Martha's Girls

by Alrene Hughes

  The applause at the end of the concert went quickly from warm to enthusiastic and the audience, perhaps reluctant to venture out into the wintery night, lingered. Pat found Kathleen still talking to the elderly man she had been sitting next to earlier.

  ‘Hello Pat,’ said Kathleen kissing her lightly on the cheek. ‘Can I introduce you to Sir John Andrews? We’re old sparring partners from our days on the Board of Education.’ Pat was astonished to find herself shaking hands with the recently appointed Prime Minister of Northern Ireland.

  ‘Sir John, this is my niece Patricia Goulding; she’s one of your civil servants.’

  ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Goulding, in which department do you work?’

  ‘The Ministry of Public Security, on the air raid precautions section.’

  ‘Indeed, very important work.’

  ‘I’ve been telling Sir John that he needs new blood in his administration, the likes of young William Kennedy would certainly get the British government to understand the danger to Belfast.’

  ‘Still crusading, Kathleen?’ Sir John laughed. ‘You should have taken my advice years ago and stood for parliament.’

  ‘And what would be the chances of an Independent candidate getting elected anywhere in this Province, never mind a woman?’ she replied.

  ‘Well voters are creatures of habit, thank goodness. Anyway, you know there is more than one way of getting your views heard.’ He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘And now I must excuse myself and seek out the excellent choir director. Nice to meet you, Patricia.’

  ‘Well, Pat, who would have thought I would be here in Stormont watching a Goulding girl sing for the Prime Minister. I’m so proud of you. Now you run along and thank William for inviting me. Next year I expect you two to be the soloists!’

  Pat had no intention of being so immodest as to seek out William, but as she crossed the room to join her friends from the office, he intercepted her.

  ‘There you are. I’ve been looking for you. Wasn’t it a lovely concert! Now look, I need to talk to you—’

  ‘William, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, given the circumstances—’

  ‘But it’s absolutely the right idea, why shouldn’t I talk to you?’

  ’Because it’s indiscrete.’

  ‘Indiscrete? What do you mean indiscrete? You’re a civil servant in my department; you’ve signed the Official Secret’s Act, haven’t you? I’m desperate to—’

  ‘William, I don’t think …’ In the seconds it took Pat to speak the words, she realised the mistake she was about to make. She stopped. ‘What exactly is it you want to talk about?’

  ‘My plans for more shelters, of course, they’re needed up and down the main roads radiating out of the city and in strategically important workplaces. I want to know your opinion. I was going to ask you to have dinner, but that might not be a good idea, ‘walls have ears’ and all that. Maybe I could give you a lift home?’

  ‘No, that’s not necessary, I already have a lift.’ She tried to keep her voice light. ‘Maybe we could discuss your ideas tomorrow at the office?’

  Chapter 22

  Christmas Eve 1940 in Belfast was a one of those rare winter days when the clouds had blown out into the Irish Sea leaving behind a sapphire blue sky and freezing temperatures. The streets thronged with people shopping or meeting friends. The Salvation Army silver band played carols all day on the corner of Castle Place with the added percussion of rattling tins. In Goldstein’s music shop ‘White Christmas’ played continuously. They’d opened early at eight, hoping to close around four, but the customers kept coming. Goldstein was delighted. ‘We have never sold so much in one day in the history of the shop!’

  They worked through lunch and, as four o’clock approached, Peggy asked, ‘Mr Goldstein, are we going to finish soon? I need to get to Robb’s to buy something and they might shut early too.’

  ‘I cannot possibly close when customers still want to buy.’

  ‘Then can I nip out for a while, I won’t be long?’

  ‘Stay until five, Peggy, and I will give you a little bonus. How does that sound?’

  Peggy knew she wouldn’t get her wages anyway until the shop closed so she smiled and secretly hoped the bonus would be enough to buy the elegant dress in Robb’s window she’d been dreaming about all week.

  *

  The workers at the aircraft factory had also earned a bonus in the form of a Christmas dinner in the canteen. Irene and Myrtle sat with the other women in their paper hats.

  ‘Call that a Christmas dinner? It’s all potato! Sure that pick of turkey wouldn’t fill your back tooth,’ said Irene.

  ‘Aye well, it’s more than I’ll be eatin’ tomorrow, if I can’t pick up something for next to nothin’ in the shops,’ said Myrtle.

  ‘Are you going out tonight?’

  ‘Later on I am, Robert McVey has asked me te the International Bar.’

  ‘That sounds exciting.’

  Myrtle pulled a face. ‘Do ye think so? Depends who you’re goin’ with, so it does.’

  ‘But Robert is so nice.’

  ‘Oh yes, we all know you’ve had a soft spot for him ever since he put you over his shoulder and carried you out of that plane, but you’ve never been out with him. He’s a bit boring.’

  ‘Then you should find someone else.’

  ’Aye, maybe I will.’ Myrtle winked. ‘And what about you and the airman? Is it not time you found somebody who could take you on a real date?’

  ‘Funny you should say that, I had a Christmas card from him.’

  ‘Oh and where is he now, the North Pole?’

  ‘I don’t know where he is, but I know where he’s going to be on New Year’s Eve!’

  ‘Really?’

  Irene nodded. ‘Outside the City Hall at eight o’clock waiting for me.’

  ‘That’s great. Maybe we could make it a foursome – you and me with the invisible airman and the boring fireman.’

  ‘You know, Myrtle, I think that’s one of your better ideas. Sandy doesn’t talk much anyway and you say Robert’s boring so at least you and I can have a good laugh together. What do you think?’

  ‘I think I’ll tell Robert he’s to meet me outside the City Hall as well. We’ll all go for a few drinks then maybe on to the Plaza to see in the New Year.’

  *

  Across the city, a meeting of the entire staff of the Ministry of Public Security had been called for two o’clock on Christmas Eve. The girls in the office had been speculating about its purpose all morning. Pat kept her own counsel, knowing at least the gist of what would be said. The morning after the concert, she had been asked once again to report to the Permanent Secretary. William greeted her warmly and immediately explained his plans.

  ‘It’s not that we want to frighten people,’ he explained, ‘but they do need to know an attack will certainly take place and the consequences will be loss of life and property. Or aim must be to minimise the losses, by ensuring people react speedily and sensibility.’ He went on. ‘You were right, Pat, when you said the lead must come from this Ministry. If we’re seen to be making preparations then people will believe in the threat. I’m thinking of ordering more shelters to be built.’

  ‘That would be a start, but …’ Pat hesitated.

  ‘But you’re not sure?’ he asked.

  ‘William, the shelters are hardly ever used. No woman I know would go in one, you never know who’d be in there.’

  ‘What if we had more wardens? They’d be in charge of a group of shelters; that might help. I’m also thinking of introducing a compulsory fire watching order; every decent sized business would have to appoint fire watchers who would be on site around the clock.’

  Pat felt confident enough to mention something else that was bothering her: ‘There’s talk of German reconnaissance planes flying over the city.’

  ‘Yes, they fly very high and most people don’t know they’re overhead, but lately their frequency has increased.’


  ‘Then we need to tell everyone that. Can the Ministry put out statements maybe through the Belfast Telegraph telling people the Germans are taking a real interest in the city?’

  ‘Yes that’s a good idea. Make them think about it every day, and the need to observe the black-out. It’s time we started fining people like they do in England.’

  ‘What about more anti-aircraft guns? There don’t seem to be very many, should they not be on the hills around the city?’

  ‘Yes, they should. In fact the Minister is sending me to Westminster to put Belfast’s case for anti-aircraft defence equipment. I leave immediately after Christmas.’

  *

  Pat and the rest of the staff filed into the meeting room in sombre mood. William was standing at the front, a little nervous, she thought, as he stood to address them. His suit was immaculate, his shirt pristine white, his tie maroon with a thin stripe. He cleared his throat and the room fell silent.

  ‘We have a duty to the citizens of Belfast to keep every one of them safe. Their lives will depend on the actions of this Ministry. Since this conflict began, people have been prepared to dream until the bombs awake them, for these we will in the end have to make provision. The population has not yet had the educative experience of being attacked, but when it happens it will be sudden and terrifying. It is time therefore to wake the people early from their dreaming so that, when that dreadful night comes, they are well practised in how to save their lives. I will now outline the strategic plan to raise citizen awareness.

  At the end of the meeting, William caught up with Pat as she was leaving. ‘Miss Goulding, may I have a word with you?’

  In the empty meeting room, he took her hand in both of his and brought it once again to his lips. ‘Pat, it meant a lot to me to hear your views and suggestions.’ Then he moved quickly back to his briefcase. ‘I have a small gift for you, a Christmas present I suppose, but really it’s for … well … for being you.’ He held out a small square box.

  ‘William, you didn’t need to—’

  ‘I didn’t need to, but I very much wanted to. Open it.’

  The box was lined with green satin and inside was a bracelet of coral with a silver clasp.

  ‘William, it’s beautiful.’

  *

  Peggy collected her wages at five from Goldstein and rushed out of the shop calling ‘Merry Christmas!’ over her shoulder. She ran all the way to Robb’s and was delighted to see the lights still on, but when she got to the door it was shut in her face by a man in a suit, presumably the manager and through the glass he mouthed, ‘We’re closed.’

  ‘You can’t be,’ shouted Peggy. ‘There’s still customers in there!’

  He shook his head, content in his authority. Just then Peggy noticed a familiar figure inside the store. Grace McCracken! She waited for the manager to move away then she knocked on the door and waved frantically. Grace’s face lit up in recognition.

  ‘Hello Peggy, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Hello Grace, I’d like to buy something.’ It was all Peggy could do to keep the sarcastic tone out of her voice.

  ‘But the shop’s shut.’

  ‘Yes, but there are still a few customers inside, you could let me in, couldn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know … the manager …’ Grace looked right and left, then undid the bolts on the door.

  ‘What is it you want to buy?’

  ‘The dress in the window, the red one with the black belt and lace collar,’ said Peggy quickly. ‘I need it for a dinner dance tonight.’

  ‘Wait here.’ Grace went to the window and returned with the dress draped between her outstretched arms. ‘I don’t think there’ll be time to try it on, Peggy.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, it looks the right size.’

  ‘But what if it doesn’t fit?’

  ‘I’ll bring it back. How much is it?’

  Grace read the label. ‘Three pounds.’

  Peggy checked her wage packet to see how much bonus Goldstein had given her, two pounds. ‘Can you get me any discount, Grace?’

  ‘Sorry, Peggy, we only get discount on things we buy for ourselves.’ Grace had no idea what it was like to go to a dinner dance, but she recognised disappointment when she saw it. ‘Look, why don’t you wait for me on the corner there and I’ll see what I can do?’

  Fifteen minutes later Grace hurried along Castle Place to where Peggy was waiting and handed her a Robb’s bag. ‘There you are, Peggy, two pounds ten shillings, a good discount.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Grace. Did you tell them you were buying it for your niece?’

  ‘No,’ said Grace. ‘I told them it was for me. Sometimes it’s good to surprise people.’

  *

  On Christmas morning Martha was up at six and downstairs washed and dressed with the fire started and a hot strong tea in her hand by half past. She gave thanks again to Anna for her gift of a smoked ham large enough for several Christmas dinners and plates of sandwiches. There was also a beautiful iced Christmas cake from Harry Ferguson, which he’d brought when he came to take Peggy to the dinner dance. She wasn’t altogether sure how she felt about the two of them going out again, but he looked prosperous enough and he had a good trade. She was less sure about Sandy. Irene was excited about meeting him on New Year’s Eve, but Martha could see no future in such a relationship in wartime and, besides, he was a Scotsman.

  All five of them went to morning service, although Peggy was so tired she almost fell asleep during the sermon. They returned to eat a good dinner. Then all afternoon the sisters played games from a compendium Martha had bought them, ludo, snakes and ladders and draughts, games remembered from childhood, but with such a competitive attitude that Martha frequently had to intervene to warn them to play fairly or else she’d take the compendium from them.

  On Boxing Day they had invited the McCrackens to come for their tea. John arrived in his full warden’s uniform because he was going on duty at nine. He and Pat discussed his duties at length, until Irene, thankfully, suggested a game of charades. Grace and Aggie threw themselves into it and Martha was glad to see them enjoying themselves and John resisting the temptation to criticise them for it. The following morning Irene, Pat and Peggy were back at work and Martha and Sheila cleaned the house from top to bottom ready for the new year.

  Chapter 23

  When Irene arrived home from work on New Year’s Eve, she was surprised to find an envelope behind the clock. It looked like it had been damaged in the post. Inside was a crumpled Christmas card and underneath the printed greeting, was one line in Sean’s handwriting: ‘Coming home New Year’s Eve.’ Irene caught her breath. Where had the card been? Delayed in the post? She had to warn Theresa, but it might already be too late. She ran downstairs and into the kitchen. ‘Mammy, change of plan, I have to go out early. I don’t want any tea!’ She was out the back door and away before Martha could say a word.

  It was over a year since Irene had last been to Northumberland Street and that night she had ended up in hospital fighting for her life. In the gathering darkness very little of the main road looked familiar. Fortunately, she found the only landmark she could remember, the sweet shop that sold yellow man. She turned the corner and followed the noise to the bar. Inside it was packed with men, and cigarette smoke hung like a winter fog over their heads. They stood three and four deep at the bar and, although she was the only woman in the room, none of them made way for her.

  ‘Excuse me please, I need to speak to Mr O’Hara.’

  ‘You and me both, darlin’,’ said the man next to her, ‘and when you see him tell him mine’s a pint of porter!’

  She waited five minutes hoping she could move to the front as others were served, but they remained standing at the bar to drink. She was beginning to despair when a young man spoke to her. ‘What is it you want, miss? You’re surely not here to buy drink?’

  Irene was close to tears, feeling the time slipping by. ‘No, I’m not. I need to talk to Mr
O’Hara. I’ve a message for him.’

  ‘Come on now, lads. Can you not see there’s a lady here? Let her through for pity’s sake.’ He elbowed his way through the crowd, pulling Irene behind him.