Martha's Girls (31 page)

‘Who knows,’ said Irene. ‘This isn’t like any other show. Anything could happen.’

‘I’d better get these girls of mine fired up. They look like they’re goin’ te a wake.’ She stood up, flounced out her tiny polka dot skirt and adjusted the gypsy blouse to show her shoulders. ‘Right girls, let’s run through those high kicks one last time and for God’s sake, smile will ye!’

According to Sammy he’d played the Glasgow Empire on a wet Saturday night, after Celtic and Rangers had both been beaten by lesser teams, and witnessed the top of the bill being booed off the stage. ‘It’s all about confidence. Grab the audience by the throat. Show them you’re not scared,’ he told them.

He raced on to the stage, refusing the microphone offered and began the show with a loud ‘Good Evening, ladies and gentlemen!’ Then stared across the footlights at the noisy crowd and bellowed, ‘Oh! I’m sorry there aren’t any ladies, there aren’t any gentlemen either by the looks of you lot!’ The first twenty rows quietened and looked in his direction.

‘I was talkin’ to one of your sergeant majors earlier. He told me when you boys heard you were being sent to Belfast you said you’d sooner be parachuted into Berlin because you’d more in common with the Nazis than the Irish!’

In the wings, Goldstein watched anxiously as the boisterous good humour of the audience seemed to drain away from those within hearing distance. The rest were either noisily protesting that they couldn’t hear, or completely unaware that the show had started. Something needed to be done and quickly. ‘Myrtle,’ he shouted. ‘Get the Tappers on right away!’

‘But Sammy hasn’t introduced us.’

‘Never mind that, just get on there and make the audience notice you! I’ll get your music started.’

Sammy tried a few more jokes about squaddies having long lie-ins and double rations. Several soldiers were on their feet heckling him and The Tappers’ opening music and the sight of Myrtle in the wings ready to come on was all the encouragement he needed to exit stage right where, with shaking hands, he took a swift drink from the quarter bottle of Bells he kept in his breast pocket for the interval.

The girls filled the stage with colour and movement and the whistling and cat calls began immediately. Then the soldiers at the very back stood and surged forward. From the stage the girls could see the chaos as men struggled to keep their feet in an attempt to avoid trampling those seated in front of them. A moment’s uncertainty and the dancers missed their cue to change formation and move downstage. Their rhythm had gone and with it their confidence. As if in slow motion their steps became fewer and fewer, until each girl stood motionless while the men in front of them became more entangled as they struggled to keep their feet. Fortunately, Captain Ayres had the presence of mind and the power of command to snatch a microphone and push his way to the front of the stage.

‘Attention!’ he bellowed. ‘This is an order. Attention!’ Then he waited. The seconds ticked by as the soldiers slowly untangled themselves and row by row they stood to attention, ramrod straight and totally silent. Still Captain Ayres waited. The last bars of the Tappers’ music faded away and the only sound drifting over the parade ground was the click of the needle in the final groove. When he lifted the microphone for a second time, it was to address his fellow officers and NCOs.

‘Please take command of your company. Those men standing beyond the parade ground will, on command, return to barracks. They will remain there until they are sent for to see the second half of the show. Those on the parade ground will be ordered one row at a time to sit and they will watch the first half.’ He left the stage to the barking of commands and the rhythmic march of retreating feet and went straight to Goldstein.

‘I apologise for that. It won’t happen again. Please organise your performers as quickly as you can, we begin again in five minutes and the audience will change over at the interval.’

In the dressing room Goldstein stood on an upturned crate and spoke plainly. ‘The decisions we make in the next few minutes will make or break the Barnstormers. We stand on the brink of disaster, but triumph is also within reach. Now is not the time for clashing egos, but for teamwork. The previous running order is cancelled and replaced by another more suited to this unique audience.’

He looked around at his company, weighing their up strengths and weaknesses both as performers and personalities. He turned to consult Horowitz who wrote, crossed out, moved names up or down the running order. Eventually, Goldstein announced, ‘The new programme is as follows: To open, Corporal Young a soldier from the regiment; the audience know him and he’ll get them back on our side.’ One or two stole a look at Sammy, but his face showed no expression. ‘Next The Golden Sisters, get those uniforms on right away and I want you to use the two microphones available, it’s the only way to get the sound loud enough to keep their attention.’ The girls looked at each other; they’d never sung with microphones before. Irene shrugged her shoulders as though to say ‘we might as well’, but Pat whose voice was twice as strong as the others looked at her in disbelief.

‘Tappers, you’ll go on next, but keep it tight. You won’t have any trouble with the audience this time I’m sure. Then the crooner, followed by Jimmy on the harmonica, followed by Joan singing songs from the movies – I’ll tell you which ones. Then we’ll finish with Marie on the accordion for a sing-song and I’d like all of you on the stage singing your hearts out and encouraging the audience to do the same.’

He paused knowing something more was needed to restore his authority and the confidence of them all. ‘I know many of you will be disappointed not to be performing, you are not to blame for what has happened, but we need to get this right to be offered the chance to perform at other camps in the future. Right everyone two minutes to curtain up, starters in the wings please!’

*

‘These trousers are so itchy; they’ll give me a rash.’

‘Stop moaning Peggy, and get the uniform on.’ Irene was already dressed and clipping the cap to her head.

‘The legs are too long.’

‘That’s because you’re in your bare feet; get your heels on.’

‘I’m not wearing this hat! It took me ages to get my hair like this.’

‘You have to wear it, so it’s a complete uniform.’

‘No I don’t! Soldiers don’t always wear them, they do this …’ and Peggy folded it neatly and slid it under the epaulette on her shoulder.

Only then did they notice Pat.

Irene was lost for words. ‘Pat … you look …’

Peggy wasn’t. ‘Those soldiers will be drooling at the mouth!’

‘Don’t be so uncouth,’ snapped Pat, but she was well aware that the uniform showed off her figure in unexpected ways.

Someone had rigged up a wire to a speaker in the Nissen hut where the performers waited. After the disastrous false start and the hastily imposed discipline of Captain Ayres, the sound of the audience was reduced to a low buzz and Irene, Pat and Peggy were able to plan how to get the audience on their side. There was no time to rehearse, but at least they were all in agreement. The speakers fell eerily silent except for the soft swish of a broom and then the sound of a cockney voice singing quietly,
‘Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag.’

‘It’s the Corporal,’ whispered Myrtle. ‘I saw him gettin’ ready, all padded up with a big bust, turban on his head and a fag in his mouth.’

The singing got louder and louder then stopped abruptly, howls of laughter followed. Clearly ‘she’ had realised she was not alone. ‘Oh my Gawd! Where did you lot come from? They sent me on here to sweep up, said you’d been confined to barracks or was it shipped off to the Western Front for insubordination?’

‘We’re here for the show!’ someone shouted.

‘Tell you what, you’d never believe I used to do a turn down the music hall would you?’ Some shouts of disbelief. ‘Oh yes, I’ll have you know I danced a bit too, showed a bit of leg. Would you like to see?’ Cat calls and whistles followed.

‘You don’t mind a bit of knicker do you? I’ll just tuck my skirt up here.’ Loud cheering. ‘Now then, you lot at the front keep back, a girl’s got to have some secrets!’

The opening bars of ‘My old man said follow the van’ began and the corporal sang falsetto with gusto, every now and again his voice breaking into a bass. ‘Come on you lazy buggers, you know the words don’t you!’ He urged them to join in. Then all went quiet as he soft-shoe shuffled, calling out every now and again to some embarrassed young soldier ‘What do you think of these for a fine pair of legs? Would you like a squeeze? Excuse me, this is where I have to lean over, please cover your eyes, well one of them anyway.’

He left the stage to uproarious applause and cheers, but as he passed the girls waiting to go on they were shocked to see his grey pallor and sweat running down his face. ‘Tough bunch, ladies, best grip ‘em early and get ‘em involved or you’re dead!’

Irene spoke quickly. ‘We can do this. Keep smiling and fingers crossed I can get them to join in.’ Then, without an introduction or music they ran up the steps and on to the stage. Peggy went straight to the piano and without sitting down belted out a lively introduction to ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’. Irene barked a command and she and Pat marched to the microphone where they marked time until their cue. The amplification of their voices caught them by surprise and they glanced quickly at each other and grinned at the power they had to deliver every word and note to the vast audience. In the middle of the song Peggy joined them centre stage and they encouraged the audience to clap in time, then on Irene’s command the girls began to march. ‘Eyes front, quick march! About turn, quick march!’ Finally, she led them to the back of the stage, where they turned and boogied to the microphone and all three sang the final verse smiling and clapping with the audience. They finished with a side ways turn, right hands waving in the air and their left hands reaching out towards the audience who were immediately on their feet clapping and cheering.

Their second song was slower in tempo with Pat centre stage. ‘When the Lights Come on Again All Over the World’ was unashamedly sentimental and the parade ground fell silent. She held the final high note for what seemed like an age then bowed her head. The cheers erupted. Pat raised her head, smiled and blew a two handed kiss to the audience.

For their third song they moved the microphone over to the piano and all three sang ‘Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Major’, but at the end of the first verse Irene left her sisters to sing while she moved down stage searching the crowd for someone. Then she spotted him, a young soldier smiling and clapping along. Irene pointed and beckoned him on stage. He stood up amid back slapping and banter from his friends and climbed on to the stage. Pat and Peggy sang the refrain and Irene leaned towards the young soldier and pouted. Amid calls of encouragement he went to kiss her, only to find she had drawn back. A moment’s embarrassment and he found Irene had stepped towards him again this time offering to dance. Nervously, he took her hand and the two of them danced the polka round the stage. As the music ended, Irene leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and he returned to his place wreathed in smiles. The girls took their bows to loud cheering and, waving their caps in the air, they marched in step into the wings.

Later in the dressing room Captain Ayres shook Goldstein warmly by the hand. ‘Wonderful! Wonderful! What a great show. Your performers are a credit to you, sir.’ No mention of the near riot at the start, no criticism of the misjudged opening. ‘Now, have you the energy to do it all again for the second house?’

Chapter 20

Irene had been waiting in a biting wind for over an hour when, at last, she heard the roar of a motor bike. She recognised him immediately in his RAF uniform as he came round the bend and swung the bike in an exaggerated sweep towards her.

‘You came! I didn’t know if you would. Got lost a few times on the way; lots of signposts missing. I spotted the castle on the map back at the base and I thought you’d know where it was.’

She had never heard him speak at such length, and even though his accent was still difficult to follow, she got the gist of it and smiled in response. ‘Yes, I know the Castle; I don’t live far from here.’

‘Joanmount Gardens,’ he said looking pleased. ‘I remember. Should we go and look at it?’

What, Joanmount Gardens?’

‘No … Belfast Castle!’

Irene had never been on a motorbike before and was shocked at the intimacy of riding pillion. She couldn’t avoid putting her arms around his waist during the steep climb up the hill and his body leant back into hers. The castle was built in a Victorian gothic style with turrets, stained glass windows and armorial shields carved into the masonry.

‘It’s like Balmoral,’ said Sandy as he got a clear look at it. ‘You ken, the king’s home in Scotland?’ Irene nodded, though she was sure the king lived in Buckingham Palace.

There was a terrace with a formal rose garden where the bushes had been pruned back to short, thorny stems. They leaned on the wall looking out over the Lough far below.

‘Is that Bangor over there?’ he asked.

She followed his line of sight to the opposite side of the water. ‘No I think that’s probably Holywood. Bangor is further along the coast?’ After his initial rush of conversation, Sandy seemed to revert to his quiet ways and Irene too fell silent and watched him.

‘You look different.’

‘Do I, how?’

‘I don’t know, your hair, your skin maybe.’

‘Oh that’ll be the sun, or it could be the malaria.’

‘Malaria? What’s that?’

‘It’s a disease I had in India. Oh, don’t worry,’ he added quickly, ‘I haven’t got it anymore and you can’t catch it. You get it from mosquito bites.’

‘Were you very ill?’

‘I was for a while. I lost a lot of weight, had to stay in hospital. No duties, no parades, just lying still in a dark room …’ His voice trailed off as if remembering. ‘That’s why I didn’t write to you when I promised I would, I’m sorry.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I thought you’d probably forgotten.’ Irene smiled to reassure him. Sandy’s face was serious. ‘Oh I never forgot, honestly, I thought about you all the time.’

Irene felt embarrassed by the sudden intensity in his voice and tried to move the conversation in another direction.

‘What was it like in India?’

He relaxed. ‘Very hot. It lightened my hair and darkened my face. It’s full of sounds and smells the like of which you wouldn’t believe. A lot of the time we were in camp working on the planes, installing radio equipment mostly, but we had leave and sometimes we’d take a trip; a few pennies would take you a long way on a train in India. Once we went to the Taj Mahal. Have you ever heard of it?’

Irene shook her head.

‘Neither had I. It’s the most beautiful building, white marble shimmering in the sun. Another time we saw the Ganges, the Indian people think it’s a holy river. There were thousands and thousands there, some sort of religious festival, I think. People were bathing in the water all in orange robes and there were flowers everywhere. We felt like explorers. People would crowd around us wherever we went, they wanted to touch our pale skin and my hair, because … I don’t know … maybe they hadn’t seen red hair before.’ He paused then as if he’d used up all the words he had in a sudden rush of description. Irene wondered if she spoke whether it would break his chain of thought, or whether he was waiting for her to speak.

‘Were you frightened?’ she whispered.

‘No, they meant no harm, just curious, like we were. Lots of times we went to the markets; that’s where I bought your sari. Did you like it?’ His voice was anxious again.

‘I love it. I have it covering my bed.’

‘Do you?’ He looked at her in surprise.

‘I’ve worn it too, in the house, but I like to see it on my bed everyday when I wake up.’

He smiled a little then and she knew he was pleased with her answer.

They walked away from the castle and the ground began to rise steeply. ‘Are those caves up there?’ he asked.

‘Well, it’s called the Cave Hill so they probably are. I’ve never been up there.’

‘Do you think people live in them?’

‘No, of course they don’t,’ she laughed.

‘And there’s all of Belfast below us. They have us studying it on maps and charts at the base. The ring of hills and the Lough a clear passage straight up from the sea to the city.’

They walked back to the motorbike and Sandy looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll need to get back soon, but I could give you a lift home.’

‘No it’s not far, I can walk. If you take me home my sisters will want you to come in and then you’ll never get away!’

They parted on the Antrim Road. Irene wondered if he might kiss her and felt a stab of disappointment when he shook her hand and jumped on the bike.

‘I’ll write to you when I get another pass, I promise!’ he shouted and opened the throttle. Irene waved until he was out of sight, but he never looked back.

*

The nights were drawing in and to save on coal Martha lit only a small fire each evening. ‘When that shovelful is done there’ll be no more tonight,’ she’d say or ‘Better get an extra cardigan on you, for I’m not burning money.’ They took to going to bed before ten with a hot water jar, coats on their beds and bed socks on their feet.

As usual Martha locked up and checked the fire was safe and she was just looking in on Sheila to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep with a book in her hand, when there was the beginning of a wailing sound that escalated to a loud mechanical scream within seconds. At first she thought it was coming from inside the house, then she realised what it was.

Pat was quickly out of bed. ‘It’s the air raid siren!’ she shouted. ‘Quick! Get down stairs into the shelter!’

Peggy was sitting up in bed. ‘What is it?’

Pat grabbed her. ‘Get up!’ she shouted, but Peggy resisted.

‘It’ll be a test that’s all.’ And she fell back on to her pillow.

‘Mammy, tell her!’ screamed Pat and rushed to shake Irene awake.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Irene.

‘It’s an air raid!’ Pat pushed her mother towards the stairs. ‘You go down, Mammy, and these ones’ll follow you.’

‘Where am I going, Pat?’

‘Under the stairs, have you forgotten?’ Pat looked at the bemused faces of her family and with all the force she could muster she screamed, ‘Our home is our air raid shelter!’

‘Oh God help us,’ moaned Peggy. ‘The man from the ministry is back!’

Finally, with the siren still screaming Pat got them to the bottom of the stairs, but instead of going through the door to the living room and on into the kitchen, Peggy stopped. ‘I’m going to have a wee look outside to see if there’s any planes?’

Pat grabbed her. ‘You can’t do that, stupid. If you can see the planes they’ve already dropped the bombs on you!’

‘Oh don’t be ridiculous, Pat.’ Peggy unlocked the door and went out into the street.

Under the stairs the air was chill, but none of them had thought to take the coats off their beds. In the pitch black, Pat’s voice sounded like something from the information films they’d been showing at the cinema for months. ‘It’s important not to panic. This is the safest part of the house. We’ll remain here until the all clear sounds.’ She rummaged around in the dark. ‘There’s a torch here somewhere. Ah, here it is.’ She switched it on and was shocked at their pale and frightened faces. ‘There’s blankets too, here wrap these round you.’

Martha could feel Sheila shivering next to her and put her arm around her. ‘Don’t worry, love, it’ll be a practice that’s all.’

‘But what if there’s bombs dropping? What if they land on the house?’

‘Sssh … it’ll be over soon, you’ll see.’

‘I’m going to look for Peggy,’ said Irene decisively and stood up only to hit her head on the stairs.

‘You can’t,’ said Pat. ‘You have to wait for the all-clear, that’s a completely different noise. You’ll recognise it when you hear it. It goes like this … Woooo—’

‘Oh for goodness sake, Pat, move out of the way, so I can find out what’s happening.’

Outside in the street, a group of neighbours were standing in the road chatting and occasionally looking skyward. Some children were running around, arms outstretched, pretending to be planes shooting at each other. Peggy was talking to Thelma and her family.

‘What’s going on?’ Irene asked.

‘We think it’s a practice. The ARP warden was here a few minutes ago trying to get us to go indoors, apparently the biggest danger is from falling slates. But then he said there hadn’t been any anti-aircraft fire from the guns down near the docks and there would have been if any planes had been sighted.’

‘Well, it’s too cold to stand out here. I’m going back in,’ said Irene.

‘Me too,’ said Peggy, ‘but I’m not spending the night under the stairs. I’m for my bed and you can wake me if you hear the guns.’

Irene wisely made a detour upstairs and collected coats and the eiderdown from Martha’s bed, at least they would be warm while they waited. Then she went back to the others and told them what had been said. Pat was adamant they should wait for the all clear, so they sat on in the cold and dark with few words to say between them, while upstairs Peggy slept.

*

The next day at the Ministry of Public Security, Pat was given the job of contacting police stations across the city to gauge the reaction of the public to the first air raid warning. She could have written the report based on what happened in Joanmount Gardens or indeed what happened in the Goulding house: there was some fear and panic; some had taken earlier advice and had prepared a place to shelter; others wandered out on to the streets; quite a few had stayed warm in their beds.

Over the following weeks there were many more false alarms and the reports Pat made to her superiors revealed increasing complacency. Then at the beginning of December, Pat was summoned to the office of the senior civil servant in charge of air raid precautions. She had never before spoken to anyone higher than her immediate supervising officer and wondered if her work was unsatisfactory. She had tried hard to be precise and accurate in her reports, but she knew that the results of her findings would not be well received.

In a part of Stormont reserved for senior level civil servants, she followed the red carpeted corridor to room sixteen and knocked on the door.

‘Come in!’

The room was dominated by a large dark wooden desk behind which sat a man with his back to her looking out over Stormont’s sweeping drive. He stood up and turned to face her, his hand outstretched.

‘Hello Pat, how are you?’

William Kennedy looked tired and his closely cropped hair made him look severe, but his smile was just as she remembered it.

Pat tried to match his tone, despite her surprise and confusion. ‘Hello William, I’m very well. How are you?’ She knew she was blushing.

He invited her to sit down. ‘Working hard, Pat, like everyone in this building. I’ve been appointed permanent secretary to John MacDermott to work on Northern Ireland’s preparations for civil defence in the event of enemy attack.’

The mention of the minister by name surprised Pat, as did the implication of William’s close connection to him.

He went on. ‘I’ve been reading your reports on the public response to the alerts. Very thorough, you’ve a good grasp of what’s going on out there. I’m told that people are very calm about the whole thing.’

Pat could see he why he might think that was the case, but she explained. ‘People don’t panic, they take the false alarms in their stride, because that’s what they always are…false alarms. The trouble is they don’t believe the Germans will ever attack us, they’re concentrating on bombing London, Liverpool, Manchester, so why divert their efforts to Belfast?’ She paused then, conscious that she’d expressed views that she’d never spoken aloud. Now here she was pouring them out to a permanent secretary.

‘Maybe the people are right?’ he ventured.

‘Of course they’re not! The Germans will come here. Not only because we build ships and planes, but because we’re easy to bomb.’