Martha's Girls (30 page)

‘Irene! Irene!’

At first all she could see was a hand waving, but she thought she recognised the voice.

‘Theresa! Is that you?’

Her friend appeared through the crowd and they both spoke at once.

‘How are you?’

‘Haven’t seen you for ages!’

Then Irene noticed someone at Theresa’s side, holding her hand. ‘This is my friend Michael.’

Irene thought he looked familiar. ‘Do I know you?’

‘I don’t think so,’ he said and turned away.

‘It’s so hot in here,’ said Theresa. ‘Let’s get some fresh air.’

Outside there was a cool breeze and a wall to sit on.

‘How’ve you been? How’s your hand?’

‘It’s fine now. Are you still working in your uncle’s bar?’

‘Yes, but I’m not doing as many hours as I was. My mother’s not well, so I look after her a lot of the time. What about you? Still working at Shorts, running up and down those ladders?’

‘Still there, but the days are long and they’re talking about shift work.’

‘And how’s Pat? Tell her I was asking for her.’

‘She starts a new job next week, Civil Service.’

‘That’s great. The linen works wasn’t right for her, was it?’

‘How’s Sean?’

Theresa lowered her head and spoke softly. ‘He’s never been back.’ She sighed. ‘You’d think a person could lose themselves in a city, especially when it’s in complete darkness half the time. That they could walk the streets and nobody would stop them and accuse them of something they didn’t do.’

‘Is he safe, Theresa?’

‘Yes, he’s safe, as long as he stays where he is, but how can he settle when his Ma’s ill and his Da’s in prison and he might never see either of them again?’

‘Why won’t they let your father out? He hasn’t done anything.’

‘Ah that’s where they have us, don’t they? They put you away for something they think you might do. And, even when your wife’s dying, they keep you in a stinking prison ship, miles from your family.’

‘A prison ship?’

‘In Strangford Lough; takes nearly two hours to get there. I’ve been a couple of times, took our Marie, but he’ll never see Mammy or our Sean again.’

‘Maybe when the war’s over—’

‘Sean won’t come back. He sends us letters to a friend’s house. Last time he wrote he was talking about America.’

‘Will you tell him I was asking for him?’

‘I will. He liked you, you know, said you were brave not to say anything even when you were really sick.’

‘Theresa, is Michael—’

‘Don’t ask.’

‘No, I mean you and him?’

‘He looks after me.’

‘I’m sorry we lost touch. Look, if you want to contact me, leave a message with our Peggy. You know she works in the music shop on Royal Avenue? We could meet up in town, have a good chat.’

‘Aye, I’d like that.’

*

Theresa went in search of Michael and Irene found Peggy in the toilets where she’d met up with Thelma Boyd.

‘Hello, Irene. How ye doin?’ Thelma was sitting on the floor, her back against the wall. Peggy was next to her and between them was a brown bottle.

‘What’s that you’ve got there, Thelma?’ asked Irene.

‘A bit a sherry.’ Her voice was slurred.

‘You’ll not do much dancing with that inside you.’

‘Oh you’d be surprised,’ said Thelma. ‘Anyway, I’ve shared it with my friend Peggy. Haven’t I, Peggy?’

‘Peggy, what are you drinking that for?’

‘I like it. It tastes horrible, but it makes me feel happy.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Come on, let’s go and have another dance.’ Irene offered her hand and pulled Peggy up. Back in the hall they met up with the McKee brothers and some of their friends.

‘Come on, Irene,’ said Brian, ‘I’ll show you some of the fancy steps a bob’s lesson can buy you at John Dossor’s.’

‘You’ve not been taking lessons, have you?’

‘Certainly have. Got fed up standin’ round like an eejit every time I went to a dance. Anyway you get to meet more girls this way!’

He was a good dancer with a sense of rhythm and not scared to lead. After the first dance they were going back to the others, but the music started again and it had such a beat to it that Brian pulled her back on the dance floor. ‘This is great!’ he shouted. ‘The Lindy Hop is what they’re doing in America now. Come on I’ll show you.’

Most couples, unsure about the fast pace, had left the floor leaving more space for the more adventurous dancers. Irene saw right away that the steps were quite simple, the trick was to move all of the body, swinging the hips and the shoulders then moving backwards then forwards pivoting on the balls of the feet. Once she got the hang of that by mirroring Brian’s steps, he took her hand and they moved together, shoulders, hips, ankles all to the same rhythm. Then Brian shouted, ‘Stand still, Irene!’ and he picked her up at the waist and swung her over his hip and back to the floor again. ‘You get it?’ She laughed and nodded. ‘Then let’s go again … only both sides!’

This time she was ready for it: he picked her up; she swung into the lift; catching the rhythm; back to the floor; the swivel and lift on to his other hip. Then down again. She heard cheering and the tempo quickened. Brian caught her hand and leaned right back, his free hand making waving movements in the air as he circled. Irene did the same; round and round they went, both of them twisting on the balls of their feet. Then back to the beginning to repeat the steps again. As the end came, Brian grabbed her waist and shouted, ‘Jump in the air!’ she did so and he stepped quickly between her legs so that one went to either side of him and immediately he threw her up again to stand her on her feet as the music ended with the sound of cheering and whistling ringing in their ears.

*

The key was on the string behind the letter box when they crept in at eleven.

‘Is that you girls?’ Martha called from the sitting room.

She was sitting in the dark, the curtains hadn’t been drawn. Weak moonlight outlined her silhouette in the armchair next to the wireless. Pat was on the settee.

‘You didn’t need to wait up for us,’ said Peggy.’ We got the last bus like we said we would.’

‘What’s the matter? Why aren’t you in bed?’ asked Irene.

‘We’ve been listening to the wireless.’ Pat’s voice caught.

‘The wireless? Why what’s happened?’

Martha spoke softly. ‘There’s these troops, thousands of them. They were supposed to be stopping the Germans from moving into France. They’ve been fighting and fighting, but the Germans have been so strong …’ She searched for the words to describe the immensity of it all. ‘They’re being pushed back and back on to the beaches and there’s nowhere else for them to go but into the sea.’

‘They’re stuck there,’ said Pat, ‘waiting to be killed or drowned.’

‘Does this mean we’ve lost the war?’ asked Peggy.

‘I don’t know. They’re trying to rescue them,’ said Martha, ‘but how many boats would it take for all those men?’

‘Where’s Sheila?’ asked Irene.

‘We sent her to bed early,’ said Martha. ‘I think, maybe we should all go to bed now and pray for those poor men. We’ll listen again in the morning to find out what’s happening.’

By breakfast time, there were reports of heavy fighting as the British and French forces continued to fall back towards the coast. She couldn’t get the image of desperate, exhausted men out of her mind and grew more and more anxious as the day wore on. She was glad when Ted Grimes arrived in the afternoon straight from his early shift.

‘Well Ted, what do you think about this Dunkirk business?’

‘It’s a dark day and that’s for sure.

‘Will they die, Ted, do you think?’

‘Many of them will, Martha, unless they can find some way to get them off the beaches. They say two war ships left the docks early this morning. Not hard to guess where they’re headed.’

By the following morning an appeal was made for all civilian owners of seaworthy craft capable of crossing the Channel to Dunkirk to transport military personnel back to England. In Belfast, for the first time since the outbreak of war, there was a surge of interest in what was happening. For the next week, Irene heard Dunkirk discussed in the canteen at Shorts; Peggy heard it in Goldstein’s shop; Pat heard it around the work table in the mill; Sheila’s teachers explained it in school. Martha heard it in Carson’s butchers as the woman in front of her in the queue discussed it with her friend.

‘You can’t picture that many people can you? What does over three hundred thousand look like? My husband says they’re lucky if they get two thousand at Glentoran for the football, so that’s one hundred and fifty football grounds full of men rescued.’

‘That’s all well and good, but my husband says they haven’t told us how many died. He says that’s propaganda for you; trying to turn a disaster into a success.’

‘Aye, well there’s one wee boy won’t be coming home from Dunkirk, that’s for sure?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Jimmy McComb, lives just down the Cliftonville there, killed in action. His mother had the telegram yesterday.’

Martha saw the sawdust at her feet wet with the blood that had dripped from the beef carcass hanging next to her. Then she was outside in the warm sun retching.

They ate their tea in silence, the cheese on toast like cardboard they could only swallow with mouthfuls of tea. Pat wanted nothing and went to bed early, for the next day she would start work at the Ministry of Public Security.

Chapter 19

‘Did you get a postcard from Goldstein yesterday?’ asked Irene as she joined Myrtle at tea break in the canteen.

‘No, what’d it say?’

‘Rehearsals this weekend and next, for a concert at Balmoral Camp the week after.’

‘So the army are goin’ te let us perform?’

‘Aye and Goldstein says it’s our biggest show yet.’

‘Think about it, all those soldiers.’ Myrtle’s voice rose with excitement. ‘We could have our pick of them.’

‘You could, but I prefer Air Force blue to khaki.’

‘You’re not still thinking about Sandy? I’ve told ye before, Irene, he’s not here, so you’re free to look around.’

‘But what if I told you I’ve had a letter and he’s coming back from India!’

‘When?’

‘Don’t know. Might’ve left on the same boat as the letter. He could be here already!’

‘So where will he be stationed?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘That’s because someone might read it and tell the Germans where to find our planes,’ said Myrtle.

‘How could they do that?’

‘I don’t know, but they say it happens all the time.’

‘He got my letter with the photograph. I told you, didn’t I? I sent him one of me taken on Easter Sunday at the Waterworks. He said I looked lovely!’

‘Oooh, he could end up over here. He could come and find ye in Short’s canteen one break time when you’re eatin’ your tea and scone and—’ Myrtle suddenly stopped speaking and stared over Irene’s shoulder. ‘Don’t turn round—’

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know … it could be … he’s wearing a blue uniform … he’s lookin’ this way … searching.’

‘Who, who!’ shouted Irene.

‘That ugly brute of a foreman in his boiler suit come to fetch us back to work!’

*

Esther stood at the shop window, her cheek against the pane as she squinted down Royal Avenue. ‘He’s coming,’ she shouted.

Peggy shoved the sheet music she’d been sorting under the counter and rushed into Goldstein’s office leaving the door slightly ajar. The shop bell rang and Peggy held her breath waiting for Esther to speak. ‘Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you?’

‘Yes Esther.’ A smile in his voice. ‘You can call me Harry for a start.’ He propped himself against the counter. ‘I’d like to buy a record.’ His eyes swept the shop and stopped momentarily at Goldstein’s door. Peggy stepped back quickly.

‘Which record, sir?’

‘I think it’s called ‘Who’s Sorry Now?’ Do you think I could listen to it?’

‘Of course.’

The music began and Harry leaned back on both elbows and fixed his eyes on Goldstein’s door. When the record finished, Esther lifted it off the turntable and put it back in its cardboard sleeve.

‘Shall I wrap it for you?’

‘No thanks, I’m not sure it’s the one I want. I’ll think about it.’ And he left the shop calling behind him, ‘See you soon, Esther. See you soon, Peggy.’

‘What is he playing at?’ Peggy appeared. ‘That’s every day this week he’s been in asking for a record to be played.’

‘It’s simple, ‘I Miss You So’; ‘Only Forever’; ‘I’ll Never Smile Again’. He tries to tell you something, Peggy.’ Esther giggled. ‘He loves you, I think.’

‘Well, he needn’t think he’s going to get round me with a few love songs.’

‘He is very handsome,’ said Esther dreamily, ‘with his dark hair and lovely smile.’

‘You,’ said Peggy, ‘have too much English for your own good. Don’t go practising it on the likes of Harry Ferguson!’

*

Irene and Peggy lay on an old blanket in the back garden surrounded by the sound of bees and the scent of floribunda roses rambling over the fence from the Harper’s garden. In the kitchen Martha was preparing the Sunday dinner, crying over the onions. There was the sound of something heavy being dragged and Pat emerged from under the stairs, red in the face and dripping with sweat.

‘We’ll have to clear this place out. There’s stuff in here older than I am.’

‘Pat, will you leave things be. I’m not having you throw out things that’ll maybe come in useful.’

‘But, Mammy, we’re going to need some protection from air-raids. Where were you thinking of going when the warning sounds?’

‘Oh I don’t know,’ said Martha scraping the onions into a pan, ‘out in the garden maybe.’

‘In the garden!’ Pat was appalled. ‘That’s the worst thing you could do.’

‘Why’s that? Sure it would stop the house falling on my head.’

‘The house gives you some protection, provided it doesn’t take a direct hit. Out in the open you’ve no chance. Did you not read that wee leaflet I brought home from the Ministry?’

Martha sighed. ‘No, I’m sorry to say I didn’t.’ She gathered up the vegetable peelings and went outside to the compost heap and Pat followed her into the garden.

‘It’s called ‘Your House as your Air-Raid Shelter’. It tells you how to equip a safe area inside your house.’

Peggy rolled over on to her stomach and shouted, ‘Look out it’s the man from the ministry spreading panic again!’

‘Don’t be so stupid,’ said Pat. ‘I’m telling you, if the bombs fall you’ll not be laughing, you’ll be banging on the door of our shelter.’

‘Are we having a shelter?’ asked Irene.

‘We are, because I’m going to make one and if you want to be in it, you have to help me.’

Irene jumped up. ‘I’ll help you. What do you want me to do?’

Pat’s plan was simple. They’d remove everything from under the stairs. ‘It’s the strongest part of the house,’ she told them. ‘So we need to get it ready with things we might need to stay there all night.’

‘There isn’t room for all of us in there,’ said Peggy who joined them as they stared into the darkness. ‘We’ll die of suffocation long before the all clear sounds.’

*

The late afternoon sunshine was a welcome sight after the drizzle of the morning especially as the concert at the Balmoral Camp was to take place in the open air.

‘Imagine,’ laughed Peggy, ‘an entire regiment of soldiers and no Mammy to keep an eye on us!’

‘It is most unfortunate that the military authorities refused her a pass because she’s not a performer,’ said Goldstein, ’but I have assured her that military discipline is tight and so is mine.’ He wound down his window as a guard, rifle at the ready, emerged from his sentry box. ‘Now, get your passes ready girls and make sure you follow my orders at all times.’

They were directed to a low wooden building with a brass plaque on the wall engraved with the words ‘Officers’ Mess’. The sound of dozens of conversations met them at the open door and as they entered the girls stopped momentarily, taken aback by the resplendent navy and red plumage of a hundred officers in full dress uniform.

Likewise, at the sight of three young women in floral summer dresses in their mess, the men closest to the door paused in their war talk to stare and behind them more and more conversations fell silent. Then a young officer hurried up to Goldstein, his hand outstretched.

‘You must be from the concert party.’ The moment had passed, the conversation wound up again and he went on. ‘I’m Captain Ayres, in charge of entertainment.’

‘Thank you, we are delighted to be here.’ said Goldstein. ‘I wonder if it would be possible to speak to the quartermaster.’

‘Of course, I’ll find someone to look after the ladies and I’ll take you over to the stores myself.’

Irene, Pat and Peggy were immediately surrounded by several officers. ‘Are you performers?’

‘Yes we’re singers,’ said Irene.

A young dark-haired officer, so close to Irene she could smell the Brylcreem on his hair, asked, ‘Do you dance too?’

‘Not in the act, but there’s a troupe of dancers performing. They’ll be here soon.’

‘Oh … that’s a pity,’ said another. He nodded at Peggy and added. ‘I was hoping to win you in the raffle.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Peggy.

’What do you mean win us in a raffle?’ asked Pat sharply.

‘There’s to be dancing in the mess after the concert.’ His words tumbled out in his excitement. ‘We’ve bought raffle tickets to dance with the performers.’ He blushed then and added ‘The ladies, I mean, not …’ His voice trailed off as Pat gave him a withering look.

‘Dancing as well?’ Irene was delighted. ‘I hope someone wins me!’

The officer next to her leaned over. ‘I’ve bought a lot of tickets, but now I’ve met you, I think I’ll buy some more.’

‘Like a week’s wages worth!’ someone shouted, followed by hoots of laughter.

After tea and sandwiches, Captain Ayres offered to escort the Barnstormers to the dressing rooms on the far side of the camp. As soon as they stepped outside there was the unmistakable sound of heavy boots on asphalt. They rounded the corner and were met with the amazing sight of several hundred men in discrete formations covering every inch of the parade ground.

‘Gosh!’ said Pat. ‘How many soldiers are in the camp?’

Captain Ayres smiled and touched the side of his nose. ‘That’s classified information I’m afraid, but I can tell you that when the
News Letter
estimated there would soon be seventy thousand British troops in Northern Ireland we didn’t question their maths. Of course, they’re not all at Balmoral.’

‘But why are they here and not away fighting the Germans?’

Because the enemy is not always where it is meant to be,’ he said mysteriously.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Pat. ‘Surely you know where the Germans are. Don’t you have reconnaissance planes tracking them?’

Captain Ayres looked sideways at Pat, it wasn’t often he came across a young woman with an interest in the logistics of warfare. ‘You seem to be very well informed, Miss … I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’

‘Goulding, Patricia Goulding.’

‘Well, Patricia, when two armies face each other it is known as a front. But one army can gain ground and out-flank the enemy by moving swiftly to attack an area not protected, opening up another front. Hitler could seriously weaken Britain by suddenly moving up through Ireland to take the north with all its industrial power. So being here, we will disable such an attack or, better still, deter it altogether. Does that make sense?’

‘Yes it does and in the meantime you have a safe area in a remote part of the country to train soldiers, ready to be shipped out when needed.’

‘Precisely! And keeping up the morale of the troops while they wait is vital and that’s where you and your fellow performers do your bit.’ He stopped and pointed at the makeshift stage erected at the far end of the parade ground. ‘It’s not the Royal Albert Hall, I’m afraid, but it’s the quality of the entertainment that matters, isn’t it?’

‘We’re performing here?’ Pat looked around. ‘Where will the audience sit?’

‘On the parade ground and right back as far as those transport trucks. We should be able to squeeze in about two thousand I think.’

‘Two thousand!’ Pat blanched at the thought. ‘I expected—’

‘Yes, I know there should be more, but we decided to restrict it. This is our first show of this kind, so we’ll see how it goes.’

In the Nissen hut dressing room, Goldstein was waiting for them. ‘Girls, I’ve had an idea for a costume change in the second half when you sing those military songs.’ He dropped the kit bag from his shoulder and laid out three piles, each a complete uniform: trousers, battle dress, cap. ‘I got the smallest size they had in the stores, they might still be a little big, but I’m sure you’ll look the part.’

Irene immediately put a cap on her head, ‘How do I look?’

‘Ridiculous,’ said Pat.

‘Oh come on. It’s just a bit of fun. Try yours on.’

Pat took the cap and placed it on her head, tucked her hair underneath and smiled in spite of herself.

*

The sound of the audience built up steadily over the next half hour, but instead of the usual pre-show excitement and nerves, the performers became more and more subdued.

‘Are you all right, Myrtle?’ asked Irene.

‘I think so. I’m just a bit worried about whether they’ll like us.’

‘We just have to go out there and do our best.’

’But we’re first on after Sammy. I can’t decide if it’s better to get it over with, or if those on later will get the best of it.’