‘We arrived too late for that. Tomorrow morning we’ll be supplied with a decent breakfast.’
It was then that they heard a terrifying barrage erupt, the roar and shriek of shells and guns firing, sounding very like a thunderstorm. The reality of war pummelled into Cecily’s head. Would they indeed be given the necessary protection?
EIGHT
GIVEN ASSURANCE that this battle was taking place close to enemy lines, not in the camp, they spent the night tucked in their beds, barely sleeping until the sound faded. They were so thankful when dawn and silence came at last. It was then that Merryn went in search of breakfast for Queenie, since she always liked to have it in bed. She discovered there were field kitchens and a bakery at the camp. ‘The bread is packed deep in a tunnel glowing with heat, and left to cook overnight,’ the chef told her, handing over a tray of bread and jam. ‘The Tommies’ diet is a bit boring but must be substantial enough to keep them fighting.’
Merryn smiled. ‘I’m told soldiers declare that an army marches on its stomach?’
He laughed. ‘Aye, while wags on the front line claim the appalling rations they are given can create more dangers to their health than German bullets.’
Feeling peckish and not wishing to complain about the dark, solid-looking bread, she quickly returned to their tent with the tray and mugs of tea, learning later that the chaps in his tent had provided Johnny with a bacon sandwich.
Merryn and Cecily spent the next hour or two cleaning and tidying the tent and camp beds, finding some duckboards to walk on in order to avoid the mud and stacked all essential equipment in a corner. They chose to leave all costumes and other stage equipment carefully packed away. After that, they set about washing a few grubby clothes and mending stockings.
Queenie merely reclined upon her camp bed, taking what she declared to be a much-needed rest. ‘It was so dreadful, I barely slept a wink last night. We should not be here.’
Neither of her daughters made any comment upon this, merely exchanging a roll of their eyes, each irritated that she’d chosen to join them. ‘Let’s leave her in peace while we go and find out where we’ll be able to present our concert this evening,’ Cecily murmured.
‘Good idea,’ Merryn agreed, and they scurried off, paying no further attention to Queenie’s moans and groans.
The camp looked even more smoky and dusty than they’d noticed when they first arrived, the lines of sandbags all around. Thankfully, they found a young man waiting for them. He gave them a beaming welcome and shook their hands. ‘I’m Corporal Lewis. Good to meet you and glad to help.’
He was most friendly, small with a bone-thin body, looking as if he hadn’t enjoyed a decent meal in a long while, his face pale with dingy-looking skin. Nor had he much hair visible on his virtually bald head, clearly having shaved it all off in an effort to protect himself from nits and lice. Cecily introduced herself, then asked where they would be allowed to perform. He showed them a range of boxes that had been set up to form a small stage. ‘Not perfect, just the best we can do,’ he said, giving an apologetic smile.
‘This will be fine,’ Cecily assured him as she stepped carefully over it. The boxes rocked slightly, but as they wouldn’t be doing any dancing, she decided it should work well enough. Already she could see groups of men hovering around in eager anticipation of the event. Stretched along the pathway by a hut was a row of camp beds upon which injured soldiers lay wrapped in blankets, many of them swathed in stinking wads of blood-stained bandages. Gazing upon them, Merryn’s heart pumped with sympathy. Those poor men were clearly suffering from physical or mental problems, having endured desperate dangers. They looked in deep distress, some with empty blank eyes as if these pains had blocked out their minds.
Recognising the compassion in her expression, the corporal said, ‘These lads are badly in need of a bit of fun and are filled with excitement at the prospect of this concert you’re going to give them. They’ve insisted on having their beds brought out so they can watch.’
Cecily felt emotion block her throat. ‘We’ll do our best to brighten their lives and cheer them up,’ she promised.
There was no proper stage, no curtains, dressing rooms or footlights, but they did have acetylene gas lamps glimmering brightly around the boxes. They worked for hours rehearsing, and enduring more instructions from Queenie on what and how they should perform. Cecily suffered a flutter of panic as she became aware of hundreds more men gathering in the audience. A few were seated on boxes or benches, the rest of the area packed with a solid mass standing shoulder to shoulder. Many had been patiently waiting hours for the concert to start. Looking at the state of them, it was evident that many had come direct from the trenches, where they’d probably been trapped in horrific conditions for months. Those unable to move from their tent pulled the flaps open so that they too could hear the concert.
Heart pounding and nerves jangling, Cecily felt the urge to turn and run as the moment for the concert to start came closer. Was her mother right and she couldn’t sing well after all? Would they roar and boo at her as they had that time at Queenie?
She steadied her breathing, smoothed down her skirt with sweaty fingers and when she walked on stage, the men gave a loud cheer of welcome. The excitement in their faces filled her with hope and as she stepped forward to the front of the boxed stage, the audience instantly fell silent, looking enthralled and spellbound. She exchanged a swift glance with Merryn, counted one, two, three, four . . . and her sister and Johnny both began to play, sounding most professional. Cecily started to sing:
There’s a Long, Long Trail A-winding.
Into the land of my dreams,
Where the nightingales are singing
And a white moon beams.
As she sang, her fears, depression and worries vanished in a surge of elation, soaring into a new life, and bringing these soldiers pleasure and relief from the war. When the song was over, she received a tumultuous applause, cheers, whistles and roars of appreciation from them. Smiling broadly, she went on to sing ‘Roses of Picardy’, followed by ‘Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag’ and many other popular favourites. Most of the Tommies would readily join in with singing the chorus whenever Cecily invited them to do so. Others would weep, as if fraught with emotion because they were homesick and felt greatly moved by this reminder of England. Then they would again cheer and roar with happiness at the end, urging her to sing an encore.
‘You’re doing quite well,’ her mother casually remarked during the short interval, a comment Cecily greatly appreciated. ‘Now sing some of those jolly music hall songs that I recommended.’
‘Right you are.’
Cecily went on to sing ‘Burlington Bertie From Bow’ and ‘Fall In And Follow Me’. These brought bright smiles and laughter to all the Tommies’ faces. She finished with ‘Your King and Country Want You’, bringing forth loud cheers of agreement. How she loved singing to these soldiers. If she hadn’t been a star before, she certainly felt like one now.
Over the coming weeks, they finally settled in, again often hearing the sound of shellfire in the distance, but fully concentrating upon rehearsals and entertaining these troops. They went on to perform at many other bases, driven there by Corporal Lewis in the scrubby wagon. And whenever she passed by soldiers in a camp, they would click their heels and salute, treating Cecily with great respect. She found it most rewarding to perform for these brave young men, notwithstanding the exhaustion of putting on two or three concerts a day. They would often feel badly in need of a break having done so many performances and naturally made sure that Queenie did not spend her time drinking, which did affect her temper.
Today, rain was heavily pounding on the roof of the large tent where they were about to give their latest performance, again packed with men eagerly waiting with considerable excitement. A tarpaulin had been hooked up around it to protect some of the audience, plenty standing around outside to listen with the rain sheeting down upon them.
&nb
sp; Johnny looked at Cecily with concern. ‘You’ve no coat on. We can’t have you getting cold and wet.’
‘Unlike those poor Tommies I’m safely inside the tent, not stuck out in this dreadful rain. I’m warmly dressed in a sort of uniform: a decent long skirt, jacket, shirt and tie and most suitably attired,’ she said with a smile, carefully placing a broad-brimmed hat upon her head.
He flickered his gaze over her with a slightly quizzical expression in his grey eyes. ‘True, except you look a bit – how should I put it – plain. That outfit is neither appropriate nor sweet. I think it’s time the Tommies saw you dressed in something far more glamorous.’
Cecily laughed out loud. Johnny frequently came over to suggest what she should sing before the start of the concert. She was carefully acquiring the ability to tolerate his eccentricities and odd sense of humour, his recent fondness for smoking and growing accustomed to his foolish flirting. She’d willingly listen to his suggestions, as he was a good musician. This comment about how she looked highly amused her. On the subject of costume, they were completely at odds. ‘Are you suggesting that I should wear an evening gown? Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to go dancing so didn’t bring one with me. I think wearing a version of uniform is entirely the right thing to do. It makes me look like I’m part of their squad.’
He gave a firm shake of his head. ‘You’re a woman, so would never look like a Tommy Atkins, not in a million years. I confess that prettily dressed females do make me hot around the collar, but it’s art, dahling,’ he teased.
‘Nonsense!’
‘I could make you one,’ Merryn offered casually, interrupting their disagreement. ‘We brought some net curtains with us, so I could use some of those to make you a more attractive gown.’
‘Really? Well, if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind doing that, Merryn, that’d be wonderful.’
‘You know I love sewing as much as music. I’ll look into it.’
Queenie came strolling over to join them, having been chatting with the young men, as she so loved to do. ‘It’s good being here to do our bit for the Tommies, and so exciting. You must sing a little louder, Cecily, as there’s no way to extinguish the sound of this hammering rain.’
Fortunately, the performance went well, and the rain did ease off a little during the course of the day. Merryn gave a short solo performance playing some French tangos and ‘Mademoiselle from Armentières’ on her piano accordion – catchy tunes that brought a good response from the audience. Johnny did a solo performance on his drum that brought forth more cheers and the hammering of hands. Then Cecily recited three poems, Break of Day in the Trenches by Isaac Rosenberg, My Boy Jack by Rudyard Kipling, finishing with her favourite, The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, which the soldiers loved.
It had felt most disturbing to see these men in their scruffy clothes, knee-high socks and thick muddy boots, many with arms wrapped in slings, bandages around their heads, or blank expressions of shell shock on their ashen faces. Some were unshaven, while others had shaved their heads to avoid nits, lice and other scourges. But they roared, laughed, cheered and happily joined in the singing, clearly loving every moment of the show.
At the end of the concert, Cecily could still hear the men singing in parts of the camp. The wind was gusting all around as she struggled to walk almost ankle-deep in the mud. She was barely halfway across the field when Johnny caught up with her. ‘I hope you didn’t object to those comments I made about your uniform. You are a real beauty and I just want you to display it more diligently.’
Cecily gave a cynical little smile, feeling no urge to agree with him on this or discuss the matter further. She simply felt the need to escape the rain that was soaking through her. ‘I do appreciate the advice you offer, Johnny, so we’ll see if this idea works.’
‘I’m sure it will.’ Putting up his hand he gave her cheek a gentle rub. ‘You look tired and feel quite cold. What a nincompoop you are to be out walking with no coat or scarf and this wind bringing more rain.’ Taking off his own coat, he wrapped it around her.
‘Don’t nag me, and I don’t need this coat as I’ve nearly reached my tent,’ she said, attempting to hand it back.
‘Yes, you do, and I’ll give you a warm hug.’ Wrapping his arm around her, he pulled her close, gazing at her with interest. ‘You’re smart and clever, Cecily. I recognise that in you, being pretty smart and clever myself.’
Pulling herself free from his hold, she gave him a scathing look. ‘If that is the case, why were you rejected by the Army? I often see you coping without those spectacles. Why is that?’
He laughed at this as if making a joke. ‘I forget to put my specs on sometimes. It was not just my eyesight that was the problem, they thought me too small and unfit.’
‘Nor do you limp much any more. And why do you behave like a licentious fool?’
‘I beg your pardon if that’s the case. You should be aware, I might blunder a bit because of how much I care for you.’
Cecily’s feet slipped in the mud as she hastily tried to escape, and when she almost fell, he grabbed her again. Flicking his head sideways, he grinned, making no move to release her for some long seconds. His expression was now so filled with desire that a sense of disquiet stirred within her. Then, as he lowered his pouting mouth to mere inches close to hers, it disturbingly occurred to her that he was about to give her a kiss and she shoved him firmly away. ‘Don’t you dare do that. Let go of me this instant!’
With languid courtesy, he slowly bowed his head. ‘My apologies. It’s just that I find you absolutely irresistible, so why wouldn’t I offer you more attention and a little fun?’
‘I don’t need your attention. Nor do I view your flirtatious attitude as “fun”. Refusing to treat me with proper respect when you are perfectly aware of the grief I am suffering, puts you perilously close to being rejected and sent back to Blighty,’ she sternly informed him. ‘If you wish us to remain friends and continue to work together, do not touch me ever again, Johnny Wilcox.’
‘Not unless you want me to,’ he said with a grin, as she marched away.
Within twenty-four hours, Merryn had successfully created a most beautiful cream lacy gown with a long, frilled skirt and a daringly low neckline. Cecily felt utterly thrilled when she tried it on and her sister beamed at her, saying she looked wonderful.
‘Blimey, ain’t she cute?’ Johnny said, giving a whistle.
Queenie too appeared stunned, a touch of jealousy evident in her piercing gaze. ‘Not at all the small, plain girl you usually are. So where is my gown?’ she demanded of Merryn.
‘Why would you want one? You brought a whole trunk of clothes with you, far more than we did,’ Merryn reminded her.
‘Nothing as beautiful as this one. I too will soon be performing, so why would I not have the right to look equally lovely? Eventually, my fussy daughter here will allow me to sing, which is what I’m best at. I’m certainly more of a star than she’ll ever be.’
Silence followed this remark, Cecily’s sense of humour dissolving in frustration. They’d strenuously attempted to keep Queenie well away from alcohol. Her voice not at all improving, it was hard to be assured they were succeeding. ‘You’ll be welcome to perform, Mama, once you are getting better,’ Cecily tactfully informed her. ‘And I’m sure Merryn will do what she can for you, won’t you, lovey?’
Merryn sighed. ‘If I can find any more material, I’ll give it a go.’
‘You will happily oblige me since you’re my darling daughter. If you don’t have what we require, then go shopping in the town,’ Queenie sweetly instructed her, giving her a warm hug.
This time when Cecily walked on in her beautiful new gown, silence fell, the men’s jaws fell open, their faces rapt with such wonder and emotion it brought tears of delight into her eyes. Their reaction was completely overwhelming. Perhaps Johnny did have some good ideas after all, even if he was an irritating playboy. She would wear the uniform on occasions, but it felt good to cheer these me
n up by looking more glamorous.
‘What a clever girl you are,’ Johnny told Merryn as he walked her back to her tent. ‘You look gorgeous too, sweetie. Can I give you a kiss by way of thanks?’
‘Goodness, no.’
‘It’s all right. I’ll do nothing too naughty,’ he said, and kissed her with such passion that Merryn gasped, her limbs feeling like liquid fire.
‘Johnny, you must behave with absolute propriety.’ She tried to speak with suitable hauteur but couldn’t quite find the strength to give proper emphasis to her words. She was struggling to breathe as his tongue circled the hollow beneath her ear and a pain started up somewhere it shouldn’t.
‘I will in a moment, I promise. It’s just that you’re such a lovely girl, I’m becoming utterly enchanted by you. Can I just unfasten this pearl button on your blouse and caress you?’
‘No! You shouldn’t be doing this. Please stop!’ Desperately striving to recover her composure, Merryn firmly refastened the neck of her blouse. ‘I’m becoming quite fond of you too, but please be aware that you must behave.’
Drawing her close in his arms, he nodded as he kissed each of her flushed cheeks. ‘What a treasure you are.’
‘Oh, so are you,’ she said, feeling a stir of excitement. ‘Don’t ever mention our growing friendship to Queenie. She is most dictatorial about who I spend time with.’
‘Rightio, I promise I won’t say a word and look forward to us growing ever closer.’ As he began to kiss and caress her even more, her breathing quickened, leaving her unable to resist. Merryn found herself astonished and thrilled by the attention he was paying her. This time she made no protest as he unfastened the top button of her blouse to kiss her neck and gently stroke her breast, making her gasp as desire escalated through her. Was Johnny falling in love with her? That would be wonderful, but she should take great care to protect herself. Waving, she quickly fled to her tent.
Girls of the Great War Page 7