He gave a snort. ‘Not my job.’
Giving him a disdainful glance, Cecily walked past him to open the bedroom door. It was then that he stepped in front of her and she felt his hand slide over her breasts. ‘Men are more interested in these for personal reasons, not supplying milk to babies.’
Cecily slapped his face in fury. ‘Damn you! How dare you touch me like that?’
He laughed. ‘It was just a joke.’
‘As you allegedly said that time you attempted to flirt with me. Don’t you dare ever do that again, and be more caring of my sister. Your wife!’
Marching into the bedroom, she slammed the door shut behind her, then hooked a chair beneath the handle to hold it fast. Not for a moment would she ever trust this stupid man. She worried so much for her darling sister who naturally had some despondency in her head because of his dismissive attitude towards that lovely little girl. What a problem Johnny was, almost as irritating as that German PoW and how those dreadful officers had behaved towards her. Heaven knows why Merryn had fallen in love with him. Cecily could but hope he truly loved her and would come round to being a good husband.
Each afternoon while Merryn took a little rest, Cecily spent hours minding her niece. How she loved to cuddle, kiss and chat with her, feed her from a bottle if needed, and change her nappy. Johnny kept announcing it was time for his wife to get back to caring for him as well as her child. What a selfish man he was, still not showing any interest in his precious daughter, let alone offering any support to his wife. It was as if his reason for marrying her had been so that he could have someone to look after him, as well as provide him with regular sex. And she feared he still had an obsession with flirting. Cecily kept her bedroom door firmly blocked and herself well out of his way. Could her opinion of him have become too negative? These venomous thoughts melted a little as she reminded herself how much Merryn loved Johnny and at times looked a little woebegone.
Being responsible for doing all the cooking, Cecily rose early each morning to prepare breakfast, having risen on the odd occasion during the night to assist Merryn. Right now, she could hear baby Josette crying for her next feed. Quickly dressing and splashing her face with cold water from the jug on the chest of drawers, she hurried downstairs to put the kettle on the stove. She felt exhausted and was irritated to see Johnny fast asleep on the sofa in the parlour, having come home late last night, as usual. An hour later, after baby Josette had been fed and Cecily had taken up a tray of breakfast for Merryn, he burst into the kitchen, his face scarlet with rage, to find her busily engaged in washing nappies.
‘Where’s my breakfast? Why didn’t you call me?’
Cecily paused to give him a scathing look, then nodded her head in the direction of the oven. ‘There’s a plate of bacon and egg in there. Help yourself. I assumed you were perfectly well aware of when I deal with breakfast and must hear me going up and downstairs. It’s not my fault you are dozy and late.’
‘Why would I not be, when I work late each night?’ he snarled, and pulling the plate from the oven gave her a glare. ‘This is barely lukewarm.’
‘Well, if ye aren’t satisfied with me cooking, m’lord, I’ll hand in me notice this minute,’ she mockingly remarked as if she was a servant.
‘Oh, shut up,’ he growled, and plonking himself down at the kitchen table began to quickly consume the food. Minutes later, he pushed aside the empty plate. ‘It wasn’t good but I had to eat it as I was hungry. Make sure you provide me with a better dinner.’
Standing before him with her hands on her hips, Cecily gave a sarcastic laugh, even though fury lit within her. ‘Will do me best, sir. It’s quite surprising how well I’m learning to cook, being new to this job, sir. And not well paid, sir.’
‘Stop talking nonsense! Why would you be paid a penny when you’re here to look after your sister? Don’t stand there chortling. Get back to the washing or you’ll still be elbow-deep in suds for hours. My shirts too require washing and ironing, then there are other jobs needing attention: cleaning the carpets and windows, mopping the kitchen floor, sweeping and dusting and many more.’
‘Heavens, no wonder Merryn is in dire need of a rest. What will you do to help her, once she feels able to cope with all these domestic duties?’
With a blank expression in his grey eyes, he gave a sniff. ‘She’ll manage perfectly well, once she gets the hang of caring for that baby. I shall do my bit by working hard every evening, which is what we men do. You are provided with an income from Queenie so don’t have to work or sing ever again. Lucky you!’
‘Actually, I am seeking the occasional performance, if not on the Pier or any large theatre, and hope to find something. Meanwhile, having time on my hands, I love to assist my sister.’
‘Merryn doesn’t have to perform either and should be engaged doing her own domestic work, now she’s fully recovered. She no longer needs your assistance, being perfectly capable of caring for her own child and me, her precious husband. So you can leave, once you’ve finished these jobs. I’ve no wish for you to be in charge of her or interfere in our relationship.’
Cecily turned away with a frisson of anger in her stomach, aware of how fragile Merryn was, but knew the fruitlessness of arguing with him over this matter. He was a stubborn and condescending man. She suspected he’d agreed to marry her sister simply because of their well-off mother. On many occasions during the war, he’d insisted men should be in charge of women, instructing them what to do. He seemed to be getting worse in that respect, which surely meant that Merryn was in greater need of protection. Pushing up her sleeves, she went back to battling with the washtub and nappies and furiously scrubbed the kitchen floor.
‘Would you believe your husband has ordered me to leave?’ she told Merryn as she assisted her to bathe Josette. Receiving no response, she glanced up at her sister to see a tight expression on her face as she remained silent for some long moments.
Lifting up the baby to dry her, she finally said, ‘Actually, Johnny is probably right. I am better now so can surely look after myself.’
‘But he’s such a bully, expecting me and now you to do all the domestic work while he has done nothing to help,’ Cecily said, struggling not to mention how she’d felt the need to keep her spare bedroom door fast shut.
‘I’m his wife, so why would I not since I’ve recovered from Josette’s birth? Thank you for your assistance but I now feel it is more appropriate to spend time with my beloved husband, instead of with you, my sister. Your attempt in the past to put me off marrying Johnny, probably because you rather resented he’d given up flirting with you, and your poor opinion of him now, is not helping one bit.’
Hearing this, Cecily felt utterly desolate. It came to her that she’d said entirely the wrong thing. Johnny’s sarcasm had revealed why she should not be spending her time waiting hand, foot and fingers on him, or listening to his whims and peccadilloes. He’d accused her of interference, with which her sister was surprisingly agreeing. Cecily strove to convince herself that she could indeed be interfering in their relationship. As she was now married, Merryn had the right to make her own decisions. Flushing with dismay, it came to her that an awkward distance and coolness was developing between them. ‘I’m so sorry, lovey. You’re probably right. I could go off and find myself new employment, and you should feel free to organise your own life.’
‘Quite! You may call in to see me on those occasions when Johnny is involved in rehearsals.’
‘I will, and you can call to see me whenever you wish. Just take a tram, as they aren’t expensive. I shall see you in a day or two, lovey.’
Saying goodbye, she packed her bag and receiving no hug, quietly left, steadfastly keeping a smile on her face and making no further comment about her sister’s so-called precious husband. She’d been delighted to care for her sister and little niece. Now a part of Cecily was filled with relief that she no longer had to remain in this house with that dreadful man. But she felt deeply anxious over leavin
g her sister.
TWENTY-SIX
IN THE weeks following her departure, Cecily would go swimming each morning, feeling the need for exercise, then occasionally cycle over to visit her sister. Sometimes she’d mind the baby while Merryn was engaged in her domestic routine. Other days they would go shopping together and Cecily loved taking a turn at wheeling the pram. Much as she enjoyed spending time with her beloved sister, there was still a slightly detached feeling between them, and she no longer dared ask anything about her marriage or husband. She certainly appeared far more grown up, quiet and independent. Cecily could but hope things were improving for Merryn.
As for her own life, a part of her was growing increasingly frustrated and bored. She’d failed to find any decent employment here and had lost so many friends. Most of the boys she’d known were gone, leaving many of her female friends widowed and tied up with their children too. She too had lost the men she’d loved or grown fond of. Cecily saw herself as a spinster who would never be fortunate enough to have a child herself, let alone find any hope of marriage since there were few men around. Being the only male friend she had left, would she ever see Boyd again? She secretly hoped that one day he’d come to visit her.
Cecily firmly believed it was much safer to remain single. The dream of wedded bliss was long gone from her head, replaced by a desire to explore the possibility of creating her own future and economic security, safely away from domineering men. More single women were becoming self-sufficient, so she must make every effort to do the same. There was definitely a limit to how long she could rely upon the funds her mother provided. Desperately feeling the need to manage her own independence and purpose in life, she resolved to make enquiries on how to develop a new career for herself, the concert party having folded. Whether she could continue singing or find some other form of employment seemed to be an issue that would not be easy to resolve.
At least she was free to make her own decisions, as all women should be allowed to do. Those who’d worked on the local trams throughout the war and had retained their jobs were now going on strike, demanding the same increase in pay as men. There’d been women workers on strike in London, so why wouldn’t local women here in Plymouth do the same? They surely deserved equal rights. It came to Cecily that having been involved with the suffrage movement for so long, she could possibly attempt to assist them in this battle.
‘Are you managing to resolve this problem?’ she asked Sally Fielding, one of her former fellow tram workers. A group of them were standing on the Old Town Street holding posters high, one stating: Is a Woman’s Place in the Home? Another said: We Believe in Equality. ‘I can understand why I was not granted my job back on the trams, having been away entertaining the troops in France. Those of you who’ve worked for them throughout the war should have that right.’
‘Indeed we should,’ Sally agreed. ‘They accuse us of having less strength and more health problems than men. Absolute tosh! The bloody government treats us like servants. We were doing our bit for the duration of the war but are now being dismissed and replaced by men they consider to be more skilled. We women have worked damned hard and done well. They see us as less productive, which we’re most definitely not and we surely have the right to the same pay.’
‘Did you join a trade union?’ Cecily asked.
‘We did indeed. Once we’d registered to work in the war, why would we not protect ourselves? It was recommended we do that when we were sent a leaflet issued by the War Emergency Workers’ National Committee.’
‘Are you managing to provide some funds for unpaid women on strike?’
‘Not very well,’ Sally said, pulling a face.
‘Right, I’ll help with that.’ Cecily remained with them for the remainder of the day. Taking off one of her boots, she held it out to passers-by, begging a donation as a token of their support. When dusk fell, she handed over a fair sum of money to Sally. ‘I’ll try to collect more tomorrow. How long will this strike last?’
‘Maybe just a couple of days this week. Then if we don’t get anywhere, even longer next.’
‘I’ll be there to join you,’ she promised.
Cecily continued to spend time each day assisting more women by raising money to provide them with an income, as they received none while on strike. It felt such a satisfaction, giving her a fresh purpose in life. Despite the troubles they were enduring, she too sorely missed the work she’d been involved with during the war, and the opportunity to display her talent. She wrote a brief letter to Boyd, to tell him of her satisfaction in helping these women on strike, being a suffragist. She sorely missed him too.
‘Can I do anything more to help?’ she asked her friend Sally.
‘Aye, you could write a newspaper report depicting our success and why we deserve to receive the same rate of bonus that is being given to men workers, as a result of the war.’
‘I’ll be happy to give that a go,’ Cecily agreed. She wrote at length about how many women during the war had worked in munitions, coal, gas and power supplies, factories, transport and various offices.
As a result, this war feels like a revolution. Now they are being compelled to return to domestic service and even those still in work are having their wages cut to the low rate they received before the war, not raised as is the case for men. If women are doing the same work with equal skills, they should be paid the same rate. No woman should be paid less than a living wage and the return of men to their jobs should not destroy women’s lives. Many have lost their husbands and must now raise their children alone. In order to provide their loved ones with a good future, they should be allowed to keep their occupation or be granted alternative work. Please help support these hard-working deprived women.
She delivered copies of this article to all the local newspapers in Plymouth, Devonport and beyond. As the strike continued over the following week, she happily continued to collect donations to support those women in need of income. She visited church congregations, the Hoe, where she found there were always caring folk quite close to the war memorial, the Pier, theatres and football grounds. The following week, Cecily was delighted to find her article featured in local posters, several newspapers and magazines. It was weeks later that the tram bosses agreed to an equal minimum wage rate for women.
‘Success!’ they all shouted.
‘And thanks for providing these funds to stop us from starving while we were on strike,’ Sally said, giving her a hug.
Cecily smiled. ‘Happy to help and so glad of your success.’
Once again finding herself at a loose end, having done her bit for the women on strike, the Tommies and her beloved sister, Cecily greatly felt a desire to build a better life for herself. She still loved singing and had visited many theatres here in Plymouth, Devonport and other towns within easy distance but had received no good offers so far. She had been granted the opportunity to give an occasional performance in the interval at a cinema and the odd evening at a small hotel. Not that she’d made much money from either of those, so she must seek some improvement.
Cecily changed into a smart lavender dress and decided to go out for a much-needed walk along the Hoe and head for the Pier. She could hear music playing and went along to the Pavilion. It was a lovely July day, the sun shining and people swimming, laughing and having fun. She almost felt the urge to jump in and take a swim herself, having always enjoyed taking the plunge. She looked up at Smeaton’s Tower and the war memorial, now packed with names of lost men, her mind slipping back to the anguish of the war and how glad she felt that it was over at last.
Would the manager at the Pavilion be interested in her? Shortly after they’d returned from the war, she’d sent him a note requesting an audition but to no avail. According to Mama, there was now a new manager, so that might help. Queenie was unlikely to object to her going back on stage, as she had sternly done in the past. Deliberately shutting out that possibility, Cecily asked the lady at the office if she might speak to the manager. She d
utifully hurried to fetch him, and he respectfully listened as Cecily explained where she’d been performing during the last eighteen months of the war.
‘I wondered if you’d be prepared to give me the opportunity to sing here? I dare say you know that my mother is something of a star. She is once again performing at the Palace Theatre so I’m sure she’d have no objection to my working here.’
He gave her a puzzled glance in response to this. ‘Can’t see why that matters.’
‘It did use to bother her once upon a time,’ Cecily smiled. ‘As a consequence of war, I now have lots of good songs to offer.’
‘Indeed? Well, I’m afraid the kind of concert and songs you performed for the troops would no longer go down well. Do you have any new songs to offer?’
Taking a breath, Cecily realised that she’d again made a mistake. Hadn’t the same thing been said when their concert party had performed some months ago at that small nightclub? That could be the reason she’d received few offers since. The interest now was in lively trivia, jazz and silent pictures at the cinemas, which were becoming increasingly popular with many people attending. A piano would be played in the interval and sometimes a singer would be permitted to accompany it, as Cecily occasionally was. Old-style concerts were most definitely out of favour, performances that were a bit naughty and jolly being much more the in thing. Why hadn’t she remembered that and devised a new routine? Probably because she’d been too caught up in caring for Merryn and Josette, and then those striking women.
‘I’m sure I can provide whatever you wish,’ she hastily assured him. Seeing him return his attention to a folder he was carrying and starting to jot notes in it, it was clear that he was not interested. ‘Will you be holding an audition at some point?’ she asked.
‘We’ve plenty of performers available, thank you. I’m not currently seeking any more.’ And with a nod of his head, he turned to walk away.
Girls of the Great War Page 23
