Martha's Girls

by Alrene Hughes

  Peggy sat up, surprised by the urgency in Pat’s voice. ‘Is there something wrong with the engine?’

  One or two others had also noticed it, an intermittent drone, behind them, above them. The bus slowed, the driver cut the engine and the noise became louder and louder.

  ‘Oh God!’ breathed Pat, ‘enemy aircraft – the Germans are over our heads. I’m going to have a look!’

  ‘Don’t leave the bus Pat, they might see you and shoot!’

  ‘They won’t see us; their eyes are fixed on the city, the docks probably.’

  Outside there was a half moon, enough to make out the black shapes of planes following the line of the coast, some with their navigation lights on.

  ‘Where’s the bloody air-raid siren?’ shouted Sammy. ‘They’re not warnin’ people. They’ll be in their beds, for God sake!’

  As if in reply, there was an almighty crack and the anti-aircraft guns began to roar. The noise was deafening and their fire left tracers across the sky.

  ‘That’ll be the guns at Victoria Park,’ said Pat.

  ‘But that’s no good,’ screamed Sammy. ’They’re already over the gantries!’ and he pointed to where dozens of cranes, bathed in moonlight, pinpointed the target. Then, at last, came the distinctive sound of the air-raid siren.

  They watched as thousands of pinpricks of light like iridescent snow fell from the sky. ‘Magnesium flares,’ said Pat. Another wave of bombers followed the first, someone counted them, eight in total. ‘They’ll drop the incendiary devices,’ said Pat.

  ‘How do you know so much about German bombers?’ asked Sammy.

  ‘Because she works for the Ministry of Public Security,’ said Peggy, ‘and they’ve been expecting this for months.’

  With the incendiaries came the beginnings of fires in the docks and the streets surrounding them. The Barnstormers huddled together watching the flames, small and isolated at first, turn from a glow to a conflagration until the sky was ablaze.

  ‘It’s like the burning of Atlanta,’ whispered Peggy.

  The following waves of bombers, guided by the flames, brought high explosives and parachute bombs. One group came in from the south, right over their heads and under the barrage balloons. They covered their ears and watched them race above the road then veer towards the docks, but it seemed one pilot had been over eager and released his bombs too soon. There was a piercing scream and Myrtle broke away from the group and began running. By the time Sammy caught her she was hysterical. ‘Them’s my streets!’ She kept shouting. ‘Them’s my streets!’ That the Newtownards Road had been hit was obvious, probably Templemore Avenue too, but Sammy held her fast, shushing her. ‘I know, I know but you’ve got to stay here. It’s not safe.’ They returned to the bus to wait in sombre mood.

  Shortly before three thirty, there was a heavy assault of high explosives on the docks area so severe they felt the ground shake and rumble beneath their feet. Then, their mission accomplished, the bombers dipped and rolled and disappeared over the Black Mountain, leaving behind a city wide awake to the dawn and the realities of war.

  The Barnstormers waited a while, subdued by what they’d witnessed, then at four o’clock the all-clear sounded.

  ‘Come on, let’s get home,’ said Sammy. ‘And I’ll tell ye what, youse uns should never complain again about doin’ encores; that extra wee bit of singing might well have kept us from bein’ in the middle of all that.’

  *

  On the opposite side of the Lough, Martha as usual had found it hard to sleep with the girls still out. Around midnight she too became aware of the droning and knew instantly what it was. She thought about going under the stairs, but the siren hadn’t sounded. The intermittent drone grew louder. Suddenly there was a deafening noise and flashes of light.

  ‘Sheila!’ she screamed. ‘Wake up! We’re being bombed.’

  They followed the drill Pat had taught them and within minutes were huddled under the stairs with all the small comforts they would need to spend the night.

  ’Mammy, where do you think they are?’

  ‘Somewhere safe I’m sure, maybe in a shelter. Why don’t you say a wee prayer to keep them safe?’

  ‘God, you know where Irene, Pat and Peggy Goulding are and that there are bombs falling on Belfast. Please will you keep them safe and me and Mammy too. Amen.’

  And in her head Martha repeated over and over. ‘Please God let them be somewhere safe.’ It was at times like these she wished she had some Rosary beads.

  *

  The bus made good progress towards the city, but as they drove along the Newtownards Road they began to see evidence of the destruction. A church was blazing fiercely, they could feel the heat through the bus windows, but there was no sign of the fire brigade. Further on, the bus started to fill with choking black smoke from a burning timber yard and they had to make a detour. Soon they began to see the severe damage caused by high explosive bombing. The streets were strewn with slates and rubble and glass. At the end of one terrace a gable wall was bulging and in imminent danger of collapse and everywhere was bathed in the orange light of many fires. Near Templemore Avenue, Myrtle left the bus and Sammy went with her.

  ‘I’ll see her home,’ he said. ‘These streets aren’t safe and God knows what she’ll find when she gets there.’

  The bus crossed the river just before five in the artificial dawn of burning fires and the sight from the bridge was so striking that the driver stopped the bus and one by one they filed out in silence to stand and stare at the blazing docks.

  *

  Martha and Sheila were drinking tea in the kitchen when the girls came in. Everyone was talking at once.

  ‘Thank God you’re safe.’ Martha kissed each daughter.

  ‘We saw the whole thing!’ said Peggy.

  ‘You two went in under the stairs, I hope,’ said Pat.

  ‘Aye, don’t worry, we followed the drill exactly. It was cold, but quiet. I’d guess there were no bombs dropped up this end.’

  ‘It’s all round the docks, a bit along the Newtownards Road.’

  I’m starving, so I am,’ said Irene. ‘I’ll make us all some breakfast before I go to work?’

  ‘Mercy me!’ Martha threw her hands in the air. ‘Work is it? There’ll be no work for you girls today after the night you’ve had!’

  ‘Mammy, it’s because of the night we’ve had that we have to be there.’ Pat was adamant.

  ‘But there might be no buses running.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll walk all the way if I have to.’

  ‘And so will I,’ said Irene.

  ‘Me too,’ said Peggy, ‘If I can find any flat shoes.’

  *

  Irene crossed the Queen’s Bridge walking slowly, taking in the scene along the river. There were remnants of fires still burning and the air was clogged with so many smells: wood smoke from smouldering timber; melting roof felt from factory buildings and, pervading everything, the stink of cordite. She rounded the corner and her heart leapt. There it was, still standing, and workers crowding through the doors. She saw a woman they sometimes sat with in the canteen and shouted to her. ‘I can’t believe it’s not damaged. I thought it had taken a direct hit.’

  ‘We all did, they missed it by a whisker, but there was a parachute oil bomb. It just skimmed Shorts and floated across into the Harland and Wolff factory. The whole place burned like firewood. There were fifty Stirling fuselages in there, all gone.’

  ‘That’s terrible! They were to replace the planes they’ve lost in England.’

  ‘Worst of it is, a few men on the night shift saw the bomb coming towards them and thought it was a parachute with a German hanging from it and there’s them runnin’ after it to catch him, when the whole lot exploded. Kilt them stone dead!’

  Inside the aircraft factory there was some incendiary damage that had been quickly dealt with by the fire watchers and in some of the offices glass skylights had blown in. Irene clocked in and went in search of
Myrtle, but found instead Robert McVey.

  ‘When the all clear sounded I went to check on Myrtle’s family. Her father, brother and sister were in a shelter safe and sound, but her Grannie refused to leave the house. Found out later the house was bombed, but she survived. Myrtle’s trying to find some cousins to take them in.’

  *

  By early afternoon Pat had read enough reports to give William information on how the public had responded to the raid. ‘The shelters weren’t used much; they’re still in a bad state and some were locked.’

  ‘And how did people behave?’ asked William.

  ‘Where there was a lot of damage, people were frightened, but in some places they went on to the streets just to watch the bombs.’

  ‘When will these people realise the horrors of an air-raid? They’re acting like front seat spectators at a gigantic Brock’s firework display!’

  ‘Any word on the number of casualties?’ asked Pat.

  ‘Much lower than expected, thank God. We’ve been lucky, but next time they’ll come back stronger, with twice as many bombs and a wider range of targets.’

  ‘When do you think they’ll be back?’

  ‘Before we know it,’ said William.

  *

  When Irene arrived home that evening she was surprised to see Thomas Wilson’s car parked outside the house and he and Anna in the kitchen drinking tea with Martha.

  ‘Anna and Thomas took a wee run over to see if we were all safe after last night. Wasn’t that good of them?’

  ‘We’ve been meaning to come over since we received your wedding invitation. So I said to Thomas, never mind RSVP, let’s just take a wee run over to Joanmount and hear all about it. Your Mammy has been telling us about Sandy and the wedding arrangements.’

  ‘Oh it’s going to be a very simple wedding,’ said Irene, ‘just the family, yourselves, the McCrackens and a couple of friends from work, a few from the Barnstormers, Sandy’s family live too far away to come. Pat’s going to sing. Then we’ll all come back here for some sandwiches and Peggy’s friend Harry is going to make the wedding cake.’

  ‘Well, that sounds very nice and I hear you’re getting married at Donegall Square Methodist.’

  ‘Yes we are. They couldn’t fit us in at Oldpark Presbyterian, but Donegall Square always makes room for those in uniform.’

  Anna beamed. ‘Do you know the Imperial Hotel just nearby?’ Without waiting for an answer she went on. ‘Thomas and I go there quite a lot when we’re in town and we …’ She nodded towards Thomas. ‘We would like to pay for you to have your reception there. What do you think?’

  Irene looked at her mother in amazement. Martha raised an eyebrow very slightly, which could have meant anything. ‘That’s very kind of you Aunt Anna, but we couldn’t.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Anna. ‘Martha and you girls were very supportive when Thomas and I were … you know, after the mail boat sank …’ Her voice seemed to lose its strength. ‘Anyway, we’d really like to do this for you. What do you say?’

  ‘I say it’s very kind of you and thank you very much,’ said Irene and she kissed first Anna then Thomas, the first time she’d ever done so. ‘And Uncle Thomas,’ she added, ‘will you give me away?’

  *

  Since the visit to William’s house when she had been introduced to his sister and niece, Pat had found him waiting for her after work on a few occasions. ‘I’ll drop you off in town,’ he’d said the first time and she’d protested that it was out of his way.

  ‘Not at all, it’s no more than a few minutes detour and it’ll save you time only having to catch one bus home instead of two.’ Today as he drove he vented his fury at the final draft of the report made to The Prime Minister, Sir John Andrews, about what was now being called the ‘Dockside Raid’. ‘I tell you it’s a whitewash; a piece of propaganda full of all that positive language that makes people feel self-satisfied instead of the blunt words that tell them they’re living in a fool’s paradise! There was one other piece of news today. You remember when I went to England they said they’d send us what they could by way of anti-aircraft protection?’

  Pat nodded.

  ‘Well, I had word that a shipment arrived in Larne yesterday.’

  ‘That’s great news.’

  ‘Not that great, Pat, they sent us one searchlight and one anti-aircraft gun. It’s not going to make much difference; we need ten times that amount at least.’

  ‘My mother listens to the wireless a lot for war news and she heard Lord Haw-Haw threaten Belfast with ‘Easter eggs for breakfast’. Do you think it’s possible they’ll attack again over Easter?’

  ‘That’s coming close to the full moon, ideal bombing conditions. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re coming up the Lough any time soon.’

  ‘Oh, I hope not. We’ve got a big ENSA concert at Balmoral Camp on Easter Tuesday and Irene’s getting married the day after. Goldstein has been hinting that a star is coming over from England for the show, but he can’t say who it is of course.’

  ‘I wish I was still a member of the Barnstormers. I really miss it.’

  ‘You could come along if you like.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ said Pat, her voice noticeably cooler.

  ‘No, I’d really like to, but I’ve been doing tours, spot checks, each night, checking on the precautions: fire watchers, shelters, guns. I was out during the Dockside Raid. It’s the only way I can get a feel for what’s happening on the ground each night.’

  Pat saw the tiredness in his face and understood why his frustration was so intense. ‘It’s fine.’ Her voice softer now. ‘I understand.’

  ‘When all this is over, Pat, we’ll sing again won’t we, a duet from Figaro or La Boheme, maybe?’

  ‘I’d like that,’ she smiled. ‘I’m singing something from Figaro at Irene’s wedding, Cherubino’s aria.’

  ‘I’d love to hear you sing that.’

  ‘Well, if you’re not doing anything at noon on Easter Wednesday, come along.’

  William’s eyes lit up, all tiredness gone. ‘Maybe we could sing the Suzanna and Figaro duet like we did in the concerts.’ Then suddenly his enthusiasm evaporated. ‘But maybe Irene wouldn’t want that.’

  ‘Not want it? She’d love it!’

  *

  ‘Did you find anywhere to stay, Myrtle?’ asked Irene as they sat in the canteen.

  ‘Aye, thank God. Me da’s cousin lives in Thorndyke Street. We’re stayin’ there for the time bein’ and Grannie’s gone te her sisters up the Castlereagh Road.’

  ‘You look really tired.’

  ‘Tired? I’m exhausted, so I am, but at least we’ve got a wee bit of a holiday over Easter. And you’ll never guess where I’m goin’.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘To a wedding and the reception’s at the Imperial Hotel no less!’

  ‘I’m surprised you mix in those sort of circles.’

  ‘Well, sometimes you’ve got to spend a bit of time with the lower classes, just to see how the other half lives!’

  There was a loud rapping on a table at the far end of the canteen and they looked up to see the production manager on his feet.

  ‘This morning, I am delighted to make a small presentation to one of our workers. Some of you may know that Irene Goulding will be getting married on Wednesday.’ He paused to consult the piece of paper in his hand, ‘… to a member of the RAF who is, I understand, currently stationed at Aldergrove. So I’d like to ask Irene to come up and receive her gift.’ There was a round of applause and some cheering as Irene was presented with a canteen of cutlery.

  ‘Them knives is all blunt ye know,’ shouted someone at the back, ‘but ye can sharpen them after yer married!’

  Irene leaned over to Myrtle and said with a laugh, ‘Worth getting married just for the knives and forks. It’ll be your turn soon.’

  ‘What’d’ ye mean, my turn soon?’

  Irene was surpris
ed by her sharp tone. ‘Nothing really,’ said Irene. ‘I just thought you and Robert—’

  ‘Well, you thought wrong!’ shouted Myrtle and pushed her chair back with a loud scraping noise and marched out of the canteen.

  Irene caught up with her in the corridor outside. ‘Myrtle, what’s the matter? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything …’