Asking how any information she managed to find could be sent to him, she was instructed on who to contact at a local station of the Royal Navy in France; how they would pass on whatever she’d discovered through their Marconi wireless telegraphy system and what code she should use: something she was not allowed to write down but must firmly fix into her head. She listened to these instructions with increasing concern. Learning how to carry out such tasks was a terrifying prospect.
When the training session was finally over, Cecily hurried back home, filled with a sense of panic, all faith in herself having vanished. Her instinct was to try and help, whatever the risks involved. She flew upstairs to her room to write a letter to Merryn, telling how she’d successfully gained a new permit, carefully making no mention of the deal she’d agreed as a consequence, let alone the training she’d been through. She simply promised to return to France soon. After she’d posted it, she joined Nan in the parlour to tell her the same.
‘I congratulate you on your success, dear. You always were a smart, clever girl. I thought so from the moment I first met you.’
She laughed. ‘I was only a baby at the time so how could I be?’
‘Actually, you were a toddler of about two.’
Cecily’s eyes widened in surprise. She’d learned that her mother had not been born here in Plymouth, now here was another puzzle. ‘Are you seriously suggesting that Mama took the trouble to care for me without your assistance when I was first born? Or presumably she employed some other nanny whom I don’t remember, only being a baby at the time. Was she then sacked?’
‘I expect that was the case. I’m not sure who your first nanny was before I was appointed to care for you and your mother. Being quite old now, I forget such details.’ Nan turned away to fuss over a mistake she’d made on the cushion cover she was embroidering. ‘Now, what would you like for lunch? You look in need of good food to renew your energy.’
‘Very true. I’ll delightedly accept whatever you have to offer.’ In her heart, Cecily didn’t feel at all smart or clever, simply willing to do her bit for the war, as did the rest of her troupe. For now, she concentrated firmly on looking forward to the suffrage parade, due to take place the next day, which could help to restore her courage.
Cecily and Boyd caught a tram and she expressed her delight that due to the reason she’d been obliged to return to Blighty, she was at least able to take part in this parade. ‘I’m so excited I can hardly wait. Thank you for telling me about it. I’d lost touch with them and I’m sure it’ll be a great day.’
As they got off the tram, things started to go wrong. A woman approached and stuck a white feather in Boyd’s hat, accusing him of being a coward, then gave him a shove. He lost his balance, dropped his crutch and fell to the ground. Cecily rushed to rescue him, then seeing the woman who’d assaulted him start to scamper away, she grabbed hold of her and shouted, ‘How dare you do that to this brave man? He damn well isn’t a coward. He’s suffered enormous damage as a consequence of this war, not least the loss of a leg. Apologise to him this instant!’
Several suffragettes had hurried over to help lift him back to his feet, and brushing the dust from his jacket, he shook his head. ‘It really doesn’t matter. I’ve had this happen to me many times before. There is a stupid obsession with these white feathers, handed out for entirely the wrong reason and I’ve no wish to make a fuss. I shall simply return it.’ Handing it back to the woman, he met her sour-faced grimace with a polite smile.
Blushing, she picked up her skirts to turn and run away. Cecily yanked her back. ‘I said you should apologise.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, and stuffing the feather in her pocket dashed off down the street, many people shouting and jeering at her.
Anxiety creasing her face, Cecily asked Boyd if he was all right. ‘Can you still walk? Or do you wish to go home?’
‘No, I’m fine and can walk,’ he said, giving a plucky grin.
Slipping her arm through his, she gently led him to Old Town Street. It was crowded with people, all smiling and cheering as the suffragettes set off marching, waving banners or flags. Dressed in her white suffrage gown, brimmed hat and a purple sash that declared the words Votes for Women, Cecily felt privileged to be allowed to join in this parade. They were led by a fine-looking lady riding along in a horse and carriage at the head of the procession. Constantly checking that Boyd remained well as he walked close by, she handed him a flag to wave and they frequently shared a grin. What a thrilling day it was proving to be, setting aside that annoying insult he’d suffered.
Later, as the suffrage movement gathered in the square around Derry’s clock, they began to sing: ‘I’ll not be a slave for life’. Cecily happily joined in. She’d attended so many meetings in the past and loved to do battle for the rights of women. Then the lady who’d led the procession finished off the meeting by giving a little speech, introducing herself as Lady Stanford. Cecily jerked with shock. Wasn’t this the name of their father, apparently a high-class man? Could this woman be related to him?
Highly intrigued, Cecily began to edge herself forward through the crowd, listening closely as Lady Stanford went on to speak of how she’d helped to organise the parade in London so had readily agreed to come and share this one with them. By the time her speech came to an end, wishing them a good future, Cecily had finally reached her.
Edging closer, she said, ‘Excuse me, Lady Stanford. Thank you for your interesting talk, but I’m intrigued by your name. May I enquire if you are by any chance related to my father who was called Dean Stanford?’
Glancing at her in startled disbelief, the lady dismissively remarked, ‘Of course not. There is no one of that name in my family. Are you claiming Stanford to be your name too?’
‘My name is Cecilia Hanson, usually known as Cecily, and my mother was . . .’
‘Ah, my apologies, dear girl, I must now leave.’
Cecily felt a flush of disappointment as the woman waved to a friend and hurried away, not having shown the slightest interest.
She spent the next few days shopping and packing, buying a few essentials she’d promised to take back for Queenie and Merryn, including some food provided by Nan. On her last evening when Nan had gone to bed, having enjoyed another good supper she’d cooked for them, Cecily and Boyd sat in the courtyard at the back of the house, enjoying a small glass of port. She quietly told him of the dismissive attitude Lady Stanford had shown towards her, giving little response to what she’d deemed to be a perfectly reasonable question. Cecily went on to explain how she was all too aware that some high-class people could be rather snobby, which often caused them to be entirely indifferent to ordinary folk. ‘Very like that woman who flicked that white feather at you and gave you a shove.’
‘I did appreciate your assistance, and am willing to forgive that silly woman.’
‘At least you’re alive and well, thank God.’
‘Indeed, so no complaints,’ he said, sharing a warm smile with her.
‘There’s so much I feel the need to know about my father, as does my sister Merryn, our mother not having told us anything. I got nowhere by speaking to that Lady Stanford, despite her having the same name.’
Looking quite sympathetic, Boyd said, ‘Nor should you accuse yourself of doing anything wrong by asking her that question. I too feel the urge to find out more about my own family. I could look into him if you like, and happily write to let you know, were I to find out anything.’
Meeting his gaze, Cecily again felt a warm glow spark within her, almost one of excitement. An interesting friendship did seem to be growing between them. ‘Thank you, that could be most helpful. We love receiving letters from family and friends, as you know, sent to us by The British Army Postal Service. Feel free to contact Lieutenant Trevain, who’ll happily pass it on to them for you,’ she said, with a smile of gratitude.
Reminding herself that she’d vowed not to engage with any man, she quickly changed the subject and
they moved on to share tales of their youth. Cecily told how she’d become involved in singing in a choir at school and he said how his passion had been playing football and cricket, sports he could now only watch.
‘I admit to being very stubborn, so have no wish to lose face by going down the wrong path now my life has changed,’ he said, with a shrug and a grin. ‘I have complete confidence in my ability to build myself a new life and eventually find a job.’
‘Good for you.’ Cecily felt a stir of emotion, greatly admiring this belief he had in himself and was interested to hear how he happily lived in the East End of London with his doting parents, where she’d been born. Unless she was wrong about that too, her mother being a most uncommunicative woman.
Then, speaking of the war, he laughingly told how he’d left his rifle lying on the ground when he’d gone to the latrine, then had seen a German crawl over the parapet to steal it. ‘I was scared out of my wits, but it was a daft thing for me to do,’ he said. ‘Thankfully he didn’t fire at me, just ran away.’
‘Thank heaven for that,’ Cecily said, not wishing to discuss the horrors they’d endured. Finishing the last sip of her port, she rose to her feet. ‘Now I must say goodnight and retire. I leave on a naval ship early tomorrow morning to head back to France.’
‘Goodnight and good luck,’ he said, standing beside her with an expression of deep concern on his face. ‘I wish you well and do hope you remain safe.’ Then lifting her hand, he gently kissed it. ‘I’ve been so pleased to meet you and look forward to seeing you again.’
‘Let’s hope that will be quite soon,’ she told him softly, and walked away with a sense of happiness and a reluctance to leave him sparking in her heart.
THIRTEEN
SPRING 1918
ARRIVING BACK in Saint-Omer, Cecily was welcomed with cheers, waves and salutes from the soldiers still here in the battalion, a response she found quite touching. The snows were melting from the mountains, running in cascading rivers down to the lake, gushing with all the new force of melted ice released from bondage. Merryn came running, giving a squeal of delight at seeing her sister wave the permit she’d obtained. She quickly enveloped her in a tight hug.
‘Thank goodness for your success, love. We’ve been promising everyone that we will not be leaving any time soon. Do tell us what you had to go through in order to achieve this.’
‘Lieutenant Trevain was most impressed with our efforts,’ Cecily confidently told her, not wishing her sister to know about what she’d been obliged to agree to as a consequence. That evening, when Queenie went off for her usual walk within the camp, Cecily sat beside Merryn on her camp bed to tell her how Nan’s nephew had been accused of cowardice when they’d taken part in the suffrage parade. ‘It was so interesting, but an odd thing occurred there for me too.’
Merryn appeared full of curiosity to hear of her sister meeting a Lady Stanford. ‘Goodness, her lack of interest must have been so distressing.’ She sat in silence for some moments before adding, ‘We could ask Queenie if she knows this woman.’
‘We’re clearly thinking along the same lines because I’ve been trying to decide if we should do that. Dare we take the risk, knowing how Mama hates to speak of the past?’
‘We’ll give it some thought,’ Merryn said. ‘No rush, and we are a bit busy right now.’
Over the coming weeks, they continued to travel to various bases, still transported by Corporal Lewis in the old wagon. He too was delighted they’d been granted the required pass, despite the threat from the Major General. Sometimes they performed in a large tent or out in an open muddy field, often obliged to use only candles to light the area of their performance, and always took with them a couple of chairs for Merryn and Johnny to sit on when playing their musical instruments, in case none were available.
Their accommodation varied greatly, and once they were put up in a convent. It was cold, but they were at least offered comfortable beds and a bath. Queenie had greatly welcomed this, if not the prospect of some nun offering to unpack their battered, strapped suitcases, their garments looking most shabby and not at all as clean as they should be. With soap and hot water at last available, she insisted Merryn wash all their clothes. Being next lodged in a Nissen hut where they were allotted bunk beds, lice kept falling upon them, which was a real problem. Held responsible for tidying it, Merryn would again often find a bottle of alleged water that turned out to be rum, which she would remove or substitute with water, receiving sour expressions from Queenie as a result.
One morning, Merryn was stripping the sheets off the beds, planning to get them washed, when Johnny appeared by her side. ‘Do you need help with this? If so, I’m the man for the job.’
She laughed. ‘Why would you be? In fact, you shouldn’t be in this section of the hut. It’s for us women only.’
‘It obviously needs tidying, so I’m happy to carry these sheets and blankets to the laundry for you. You work far too hard and should be granted some time off. After that, why not let me take you for a relaxing walk. Or we could go and take a rest out in the sun?’
‘In this wind?’ she said, tossing the soiled sheets to the floor. Breathing deeply in an effort to control her emotion, she calmly said, ‘No thank you, just leave me in peace, Johnny. That wouldn’t be at all appropriate and could risk us being spotted by my mother. Nor do I need your help, as I’m quite happy working at this job.’
‘Blimey, it’s long past time you accepted that you should relax, and why not with me? You must realise how much I adore you. I’d love to introduce you to the fruits of pleasure. We could have so much fun and I’ll make sure Queenie doesn’t see us.’ His arms came around her and he pushed her down upon the bunk bed, plundering her mouth with his tongue.
Merryn felt her pulse start to beat wildly. Filled with anxiety that her mother might walk in, she pushed him away. ‘Get off me, and do behave.’
‘Why would I? I know you desperately want me.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’m far too busy and it wouldn’t be right.’
Releasing her, he leapt to his feet, holding up his hands in a show of apology. ‘So you’re dismissing me? All right, I’ll leave you alone and never touch you again.’
Merryn watched in dismay as he marched off, feeling she’d lost him forever.
On their next trip to a far-away base, they were billeted in a cottage, Cecily and Merryn sharing a double bed with a straw mattress. Queenie was provided with a single bedroom of her own, a situation she loved. Each morning they would be called down by the elderly woman who owned it to be given bread and a boiled egg, so delicious and greatly appreciated, except by Queenie.
‘Don’t you dare complain, Queenie,’ Merryn firmly instructed her, seeing the resentful expression on her face, all too aware she objected to not being allowed to take breakfast in bed, as she so liked to do. ‘This is a wonderful meal and there’s always a hot cup of black chicory coffee to go with it.’
Lunch was usually soup as the old woman had a tiny garden with a small vegetable patch, surrounded by a shallow ditch of water. Merryn would often help her to dig up the necessary vegetables and trim and chop them for her. Her mother’s reaction to this food continued to be derisory. ‘I shall go and speak to the camp cook in the hope he can provide some meat for us.’
‘I confess I enjoyed some marvellous meals back home in Plymouth, cooked by Nan,’ Cecily admitted. ‘It was such a treat.’
Johnny gave a groan. ‘Blimey, we should have come with you, Cecily. I feel so jealous.’
‘How fortunate for you,’ Merryn said, clicking her tongue and glaring at Queenie, suspecting that what she really longed to ask the chef for was yet again a tot of rum. And as this was a different man, he’d probably agree to indulge her. ‘Anyway, Queenie, the camp cook is desperately overworked, dishing out plates of scraggy bully beef, sometimes brawn and kidneys. Not much else, so why bother?’
‘Besides, you need to appreciate our hostess’s generosity, Mama, d
espite living the life of a poor peasant,’ Cecily said.
‘And you should appreciate your daughter Merryn too, as she helps this woman do the cooking and other tasks,’ Johnny reminded her.
Looking suitably scolded, Queenie clipped her lips together and at least savoured the coffee.
Merryn felt delighted at Johnny’s support and how he shared a secret smile with her. So they were still close, after all.
April came, and they arrived at Ypres over the border into a French part of Belgium, even closer to enemy lines. The land was quite flat with canals and rivers linking it to the coast. Parts of this territory had been controlled by the Germans since the start of the war. They’d been driven back, but now that the weather had improved they were once more attempting to take it over and capture the town. In June 1917 many mines had been detonated and as the war continued, the Allies had suffered terrible losses. In and around Ypres, including Passchendaele, Broodseinde and many other parts of Flanders Fields, thousands of soldiers and civilians of all nationalities had been killed or wounded.
The country roads leading to the town were flat and muddy, cluttered with smashed vehicles, tanks, maimed horses, broken guns. There were wounded men lying on stretchers waiting for an ambulance, including Germans. Revulsion pummelled through her as Cecily noticed there were skeletons, unmarked graves and rats all over the place. Rotting corpses lay all around, some having fallen into the muddy trenches, pools or shell holes where they’d drowned, and fat maggots were crawling over them.
‘Why has no one removed them?’ she asked Corporal Lewis.
‘Squads are not allowed to help casualties when on their way to the front line, that task has to be left to stretcher-bearers whose job it is to rescue the wounded. Burying corpses is another matter. A group of men were destroyed in their tent by a single shell, leaving just a crater. They were blown to pieces, no bodies found.’
Girls of the Great War Page 11