A Song in my Heart

by Alrene Hughes

  The ballroom of the original house had become the officers’ mess, but it was easy to imagine what it looked like before the army took up residence. Oil paintings still hung around the room and the chandeliers still sparkled. The tables were set with silver cutlery, crystal glasses and fine Sèvres china. The regimental silver centrepieces, the pride of each regiment, had been polished until they gleamed. Peggy scanned the room looking for Archie and spotted him at the top table with the high-ranking officers, all bedecked with gold braid and ribbons. Next to him sat Goldstein. She willed Archie to look at her, to acknowledge her in some way, but there was never a glance. So she let herself be charmed by the young officers and laughed at their jokes.

  The chaplain said grace, the dinner began and the courses of rich food came and went. At times Peggy had no idea what she was eating, but it all tasted so good and was so plentiful that she felt she must have eaten a week’s rations for a family of four. In between courses there were toasts to the different regiments and their heroes that had them all up and down in their seats. As the evening wore on, Peggy tired of her escorts who, having drunk so much, behaved like silly little boys. Worst of all, Archie never looked in her direction. Not once. Finally, they toasted His Majesty and a short interval was announced, after which Goldstein’s troupe would sing for the supper they had just enjoyed. Archie would have to look at her then, when she was on stage, but she had no intention of looking in his direction. Oh no, not even a glance.

  A room off the entrance hall had been set aside for the performers to get ready, but as they walked towards it Peggy heard someone softly call her name. She looked around, but could see no one. Then a door opened and a hand reached out and pulled her inside. Archie closed the door and leaned back against it, and drew Peggy towards him.

  ‘Ah, Peggy, my dear, how beautiful you look tonight.’

  She pushed him away. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Thought I might steal a kiss from my favourite Golden Sister?’ His eyes were bright and there was the smell of whiskey on his breath.

  ‘Well, you know what thought did.’ She had no intention of letting him get away with ignoring her all evening, and turned her back on him and walked further into the room. The walls were lined with bookcases and the air smelt of musty leather and paper. She took down a volume, read the spine – Vanity Fair – and opened it, pretending interest. Without turning round she said, ‘You ignored me – never looked at me once. I had to sit with those boys and listen to their nonsense.’

  ‘I thought you’d enjoy their company. They’re handsome and charming, don’t you think?’

  She wanted to say, ‘I’d rather have been with you’, but she sensed him behind her and then his hands were on her fingers where they held the book. They moved up her arms to her shoulders. His touch was electrifying and she sighed softly and went to turn towards him, but his hands stopped her and he ran his fingers down the contours of her body. She breathed deeply as his hands slid around her tiny waist and onwards over her hips.

  ‘Listen carefully, Peggy.’ She felt his breath on her skin. ‘I’ve told Goldstein that I will not become involved with you, so he mustn’t suspect anything. We don’t need him interfering, do we?’

  Peggy moved her head slowly from side to side.

  He went on, ‘These things should be savoured, not rushed.’ His cool lips were on her neck. ‘I will come and find you when I can and slowly, slowly, we will be together.’

  He turned her towards him. ‘When you’re on stage tonight, I’ll be thinking of what it felt like to touch you. But you mustn’t even look in my direction, you understand?’ She nodded. ‘Now, promise me you won’t tell anyone about us.’

  And she looked up into his dark eyes, now so serious. ‘I promise,’ she said.

  Goldstein accepted a large cigar from Major Dewer and wondered whether he had been wrong about the man. Dewer had kept to their agreement and had shown no interest in the female performers, beyond commenting on their talent. And his own fears that a concert in such an intimate venue with a small audience would not be a success were equally unfounded.

  Having eaten an excellent dinner and enjoyed the finest single malt, Goldstein leaned back in his chair and considered a future in which his troupe of performers would go from strength to strength. There would be big productions for British and American troops as well as intimate supper shows, such as the one tonight, for other organisations. Best of all, any money raised would alleviate the plight of the people of Belfast who had suffered so much and continued to need help. He blew a ring of blue smoke towards the ceiling and contemplated the words ‘impresario’ and ‘philanthropist’.

  The finale brought rapturous applause and the Commanding Officer of British Forces Northern Ireland spoke of his appreciation, and his delight that his men would soon be seeing an extended version of the show. He then brought the evening to a close by explaining that one of the performers, Patricia Goulding, was raising money to bring some Christmas comforts to a group of children in an area of Belfast that had been badly bombed. He was sure that everyone would want to contribute something to such a good cause and he was passing round a hat – a bearskin, of course – so they had better dig deep.

  It was well after midnight when they boarded the bus for the trip back to the city and within minutes most of the performers, full of good food and drink, were nodding off. Peggy was too excited to sleep after her encounter with Archie and was going over the evening in her head, when suddenly a thought occurred to her and she nudged Pat. ‘Hey, you never said anything to me about having a whip-round for some children. When was that discussed?’

  ‘During the interval.’ Pat gave her a stern look. ‘Round about the time you disappeared. I asked Mr Goldstein if it was possible that the officers might like to make a donation. He couldn’t find Major Dewer to discuss it, so he asked the CO and he agreed right away.’

  Peggy thought it wise to let the conversation drop, but Pat didn’t let it go.

  ‘Where were you anyway? You had barely enough time to change into your stage clothes and collect your thoughts before we were on.’

  ‘Oh, I was just chatting, you know, with those guardsmen.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Peggy. You were with the dashing major, weren’t you?’

  ‘I was not. Anyway, he’s not my type.’

  ‘Of course he isn’t,’ said Pat, then added, ‘he’s far too old and creepy.’

  Peggy opened her mouth to argue, thought better of it and said simply, ‘I couldn’t agree with you more.’

  The girls went round to the back door and found the key under the scrubbing brush. Inside, the house was dark and silent. They took off their shoes and crept up the stairs, one behind the other, but as the first girl reached the landing the light came on and there was their mother, in her thick felt dressing gown and wearing a hairnet.

  ‘Oh Mammy,’ said Sheila, ‘we’ve had a great time. You’d never believe the dinner we—’

  ‘Away on with you. Sure, I’m not interested in all that nonsense. Now get to your beds,’ she said, and the girls slunk past her. Irene was last in line and Martha stepped in front of her. ‘You,’ she said, ‘in here now!’ and Irene followed her mother into her bedroom.

  Martha glared at her, shook her head as though she was lost for words and, when she finally found them, her voice was full of anger. ‘Are you right in the head?’

  ‘Mammy, I’m telling you, I’m fine. I’ve been lying in bed for a week, doing nothing and all I’ve done tonight is go for a bus ride and sing a few songs. Where’s the harm in that, for God’s sake?’

  ‘Don’t you blaspheme at me. You could have undone everything we’ve tried to do this last week to get you well again.’

  ‘But Mammy, I couldn’t let them down, could I?’

  Martha shook her head in disbelief. ‘It was agreed that Sheila would take your place.’

  ‘I know, but the sound isn’t right with Sheila’s voice.’


  ‘Ach, it would have done rightly. Sure, it wasn’t the Belfast Empire, was it? But you know what? It wasn’t about your sisters, was it? It was about you doing what you want. And the worst of it all is that you defied me. You waited until I was out of the house and away you went.’

  Irene sat on the bed and stared at the floor. She knew there was some truth in what her mother was saying, but the fact remained that she felt so much better after her week resting and all she had wanted to do was sing.

  ‘I meant no harm. It’s just … Oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s just what, Irene?’

  ‘I feel like bits of me are disappearing – my job, the singing, being a wife. Soon there’ll be nothing left.’

  Martha felt her anger drain away and she sat on the bed next to her. ‘But there’ll be a baby and you’ll be a mother; that’s more important than anything. The toughest job you’ll ever have.’

  ‘Tougher than riveting?’

  ‘By a country mile.’

  ‘But I’ll have to give up the singing, won’t I?’

  ‘Irene, you can’t have everything. You’ve made choices and, make no bones about it, there’s no walking away from a family.’

  Irene covered her face with her hands but Martha reached out and took them away. ‘Look at me,’ she said, and Irene raised her head. ‘Remember how excited you were when you found out you were expecting – how happy we all were? I still feel that, so do your sisters; a baby brings joy to everyone. Of course, your life will change, because you’ll realise that your child is the most precious thing you’ll ever have and the love you have for it will last your whole life.’

  Irene looked down at her hands cradled in her mother’s. ‘Is that how it was for you, Mammy?’

  ‘Yes, Irene, that’s how it is for me.’

  When Martha opened the curtains the following morning it was barely light, but she could make out the heavy clouds over Cave Hill. With a bit of luck she might get to church and back before the rain set in. She left the girls still sleeping, but she’d expect them to go to the evening service. If they could sing for the army they could certainly sing for God.

  She put a thick cardigan on under her coat, to keep the heat in, and stood in front of the hall mirror to put on her Sunday hat. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but there in the glass was her mother’s face, weary and disappointed. Was it the lot of mothers to hope that their daughters would somehow be more than they had been? But the truth of it was that her girls would do whatever they wanted and she could do little to protect them from their mistakes.

  After breakfast the girls left the dishes where they were and sat round the table. ‘There’s no getting away from it,’ insisted Peggy. ‘It’s time we sorted out what’s happening with the Golden Sisters.’

  ‘Has Mammy put you up to this?’ Irene was on the defensive, certain that her sisters had overheard some of the conversation she’d had with her mother the previous night.

  ‘She didn’t need to,’ said Peggy. ‘It’s obvious you won’t be able to carry on for much longer. Mr Goldstein’s already planning lots of new concerts and that’ll mean we’ll be out two or three nights a week, probably travelling further afield. And to be blunt, Irene, you won’t be able to do it.’

  ‘I could sing for a while longer. There’s nothing wrong with my voice.’

  ‘But you can’t fit into the costumes and I can’t imagine you carrying on with your lindy hop routine, can you?’

  Sheila laughed and Irene glared at her. Then Pat spoke up. ‘We need to consider the options without anyone getting upset or angry. Agreed?’

  Her sisters nodded.

  ‘There are no concerts actually arranged yet and it’s only two weeks till Christmas. So it’ll probably be a month at least before the first concert. Now, Irene, even if you were able to do a few it wouldn’t be long before you had to stop. The baby’s due in March and who knows when you’ll be singing after that.’

  Irene couldn’t deny Pat’s logic and sat expressionless, staring at the tablecloth.

  ‘Option one,’ said Pat, ‘is that we just forget about the Golden Sisters for a while. Sheila, you could still sing solo and Peggy you’d carry on as Mr Goldstein’s assistant director. Me, I wouldn’t mind taking a rest from performing; I’m very busy at work at the moment.’

  ‘But we’re one of the best acts – Mr Goldstein relies on us,’ said Peggy, ‘and you know I really think we’re on the verge of something big.’ The words tumbled out of her in a desperate plea to save the Golden Sisters. ‘We could make a name for ourselves, maybe get an agent. I know someone who’s well connected with London theatres and … who knows?’

  They stared at her in disbelief. Pat was the first to speak. ‘Peggy, what are you talking about? Your head’s turned. Even if Irene was able to sing, it’s time that you faced up to the fact that we’ve only ever been three girls from Belfast who do a bit of singing to entertain people, that’s all. And sooner rather than later, this war will be over and we’ll go back to singing in the church choir and concentrating on earning our living.’

  ‘But it could happen – you can’t predict who might get a break in show business.’

  ‘Aye, and pigs might fly,’ said Pat, ‘but right now we need to stick to the problem we have.’

  ‘I could try again to get the harmonies right and maybe take Irene’s place,’ said Sheila.

  Peggy shook her head. ‘Mr Goldstein didn’t think your voice suited the Golden Sisters’ style the last time we tried it, when Pat couldn’t sing. Anyway, you’re better off keeping your own spot in the show.’

  ‘Then what about just you and Pat – a duo might work,’ said Sheila.

  ‘No,’ said Peggy. ‘The sound would be too thin for the songs we sing. We’d need a brand new repertoire and that would take months to sort out.’

  ‘Are there any more ideas?’ asked Pat, and their blank faces said it all. ‘Well, that’s it then.’

  The girls fell silent, each contemplating life without the Golden Sisters, the excitement of performing, the applause, the fun – all gone.

  When Martha arrived home from church soaked to the skin, they were still sitting at the table, dirty dishes untouched and the fire in danger of going out.

  ‘Heavens above, what’s the matter?’ she said. ‘You look like you’ve lost a pound and found a ha’penny.’

  ‘We’ve been talking about the Golden Sisters and it looks like we’ll have to stop singing,’ said Pat. ‘We can’t carry on without Irene.’

  At that moment Irene, who had been silent throughout, began to cry in great gulping sobs as though her heart would break. ‘Getting married, having a baby – I’ve spoiled everything!’ she said, and ran from the room.

  Martha called after her, ‘Come back here love, don’t be silly.’ But there was already the sound of footsteps running up the stairs. Martha didn’t follow her. She had no right to comfort Irene, for hadn’t she just sat in church and prayed to God that all this singing nonsense would come to an end?

  Chapter 6

  The ballroom in the American Red Cross Services Club had been transformed. There were Christmas decorations of brightly coloured crepe paper strung across the room and giant paper bells dangled from the light fittings. A twelve-foot Christmas spruce, hung with coloured lights, filled the room with the scent of pine. Trestle tables were set with plates of sandwiches, biscuits and bottles of lemonade. A dozen GIs, who had volunteered to make sure the party was a success, stood ready.

  As three o’clock approached, the sound of excited children’s voices in the entrance hall grew louder and louder.

  ‘Well, Patti, it’s almost time,’ said Captain Walters. ‘Are we good to go?’

  ‘Just one more thing,’ said Pat. She lowered the needle on to the record and seconds later the sound of ‘Jingle Bells’ filled the room. The doors to the ballroom were thrown open and a hundred excited children rushed inside.

  While the children enjoyed their party with the GIs
, the parents were served tea and doughnuts in the library. Pat waited anxiously in the entrance hall, and at precisely the time agreed Aunt Kathleen arrived, looking every inch the headmistress, in a well-tailored coat and trilby hat with an ostrich feather.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming Aunt Kathleen, I’m very grateful to you for agreeing to speak to the parents.’

  ‘No need to thank me, Pat, I’ve been trying to get these children back into school for so long without success. When you wrote to me with such a sensible proposal, I was delighted to come.’

  ‘They’re upstairs now. I’ll just tell them about the donated Christmas meal and the children’s clothes then you can have the floor.’

  There was a bit of a stir when Kathleen came into the room as several of the parents recognised her, but she went to stand at the back while Pat addressed them.

  ‘Thank you for bringing your children to the party. We know that times have been hard for families in your area and we wanted to see if we could help make Christmas a bit better for you all.’

  A woman put her hand up. ‘I’m sorry, but can I ask who you are and why you’re helping us?’

  ‘I work at Stormont,’ said Pat. ‘We’re trying to improve things for the children in the areas that were bombed.’

  A man standing in the corner called out, ‘Who’s “we”? Seems odd to me – suddenly Stormont wants to help. When has the government ever bothered about us before?’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ said Pat, ‘but I do know that there are plenty of people who want to help, like the American and the British Armies based here. As well as today’s party you’ll be able to take home food to cook for your Christmas dinner and the Belfast Society for Jews has donated boxes of good quality second-hand children’s clothes.’

  ‘And what about after that?’ the man challenged her. ‘We’ll be right back where we were – on starvation rations in freezing houses.’