‘It’s not you. It’s between me and Robert.’
‘What is? What’s going on?’
‘We’re finished, it’s over.’
‘It can’t be. Sure he dotes on you.’
‘Not anymore he doesn’t.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’
‘Nothin’, I can’t tell you.’
‘This is about Sammy isn’t it? Has Robert found out?’
Myrtle nodded and wiped her eyes.
‘But sure Robert’s a good man. Tell him it didn’t mean anything with Sammy.’
‘He’ll never forgive me, never.’
‘Of course he will. Do you want me to speak to him?’
‘No there’s nothing you can say.’
‘Let me try—’
‘Irene!’ she screamed. ‘Will you shut up! Nobody can do anything. If you must know I’m pregnant and Robert knows for certain it’s not his!’
*
On Easter Sunday morning the Goulding family returned from church to find Harry Ferguson leaning on his borrowed car waiting for them. ‘A wee bird told me you’re all going out for the day. Where’s it to be then, Bellevue Zoo … Bangor and back for a bob …?’
‘We’re going to the Waterworks for a picnic,’ said Sheila. ‘It’s a family tradition.’
‘Well, I’ve just called round to let you know that the cake is ready. I finished icing it this morning, the first wedding cake to be baked in Ferguson Family Bakers. I was going to take it down to the hotel later.’
‘So the bakery is open then?’ said Martha.
‘Not quite. Everything is finished and ready. The grand opening’s on Saturday.’
‘Why don’t you come on the picnic first,’ suggested Peggy. ‘Then you and I can collect the cake from the shop and take it to the hotel?’
‘Ach no, sure it’s a family tradition. I’d be in the way.’
‘No you wouldn’t,’ said Peggy. Harry had been so elusive lately. They’d hardly been out anywhere. He was always working on getting the shop ready.
‘You’re very welcome to join us, Harry,’ said Martha. ‘We’ve plenty of sandwiches, but I’m afraid we don’t have an egg for you to roll.’
‘That’s very kind, Mrs Goulding. I’ve some shortbread in the car I’ll bring along.’
‘Oh shortbread,’ said Sheila, her mouth watering, ‘we haven’t had shortbread since before the war.’
‘Ah, it’s the sugar, you see, not a lot of that to be had.’
‘Then how did you get it?’
‘Ask no questions be told no lies,’ said Harry, tapping the side of his nose. Peggy shot him a withering look.
There were several families already at the Waterworks, but they found a quiet spot near some trees and laid out the blanket. Martha poured them all some lemonade in the old cups she’d brought. ‘I think we need a toast,’ said Harry. ‘Here’s to Irene, the first Goulding girl to tie the knot. I wonder who’ll be next.’ There was a moment in which they all paused in the raising of their glasses. Martha caught the look that passed across Peggy’s face and immediately filled the silence.
‘Here’s to Irene and Sandy,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Wednesday will be a day to remember.’
The afternoon passed in idle chatter, silly jokes and the sharing of memories. No one spoke of the bombing less than a week before, even though the scars of it were visible not far from where they sat drinking lemonade and eating shortbread.
Around three o’clock, Peggy and Harry left and drove to the Crumlin Road. The closer they got to the shop, the more sullen Peggy became. ‘What’s the matter with you? Cat got your tongue?’ Harry’s usual tease when Peggy was in a mood.
Her answer was a sideways glare. He took his eyes off he road long enough to catch it.
‘Wait ‘til you see the shop, Peggy, you’ll love it.’
The sun had faded to a watery glow by the time they pulled up outside. Peggy looked at the newly painted lemon and white shop front and had to admit that it did look quite pretty.
‘Inside’s even better!’ Harry was bursting with excitement. The interior was painted white and the late afternoon light reflected off the walls making them shine. The counter and display cabinets were all new and instead of brown curling posters on the walls there were stencilled shapes of cakes straight out of a child’s picture book with cherries on the top and thick jam and cream; biscuits sprinkled with hundreds and thousands; and the brownest crustiest loaves imaginable.
‘What do you think, Peggy?’
She looked all around, even went to look closely at the stencils on the walls, nodding as she took it all in.
‘Come through into the back; that’s the best of all.’
Everywhere gleamed: the counters, the ovens, the sinks, the mixers, the utensils hanging on the wall. Pristine. Expensive.
‘Isn’t this great, Peggy?’
Finally she spoke. ‘How much did all this cost?’
‘Oh it wasn’t cheap, but you get what you pay for.’
‘All three hundred pounds?’
‘Ask no questions, be told no lies. Now don’t you be worrying. I’ll pay it all back within a few months.’ He crossed the shop and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Tell me, do you love our wee shop?’
In spite of herself Peggy smiled. ‘I do,’ she said simply.
He drew her closer. ‘And tell me, do you love me?’
She nodded.
‘Say it.’
‘I do.’
‘Say all of it.’
‘I do love you.’
He bent to kiss her, then stopped. ‘And?’
‘And our wee shop,’ she added.
Chapter 27
‘I’m telling you, playmates, it’s Arthur Askey,’ said Sammy.
‘How do you know that?’ asked Peggy.
‘Because he’s always touring the country entertaining the troops, I read it in the paper.’
‘When did you last read a paper?’
‘Could be Vera Lynn?’ suggested Irene.
‘It could be anyone,’ said Pat.
The mess door opened and a familiar looking pair came in and Captain Ayres, again in charge of proceedings at Balmoral Camp, went to greet them. After much handshaking, he turned to address the room. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I welcome on your behalf our special guests for the evening, I’m sure they need no introduction, Flanagan and Allen.’
There was a spontaneous round of applause and Bud Flanagan stepped forward. ‘Thanks everybody. We’re really pleased to be in Belfast. Now, I need to report to Mr Goldstein, I’m told he’s the impresario in charge.’
Goldstein made his way forward beaming with delight amid the cheers from his company.
‘Flanagan and Allen,’ whispered Irene. ‘Mammy loves listening to them on the radio, just wait ‘til she hears we’ve been on the bill with them.’
Peggy moved behind Irene and put her hand on her shoulder and together they strolled a few paces singing ‘Underneath the Arches.’ Then they realised Bud was watching them and quickly stopped and dissolved into embarrassed giggles.
*
There were so many things to do the day before the wedding that Martha had made a list as soon as she woke up and pinned it to the back door. She’d crossed off several things, but added others, so by the time it got to eight in the evening she was already exhausted and expected to stay up until at least midnight to get everything done.
Mrs McKee had made the final alterations to Irene’s dress and brought it round mid-morning. It was hanging now over the back of the door in Irene’s room, a soft blue crepe with ruffles on the bodice. They’d put together all their clothing coupons to buy the material. She’d made Sheila’s bridesmaid dress herself from a good sized remnant she’d had since before the war and saved for something special and Irene’s wedding was certainly that. They’d only decided on the final hem length in the afternoon with Sheila standing on a chair while Martha worked in a circle round her, constantly checking it w
as even before pinning it up. By four it was neatly hemmed, pressed and also hanging behind the bedroom door. All their shoes had been polished and lined up in the hall. Sheila had her bath and washed her hair, rinsing it with vinegar to make it shine. Then Martha trimmed it neatly, before curling it in rags.
‘Your hair’s grown back thicker than ever since you cut it short.’
‘I looked like a boy then, didn’t I?’
‘No, it looked lovely, showed off the shape of your face.’
‘Maybe I should cut it again then.’
‘Maybe not,’ laughed Martha.
‘You know the earrings you bought me that Christmas because my hair was so short?’
‘Yes’
‘I’ve lent them to Irene to wear tomorrow. You know … something borrowed?’
‘That’s kind of you and she’s got something blue already, her dress.’
‘What about something old. That should be easy; we’ve plenty of old things!’
‘I’ve got that little silver evening bag that was my mother’s. You know the one I mean?’
‘Yes, that’d be really good. Do you think she’d like it?’
‘I’ll root it out and we’ll see what she says, eh?’
‘She needs something new too, doesn’t she? Can her dress count for two things blue and new?’
‘I don’t really know. Maybe it’ll have to.’
‘I can’t believe Irene’s getting married tomorrow?’ said Sheila wistfully. ‘Do you think she’ll be different when she’s married?’
Martha gave a little laugh. ‘I don’t think so, why should she?’
‘I mean, it won’t be just us anymore. She’ll have Sandy and maybe she’ll move away … she could even go and live with his family and then we won’t see her so often … she won’t make us laugh when we’re sad … she won’t stop Pat and Peggy arguing.’ Sheila’s voice had risen a little with each thought of loss that came to her. Martha let the hair in her hand fall away and moved round to face her daughter. There were tears heavy in Sheila’s eyes. She blinked and they fell.
‘Aah, shush, shush now.’ Martha hugged her. ‘Sure it’ll be all right. Irene’s not going anywhere for a while, she’s staying with us while Sandy’s at Aldergrove, isn’t she? Who knows what’ll happen after that. Anyway, we’ll always be her family, won’t we? She’ll always love us, won’t she?’ Martha fought back her own tears as she answered the questions for Sheila that she’d been asking herself all day.
*
Irene, Pat and Peggy had just changed into their black and white polka dot blouses and black skirts and hung up the soldier uniforms ready for their change in the second half, when there was a knock on the dressing room door and Horowitz called, ‘Golden Sisters to see Mr Goldstein right away!’
Horowitz ushered them into a small room back stage which looked like someone’s office, but had been converted into a dressing room for the stars of the show. Five minutes later they emerged, all smiles, having had a conversation with Flanagan and Allen themselves.
‘Curtain up five minutes!’ shouted the stage manager.
*
Sammy began with the monologue ‘The Sheet was Belfast Linen’ which told the story of the rowing married couple each determined to get rid of the other. He chose to slit her throat with a razor, but it was too blunt to do the job, whereas she favoured hanging and successfully used a bed sheet as a noose. The audience cheered at the final line: ‘The razor blade was German made, but the sheet was Belfast Linen!’
The acts came and went until it was time for the top of the bill. Irene, Pat and Peggy waited anxiously in the wings. Sammy gave the big build up and finished with, ‘And now all the way from London, please welcome Flanagan and Allen!’
The soldiers were taken completely by surprise; there had been no advanced warning, not even a whisper that they were coming. The lights dimmed and the famous moth-eaten fur coat and squashed hat appeared from the wings. But there was something odd about it. The lights came up and the audience roared with laughter when they realised it was Bud Flanagan’s coat and hat, but he wasn’t wearing it. Instead they saw all three Golden Sisters inside the coat – Pat with her arm down one sleeve, Peggy with hers down another and Irene in the middle wearing the hat. They went into the famous Flanagan and Allen routine. ‘Underneath the Arches’, they sang and swayed as they walked in a line one behind the other inside the coat across the stage. The audience laughed and clapped. Suddenly, there was a loud shout from the wings, ‘Oi you lot! What you fink you’re doin’, pinching our act?’ On to the stage ran the real Flanagan and Allen and amid loud whoops and cheers from the audience they chased the sisters off the stage.
‘We’re very glad to be in Belfast,’ Flanagan began, ‘home of Britain’s secret weapon.’
‘What’s that then, the Stirling bomber?’ asked Allen.
‘No the linen bedsheet!’
‘Did you know that Belfast has come up with a way of hiding its entire docks area?’
‘No what’s that then?’
‘It’s a giant smoke screen.’
‘You mean they have a machine to create smoke on a vast scale?’
‘Well no, at the moment it’s twenty dockers and a packet of Woodbine, but you get the idea.’ He waited for the laughter to die down. ‘Time for a song I think, Mr Allen.’
‘Of course, Mr Flanagan.’
The two were coming to the end of their act and the whole company were ready in the wings for the finale when the air-raid siren sounded. It was exactly ten thirty.
Bud Flanagan stopped and announced, ‘I’m told that over here in Belfast you do things differently. The alert comes after the sound of planes overhead and after the sound of the ack-ack guns.’ Howls of laughter from the audience. ‘So, either we are already under attack, and I can’t hear any planes, can you? Or it’s another of those false alarms you’re very fond of. In which case, I say we carry on with the finale. What do you think?’ The audience made their views quite clear.
Captain Ayres was apoplectic. ‘Goldstein,’ he shouted. ‘The artistes are your responsibility. You need to stop this. We need to get everyone into the shelter; that’s the required procedure!’
*
At ten thirty when the siren sounded Martha was using the leftover material from Sheila’s dress to make a matching headband. She had also put a pair of white lace gloves to soak in a little bleach to brighten them. Sheila was in her nightdress eating supper of bread and milk.
‘Are we going under the stairs, Mammy?’
‘Not just yet, I need to finish this. We’ll wait a wee while and see what happens.’
‘Do you think it might be a false alarm?’
‘Who knows?’ She was trying to thread a needle by holding it up to the light at arms length and narrowing her eyes. ‘I thought they might have attacked over Easter, but they didn’t and the full moon is still a week away, so it could be a false alarm.’
Sheila finished her supper and kissed her mother goodnight. ‘I’ll not sleep, I’m so excited, so come and get me if you think we should go under the stairs.’
At eleven thirty Martha thought she heard a noise somewhere in the distance. She went upstairs to her bedroom, opened the window to the sounds of the night and stood in the light of a three quarter moon looking east. There was the noise again quite clearly, still distant, but a little louder than before. Five minutes she stood there listening, until the sound was unmistakable.
‘God save us,’ she whispered.
Sheila wakened as soon as Martha touched her. ‘Get up quick as you can, there’s a good girl, warm clothes, hat on your head.’
‘Is it a raid?’
‘Yes, yes. Quickly, quickly.’
Martha ran downstairs and grabbed the blanket and torch from under the stairs. When Sheila appeared she led her quickly out the back door.
‘Why are we not going under the stairs?’
‘I’ve seen them coming. There’s so many we’ll need to get w
ell away. We’ll go up past Carr’s Glen school as far as the fields, then higher towards the Cave Hill. They won’t drop bombs on an empty hillside.’
Close to midnight they were at the top of the Oldpark when Sheila slowed down. ‘We’ve got to keep going,’ urged Martha. But something had caught Sheila’s eye. Martha followed her line of vision. Out over the Lough towards Whiteabbey was the strangest sight, surreal and breathtakingly beautiful. Glowing magnesium flares hung in the air, colouring the world a ghostly silver grey. More and more of them appeared at different levels, hurried along by the light breeze towards Belfast which lay clear as a stage in the limelight ready for the show to begin.
Martha's Girls Page 39
