‘Hello, Mrs. Goulding. How’re ye keepin’?’ It was the mother of Thelma, Peggy’s cinema pal.
‘Not too bad, Mrs Boyd, and yourself?’
‘I’ll be a lot better when I get all this Christmas palaver over with, I can tell ye!’ She set her baskets down either side of her and flexed her fingers. ‘Them begs is cuttin’ in tae me, so they are.’
‘Have you got all your messages then?’
‘Aye, just got a turkey. Have ye seen the price of them? Scandalous it is! All ye get from them is, “There’s a war on, what do ye expect!” Says I, “A war, my backside, youse uns is just profiteerin”.’
‘Why, how much are they charging?’
‘Sure didn’t he want ten bob for a scrawny wee criter! I told him te catch himself on, turned on me heel an’ left.’
‘So where did you get your turkey then?’
Mrs Boyd leaned in close. ‘There’s a farmer from Knocknagoney, over in the left hand corner there, will sell ye one for five bob. Take a quick look in me bag and ye’ll see why.’
Martha caught a handle and leaned over to peer inside. There was a loud shriek from the bag, which shook furiously and an ugly scaly head with yellow eyes and a sharp beak came within inches of Martha’s face. In the time it took her to shriek as loud and as surprised as the turkey, Mrs Boyd had clamped the bag shut.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph what are you doing with a live turkey?’
‘I’m takin’ it home for Christmas dinner!’
Quick as a flash a man in the queue shouted, ‘Aye give it a party hat and a plate of sprouts. It’ll be no uglier than the rest a your family!’
‘Are you going to kill it?’ asked Martha.
‘Well, I’ve not bought it for its company! Sure I grew up on a farm; saw me Da ring the neck of fowl manys a time. Nothin’ to it.’ With that, she gathered up her belongings, living and dead, and waved her hand. ‘All the best to you, Mrs Goulding.’
‘The same to you, Mrs Boyd.’
Eventually Martha reached the front of the butcher’s queue. ‘I’ve not a lot left, missus. I could let you have a nice ox tongue and half a pound of beef sausages, how’s that?’
Ox tongue! It was years since Martha had cooked a fresh ox tongue, not since the early thirties when times were really hard. Still it was a tasty dish hot and delicious cold on sandwiches. She could do a lot worse. ‘I’ll take both,’ she said.
The farmer from Knocknagoney was packing up when she got to his stall.
‘Have you a fowl left at all?’ asked Martha.
‘I have, missus, this criter here is no great size, but I’ll vouch for his meat, moist and tasty for sure. You can have it for five shillings if you’ve a mind to take him as he is.’ He spat on his hand and held it out, a farmer’s bargain, and Martha shook his hand on it then watched with some trepidation as he trussed its legs and taped its beak and she prayed both would last the bus journey home.
An ox tongue was a disgusting article raw, but the knowledge of how to disguise its shape and cook it to perfection would turn it into a rare delicacy. She’d make sure the girls didn’t see it until it was cooked. Over a foot long and unmistakably a tongue from its rasping pointed tip to its ugly root where it had been anchored to the gullet. First, it must be scalded with boiling water and skinned, ready to roll it into a circle like a Catherine wheel, then tied tightly with string before plunging it in a large pan of boiling salted water to simmer for an hour. Finally, Martha set it on a plate covered it with a tea towel and laid her heavy cast iron on top to press it. She was thankful all this was accomplished long before the girls were due home. Time enough to have a cup of tea and a think about the main course she’d left gobbling to itself in the bath.
Sheila’s face at the window was a shock. Martha had completely forgotten about her hair, or lack of it.
‘How was it at the McCracken’s?’
‘Very busy again, we ran out of sprouts, but John told everyone parsnips were great with a Christmas dinner, especially if you roasted them with the potatoes. I’ve brought some home so we can try them.’ She put a string bag full of fat white parsnips on the draining board. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘I went shopping at St George’s Market, then came home and cooked some pressed tongue and made a Madeira cake. I thought we could ice that instead of the Christmas cake. There’s tea in the pot if you want some.’
Sheila busied herself getting some tea. ‘I could ice the cake for you if you like.’
‘That’d be great and while you’re doing that, I could try making a Christmas pudding. I remember a recipe of my mother’s that doesn’t need so many ingredients and steams in half the time.’
The two set to work, each concentrating on their chosen task. Outside the light began to fade and neither heard the sound of the gate rattle or the back door open. Suddenly there was a piercing scream from the bathroom, followed by a startled cry from Sheila as the she dropped the pallet knife she was holding. By the time it hit the floor Martha was out of the kitchen and rattling the bathroom door.
‘Peggy, Peggy are you all right?’
Another shriek less startled than terrified this time.
‘Peggy, open the door! Open the door!’ Martha rattled the doorknob.
Now Sheila was at her side.
‘What’s happened? Is Peggy all right?’
‘Of course she is. She’s just seen the turkey that’s all.’
‘What turkey?’
‘Peggy, open this door!’ Martha shouted with all the authority she could muster.
There was the rattling of the key and another scream as Peggy squeezed herself through the narrowest of openings and slammed the door behind her.
‘Calm down, Peggy. It’s just a turkey. Sure it’s all tied up. It can’t hurt you.’
Peggy had blanched as white as the turkey’s breast feathers; her eyes were wide with fright. ‘I needed to go to the toilet. Switched on the light and it came at me. Its wings were flapping trying to get out of the bath; its claws scrabbling over the side; coming straight for me!’
Sheila gasped. ‘How’d a turkey get in our bathroom?’
Martha tried to calm her hysterical daughters. ‘It’s our dinner, for tomorrow.’
‘What!’ Sheila and Peggy looked at her as if she was a mad woman and indeed Martha was beginning to think that sometime in the afternoon in St George’s Market she must surely have taken leave of her senses.
‘Oh, Lord help us!’ she whispered and covered her face with her hands. ‘What have I done? Christmas Eve and a Knocknagoney turkey has taken over our bathroom and I’m damned if I’m the one to get him out!’ She took her hands away and bit her lip just a little and smiled, slowly at first, looking from one girl’s face to the next. Sheila smiled too, then Peggy, in spite of the fright she’d had. They turned their backs on the bathroom door went back into the kitchen, sat at the table and looked at one another smiling and laughing a little, then laughing a lot. And when they stopped, it only took one of them to look in the direction of the bathroom for the laughter to start again. They were still sitting there when Pat and Irene came through the back door and fortunately Martha had the presence of mind to shout out, ‘Don’t go in the bathroom!’
‘There’s nothing else for it,’ declared Martha. ‘We just have to wait until Jack and Betty come back. They’ve probably nipped out for a few things. They’ll be home for their tea.’
‘But Mammy, I don’t think I can wait ‘til then. I need to go now!’ said Peggy.
‘She’s not the only one,’ added Irene. ‘I haven’t been to the toilet since lunchtime.’
‘What I don’t understand is why you think Jack Harper can help,’ said Pat.
Martha spoke confidently. ‘Sure doesn’t the man have a way with birds?’ Her daughters stared at her in disbelief.
‘Mammy, Jack keeps budgies! He’s never wrestled an eight pound turkey on Christmas Eve!’
And then they were laughing again, except
Peggy who stood up, crossed her legs and howled at the floor, ‘Oh! Don’t make me laugh! Please don’t make me laugh!’
At that moment there was a knock at the front door. ‘I’ll get it,’ said Pat.
‘And if it’s Jack Harper tell him he’ll need a large piece of cuttlefish and a very strong swing,’ shouted Irene. Pat left them shrieking and returned moments later to hear Irene warming to her theme by painting a picture of the turkey flying around the Harper’s sitting room and landing on Betty’s head. It was a few moments before anyone noticed Pat had returned and behind her, smiling broadly, stood Harry Ferguson.
‘Hello Peggy. Looks like I’ve arrived in time for a good laugh.’ All eyes turned towards him, faces full of laughter smiled a welcome. Couldn’t have timed it better if I’d tried, he thought. He reached across the table and held out his hand to Martha. ‘I’m guessing you’re Mrs Goulding, but I may be wrong.’ He smiled warmly and made a point of looking round the daughters then went on. ‘I’m Harry Ferguson, a friend of Peggy’s.’
Martha stood up, the smile still playing on her lips. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Ferguson, you’ve arrived at a very strange time.’ Harry raised an eyebrow.
‘Why don’t we go into the sitting room and we’ll tell you all about it.’
*
‘It’s no problem, Mrs Goulding, no problem at all. I may be a master baker by trade, but I’ve helped out in my uncle’s butcher’s shop since I was twelve years old.’
‘But Mr Ferguson, you’re all dressed up. Were you on your way out somewhere?’
Harry was already removing his jacket, but didn’t miss a trick. ‘To tell you the truth, Mrs Goulding, I was hoping to ask your permission to take Peggy to a Christmas Eve dance tonight.’
Martha took the jacket and held out her hand for the tie that quickly followed.
‘Oh, is that right? Peggy didn’t mention it.’
Harry rolled up his sleeves. ‘Now then, lead me to the beast.’
The Goulding women stood in silence in the kitchen listening to the noise of claws scrabbling on a cast iron bath and the flapping of wings against walls. Then suddenly all was silent. The door opened slowly and Harry Ferguson, looking very handsome with his dark hair falling over his eyes, poked his head out.
‘I’ll be needing a very sharp knife, some string and as much newspaper as you can lay your hands on, if that’s all right, Mrs Goulding.’
‘Of course it is, Mr Ferguson. I’ll fetch it right away.’
Half an hour later, he emerged and put a newspaper parcel on the table. ‘That can all be thrown out.’ A second parcel followed. ‘That’s your giblets; good for making gravy.’ Then the turkey plucked and trussed was on the table. ‘All sorted now, just needs stuffing and it’s ready for the oven.’
‘You’re a life saver, so you are!’ Martha was delighted. She looked from him to the turkey then back again. That’s when she noticed his shirt. ‘Oh no, it’s ruined, or it will be if you don’t get it in cold water right away. Quickly, get it off you,’ she ordered. Martha filled the sink with cold water liberally sprinkled with salt. ‘The best remedy for blood stains,’ she assured him and plunged his shirt in the sink. Only then did she turn around and, with a jolt of surprise, saw a young man stripped to the waist in her kitchen and her four daughters wide eyed and mesmerised by the sight.
An hour later wearing Robert’s only decent shirt, albeit a little tight around the collar, Harry Ferguson left Joanmount Gardens in his borrowed sports car with Peggy at his side on their way to a dance and her entire family waving them off.
Harry had promised to have Peggy back before midnight and Martha had surprised herself by believing him. Of course she decided to wait up for her, but she passed the time, not by worrying, but by adding the final touches to the girls’ presents. She sewed the buttons on their new jumpers and wrapped them up. Hanging from the fireplace were four ‘stockings’, each filled with an orange, some nuts and a different coloured comb for each daughter. Just before midnight, Martha heard the back door open. Peggy bustled in flushed and smiling.
‘Well,’ said Martha, ‘did you have a good time?’
‘Oh yes, yes. First of all we had some supper at a restaurant on Chichester Street, very nice, Harry knew the owner.’ Peggy didn’t mention the glass of champagne she’d drunk, the amazing bubbles and the lightness in her head. ‘Then we went to the Plaza Ballroom. There was a full orchestra, can you believe it, and singers. It was wonderful and the dancing …’ She could tell no more, there was too much going on in her head, image after image, moment after moment. She searched for words to explain. ‘Oh Mammy, it was wonderful!’ was all she could manage.
Later as she lay in bed waiting for sleep to come, she heard again the rich sound of an orchestra and felt Harry’s arms around her as they danced; no baby grand or angry boss to contend with this time. She remembered how he had leaned down to whisper in her ear; she looked up at him wondering if she had heard him right and saw again his smiling eyes as he kissed her.
It was after one o’clock when Martha checked on her daughters. She laid the orange sari, redeemed from the pawn broker’s, over Irene’s bed. Next door, on Sheila’s side of the dressing table she left a small box wrapped in Christmas paper with a tag that said, ‘For Sheila, who has the most beautiful ears.’ At last Martha climbed into bed weary, but content. Since she was a child she had believed Christmas Eves were full of magic. As she got older that belief never changed, but each year brought a different kind of magic and this Christmas Eve had been one of the strangest ever. It seemed that Robert had been with her all day, had given her permission to pawn their ring. No ordinary wedding ring, Robert had explained that Christmas Eve long ago when he had placed it on her finger, but a ring of rubies. Even the turkey came from Knocknagoney where she and Robert used to walk out together on warm Sunday afternoons. And nothing seemed more unexpectedly natural than to lend Harry Ferguson Robert’s best shirt to take their daughter to a Christmas Eve dance.
*
Christmas Day dawned with a sharp frost. Martha was first downstairs to get the oven on to start the turkey. Next she lit the fire in the sitting room, so it would be warm when the girls came down to empty their stockings and share the opening of the presents. Finally, she put the porridge on. Irene was first up and came in the kitchen all smiles and hugs.
‘Thank you so much for my sari. I never thought I’d see it again. How did you … ’ Irene’s eyes were brimming with tears.
‘That’s all right, love. It means a lot to you doesn’t it?’
Irene nodded, unable to express the sadness she had felt at the thought of losing it.
Pat and Peggy quickly followed and all were sitting at the table chatting and eating porridge when Sheila came into the kitchen. She posed in front of them, turning her head from side to side to show the pearl in each ear lobe.
‘Thank you so much for my earrings. They’re the best present I’ve ever had. Are they from you, Mammy?’
‘They’re from all of us, Sheila. You deserve them.’ If the other sisters were surprised at the fact they were the givers of such a beautiful present, they didn’t show it. Instead each marvelled at the appropriateness of the gift and the stunning effect the earrings had on Sheila’s appearance.
The sharing of gifts was a simple, but organised, ritual. Each in turn would give out their gifts and in turn they were opened, exclaimed upon and thanks given. That way everyone shared in the opening of every gift and consequently each gift and giver received its fair attention.
Soon it was time to leave for church, with everyone well wrapped up against the chill wind blowing from the east and each Goulding girl in a cosy new jumper. The carols were sung with gusto by all, but the sermon brought the whole congregation back to the reality of a Christmas at war. The Reverend Lynas took as his theme the people of Europe united against evil.
Christmas dinner was a huge success and at the centre of it all was the now infamous Knocknagoney turkey.
The parsnips, roasted as suggested by the McCrackens, were pronounced delicious. Finally, Martha’s simple version of the plum pudding served with custard was thought to be an improvement on every pudding they’d ever eaten. Pat and Irene volunteered to wash the huge pile of dishes, provided Peggy and Sheila did the same on Boxing Day when the whole meal would be repeated.
Martha, after all her culinary efforts, was relaxing in the front room enjoying a cup of tea when she was surprised to see Goldstein’s car draw up outside. As she watched, he jumped out and hurried to the passenger’s door to help someone out. Martha caught her breath at the sight of the figure that emerged: a frail looking young woman with unkempt hair, wearing just a thin cotton dress. Her face, as she turned towards the house, struck Martha to her core. The girl’s eyes were wide and staring, her face grey and drawn.
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