Girls of the Great War

by Freda Lightfoot

  Much love,

  Lena

  Pain and a flood of grief plummeted through Cecily. This was the bad news she’d dreaded. She was lying on her camp bed sobbing when her mother came in to see her, and confessed why she was in this dreadful state.

  ‘Oh, my dear girl, so you’ve lost that lovely young French Canadian whom you clearly adored. I’m so sorry.’ Sitting down beside Cecily she gave her a comforting hug. ‘How sad for you to lose another man you were coming to love. My heart goes out to you, darling, all too aware of how dreadful that feels.’

  Cecily was deeply moved by her sympathy as she sank her head against her mother’s cheek. Queenie could be an exceedingly conceited and self-obsessed lady, but at times could prove to be most caring, particularly over this issue. Savouring the comfort she offered was very soothing. Louis had been a lovely man, so adoring towards her. Why did she always lose a man she loved or was growing fond of? She would definitely have nothing more to do with any men in future. She felt quite unable to bear this sense of loss ever again. And would her darling sister find happiness, considering the mess she was in? She could but hope so.

  PART TWO – POST WAR

  TWENTY-ONE

  IT FELT so good to be home. Nan gave them all loving hugs, helped them to unpack and handed Queenie her diamond ring, which brought a glow of delight to her face. They were then provided with good food, hot baths and fresh clean clothes. What a relief that was. Somewhere at the back of Cecily’s mind was a desire to ask Nan about her nephew Boyd, and how he’d made contact with Lady Stanford, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that right now. She would certainly go and speak to her about it as soon as she felt it appropriate to do so.

  Cecily felt wrapped in depression, darkly sunk in grief over the loss of Louis, almost as devastating as losing Ewan. He was a lovely man, so kind and considerate. She’d greatly enjoyed the break they’d enjoyed in Salperwick, rowing, fishing and swimming, not least spending those exciting nights together. Would their friendship have developed into a deeper relationship had he still been alive? He’d certainly claimed to be very fond of her, had even teasingly proposed at that dance. There was no chance of that happening now. Any hope she’d originally had of marrying a man she loved was completely gone. She’d known that for some time. How sad it was. All she could do now was to savour the peace and embark upon a plan to build a new life for herself. How she would do that she had no idea, as it was proving to be a more difficult time than she’d expected.

  Deep within her pit of grief lay a sense of resentment and anger at the mess this war had made of all their lives. Reading the latest news in The Daily Telegraph, Cecily was convinced that the country was in total disarray. Many of the Tommies were angry because they had still not been demobilised. The rule was for them to be released from the Army once they’d found a job. This infuriated them, believing those who were first in should be first out. Even fit men were having difficulties finding employment, and strikes over pay and industrial unrest were taking place in many towns. Wounded soldiers were being treated for a short time in overcrowded hospitals, sometimes for little more than a month. Those suffering from shell shock and constantly reliving the traumas they’d been through were given little help at all. Some could only find work as match-sellers in a market, while others blew their heads off, being unable to find the necessary medical assistance.

  Christmas had been taken over by the election, Lloyd George once more winning the role of prime minister. Would he succeed in resolving these problems? Amazingly, some women had put themselves forward as possible members of parliament, including Christabel Pankhurst, much to Cecily’s delight. Unfortunately, she was not elected. Only Constance Markievicz, a Countess and Irish woman, had been granted a seat, which she did not accept for political or personal reasons.

  Women were being sacked or requested to leave their place of work in order to make way for returning soldiers, including those who had lost their beloved husband and were now the breadwinner, being head of their household. They found themselves ordered back to the kitchen. This turned any hope of them earning a living into complete turmoil. Could they trust any politician to treat women with proper respect?

  ‘You would expect us to have decent rights and hopes of a job after all the work we’ve done for the country and the soldiers,’ Cecily said to Merryn, slamming down the paper in disgust. ‘I asked for my job back to work on the trams but was given a dismissive refusal. Did you manage to get yours back, lovey?’

  Merryn shook her head. ‘Why would I bother asking when we know I’d be sacked the moment I married?’

  Seeing her sister flop down upon her bed, Cecily read a worrying message of despair on her face. ‘Have you spoken to Johnny?’

  She shook her head. ‘I will as soon as he too finds a job, which could take a while.’

  ‘What a mess we’re in,’ Cecily said, tucking the quilt over her.

  She felt a deep need to protect her beloved sister. How to succeed in doing that would not be easy. Leaving Merryn in peace for an afternoon rest, she quietly left the room, a small bubble of irritation flickering within her. She would like to speak to Johnny and warn him he should offer support to Merryn since he was the one who’d messed up her life. The reality was that this would not be appropriate. Nor must she speak to Mama on the subject, because that too could create havoc and make her beloved young sister’s problem worse.

  It was, however, a relevant point that finding work could prove to be a nightmare for all women, not least themselves. She’d visited and written to the Palace Theatre, the Theatre Royal and all others she knew of, including the Pavilion on the Pier. So far, she had received no response from any of them. Their lack of interest was most worrying. Dancers, singers, jugglers and comedians were now in competition with the cinema. Having spent many sleepless nights going over possible solutions, Cecily came to a decision, making an announcement the following morning at breakfast.

  ‘I intend to go in search of local clubs and smaller theatres that may have started up during the war, plus schools, churches and cinemas, any place that might be interested in us giving a performance. I shall do my utmost to acquire us an offer somewhere by making it known how skilled we were at entertaining the troops.’

  ‘I doubt you’ll succeed. This community seems to have changed, in keeping with the world, and all local directors who knew me are now gone,’ Queenie sharply retorted, seething with fury as she too had so far received no offers.

  Cecily marched off to trail around street after street in Plymouth. Finding no small theatres, she called at every club, pub and picture palace she could find. None were interested in making her an offer until she came across one small nightclub in the north of the city. Cecily was at least granted permission to speak to the manager and she briefly explained what their concert party had done for the Tommies over the last eighteen months. ‘We’d be happy to put on a performance here for a reasonable sum.’

  His expression was oddly scathing. ‘The war is over and we have to compete with cinemas nowadays, so mebbe not.’ He looked an extremely fussy man, unimpressed by the story she’d told him. Cecily was all too aware that the war had resulted in a new type of management taking over, not people who had been brought up in the theatre, but those who wished to take advantage of the boom years. There’d always been packed houses, soldiers on leave flocking to the theatre with their wives or girlfriends, desperate to see anything amusing or spectacular. Theatre managers’ reputations were now no longer good, being looked upon as less caring towards artists they employed than the old-style actor-managers had been.

  ‘It would be our way of celebrating the end of the war,’ Cecily remarked brightly, eager to win him round.

  ‘We certainly don’t want plays about grim disasters or anything too serious like Shakespeare.’

  ‘We won’t trouble you with a play. We will perform merry songs and music. We could put on the first performance for free if you like,’ she offered, feeli
ng desperate to make a deal. ‘If we do well, you might be interested in offering us the opportunity for paid appearances after that.’

  ‘Hmm, all right then, I’ll give it a go. No promises.’

  ‘Thank you so much.’ A date was agreed and with relief bubbling through her, Cecily hurried home to give this good news. ‘I believe we should sing songs about the war, and dress in uniform, as Vesta Tilley does, to make it a great show of patriotism.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ Queenie commented starkly. ‘You are not a star, unlike that great lady. And the war is over, so why would we continue performing for and about soldiers?’

  ‘This concert is for everyone, Mama, not just the Tommies. I feel we should do this as our way of celebrating the end of the war, also in order to get our talent known.’

  ‘Why are we not getting paid?’ Johnny grumbled. ‘I see no point in working for nothing.’

  ‘It’s only a small nightclub and having received no offer from the manager to put on a show for a modest sum, I suggested we’d do the first one for free. I did point out we should then be paid for any further concerts we do following that. If we don’t, we might have to consider performing during the interval at a local cinema, which is what some artists are now doing. Not that the pay for that is very good either.’

  ‘Assuming we don’t find better offers on our own,’ Johnny remarked caustically.

  Merryn made no comment at all, still locked in stunned dismay. Being very conversant with her sister’s state of health, Cecily kept a careful watch over her during the next few days, which they spent fully engaged in rehearsals. Queenie repeated all her usual instructions on how to breathe, stand and sing, working them harder than ever, resolute to ensure their performance was up to scratch. They all agreed that Cecily could be the first to sing, then she would introduce Queenie as the star of the show, something she had to steadfastly accept, now they were back in Plymouth, where her mother had been a star for some years.

  When the day arrived, they were delighted to find a queue lined up along the street outside the nightclub, being entertained by a man playing a banjo and a woman walking round with her dog to collect money for soldiers and sailors wounded in the war who were in need of help. Cecily gladly added a contribution and with a grin, quickly ushered her concert party to the dressing rooms. ‘Chin up, folks. Time for us to do our bit again.’

  Cecily peeped through a crack in the wing curtains to peek across the open stage. To her delight and relief, she saw that small though it was, the club was packed with people sitting around at tables enjoying drinks and jolly laughter. Not only was every seat taken, but many were actually standing at the back by the bar. ‘Standing room only. Lord, they’ve just rung the two-minute bell. Quick, Johnny and Merryn, get yourselves on stage and settled with your instruments. Then off we go. Break a leg.’ Settling themselves in the far corner, they started to play.

  Just as Cecily was smoothing her uniform and preparing to follow them on stage, a man hovering in the wings behind her approached to hiss in her ear. ‘My daughter should be the one doing a show here tonight, not you lot. Hers was cancelled, no attention paid to the fact she’d performed here for years. Because you’re doing this for free, you’ve ruined her career.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, how dreadful! I wasn’t aware of that.’

  Unable to discuss this problem with the audience starting to cheer and clap, Cecily hastily apologised and dressed in her smart uniform marched on stage. She gave them a salute and a cheerful grin, then lifting her knees high, stamped her feet and came to a halt. She valiantly began to sing ‘Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag’, one of her favourite war songs. Noticing how Merryn’s bright expression changed to one of concern, Cecily gave her sister a wink and a wide smile. It was not, after all, her fault that this cancellation had taken place. Surely the poor girl would be offered another date? She’d speak to the manager to make sure of that.

  It was halfway through the song that she heard a growing mumble of heckling among the group of people standing by the bar. The sound alarmed her, and the rest of the audience looked slightly irritated by the fact they could no longer properly hear her sing as a result.

  A voice rang out. ‘We don’t want any songs about that damn war.’

  ‘Nor do we want to look at women in uniform,’ yelled another man.

  Within minutes mayhem erupted and pushing forward, they began to fling rotten fruit and beer bottles on stage. Panic ricocheted through her. It seemed she’d made the wrong decision by wearing her uniform. It looked almost as if some of these cantankerous members of this club might charge up on stage too. A terrifying prospect.

  ‘Get off the stage and leave us with our favourite singers and dancers,’ someone shouted.

  Cecily recognised this voice as that of the man in the wings who’d accused her of damaging his daughter’s career. Could he be the one who had organised this attack? A sense of foreboding flooded through her, reminding her of the traumas she’d suffered during the war when bombs and shells blew down. Feeling powerless and unable to decide how to cope with this, a line of women suddenly came tripping on stage. Attractively dressed in flimsy gowns with their arms linked around each other’s bare shoulders, they started to kick their legs high, looking like the Moulin Rouge dancers. The audience burst into fresh cheers and whistles, clearly excited by their image.

  Dashing over to her, Johnny grabbed Cecily and dragged her and Merryn off stage. ‘Come on, chucks, let’s go. There’s nothing we can do to save this disaster.’

  Their show was thus taken over by other performers, including that bad-tempered man’s daughter. There was a smirk of satisfaction on her pretty face as she prepared to go on stage to sing, sparingly dressed in skimpy clothing. Cecily attempted to apologise. Merryn remained locked in silence while Johnny looked utterly captivated by these beautiful dancing women, awe and admiration in his glittering eyes.

  The manager then appeared, announcing that they were far too boring, and they were tossed out with no further offers made. Cecily hurried to the dressing room to find Queenie engaged in making up her face and clipping her earrings in place in preparation for her own star performance. She listened in dismay as Cecily explained why they’d been fired. It took some time to calm her down, gather all her belongings and persuade her to leave.

  The moment they arrived home, Queenie turned upon Cecily in cold fury. ‘I did say this was entirely the wrong thing to do. I will never work for you again, girl. You should have checked the date properly, made sure nothing had been cancelled and never agreed to do it for free.’

  ‘I was doing what I felt appropriate, not at all expecting it to go badly,’ Cecily said. ‘I desperately wish that man hadn’t arranged to attack us, and surely his daughter could have performed on another evening.’

  ‘Don’t blame them,’ Queenie snarled. ‘The responsibility was entirely yours and you made a bad mistake from the start.’

  Merryn came to tuck her arm through her sister’s. ‘It’s not fair to say the cancellation was Cecily’s fault. Why would you assume that to be the case, Queenie? There are too many people needing work with little in the way of possible jobs, so they’ll do battle to keep hold of the one they have. That’s the way things are now we’re at peace and the country is short of money. So don’t blame Cecily when she was doing her best to help us. She’s organised things marvellously for us throughout the war.’

  ‘Thank heaven that is now over. From now on I’ll do as I please, not what Cecily orders me to do. It’s early days for us, having only recently returned from France but I’m utterly convinced I will find employment back at the Palace Theatre because I am a star and she is not.’

  Johnny stepped forward. ‘I reckon it’s time for me too to build my own future and find work, using no connection either with the war. You’re very talented, Cecily, but made a bad mistake here. Your plan didn’t work.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said, holding up
her hands in despair. ‘Theatres are struggling postwar but do whatever you think is right for yourself, Johnny. You too, Mama.’ Cecily felt a cringe of despair at Queenie’s dismissive attitude towards her, as had forever been the case.

  ‘I believe you did the right thing to help us, but feel in need of a rest, not more work,’ Merryn said, giving a little sigh.

  Her sister’s support felt most touching, although the bleak expression in her eyes convinced Cecily that, still feeling unwell, she clearly had no wish to confess the reason why she felt in need of a rest. Certainly not while their mother was around. Nor did Cecily have any desire to argue with them all. She no doubt was the one who had made the mistake and as a consequence of the messy response from the audience, it meant their concert party was now defunct, leaving her to face a bleak future.

  TWENTY-TWO

  1919

  MERRYN HURRIED to meet Johnny in a quiet corner of Tinside beach and melted into his arms. It was a cold and windy January day so she’d dressed herself in a pretty long skirt, woollen jersey and smart coat, desperate to look attractive as well as keep herself warm. How delightful it was for them to have some time alone at last. Whether she’d actually find the courage to tell him about her condition was still not clear in her head. He slid his hand beneath her jumper to brush her breasts, causing her to forget all about her morning sickness, which was beginning to ease. Her tummy was starting to feel plump so this issue had to be dealt with soon.