She tried her best to put thoughts of Frank fighting overseas out of her head. This was their time, and she was going to enjoy every second of it.
After a week in Oakamoor, the happy couple returned to Hailsham – Frank back to the army and Mary to Highlands Farm. It seemed like business as usual. However, just a couple of months later, Mary discovered she was pregnant. She was overjoyed. She had always wanted a baby and looked forward to being a loving mother. Frank, too, was delighted when she told him. Their happiness was soon clouded, though, because Frank also had some news. And his sent a shiver through her body.
CHAPTER 9
D-Day, Doodlebugs … and Delivery
Aunt Mary (left) with Mary.
‘WE’RE SHIPPING OUT,’ Frank said calmly, though he felt anything but calm. He and Mary were taking their customary evening stroll through the rec and had just reached the bandstand. Mary’s beaming smile evaporated in an instant, excitement replaced by anxiety. ‘To France. At the end of the week.’
They had spent precious few private moments together since returning from honeymoon, with Mary feeling more like a Jarman sister again than a wife as she went back to the bedroom she shared with Joan. Frank, meanwhile, practised army manoeuvres by day and slept in the army camp at night. She consoled herself with the thought that nothing much about this marriage was normal. Everything seemed to be happening at a whirlwind pace.
Frank had no choice but to leave his new bride and unborn baby behind as the Canadian troops headed off for the invasion of Normandy, part of a bold Allied task force which hoped to liberate France and northwestern Europe from Nazi control.
Nearly 160,000 troops had already crossed the English Channel on 6 June, as part of Operation Overlord, which became commonly known as D-Day. The amphibious assault, involving more than 5,000 vessels, followed an earlier aerial bombing of German shoreline defences. Five beaches were marked out for the Allied landing, and all were given codenames. The Americans took Utah and Omaha in the west, the British took Gold and Sword in the east, and the Canadians took Juno, in the middle.
For the 14,000 Canadian troops, the journey across the Channel had been full of apprehension, which had turned to blind terror as they stormed ashore and were met by German gunfire and concealed land mines.
News of the D-Day landings on 6 Jun
e had thrilled those on the home front, with reports of how the Germans were being pushed back from the Channel shared excitedly from household to household.
‘We’ve got them on the run,’ said Pierce, reading his newspaper in the armchair at Battle Road.
The British press had splashed stirring headlines in their D-Day reports: ‘Our Armies in N. France’, ‘The Invasion Has Begun’, ‘British and Canadians Secure 2 Beachheads’ and ‘Allied Invasion Troops Several Miles Into France’. However, what was not reported immediately was the human cost of this mission. The initial aerial bombing of the coastline had had no real impact and, as Allied troops waded ashore, chest-high through the water, they were like sitting ducks for the German soldiers nestling in the banks. The Germans razed the shore below with machine-gun fire, causing the invading force to run for cover along sand dotted with land mines. It’s estimated that 2,500 Allied soldiers were killed on D-Day, including 340 Canadians. Many more were injured.
Frank was fortunate enough not to be part of this initial wave but now, a few days later, it was his turn.
‘I warned you,’ Pierce told Mary when he found her moping about the house in the days before Frank’s departure. However, Mary didn’t want to discuss the issue of her marriage or impending motherhood with her father any more. She suspected that he was so protective towards his daughters that he wouldn’t want them marrying anyone. What she needed was someone to solve her problems, not add to them. Mary tried to see Frank as much as she could before he left. The day was fast approaching, though, and she was dreading it.
Feeling particularly vulnerable, she took the opportunity to stop working at the farm. True enough, she would have needed to ease back on the work rate later in her pregnancy in any case – the daily milk round saw her work every day, including Sundays, bank holidays and at Christmas and the New Year. However, Mary’s urgency to stop work was, in fact, due to her fear of rats.
She was working with another Land Army girl called Helen Saunders, who had also married a Canadian from Frank’s regiment, when she heard a voice from the outside toilet saying, ‘Shoo! Scram!’
Mary ran over and asked, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Mary!’ Helen answered from inside. ‘There’s a rat on the floor in front of me.’
‘What’s it doing?’ asked a horrified Mary.
‘It’s just sitting there … watching me.’
Although Helen was more amused than scared, Mary was petrified. It was the final straw; she couldn’t put up with the conditions a moment longer. She’d also heard an old wives’ tale that if a pregnant woman was scared by a rat, her baby would bear a birthmark in the shape of the rodent. Although Mary didn’t truly believe it, she was taking no chances. She promptly asked to be released from her job, admitting to Mr Willoughby, ‘I can’t stay here any longer – I’m frightened.’
Mary had the chance to say a final goodbye to her new husband the night before he was due to depart for France.
‘I’ll write to you when I can,’ he said to her on the doorstep of 18 Battle Road, after a subdued evening spent mostly in pensive silence. ‘Take care of that baby now,’ he added, placing a hand on Mary’s tummy.
She gave a little smile, trying to hide her worry and sadness from him.
‘You take care too, Frank, do you hear?’ she replied, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘And don’t do anything silly.’
Frank smiled. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
Mary gave a heavy sigh. ‘I need you,’ she faltered. ‘In one piece.’ She looked down at her growing tummy. ‘And our baby does, too,’ she added.
Despite his cheery good nature and carefree attitude to life, Frank had become increasingly apprehensive as the days had counted down to the army’s departure. He had tried to hide his worry, for Mary’s sake, as much as his own, but looking at Mary now, for what might be the last time, he felt a lump in his throat.
‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ he said, and they shared one more lingering kiss before he walked away, wondering what fate lay in store for him on foreign shores.
This second wave of troops, including Frank’s regiment, also faced fierce opposition from German soldiers as they pushed ahead after landing, heading for the Norman city of Caen. Generals Montgomery and Eisenhower expected that British, American and Canadian forces would be in control of Normandy and heading east across France within weeks. However, fierce fighting was to take place throughout the summer and Frank would find himself in the thick of it.
Mary and all the women left behind carried on as normal in blissful ignorance. Nevertheless, she had moments when she felt physically sick, wondering if Frank would return or become yet another casualty of the war. She had heard about the nickname that telegram boys had acquired – ‘angels of death’ – because they usually only arrived to inform women that their husbands or sons were missing or killed in action. The thought of seeing such a messenger on her doorstep sent a shudder through her body and her hands went to her belly instinctively.
In the days following Frank’s departure and despite the reported success of the D-Day landings, there had been another terrifying menace on the home front.
Early in the morning of 13 June, just a few days before she was due to give up work, Mary was making her way to Highlands Farm when she had heard an odd sound above her. The ‘pop-pop’ noise was reminiscent of the stuttering of the small engine of a motorbike. The sky was still quite dark and, peering up through the gloom, she saw what looked like an aircraft with a flame coming from its tail.
‘Some poor pilot is in trouble,’ she thought to herself as the plane continued on its noisy way.
It wasn’t until she listened to the wireless the following day that she learnt she had witnessed the first arrival of an innovative new German weapon, heading towards London and designed to bring terror and destruction.
German scientists had been developing a top-secret Wunderwaffe, or ‘wonder weapon’, and Hitler was determined to use it as quickly as possible, convinced that it would once more turn the tide of the war his way. So, in a show of strength and retaliation for the Allied troops invading Normandy, Hitler boldly initiated the V-1 rocket – short for Vergeltungswaffen, and meaning ‘retaliatory or reprisal weapons’. Launched from the French coastline stretching between Calais and Boulogne, and also from the Dutch coast further north, the V-1 targeted London. Three years after the terror of the Blitz, Londoners who had thought that they were now comparatively safe on the home front, were being terrorized once more.
These flying bombs were pilotless and powered by a pulsejet engine that gave them a characteristic buzzing sound and earned them the nickname doodlebugs. The bombs were fitted with a device that cut the engine when it was estimated to have reached its target area. That silence was one Londoners soon learnt to dread because it meant the bomb was about to drop. Many would count to ten and then wait for the explosion.
What Mary had seen in the dark sky in Hailsham, mistaking it for a plane on fire, was the characteristic flame that came from the tailpipe of all V-1s. Thousands more of these doodlebugs headed for London over the coming months, but not all of them reached the capital. Many fell far short of their target destination and others were shot down by the RAF, which meant the Jarman girls, too, feared the sound, like so many others.
The first of the V-1s, which Mary had seen and heard, landed at Swanscombe in Kent, just short of the all-important Tilbury Docks. The second, launched shortly afterwards, came down in Cuckfield, to the west of Haywards Heath in West Sussex. With the RAF busily deployed either trying to shoot down the rockets or deflect them off target, many came down in Sussex and Kent. Country life became rather more perilous.
At school, Sheila couldn’t concentrate when she heard doodlebugs approaching, praying that her daddy would be safe back in London, and praying too that the bombs didn’t come down early. If they flew over when she was outside, she would duck down behind the nearest hedge, despite the futility of it offering any prote
ction should the bomb fall. Indoors, the girls took once more to cowering in the Morrison shelter whenever they heard the dreaded buzzing sound, which was happening increasingly often.
A group of pupils at Hailsham Senior Mixed School were outside tending the vegetable patch one afternoon when an air-raid siren sounded. Above the noise, they could still make out the drone of a doodlebug flying overhead. A few moments later, to their horror, the engine cut out.
‘Take cover!’ yelled the teacher, Mr Taylor.
With little time to go anywhere, they crouched by a wall, arms covering their heads … and waited. However, the next sound they heard was not the expected explosion but the engine of a plane. As they peered up apprehensively, they saw a British Typhoon fighter delicately place its own wing under the wing of the rocket. The fighter guided the rocket away so that it dropped and exploded in open fields a few miles from the school. It was a remarkable display of aviation and the children talked about nothing else for weeks. The manoeuvre became a frequent sight in various parts of the South of England, though, as RAF planes tried to guide the bombs off course from London and the surrounding populated areas to explode in safer places.
Despite these renewed aerial threats over Britain, the war in Europe was slowly turning in favour of the Allies. French and Italian cities were liberated during the long summer of 1944, while in the East, the Russians were re-taking their land from the Germans. As the summer wore on, the mood became remarkably optimistic.
Now that the Canadian and American soldiers were no longer in and around Hailsham, things seemed oddly quiet. Joan, now seventeen, was missing the pleasant distraction that they provided away from the drudge of ‘motherhood’.
‘It just seems so quiet and, well, boring here without them,’ she said to Mary as they were preparing a meal in the kitchen. ‘I only ever leave the house to go to the shops.’
Neither of them knew how things were about to change.
The Sisters of Battle Road Page 20