AS ALICE WALKED TOWARDS THE ALTAR of Dowanhill United Free Church on 5 September 1917, in the same pale-grey dress she had worn to sing at Windsor Halls just weeks earlier, she didn’t mind that the wedding she’d never expected to have had been so hastily arranged. Nor was she troubled by the fact that some of those who had known her the longest appeared to have difficulty in feeling genuinely happy for her. As she walked up the aisle on her father’s arm, wearing her grandmother’s pearl earrings and matching choker, all she could see was John Henry Edwards. There he waited, the buttons of his uniform winking as he grinned with pride and anticipation.
Standing beside the man who would soon be her husband, Alice sensed her own life beginning to blossom at last. She would have time alone with John and discover all the secrets of a honeymoon, before he rejoined the Mameluke next week. Alice’s blood surged in her veins. She had never known such impatience before, or this longing for things she did not yet understand. She did not doubt that John would return safely to her. But for now, Alice’s wait was over.
When Mrs Edwards sang solo on the first Sunday after John sailed back to the North Sea, not one parishioner among the two congregations who heard her wasn’t moved by the power and devotion in her voice. Alice herself was shocked at the sound she produced. It was as if a secret chamber of emotion had suddenly unlocked, unleashing a depth of feeling that no one, not even the soloist, had imagined had lain dormant inside her modest upright frame.