Someone should have stepped in and rescued him, but none of them had the heart to upset Aunt Hannah. Besides, he’d said he wanted to raise their spirits.
Chapter 3
Pat stood in front of the mirror and held her navy dress with the sailor collar against her, then threw it on the bed and picked up the floral with the three-quarter sleeves. If she was going to be spending several hours with William she needed to look her best, but what exactly was suitable attire for tramping over a hillside in the middle of the night? Get a grip, she told herself, it isn’t a date, it’s work and you’ll be out in the freezing cold.
She eventually settled on her green woollen dress; it was old but warm, and chances were nobody would see it under her coat. She took her chrysanthemum scarf, went to put it on her head, changed her mind, slipped it round her neck and arranged her thick auburn hair over her shoulders. Finally, she stepped into her well-polished, sensible lace-ups.
As arranged she walked to the end of her road where Joanmount Gardens met the Oldpark Road. William, who was already there, leaned over to open the car door and, without any greeting, he explained, ‘I thought we’d drive up the hill part of the way and watch the people go past, see what their mood is and what sort of things they’ve brought with them. Then later we’ll follow them up on foot and talk to them. I’ve thought of some questions to ask …’ He handed her a sheet of typed paper.
‘Where are the others?’ Pat asked.
‘Others?’
‘You said there were six of us.’
‘There are, but you and I are doing the Cave Hill and the other two couples have gone up the Black Mountain and the hills behind Holywood … that way we’ll cover the main areas of high ground around the city.’
Pat was thrown by his use of the word ‘couples’. ‘Oh, I didn’t know.’
‘It’s not a problem is it? This is an official survey on behalf of the ministry. What we discover tonight will be part of a formal government report.’
‘No, it’s not a problem.’ Pat stared out the window, uncertain whether to feel relieved or snubbed.
Beyond Ballysillan, on a lane Pat recognised as Buttermilk Loney, the land began to rise steeply and William stopped the car and reversed into the entrance of a field. Was it really over a year since she was last up here? She’d been sledging with her sisters when Jimmy McComb, in a fit of jealousy, had told her that William was a married man. She remembered the disappointment and distress she’d felt when she had realised how much she loved William. So much had happened since then: Jimmy was dead, killed at Dunkirk, and William’s ‘wife’ turned out to be his sister. Even so, nothing had come of their relationship. William was a work colleague and it seemed that was all he would ever be.
They watched the setting sun disappear behind the mountain and as the twilight gathered, William broke the silence. ‘Do you remember the first time we sang together?’
Pat detected the change in his voice, no longer the senior civil servant speaking to one of his clerks. ‘The duet from La Bohème, she said softly. He was quiet for a while and Pat wondered if, like her, he was recalling the tingling excitement of expressing such passion.
‘Pat, I’m glad it’s just you and me together here tonight. Every day there’s so much to be done, isn’t there? Sometimes I can’t help feeling that I’ve failed. Those people who’ve died … if I’d been able to get more shelters or searchlights, they might still be here …’
‘You mustn’t think that. No one could’ve done more than you.’
‘But Pat, sometimes I wish I could shut it all out just for a while to think about other things … like music … and you.’
His face was close to hers and she saw the softness in his eyes and the line of his jaw that she was desperate to touch … his face moved closer. His lips hesitated above hers and she closed her eyes, a kiss … so simple, so sweet. He moved back and looked at her in wonder, reached out and took a strand of her hair, caressed it, let it fall and kissed her again.
He held her tight and her heart beat faster. She felt his breath in her ear as he whispered, ‘We have to make time for each other. I need to be with you.’
A sudden noise made them jump. A boy of six or seven was kicking a stone up the lane. He bent to pull up his socks then noticed the car and stood watching them. He was joined by a woman with a baby in a shawl balanced on her hip and an older woman carrying blankets.
‘Our first arrivals, I think.’ William moved away from her, business-like once more. ‘A mother, two children and probably the grandmother – no man at all.’ He turned to Pat, ‘Would you say they looked distressed or frightened?’
‘They look like they’re wondering what we’re doing here,’ and truth was she beginning to wonder the same, but by then William was already scribbling down notes.
A man went past with a handcart containing an old woman who was sitting on a chair, rag rug over her knees, nursing a clock; a woman pushing a Tan-Sad with three small sleeping children inside; two young men dragging a mattress behind them; endless weary people, backs bent into the climb with blankets under their arms or on their backs.
A grey pock-marked moon hung low in the sky when William eventually put away his notes. ‘I think it’s time we followed them up the hill. You remember the sort of questions to ask?’ Pat nodded. ‘Now we’ll stay together as much as we can, but you try to get the women to talk to you.’
On the higher ground, the air was chilly and Pat was glad of her warm dress and coat. Within five hundred yards they came to the first small encampment.
‘We’ll start here,’ William whispered. ‘I’ll explain who we are.’
Pat could make out a family group, the mother and father, similar in age to her and William, and two, no, three children – the youngest, a baby, held close to the woman’s breast.
‘Good evening,’ William held out his hand to the father who didn’t take it. ‘We’re from Stormont, Ministry of Public Security, trying to find out what conditions are like up here and, er, we’d like to ask why you’ve chosen to spend the night out of doors.’
The man looked at him as though he were mad. ‘Stormont ye say? Wantin’ to know why we’re here? That’s a good un.’ The man stood up, moved closer and William instinctively took a step back, almost fell, then righted himself. ‘If you’d been to Duncairn Gardens and stood on the pile of rubble that was our home, ye’d not be askin’ such bloody stupid questions.’
‘You were bombed out, were you? Why didn’t you go to one of the emergency shelters set up in schools and church halls.’
The man shook his head. ‘Ye’ve no idea, have ye? Them places is full to burstin’. An’ every night the air-raid warnin’, frightnin’ the wife an’ weans.’ His voice rose and he stabbed a finger at the city below. ‘Away back to bloody Stormont and tell those bastards we’re livin’ hand to mouth, worse than gypsies we are!’ and he turned away, shoulders heaving.
Pat could sense that William was shaken as he took her by the arm and they followed the path further up the hill. In a clearing, a group of about twenty people of all ages were sitting around a small campfire and children were running in and out of the trees. There was the smell of meat cooking. William touched Pat’s arm and nodded towards a group of women chatting. She moved closer, her heart pounding. What if they were angry too? She thought of her mother and Sheila who, only a few nights before at the height of the raid, had climbed this hill to get away from the bombs. If they were here now, how would she approach them? They would be very wary of a government employee, but she knew they would welcome someone from a church concerned about their welfare.
Instinctively, she went over to a woman close to Martha’s age who was with two young girls. ‘Hello, I’m Pat from the Cliftonville Church. There’s a group of us who’ve come up here to find out how we can help people like yourselves. Have you been bombed out?’
The woman moved over and invited Pat to share her blanket. ‘No, praise be to God, we were lucky; three stre
ets away was flattened.’ She swept her hand to take in the group, ‘We’re all neighbours; we know it could be us next time. Why sit there waiting for bombs to drop on ye, when ye could be up here out of harm’s way?’
‘And what do you bring up with you?’
‘Ach blankets, a few bits an’ pieces – personal, ye know – and a bite to eat and drink.’
‘So you have all you need?’
‘I wouldn’t say that! If it rains we’ll be soaked, no doubt, and to tell ye the truth there’s not much food at all in the shops. My man’s still workin’ an’ he leaves here at six an’ walks to work wi’ nothin’ in him.’
‘So some shelter and warm food is what’s needed, you think?’
The woman laughed. ‘Can’t see the WRVS setting up a mobile canteen, or Belfast Corporation puttin’ up tents, can you?’
‘So you stay up here all night?’
‘We do, but there’s some of them wait ’til two or three in the morning and, if there hasn’t been an air-raid warning by then, they start makin’ their way home.’
Pat noticed that William had left the men and was making his way up a path beyond the clearing. She’d follow him in a moment, but first she wanted to ask about the children and why they hadn’t been evacuated. It was as she thought, no one had really expected the Germans to bomb Belfast so the mothers chose to keep them at home. ‘And what about now, after Tuesday’s raid, would you be interested in having them evacuated given the chance?’ Pat asked.
‘I’d put my girls on the first bus out of here if I was sure someone would take them in.’
The path was well worn, but overhanging branches meant no light from the moon touched it. There was the sound of voices above her, so she assumed William was with a group higher up the hill. She had her head down, picking her way carefully, when a noise caused her to look up. Three men stood about ten yards away, blocking her path; silhouettes with a faint light behind them.
‘Now I wonder who this is, all on her own up here?’
‘One a those askin’ questions maybe.’
For a split second Pat hesitated, weighing up whether to stand her ground or run back down the hill. Then one of them shouted, ‘Or wantin’ a bit a fun!’ Suddenly they were running towards her, covering the ground in seconds. The weight of the three of them knocked her to the ground, arms pinioned, legs grabbed, impossible to move or struggle. She filled her lungs and screamed at the top of her voice, held the note and when a hand covered her mouth she bit down hard, and screamed again. One of the men gave a yelp and loosened his grip on her. Pat managed to free one of her hands and felt for the hatpin in her collar. She plunged it into soft flesh, felt it snap. Then there was shouting above her and the sound of people slithering down the slope. In an instant she was free, someone lifted her to her feet, but still she screamed.
‘Pat! Pat, are you all right? Stop screaming, you’re safe, they’ve gone.’ And then she was shaking, trying to catch her breath. William held her tight and when her knees gave way he lifted her and carried her down the path to the women she had been with only minutes before.
The first thing Martha and Sheila noticed when they arrived home from the McCrackens’ was that the house was in darkness and the blackout curtains hadn’t been drawn.
‘I know where Pat is, but where are Irene and Peggy at this time of night?’ said Martha.
‘Where’s Pat?’ asked Sheila.
Martha ignored her and unlocked the door. She still felt uneasy about agreeing to Pat going up the Cave Hill and she certainly didn’t want to answer any embarrassing questions from Sheila.
On the kitchen table there was a note scrawled in Peggy’s hand. ‘Gone to the Plaza, will explain when I get home. Irene out with a friend from work.’ Martha pursed her lips, said nothing and busied herself with the dirty dishes the pair of them had left in the sink.
It was almost eleven, Sheila had just gone to bed and Martha was listening to the news on the wireless when there was a sharp rap at the front door. ‘Who is it?’ she called out.
‘William Kennedy – I’ve Pat with me.’
They came into the light and Martha gasped at the sight of her daughter. Pat’s head was bowed, her hair dishevelled, her hands and legs were dirty.
‘What’s happened?’ Martha took Pat by the shoulders and bent to look at her face. It was streaked with tears and a scratch across her cheek was smeared with blood. ‘Dear God–’ Then she saw the ripped dress. ‘What’s happened? Who’s done this to you?’
Pat tried to speak but, seeing her mother’s face, she burst into tears.
‘Are you responsible for this?’ Martha turned on William.
‘No …’ he hesitated. ‘Well, indirectly …’
‘What have you done to her?’ Martha demanded.
‘It wasn’t him, Mammy! It was other people.’
‘Who? Who was it?’
‘I don’t know who they were!’
‘Mrs Goulding, I can explain–’
But Martha ignored him. ‘Pat, come in the kitchen where it’s warm and we’ll have a proper look at you.’ She took her daughter by the arm and sat her in the armchair next to the range. She emptied hot water from the kettle into a bowl, knelt down and smoothed Pat’s hair, then bathed her face and washed her grazed hands and knees, all the time talking to her – calm reassuring words – while William stood in the doorway.
Eventually, Pat began to speak. ‘Mammy, it’s not what you think. I’m all right, just shaken up. Some young fellows thought they’d have a bit of sport. I was walking up a path, it was dark and they grabbed me.’
Martha turned to William. ‘And where were you when this was going on?’
‘I’d gone on ahead to speak to some people.’
‘You left her!’
‘Just for a minute.’
‘Where was the rest of the party? There were six of you, weren’t there?’ Martha looked from William to Pat and back again – neither of them met her eye. ‘I see,’ she said.
Pat breathed deeply. ‘They had to go to different areas. It was just me and William up the Cave Hill. It’s my fault, Mammy, I should have been more careful,’ and she began to cry.
In a moment William was across the room, kneeling next to her, stroking her hair. ‘No, no, it was my fault. I should never have left you.’
‘But you rescued me. If you hadn’t heard me scream …’ Pat laid her head on his shoulder and he kissed her forehead.
Oh my, thought Martha, what have we here?
‘Mr Kennedy, it’s time you went,’ she said sharply. ‘You can tell Pat’s supervisor that she won’t be in work next week; she’s had a severe shock. In fact, after what’s happened tonight, I’m not sure if she’ll be back at all.’
There were loud protests from both Pat and William. ‘Mammy, I’m fine, nothing happened! I have to go back on Monday, there’s so much to do!’
‘Mrs Goulding, I can assure you–’
The back door opened and in came Peggy. ‘What’s all the noise about? I could hear you from the street.’ In a split second she had taken in the scene – Pat and William on one side, her mother on the other. ‘God, Pat, you look a right mess! What happened to you?’
‘Never you mind,’ Martha snapped. ‘Away to bed with you or I’ll start asking where you’ve been to this hour.’
‘Ask away, sure I’ve nothing to hide,’ she said defiantly, eyeing up Pat and William.
Just then Sheila appeared in her nightclothes, blinking at the light. ‘What’s all the noise? You woke me up.’
‘Nothing, go back to bed!’ said Martha.
‘Pat, if you’re sure you’re all right, I’ll go,’ said William, ‘and if you’re not well enough to come to work on Monday, I’ll understand.’
‘I’m fine now, just tired, but I’ll be in work, don’t worry.’
He squeezed her arm and nodded curtly at Martha, ‘I’ll see myself out, Mrs Goulding.’
Outside, he passed Irene on the path withou
t a word, jumped in his car and raced away.
‘Was that William Kennedy in high dudgeon that just stormed past me?’ asked Irene as she came in the back door. Then she realised that her entire family were standing in the kitchen, in an atmosphere crackling with anger and recrimination.
Chapter 4
Sunday morning dawned with clear skies and the promise of a fine day, but it did nothing to improve Martha’s mood. She had to be at St George’s Market for eleven o’clock, but before that she had the worry of Pat, then questions for Peggy and Irene about why they’d been out so late. Lord, what was she to do with them? She’d no idea what they were up to half the time. The fire in the range was nearly out and she had to coax it with a few sticks and bits of coal before she could get the porridge on. Irene was the first down and Martha was glad to have her on her own to explain about Myrtle.
‘Her father came with someone called Robert, said he knew you from work.’
Irene sat at the table, eyes down, tracing the pattern on the tablecloth. ‘Aye, Robert McVey, he said he’d go.’
Martha didn’t mention the fact that they’d identified Myrtle by the ring she always wore that had been her mother’s. ‘The funeral’s on Friday afternoon and Robert said a few of you might get time off work to go.’
Irene covered her face with her hands. Martha sat next to her and stroked her back. ‘It’s hard, love, I know.’
‘Why Myrtle? She was a good person and she was only twenty. It’s not fair!’
‘God only knows why some are taken.’
‘It could’ve been me, or Pat or Peggy; we were out in the bombing too, coming home from that last concert. Why not us? Or will it be us next time?’
‘We can’t know what’s going to happen,’ Martha reasoned, ‘but we should try and keep ourselves out of harm’s way. You know, being out at night you could be caught anywhere, that’s why I can’t be doing with all the coming and going of you and your sisters.’
Golden Sisters Page 4
