Liverpool Angels Read online

  As he scanned the lines of eager but restless troops through his binoculars, he reflected that his job on this occasion was important for he had been ordered to observe the assault and to report the troop movements to the French gun batteries supporting the American infantry who were to attack and hold the village, an objective which required artillery support. For once he wouldn’t be in the thick of it, he thought thankfully. So far he’d been lucky; he’d come through with only cuts and bruises, although at Passchendaele a machine-gun bullet, mercifully deflected by his helmet, had grazed his forehead and he’d suffered a mild concussion.

  He shifted his position and then shuddered, a purely reflex reaction now, as the German field artillery opened up; he reached for the field telephone to instruct the French gunnery officer. He watched all afternoon as the ‘Doughboys’ attacked, supported by the French guns, feeling alternately anxious and then proud, as although he saw many of them fall, they kept on advancing doggedly. For men and boys going into battle for the first time and on foreign soil they were proving their mettle.

  Eventually, as the sun began to sink lower in the sky, he realised that they’d achieved their objective; the Kaiser’s troops were falling back from the now half-demolished village and he picked up the field telephone and yelled, ‘Cessez le feu! Cessez le feu!’

  In the silence that followed he watched the stretcher-bearers and medical orderlies as they worked taking the casualties to waiting ambulances, remembering the years he’d spent in the Field Ambulance Service; inevitably his thoughts turned to Mae. They’d all had a hard time of it since 21 March; he knew of the British retreat and its terrible cost and he’d wondered how they had all coped. Had Eddie survived? He hoped he had for he liked Eddie and all being well he’d become family. But at least now more American troops were on their way, he reflected as he prepared to leave his vantage point. By 1 May there would be over four hundred thousand of them and with all their fresh vigour and enthusiasm they would surely bolster the morale of the battle-weary British Tommies and French poilus, for the German advance appeared to have stalled. Had they reached a turning point? He prayed that they had.

  Maggie was frantic with worry. She’d heard nothing from any of the girls for weeks now. The last letter she’d had from Alice had informed her that Eddie had been sent back to his battalion as an offensive was imminent but that they’d patched up their quarrel before he’d gone. That at least was a relief, she’d told Billy, but the news that Eddie would once again be in the front line was something she had never wished to hear. And now the newspaper headlines added to her fears.

  Billy tried to calm her although he too was very concerned. ‘You know what they’re like, Maggie, luv. They often exaggerate things.’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘I don’t think they’d be allowed to print stuff like that if it wasn’t true. “British Retreat, Terrible Casualties, Germans Advance on Channel Ports”. It must be very bad, Billy. And what about Field Marshal Haig’s orders? They printed them in all the newspapers too. Oh, God knows what’s happening over there! We don’t know if they are alive, dead or taken prisoner!’ Her voice broke in a sob and Billy put his arm around her.

  ‘All we can do is hope, Maggie. We’ll find out for certain soon, I’m sure of it. The girls are probably so busy with the wounded that there’s been no time to write. I know from experience what the hospitals are like, how hard all those girls work. One of them will send word soon, luv.’

  Maggie raised an anxious, tear-blotched face. ‘And Eddie?’

  Billy sighed. ‘We’ll just have to have faith, luv, that he’s not been wounded or captured. Now, dry your eyes and I’ll make us a cup of tea.’

  Maggie dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. At least she had him to share her worries with now. He was a comfort; over these last tense weeks when each day her fears had increased he’d given her strength.

  ‘Oh, the world is a terrible place now, Billy. There doesn’t seem to be any brightness in it at all.’

  ‘It’s hard to find any, luv, I’ll give you that,’ Billy agreed as he handed her the cup of tea.

  ‘This terrible news and everything costing so much more than it did last year and now we’ve got to contend with rationing because things have to come in by sea and the convoys have been suffering such heavy losses. Coal is so expensive and scarce that we’ll all freeze this winter and what’s this new Act of Parliament Agnes was talking about? It’s got her worried sick.’

  Billy looked sombre. ‘It’s a law that means men up to the age of fifty-one can now be conscripted into the Army.’

  Maggie was horrified. ‘Fifty-one! They’ll make men of that age go and fight?’

  ‘Things are pretty desperate, Maggie. The losses have been catastrophic. They wouldn’t pass such a law unless it was absolutely necessary.’

  ‘But … but that will include you and Bertie Mercer. No wonder Agnes is worried.’

  Billy shook his head. ‘Not me, Maggie, I’m no use to them with only one arm, but Bertie … yes.’

  ‘Oh, dear God, hasn’t Agnes suffered enough? One lad killed, the other losing his leg and now …’

  ‘It might not come to that, Maggie. It takes time to conscript and train men and by then … who knows? The Yanks are coming over now in their thousands; there always seem to be troop ships arriving at the Pier Head. They’ll surely make a difference.’

  ‘They haven’t done up to now, Billy!’ Maggie retorted. ‘They haven’t been able to stop the Hun advancing almost to the Channel ports.’

  ‘Give them time, luv, and don’t forget they are fresh, they haven’t been fighting for four years like our lads. Bertie might not be called on to fight.’

  ‘I hope he isn’t, for poor Agnes’s sake. I thought things were really bad with all the shortages and so many girls and women doing war work, but when you hear things like that it sort of puts everything into perspective.’

  ‘It does, luv, but don’t go making yourself ill with worry. We’ll hear from the girls soon, I’m sure, and then we’ll have more of an idea just how things stand.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, Billy, I really do,’ Maggie replied, thinking that she should try to make an effort not to worry about what were trivial things. They had a roof over their heads, food on the table and money in their pockets even if it didn’t seem to go as far these days. And Billy would not be called on to fight again. She should be thankful for all those things. She would just feel much better if she knew that the girls and Eddie were safe.

  By the middle of May the situation at No. 24 General Camp Hospital had eased and the girls were once again allowed time off duty – although as Alice commented tartly, that time wouldn’t exactly be ‘free’. It would have to be spent in catching up on all the things that had been neglected. ‘Like writing proper letters to Mam and Jimmy, not just “Don’t worry we’re all still safe and well” on the back of a postcard.’

  ‘I was delighted to receive just those few words from Eddie,’ Lizzie replied, remembering how she’d burst into tears of pure relief when she’d finally heard from him when the remaining men of the 89th Brigade had been moved back to St Lawrence Camp at Brandhoek, as there were only 27 officers and 750 men fit for duty from the three Pals Battalions. Although there had been fierce fighting, the German advances had stalled. Haig’s orders had been carried out to the letter. ‘I won’t mind catching up, it will be quite pleasant just to sit and write letters or do some mending,’ she added.

  Mae nodded her silent agreement. She’d had a short note from Pip too, saying he was well and now with the 137th US Infantry at Woincourt where he was training the new arrivals.

  ‘I think we all deserve a bit of a treat, especially after the last awful weeks,’ Alice announced firmly. ‘Why don’t we go and visit Monsieur Clari? We haven’t been for months and at least his coffee is better than the tea we get here.’

  Mae brightened up. ‘We can tell him all our news and I’ll have something more interesting to tel
l Pip when I write, other than what often seems like a list of complaints. And it is a beautiful sunny afternoon.’

  Lizzie looked doubtful. ‘We really should write home and give them a full account of things. They must all have been terribly worried.’

  ‘We can do that this evening, after we’ve finished our ward duties. Come on, Lizzie, we’ll take a walk along the waterfront too. We’ve not been outside this hospital for nearly a month now,’ Alice urged, beginning to feel the stirrings of something she’d not felt for weeks: hope. The enemy wasn’t advancing – in fact in places they were even falling back – Jimmy was safely at home, both Eddie and Pip were out of the front line and Mam did know that they weren’t in any danger.

  Lizzie was persuaded and they all did enjoy the afternoon. They were greeted with cries of delight at the Café Arc-en-ciel, coffee and even pastries were brought and in French and English news was exchanged. Then Monsieur Clari raised his arms to heaven and invoked what they assumed was a blessing that Eddie and Pip had survived, followed by the rousing cry: ‘Vive la France! Vive la Grande Bretagne! Vive l’Amérique!’ after which they’d all cheered and laughed.

  As they’d walked along the harbour front in the sunlight and with a pleasantly warm breeze wafting in from the sea, Mae remarked that she had thoroughly enjoyed herself and would now be able to pass on to Pip Monsieur Clari’s regards.

  ‘I’ll write and tell Eddie too although I don’t think I’ll mention anything about the pastries. That wouldn’t be very kind, not when he’s on field rations,’ Lizzie joked.

  ‘What we get isn’t very much better. The pastry was a real treat. I told you we’d enjoy our time off more coming out,’ Alice laughed. ‘Sometimes a change is better than a rest,’ she added as they headed back, thinking that perhaps one day life might become brighter.

  It was with a profound sense of relief that Eddie learned that they were being taken out of the line, for they’d suffered heavy casualties.

  ‘Do we know where we’re going, sir, and for how long?’ he asked Captain Pitman.

  The young officer smiled. ‘As you are all so experienced now, you are going to help train the newly arrived men of the American infantry in the best ways to defeat the Hun. You’re going to Woincourt where they’re stationed. As for how long you’ll be there – I don’t know.’

  This was met with a murmur of both relief and interest.

  ‘What about you, sir? Are you coming with us?’ Eddie asked. He’d come to like and respect the young man, who’d proved to be both courageous and fair.

  ‘I’m afraid not, Private McEvoy. I’m being transferred. I haven’t heard where to yet.’

  ‘That’s a shame, sir,’ Corporal Wynne piped up, and the others nodded their agreement.

  Captain Pitman looked a little embarrassed. ‘I understand that you will be taking your orders from an American officer, and I also understand that facilities and rations are far better than we are used to, so in that respect I’m sorry I’m not coming with you. Now, I’ll leave you to organise your kit.’

  When he’d gone there was a lot of discussion about how relieved they were to be out of the front line, just what kind of facilities and rations they could expect and how they would get on with the ‘Doughboys’, as they were known. Eddie thought of Pip, wondering where he was, for he wasn’t a raw recruit. ‘My cousin’s engaged to an American lieutenant and he’s a really decent bloke. I got to know him through Mae. He came over and joined the Field Ambulance Service in the first year of the war. He was here doing his bit even before I arrived,’ he informed Corporal Wynne.

  ‘Maybe you’ll get to see him again.’

  Eddie shrugged. ‘I hope so but I doubt it. As soon as America declared war he joined their Army. He was at Passchendaele but I don’t know where he is now although probably our Mae does – that’s my cousin.’

  ‘Well, I for one am looking forward to having a decent billet and by the sounds of it something better than bully beef and dry bread,’ Corporal Wynne said, winking at Eddie who grinned back. They all felt much more cheerful now.

  Pip scanned the lines of men who marched into the camp looking weary, battle-scarred and decidedly unkempt. He’d been told they were all that was left of three British battalions, and having experienced the hardships, terrors and dangers of the trenches and Cantigny he knew what they’d been through. At least here they would be away from all that, he thought. They would have decent food, washing facilities and a dry billet with a bunk to sleep in. It went without saying that there would be comforts too. Chocolate, gum, cigarettes, magazines: things they’d not had for months. They were all very experienced and would hopefully pass on that know-how to the newly arrived American boys.

  After being addressed by the commander they were ordered to ‘fall out’ and they were then surrounded by American soldiers all eager to hear their tales of battles hard fought and won or lost. All the weary Tommies were interested in was getting a meal, a smoke and a rest, but they were delighted when cigarettes, chewing gum, chocolate and Hershey Bars were pressed on them.

  Pip smiled as he watched a group of young, fresh-faced Doughboys escorting three bemused-looking Tommies towards a row of long wooden huts, which would be their billets. Then he peered at the group more closely and began to walk quickly towards them. ‘Eddie! Private Eddie McEvoy!’ he shouted.

  Eddie turned towards him, confusion, then astonishment, amazement and finally relief and happy amusement registering in his eyes. ‘Pip! Pip! My God! It’s really you!’

  Regardless of the grins of the other men, Pip grasped Eddie heartily by the shoulder and vigorously shook his hand.

  ‘Shouldn’t I salute you or something?’ Eddie asked when they’d both stopped laughing at this totally unexpected meeting.

  ‘We’ll dispense with the formalities for now. Let’s get you settled in, and then we’ll have a great catch-up.’

  Eddie nodded. He hadn’t expected to see Pip Middlehurst again, not for a long time. ‘Wait until Mae and our Alice know that I’m stationed here with you.’

  ‘That should make them both very happy and relieved too,’ Pip replied.

  ‘I have to say I’m rather glad about it myself, Pip. From what we’ve heard, to start with your lot certainly get better food.’

  Pip laughed. ‘It’s a lot better here than in the trenches, Eddie, I can tell you.’

  ‘Then I just hope they’ll leave us both here for the duration,’ Eddie answered, drawing deeply on the cigarette Pip lit for him. It was the first he’d had in days and he recognised the tortoiseshell case Mae had bought for Pip at Christmas two years ago. He remembered that somewhere at the bottom of his kitbag was the carved Vesta case Lizzie had given him. He hadn’t dared use it since he’d been sent back to the front: it was too precious to him to risk losing it. He might actually get to use it again now, he mused.

  Life had taken on a sort of pattern over the years, Mae thought as she slowly sipped her coffee in the Café Arc-en-ciel one afternoon in late October. A pattern formed by the ebb and flow of the tide of war. Periods of chaotic, frantic work as the wounded had flooded in after the Somme, the Ypres Salient, Arras and Lys, followed by calmer, steadier periods of work when the casualties had not been so overwhelming. A pattern too to the periods of gnawing anxiety and fear for Pip’s safety. Verdun, Passchendaele, Cantigny, and weeks of relief when he’d been in Boulogne and then knowing he’d been safely at Woincourt and that Eddie was there too.

  She glanced out of the window at the banks of low iron-grey clouds that were being driven across the sky by the strong wind – the first of the autumn gales heralding the approach of winter – and felt the knot of fear and worry grow in her chest. Eddie was still there, Lizzie received fairly regular letters from him, but Pip had left with the now trained 137th Infantry. At first he’d written that what they lacked in experience they made up for with an enthusiasm which bordered on a reckless disregard for their lives, and she knew that many had paid dearly for it. The
American hospitals were now as overcrowded as theirs.

  Throughout July, August and September American troops had arrived in their hundreds of thousands and they were fresh, well armed and equipped now, for the mighty US munitions industry was working at full production, and they’d advanced rapidly. They had turned the tide of war. Freed now from the trench warfare which had proved so futile, this ‘war of movement’, as it was being called, had seen the Kaiser’s exhausted, battle-weary troops – some of whom on being taken prisoner were found to be as young as fourteen – driven back at Cambrai and pursued through L’Épinette and Le Cateau. Then the Hindenburg Line had been breached in the Bony region and the Allies had pressed onwards deep into Belgium. The war news was good but she’d had no word from Pip for over six weeks.

  The knot seemed to expand and became a pain and the coffee now tasted as bitter as gall.

  ‘You have not the … lettre, no … billet, Mademoiselle Mae?’

  She looked up to find Monsieur Clari standing beside her, holding a small glass of Calvados. She shook her head, feeling the tears prick her eyes as she twisted her engagement ring nervously round on her finger.

  He placed the glass on the table in front of her. ‘Boisson. Drink!’

  She took a sip and murmured, ‘Merci,’ and then she felt his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Courage, ma petite! Courage!’

  She nodded as she took another sip, remembering how another kind Frenchman had given both her and Pip a glass of Calvados on the day America had declared war.

  She finished the brandy and with a huge effort pulled herself together. She could not break down now and she would have to get back soon. Their time off was once again being strictly limited, for in the last weeks another enemy had emerged: one that was proving as deadly as any shell or bullet. It attacked both the fit and wounded and did not discriminate between Allied soldiers and civilians and those of Germany, Austria, Hungary or Bulgaria: a virulent form of influenza called ‘Spanish flu’. It was claiming more lives than all the battles had done and there seemed to be nothing that could be done to help those affected. They either recovered or they died – and they were dying in their hundreds by the day.