Martha's Girls

by Alrene Hughes

  ‘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.’

  ‘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 programm
e 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 co
uldn’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.