She didn’t see the sign for the junction.
The lorry had been delayed at its last delivery and the driver knew his tea was already on the table going cold. Sheila shot out of the lane on to the main Dungannon road. She passed in front of the lorry, missing it by a whisker, skidded on the gravel on the far side of the road and went head over heels across the handlebars.
The thud of landing took the breath from her body and the crack on her head took everything else.
Chapter 7
It was Pat’s custom, if the weather was fine, to walk the length of the drive from Stormont to the gate lodge at the bottom of the hill and back again in her lunch hour. She liked to imagine herself in a painting of the grand estate in an earlier, more romantic era, a solitary figure in the sweeping landscape in a bustle skirt and a large picture hat. She had just passed Carson’s statue in the middle of the drive when she heard footsteps and William fell into step beside her.
‘Hello Pat, how are you?’
‘Fine.’ She didn’t look at him.
‘Look, I’m sorry I had to rush off on Sunday. I had things I needed to sort out.’
She stopped and gave him a long hard stare. ‘That would be arranging for animals to be shot, I suppose?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘You invited me out for the day then ran off and left me. What was it you said just before that, something about wanting us to be sweethearts?’
‘I’m sorry.’ He stared at his feet. Pat didn’t reply; she’d had enough of his half-hearted attempts to court her. ‘I just can’t seem to get things right when it comes to us,’ he added.
Was she meant to feel sorry for him? ‘William it’s not just that. It’s … I don’t know … sometimes you’re like a scalded cat! Rushing to paint buildings, shoot animals, spend an hour with Pat.’ She shook her head in despair. ‘You need to focus on what’s really important and see that through. You get distracted by the small things.’
‘I get distracted by you.’
Too late, William realised what he had done.
‘So I’m a “small thing” then, am I?’
There really was no going back after that.
‘Mammy, you don’t need to go to all this trouble. Sure I told you Macy’ll take us as she finds us.’
‘I’m not having a Yank come here and think we don’t know how to do things properly.’
‘But you’ve spring-cleaned the whole house. She could eat her tea off the floor and she’d come to no harm.’
‘And that’s how it should be. Now just run the iron over those napkins before you go to meet her off the bus.’
‘Napkins!’
The beef sausages were sizzling in the pan with the onions and the apple tart was in the oven. The potatoes were ready to be mashed and the scallions added to make champ. Milk for the custard just needed a light under it when they were ready for pudding. Martha heard the sound of raucous laughter as Irene and her guest came round the back of the house and she tutted because they hadn’t used the front door.
‘Mammy, this is Macy.’
‘Good to meet you, Mrs Goulding.’
‘Good gracious, aren’t you tall!’ said Martha.
‘Am I?’ Macy laughed. ‘Thank you for inviting me to your beautiful home.’
Martha inclined her head at the compliment. Americans are such polite people, she thought.
‘I brought you a present.’
‘For me?’ Martha was all flustered and blushed. She unwrapped the tissue paper to reveal a colourful scarf inside. ‘Ach, it has pictures on it.’
‘Sure has,’ said Macy. ‘That there’s the Empire State Building and there’s the Brooklyn Bridge.’
‘And that’s the Statue of Liberty, isn’t it?’ asked Martha.
‘You got it!’
Martha had just put the scarf round her shoulders when Pat and Peggy, hearing all the noise, came into the kitchen. Irene introduced them and Macy shook their hands.
‘So you’re the rest of the famous Golden Sisters – heard a lot about you.’
Macy ate everything put in front of her, with, as Pat later remarked, only her fork, and declared it all delicious. ‘You even baked an American apple pie for me!’
Martha couldn’t stop herself. ‘Oh no, it’s an Irish apple tart, so it is.’ And everyone laughed.
Later, as they sat in the sitting room chatting, Peggy turned to Macy, ‘You know who you put me in mind of – Maureen O’Hara. You know, she played Esmeralda in The Hunchback of Notre Dame.’
‘You do look like her,’ said Pat. ‘It’s your colouring. It’s definitely Irish.’
‘Do you have Irish ancestors?’ asked Martha.
‘I think so, way back. Couldn’t tell you exactly where they were from.’
‘Well, I think we should make you our adopted cousin,’ said Irene and everyone agreed.
The talk turned inevitably to music. ‘Irene was telling me how you all sing. How did that start?’ asked Macy.
‘We’ve sung in the choir at church since we were little. Then when the war started we were asked to sing at some concerts to raise money. Not Sheila, of course, she’s too young,’ Pat explained.
Peggy took up the story. ‘Then Mr Goldstein – he owns the music shop where I work – decided to form a troupe of entertainers.’
‘That’s the Barnstormers, right?’ asked Macy.
‘Yes, all different acts: singers, musicians, comedians. We’ve even had a magician and a ventriloquist and dancers, of course.’
‘What kinda dancers you got?’
‘There’s the Templemore Tappers – a group of girls who do tap and high kicking routines.’
‘Any solo dancers?’
‘No, not really, but sometimes Pat and Irene dance a bit on stage.’
‘So, no Ginger Rogers or Carmen Miranda?’
‘No, nothing as modern as that.’
‘Would a solo dancer get a chance to be part of the Barnstormers?’
Suddenly, all eyes were on Macy.
Irene laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re a dancer! What? Like Ginger Rogers?’
‘More like Fred Astaire,’ said Macy and everyone laughed.
‘So tell me all about your husband,’ Macy said when she and Irene went upstairs to chat. ‘How did you meet him?’
Irene explained about the day trip to Stranraer where she met Sandy, a Scotsman, who was based at an RAF base nearby and about how he’d written to her and sent her a present. ‘You’re sitting on it,’ laughed Irene and stroked the orange silk sari that covered her bed.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Macy.
‘He sent it from India when he was stationed there. We lost touch for a while after that, until he was posted over here.’
‘And you got to know each other, fell in love and decided to get married.’
‘It wasn’t quite like that. I suppose it was a bit of a whirlwind romance. To be honest, we didn’t get to spend a lot of time together before we were married. Nor since, come to that. In fact, I nearly …’ Irene hesitated, uncertain whether to reveal the other marriage proposal she’d received before she accepted Sandy.
‘You nearly what?’ Macy leaned forward inviting a confidence. ‘Tell me.’
Irene smiled at the thought of what might have been. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone. My family don’t know.’
‘Course not, I love secrets and I’m good at keeping them!’
‘I very nearly went to America. A boy asked me to go there with him. Just think, you and I could have met there and not here.’
‘Wow, an elopement? Who was he?’
‘His name was Sean – very tall, dark and handsome. His sister Theresa was my best friend. But he was in a lot of trouble. The police were after him. He hadn’t done anything, but no one would have believed him.’
‘But you did?’
‘Yes, I did and I helped him a bit – passing messages and letters between him and his family. Then the police nearly caught him. That’s when
he decided to get away to America and he asked me to go with him.’
‘Why didn’t you go?’
The one question to which Irene had no answer. ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t ready … maybe I was scared. Sometimes I think …’
‘What if you’d gone with him … but then you wouldn’t have married Sandy.’
‘No.’
‘Did you ever hear from Sean again?’
Irene shook her head. She had often thought about him. Remembered how they had hidden in a dusty attic while the police ransacked the street searching for him. She brought to mind the touch of his lips on hers, knew instinctively that he thought of her too, wherever he might be. ‘No, I never did.’
Chapter 8
Beyond the heavy curtains the clear sky was lit by a crescent moon in its first quarter. In the front bedroom above McCracken’s shop the only light was from a bedside lamp draped with a scarf and casting an orange glow. The heat from the paraffin stove was stifling and the fumes hung in the air. Aunt Hannah lay in the bed. Aggie leaned over to her and trickled a little water into her mouth and wet her lips.
‘I’m really grateful to you for sitting up with me, Martha. When the doctor came this morning he said she wouldn’t last the night.’
‘Sure Aunt Hannah’s family, I’ve known her since I was a wee girl. I’m glad to keep you company while Grace gets a bit of sleep – I know she’s to be up for work in the morning.’
‘Will your girls be all right on their own?’
‘Ach aye, they’re old enough to look after themselves.’
‘And what about wee Sheila? Have you heard from her?’
Martha felt the fear that had plagued her for the past week grip her again, but this wasn’t the time to speak of it. ‘No, not yet, sure it’s only a week since she left. She’ll be busy settling in and she could be miles from a post office.’
‘So you haven’t got an address for her?’
‘Not yet. I’m thinking I’ll be told where she’s staying when they sort out the paperwork.’
‘Well, we’ll miss her in the shop, so we will. But it’s the best place for her. Did you hear the cities over the water have taken a pounding? I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re next on the list.’
‘Where do you normally go when there’s an alert?’
‘There’s a shelter up the street. It’s not too bad inside and we know everyone there with them coming into the shop.’
There was a soft moan and Aunt Hannah whispered, ‘Where am I?’
‘Sssh now, you’re in your bedroom.’ Aggie patted her hand.
‘Who are you?’ the old woman struggled to lift her head.
‘It’s me, Aggie, and Martha’s here too.’
‘Is it time to get up?’
‘No it’s night-time – go to sleep.’
The longcase clock on the landing struck midnight and as the last chime faded, Aunt Hannah’s breathing changed to a soft rasping sound. Martha and Aggie sat listening to it in silence. Ten minutes later, another sound crept into the room and rose within seconds to an urgent scream – the unmistakeable sound of the red alert. Neither Aggie nor Martha moved.
Grace came running in, pulling on her dressing gown. ‘Are we going to the shelter?’
‘You go, Grace, and you too, Martha. I’ll stay here with Aunt Hannah.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Martha.
‘Me neither,’ said Grace. ‘I’m staying here with you two.’
‘There’s no point,’ Aggie spoke sharply to her sister. ‘Away to the shelter with you.’
At that moment there came a different, chilling sound. Aunt Hannah was struggling to breathe and each breath became a rattle that threatened to be her last.
In Joanmount Gardens, Irene, Pat and Peggy had spent the evening rehearsing two new songs – ‘I’m Nobody’s Baby’ and ‘Fools Rush In’. Peggy had borrowed the sheet music from the shop and scored it for three voices and a piano. As usual, she took control of the rehearsal.
‘A couple of hours hard practice now and then we’ll polish the songs every night and by this time next week they’ll be in our repertoire.’
‘But we already have a good repertoire,’ argued Pat. ‘What’s the point of learning more songs when there aren’t any concerts where we can sing the songs we already know?’ and she threw herself down on the settee and picked up a magazine.
‘This business is all about being up to date. People want to hear the latest songs and dance to them as well,’ snapped Peggy.
‘So that’s what this is all about – your singing with a dance band idea again!’
‘Not necessarily. I tell you, Goldstein’s slowly coming round to the idea of organising a show, especially after Myrtle’s funeral.’
‘What’s Myrtle’s funeral got to do with it?’ asked Irene.
‘You saw how many performers were there. Well, quite a few of them spoke to him about getting the Barnstormers back together – they want to do their bit. Think about the money we’ve raised and all the troops we’ve entertained, we shouldn’t just give up.’ Peggy paused, ‘There was even talk of doing it for Myrtle.’
‘Myrtle loved the Barnstormers,’ said Irene. ‘She’d want us to carry on.’
‘Of course she would’ – Peggy held out the score she’d prepared – ‘and we need some new material.’
Pat was gracious enough to accept defeat. ‘In that case, we’d better get on with it,’ she said and she took the score and joined Irene and Peggy at the piano.
Later, as Peggy lay in bed with the tunes going round and round in her head, she congratulated herself on taking another small step towards singing with a band. The previous Saturday she’d made a point of speaking to Devlin during her break and had managed to bring the conversation round to the resident singer and his lack of up-to-date material. She was careful not to be too pushy and resisted the urge to mention the Golden Sisters, but he listened without comment and she hoped a seed had been planted. She stretched out in the bed that was all hers, now that Sheila was in Dungannon, and brought to mind the sight of Devlin in his tuxedo. She yawned and imagined an orchestra playing … her heavy eyelids closed …
Peggy loved to dance a quick foxtrot, especially when her dancing partner was the handsome James Devlin. He held her close and whispered something in her ear, something she couldn’t quite catch over the music. Then someone was pulling her away from him and shouting. Her brain desperately tried to focus on the dance steps, but her head was filled with a screeching sound.
‘Get up, get up – it’s a raid!’ Pat had pulled the bedclothes off her.
Peggy blinked and tried to focus. ‘Leave me alone. It’s a false alarm.’
‘You don’t know that. We have to go under the stairs.’
‘There are no guns, I’m staying here ’til I hear the anti-aircraft guns.’
‘Oh, you’re just so stupid!’ shouted Pat.
‘No, I’m just so warm.’ Peggy yawned, pulled the eiderdown over her head and imagined Devlin’s arms around her again.
In the warm bedroom above McCracken’s shop, Martha, Aggie and Grace dozed in their chairs and Hannah too was sleeping soundly. Martha was the first to stir, moving her head from side to side to ease her stiff neck. Something about the room was different. The air-raid siren had long since ceased but she detected a soft undertow of sound. In the seconds it took her to walk on tiptoe to the window, the noise changed from a low hum to a steadily rising drone and moments later she jumped as the anti-aircraft guns erupted. Aggie and Grace joined her at the window and together they scanned the sky streaked with anti-aircraft fire. The drone deepened and they caught their breath at the dark shapes of the German planes moving across the sky, dropping threads strung with luminous crystal-flares. They needn’t have bothered; bright moonlight already laid bare the city beneath them.
At the first crack of the guns Peggy was on her feet and pulling the heavy coat that lay across her bed around her shoulders. She took the stairs tw
o at a time, but in the hallway she hesitated. The noise above the house was deafening and seemed to resonate through her body. She paused, thought about the cramped space beneath the stairs, then opened the front door and stepped outside. The planes had already passed overhead and she wandered out into the road to follow their progress towards the city centre. A minute later they were over their target and dropping bombs on the docks and factories. The drone from the next wave crept over the mountain behind her, getting louder and louder, until suddenly the planes crested the hill and swooped low overhead. Peggy covered her ears against the noise, feeling her brain vibrate with its intensity. Above her, she counted five planes, one after the other, all close enough to see the markings on the under-carriages, and felt a rush of excitement at the thought that they were looking at her, a solitary, defiant figure in the middle of the road.
Under the stairs, Irene could stand it no longer. ‘Where’s Peggy? She must have heard the guns,’ and she began to crawl over Pat towards the door.
‘You have to stay here, Irene. Remember “your home is your air-raid shelter”. If Peggy wants to put herself in danger–’
‘Oh shut up, Pat. I’m going to get her,’ and she pushed open the little door and crawled out from under the stairs.
‘They’re dropping incendiaries,’ said Peggy as Irene joined her in the street. ‘Do you see the red glow?’
‘The docks, do you think?’
‘Worse than that, the fires are spreading; it could be the whole city. Why are they doing this to us? It’s not fair.’
‘Nothing’s fair, Peggy.’
‘What’s going to happen to us?’
‘We’ll hide under the stairs and if we wake up in the morning, we’ll thank God we’re spared and if we’ve still work to go to that’ll be something, won’t it?’
‘But how much more of this can we take?’
‘As much as there is, there’s nothing else for it.’ From over the hill behind them the drone came again. Irene took her sister’s arm, ‘Come on now, we have to get inside,’ and then put on Pat’s voice, ‘remember: our home is our air raid shelter!’
Golden Sisters Page 8
