Their concert party was transported by the Navy free of charge, stopping off briefly at Marseille as they waited for a ship to be found, then once on board spending a lively evening singing and dancing on the lower deck to entertain the crew. When they finally reached Malta, Cecily felt a spur of excitement. She could see clusters of white houses, the church where the Knights of Malta were buried, and a street flocked with a herd of goats. It was an island famous for its megalithic temples, towers and historic sites, if looking somewhat disrupted right now, the harbours packed with warehouses, armaments and military equipment, soldiers and ships. The island was not fully involved in the fighting but was considered to be slightly more dangerous than in the early years of the war, several hospital ships having been sunk by German submarines. Some patients were now taken to Greece but the medical care available in the many hospitals still on the island held a high reputation. Cecily was happy to do her bit for the injured men recuperating here, with thousands of lives being saved.
They were taken to a small hotel, where they gave a concert in a garden filled with lemon and orange trees, and mimosa cactus, the audience overflowing with admiration for them. Such a joyful experience, her heart alive with great respect for these injured men.
Throughout September and October, they went on to give many more concerts at hospitals and various camps as well as on board a troopship filled with a thousand men, plus a battleship. On one occasion, they travelled over narrow roads and up steep hills to St Paul’s Bay. It took some time but was quite delightful. They called in to perform at a convalescent camp, also attended by thousands of young men, some of whom were suffering from fever, limb injuries and mental breakdown. There was little food available, mainly bread, fruit, beans, peas and other vegetables. She could see women working in the fields, tending to small patches that were walled in to protect the plants against the winds that roared in over the sea. They then thankfully settled in a different camp for the night, feeling exhausted.
There were many restrictions to protect public safety and defend the island. No one was allowed to involve themselves in conversation with the enemy, particularly with regard to the movement of ships and other naval matters. Cecily became aware that it would be dangerous to speak with any injured PoWs here. Thankfully, she’d stopped doing that ever since Wilhelm Ackermann had kidnapped her. One evening, realising she hadn’t contacted Lieutenant Trevain for some weeks and needing to assure him she’d helped more escapees, she took a walk along the harbour in search of a naval ship that would possess the necessary radiotelegraph, only to find herself halted by a stern-looking guard.
‘Who goes there?’ he roared. With a glower of rage, he informed her that no one was allowed to walk along the coast anywhere near a military post or ship, as there was a danger she could be fired upon.
‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t think of that. I was wondering if I could use your ship’s radiotelegraph?’ She readily went on to state her name and that she was a performer. All too aware he might demand to know who she would be contacting and why, she smilingly told him she simply wished to speak to a good friend back in England. ‘Is that not allowed either?’ she asked, wondering if she should risk using the code Trevain had given her, although some instinct warned her not to mention this unless requested to do so.
To her astonishment, he stepped forward to firmly fasten her wrists in handcuffs. Cecily then found herself escorted by two guards to the naval ship, not at all in the manner she’d expected. Locked in a small cabin that felt very like a prison cell, she was left sitting there for some hours, her sense of panic gradually degenerating into fury. How dare they lock her up just for asking a perfectly reasonable question? Had she been wrong not to use the code word granted her?
The guard finally returned and took her to the officer’s cabin on the upper deck. Seated at his desk, he was a sour-faced man who did not offer her a chair, leaving her standing before him. He blandly informed her that he’d investigated her name and history, saying how he’d learned a good deal about her from various sources, making no mention of what these might be. ‘You will be required to answer all questions I ask. If you refuse or fail to explain what you are about, then you could be found guilty of a serious offence.’
Cecily could feel herself start to shake with alarm. Was she about to be interrogated yet again, this time by a British naval officer who sounded even more condescending than the Oberstleutnant, that German Lieutenant Colonel back in Ypres? How terrifying that had been – now she seemed to be facing the same issue here in Malta. ‘I doubt there’s much more to tell you, having made it clear who I am and that I’m merely a singer running a concert party to entertain the Tommies. We’ve performed at the Opera House here and in many other theatres, as well as various parties and festivities.’
‘Indeed? I have been informed that you assisted a German PoW to escape.’
She stared at him in utter dismay. Who on earth had told him that? It came into her head that it might have been the escapee who was in the wagon when Wilhelm Ackermann was hidden in the back. He’d possibly spotted him but had said nothing except: ‘Is it just me you’re rescuing?’ The poor man was probably too afraid and desperate to escape himself to mention who he suspected he’d seen, but had possibly given the information to the Navy. Not for a moment dare she confess to this fact. ‘That is a complete lie. I only assisted a German PoW patient who was stuck in a wheelchair when our camp was bombed and dumped him in a trench. Not something that went well.’ She really had no wish to describe all that had occurred between them after that. Far too dangerous.
‘His name, please, and what did he demand of you as a consequence of your generous assistance?’
Discreetly remaining silent, Cecily worried how to respond to this question.
Pounding his fist on the desk, he threatened to lock her back in the prison cell if she did not reply. ‘Answer the damn question! I am in charge and even if your colleagues discover where you are, they will be denied all rights to see or rescue you, so silence will do your self-interest no good at all. I require proof of what you’re claiming.’
Taking a deep breath in an attempt to soften the tension building within her, it came to Cecily that she could give this officer a small version of the truth. Firmly lifting her chin, she calmly announced, ‘Sir, I am under instruction from a certain Lieutenant in England not to speak of prisoners of war I’ve spoken to, and never to rescue them. I speak to him in England at regular intervals about ‘‘Dover’’.’
Staring at her in dazed disbelief, he fell silent. Then spinning on his heel, he marched away. Some moments later, the guard returned and led her down to the operating room where the radiotelegraph was situated. Assisted by the young man in charge on how to use it, she was then left alone to deliver her latest information: ‘More chickens saved and sent home to roost.’ A message she wrote in the strictly disguised way she’d been taught.
Having steadfastly gone through the process with a strong sense of relief, Cecily was relieved when the guard drove her back to their camp in his army vehicle. She did insist he let her out some distance from the entrance so that no one was aware of where she’d been. He readily agreed to do that and wished her well.
‘And the end of the war is coming,’ he said. He then went on to tell her how the German forces were at last retreating, having lost all support from their allies who had vanished, as well as control of many areas that were apparently in total chaos. ‘Even their troops are deserting.’
‘That’s so good to hear,’ Cecily said with a grin.
TWENTY
CECILY WAS organising their final concert in Malta and for the first time ever, Merryn declined to join them, claiming she had a cough and a cold and wasn’t feeling at all well.
‘I know you may still be a bit exhausted, lovey, and in need of a rest, but this is a most important event as the war is coming to an end. The Tommies do not feel inclined to laugh or cheer, being far too weary after all the fighting, battles
and terror that has occupied them for years. So many have been injured, and they dread more possible attacks. It will take them some time to accept that the war may at last be over. We must do our bit to cheer them up.’
‘Sorry, I too feel worn out and sick,’ she cried, and ran off back to their tent.
One of the Tommies who could play the violin offered to stand in for her, Johnny still playing his drum. It was not too cold a day, the wind known as the sirocco blowing in from Africa, and they were kept busy dealing with horses, guns and ammunition.
Dressed in a gorgeous white silk gown, Cecily sang with joy and vigour, beginning with ‘Take Me Back to Dear Old Blighty’. She then went on to sing all the old songs they loved, plus a few new ones: ‘Au Revoir, But Not Goodbye, Soldier Boy’; ‘Home Sweet Home’ and one of her favourites: ‘Oh! How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning’. All of these were well received, the Tommies at last cheering, laughing, whistling and whooping.
Queenie too sang some of her music hall favourites starting with ‘Another Little Drink Wouldn’t Do Us Any Harm’. This caused Cecily to shake her head in despair as she chuckled with good humour. Her mother did appear to be quite sober and as usual, extremely glamorous. She began with her much loved ‘Any Old Iron? Any Old Iron? Any, Any, Any Old Iron?’, then went on to sing ‘Bird in a Gilded Cage’ and many more. The pair of them took it in turns and sang more songs, working well together and gladly encouraging the soldiers to join in. It felt most gratifying to see the audience filled with admiration for their performance. Cecily could see relief in their worn-out faces, then as they remembered their lost friends, tears would slide over their ashen-pale cheeks. Life would improve for them once this war came to an end.
When she woke around dawn, Merryn leapt out of bed, ran out of the tent to a ditch and threw up. She’d been feeling sick for the last few weeks, frequently vomiting, not something she wished to dwell upon. Life recently had been a bit of a juggling act. She’d committed the unforgivable sin of allowing Johnny to make love to her whenever he wished, because of her dread of losing him. Merryn had no wish to experience what her beloved sister had suffered. It was true that he wasn’t a soldier, but they’d lived in dangerous places for some time and their relationship had become far more intense than she’d anticipated. She loved him and believed he loved her, so didn’t that make it right? Oh, and how she adored feeling him inside her, the rhythm and intensity making it seem as if she were a part of him.
Merryn suspected she was now beset with a profound problem and revealing it to Johnny would not prove to be easy, let alone resolving it in this tricky situation. And how would she dare to face her mother’s wrath? Certainly not yet. Queenie was occupying a small tent of her own some distance away, having made a fuss and demanding privacy because of her age. As a consequence, she was unaware of the frequent trips Merryn had made each morning recently to throw up. Returning to her own tent, Merryn curled up in bed, keeping her back turned. She’d really no wish to discuss this issue with her sister either, considering Cecily’s low opinion of Johnny and how she’d ordered her not to become too involved or trust him. Irritatingly, Cecily was awake and started chatting to her.
‘Ah, morning, lovey, there you are. Have you been out seeking breakfast? What time is it? Sorry if I was late coming to bed. Our performance yesterday evening went so well. It’s such a pity you didn’t feel well enough to join us.’ Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes.
Merryn said nothing, locked in silence.
‘What’s wrong, are you still suffering from exhaustion, lovey? I know you became overtired and I accept that here in Malta we’re still pretty busy, so no wonder you look pale and tired.’
Merryn burst into tears. Leaping out of bed, Cecily dashed over to give her a cuddle. ‘What is it, darling?’ she whispered, thankfully keeping her voice low so that no one lingering outside the tent would hear her. ‘I do hope you aren’t cross with me again.’
‘I’ve no wish to speak of that quarrel we had,’ Merryn said, giving a little whimper of despair. ‘Yes, I am still exhausted and don’t feel well enough to do much at all right now.’ Then her next words came out without a moment’s thought. ‘That’s because I’m expecting . . .’
‘. . . something dreadful to happen?’ Cecily whispered soothingly. ‘Oh, I too keep expecting to receive another dreadful telegram.’
Angrily brushing the tears from her eyes, Merryn met her sister’s troubled gaze with fury in her own. ‘How naïve you are. It’s not a bloody telegram I’m expecting, but something much more serious. A baby!’
Cecily gazed at her in stunned disbelief for some long seconds. ‘Oh my God, how far gone do you reckon you are?’
‘Only a few weeks, I think.’
‘I assume Johnny is the man responsible. Have you told him?’
Merryn shook her head, not wishing to go into any great detail of how she’d believed he would protect her by wearing a rubber sheath. He’d obviously failed to do that on at least one occasion. She supposed she should feel some regret about losing her virginity. How could she avoid this sense of guilt, being unmarried? Oh, but how she loved him. Her feelings for Johnny must be perfectly evident in her eyes whenever they met his, and in the way her fingers strayed to touch him at every opportunity. ‘I haven’t plucked up the courage and surely there’s no rush. I might not actually be pregnant or might lose it.’
Cecily jerked. ‘Don’t do anything stupid to hurt yourself or risk losing either the baby or Johnny. He could well be delighted to learn he’s about to become a father, so do tell him.’
Merryn chewed on her lip, feeling confused. It was true that she really had no wish to give him up. They were surely one person now. Was he aware that she did have a problem, as the torment of her situation had begun to mar their love a little? He’d seemed at times to be deliberately avoiding her. Would he promise to stand by her? She could but hope so. ‘I’ll tell him when I feel it’s appropriate. As we’ll be travelling back to Blighty with the Tommies soon, let’s not worry about this problem right now. I’ll sort it out once we get back home. Oh, and for heaven’s sake, please don’t tell Queenie,’ Merryn said, with a little moan. ‘If I admit to her that I wish to marry Johnny, let alone the condition I’m in, she’ll be furious and most disapproving. She could refuse the necessary permission I need since I’m not twenty-one.’
‘I’m perfectly aware of her dismissive attitude to every sweetheart you’ve ever had, lovey, so I won’t say a word to her on the subject, I promise. Not until you receive a proposal. Then I’ll do everything I can to support you and convince our snobby mother that you are a devoted couple.’
‘Thank you,’ Merryn said, and once more bursting into tears, fell gratefully into her sister’s arms as Cecily hugged and gently patted her.
When packing in preparation for their departure, Cecily received a couple of letters, one from Cornwall addressed only to her. To her surprise, it was not from Nan, who frequently wrote to express her hope that they were keeping well and still enjoying presenting their concerts. This was from her nephew Boyd. Cecily remembered him with a degree of fondness and sat down eagerly to read whatever he had to say. He began by telling her about Armistice Day on Monday 11 November, the end of the war having been announced by the King, and how Plymouth was soon crammed with people eager to celebrate, including WAACs, WRENs and soldiers, bands playing, nurses dancing and everyone cheering or crying, followed by a two-minute silence in memory of all the lost men.
Cecily smiled, wishing they’d been there to savour that wonderful event. No cheers had been raised here, not until they gave their last performance. The Tommies had been too worn out to celebrate, despite realising they would soon be heading back to Blighty with a new future to look forward to. That was to happen in just a few days when they would all be taken home by the Navy. Cecily would be happy to sing to them again on-board ship, to celebrate their good fortune at having survived this war.
Now going on to read more of this letter, sh
e found herself intrigued by the change of topic.
The reason I’m writing to you, Cecily, is to tell you that I wrote to Lady Stanford to ask if you might speak with her, explaining how you wished to know more about the man who might be your father. Her secretary finally responded saying she could possibly have some useful information and would agree to see you, once you arrived back. She didn’t give me a clue as to what that might be. I hope it will be of value to you and not just with regard to the suffrage movement with which she is involved and obviously how you met. I look forward to seeing you soon.
Best wishes,
Boyd
Cecily ran to Merryn to share this news with her. ‘I don’t believe for a moment it’s about suffragists or suffragettes. It looks like she’s found out some information about our lost father. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? I so look forward to meeting her again and hearing what she has to say. And we can celebrate this victory too, once we get back to Blighty.’
‘I can hardly wait to return home to Plymouth either,’ Merryn said. Strangely, her tone of voice and the tight expression on her face didn’t seem to match this remark. ‘But I need to rest, so please leave me in peace.’
Cecily knelt down to give her a comforting hug. ‘The war is over, lovey, so all could now be well for you and Johnny, and Mama, once we are settled back home. You’ll feel much better in a week or two. Take a little sleep to prepare yourself for the journey while I get on with the packing.’
It was after she’d collected their last pieces of equipment that she opened the second letter she’d received, this one from Lena.
Dear Cecily,
I’m so sorry to have to send you this tragic news. I’ve been informed that the infantry suffered a bombardment with very little support around, the artillery having withdrawn. A barrage of shells was falling everywhere, killing and injuring more men and horses. And I’m afraid there’s no sign of Louis anywhere. He’s sadly gone. I should think you’re heartbroken to hear this as you were such good friends and he’s not your only loss. As you know, millions of men have been destroyed in this dreadful war meant to end all wars. Not easy to accept, but many will live forever in our hearts.
Girls of the Great War Page 18