‘Indeed I did, Sheila. You’ll have to tell me all about it.’
‘Come and sit by the fire, Kathleen,’ said Martha, ‘and I’ll go and make us all something to eat.’ Pat followed her mother into the kitchen.
Martha spoke in an urgent whisper. ‘What were you thinking of, inviting Kathleen? You know I don’t really get on with her.’
‘Mammy, her house was freezing and there was no food in the larder. What was I to do? She’s always been good to me you know.’
Martha looked a little shamefaced. ‘Aye, I know, it’s just that … Well, never mind, a little Christian charity at Christmas is good for the soul. Have you thought where she’s going to sleep?’
‘In Irene’s bed, of course.’
‘Oh, but–’
At that moment the back door opened and Irene came in carrying a suitcase. The loud voices and laughter that greeted her brought Peggy and Sheila into the kitchen.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Peggy.
‘We thought you couldn’t come,’ said Sheila.
Irene set her suitcase down. ‘Things have changed at the base; there are so many people there now, especially since the Americans arrived.’
Peggy’s eyes widened. ‘Americans?’
‘Aye, it’s all unofficial I think, but they’re there to service the planes protecting the Atlantic convoys. So no billet for the likes of me.’
‘And Sandy couldn’t come with you just for Christmas?’ asked Martha.
‘No, all leave’s been cancelled since Pearl Harbour.’
‘So will you be home for a while?’ Martha couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice.
‘Until things calm down, then Sandy and I’ll find somewhere to live off base.’ Irene took off her coat and headscarf. ‘I’m famished, Mammy. I left at ten this morning and I can’t tell you what a journey I’ve had. I need something to eat and then I’ll be ready for my bed.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Pat, ‘I’ve just given your bed to Aunt Kathleen.’
‘Aunt Kathleen!’
After tea Martha took charge of the sleeping arrangements: Aunt Kathleen would have Irene’s bed and Irene would sleep with Martha in her double bed.
‘I think I’ll go up now,’ said Irene.
‘I’ll carry your case,’ said Pat.
‘You don’t need to–’ but Pat was already heading for the stairs.
While Irene unpacked her case Pat sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Irene, can I tell you something?’ The hesitancy in her voice caused Irene to stop what she was doing, a cardigan in one hand, a coat hanger in the other.
‘What is it?’
‘I think I might be able to sing.’
Irene’s eyes widened. ‘You can sing?’
‘I managed a note and then I’ve been singing little snatches to myself, but I’ve no idea if I could sing in front of an audience.’
‘Have you told the rest of them about this?’
‘No, I’m really nervous about it and you know what Peggy would be like – she’d want me to rehearse and then I wouldn’t be able to do it and I’d be back to where I started. I don’t know what to do.’
Irene sat on the bed opposite her. ‘What can you sing?’
Pat gave a half-hearted laugh, ‘Away in a Manger.’
Irene smiled. ‘Very seasonal. Look, why don’t you just sing a bit for me. I’ll be your audience. Go on, give it a go.’
Pat fixed her eyes on the wall and began to sing, soft and low, the first two lines were pitch perfect.
‘How was that?’ asked Irene.
‘Fine.’
‘Now try to keep going,’
Pat began again, managed the first verse and stopped, but Irene immediately started the second verse and nodded to Pat to sing with her. Steadily the strength of Pat’s voice came through and by the final verse the rich sound filled the room. Pat held the final note and suddenly from outside the bedroom door came the sound of clapping and everyone crowded into the room, all excited and talking over each other, ‘You can sing!’ … ‘Your voice is back!’
Martha hugged Pat. ‘Thank God my prayers have been answered – what a wonderful Christmas present this is.’
Pat’s ability to sing again sent everyone to bed in good spirits and when the family sat down to dinner on Christmas Day, Martha said grace for the food on the table and the surprises that had brought joy to her family. The goose was delicious and Aunt Kathleen turned out to be good company. After dinner they listened to the king’s speech on the wireless and ate the chocolate bars Irene had brought with her, presents from the Americans on the base. Later, Goldstein and Esther arrived to spend the evening and Jack and Betty from next door made up the party. As usual, Peggy took her place at the piano and the first song she played was ‘Away in a Manger’.
At the sight of Pat singing, Goldstein gasped in delight and at the end he shouted, ‘Bravo Patricia, I will expect you to be singing at the next rehearsal and Irene too. The Golden Sisters are back in business!’
George Formby arrived in Belfast in a blaze of publicity with no fewer than nine ukuleles then took a drive in a jaunting car, as though that’s what you’d see in Belfast. The tickets for the show at the Empire in aid of the Red Cross had sold out quickly and Goldstein’s performers, re-named Stars for the Troops, had rehearsed to within an inch of their lives. Pat had gained confidence during the rehearsals singing with Irene and Peggy. Her voice was almost back to its best and it was decided the Golden Sisters should sing two songs in the show. Sheila would also have a two-song spot.
There had been quite a bit of discussion about what they should wear. Peggy had shown Goldstein the three beautiful dresses that Devlin had bought her, in the hope he would see the opportunity for some glamour, but he was unconvinced. He pointed at the kingfisher dress. ‘That is the one Sheila wore at the Technical Institute concert, is it not?’ Peggy nodded and Goldstein went on, ‘She can wear that but, for the Golden Sisters, I prefer a trio to be dressed identically.’
‘In that case, could I make a suggestion?’ asked Peggy.
The dressing room backstage at the Empire was cold and shabby, with distemper flaking off the walls. Down one side of the room was a row of dressing tables each with a mirror and lights, several of which didn’t work. By the time Pat, Irene and Sheila arrived the tension in the room was palpable.
Peggy wasn’t there. She had gone after work to the dressmaker’s shop off Shaftesbury Square to collect the new dresses. It had taken a lot of persuasion for Goldstein to agree that they should be specially made for them and Peggy had made sure her sisters knew what she had done.
‘I’m not going to tell you what they’re like, but just wait till you see them; we’ll look wonderful!’ she had told them.
Pat had lost patience with her. ‘You and dresses again! Why can’t we just wear what we usually wear – our black skirts and coloured blouses?’
‘Because this is the biggest show we’ve ever been in and Mr Goldstein wants us to look like stars.’
‘You might want to look like a star, but some of us would rather concentrate on our singing.’
Pat was restless and couldn’t concentrate in the noisy dressing room. She needed to clear her head and to find a place where she could warm up her voice.
Sheila found her sitting on a trunk in a room full of props. ‘Peggy’s just arrived,’ she said, ‘she’s brought the dresses.’ When Pat didn’t answer, Sheila sat down beside her. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I just want to get out there and do it.’
‘I know how you feel. I’m so nervous. At least you’ve got Irene and Peggy out there with you.’
‘No, it’s easier on your own, you don’t have to worry that Peggy might do something to throw you off balance.’
‘She wouldn’t do that, not tonight.’
Pat looked sceptical. ‘I wouldn’t put it past her to pull her usual trick and play the introduction to a song that isn’t in the p
rogramme!’
Sheila put her arm through her sister’s. ‘Don’t worry. You’ve dealt with that plenty of times. Let’s go and see what the Golden Sisters will be wearing.’
Back in the dressing room, Peggy was unwrapping a large brown paper parcel. ‘You’re just in time!’ she shouted and pulled back the paper to reveal the emerald green material. ‘They’re all the same. We had two copies made from my Plaza dress,’ and she handed one each to Irene and Pat and held the remaining dress in front of her, showing it off.
There was a howl of rage from Pat. ‘How could you! How could you! I’m not wearing that!’ and she stormed out the door.
‘What’s the matter with her?’
‘You’ve no idea, have you?’ Irene shook her head in disbelief. ‘Of all the stupid things …’
‘I don’t understand. It’s a beautiful dress and she’s worn it before.’
‘I suggest you sit here and think about why Pat might be upset at the thought of wearing the dress she last wore at the Plaza!’ and Irene went off in search of her sister. She found her in the props room, crying softly.
‘How could she do that to me?’ cried Pat.
‘She just doesn’t think – you know what’s she’s like.’
‘I’m not wearing it, Irene.’
‘The last thing anyone wants is to upset you after everything you’ve been through. You’ve been so strong these last couple of weeks and worked hard to bring your voice back to what it was.’
‘I wanted so much to sing tonight, to prove I could go on a stage in front of an audience. I promised myself … I promised William …’ She covered her face with her hands.
There was a knock at the door and Goldstein came into the room. ‘There you are, Patricia. I hear there is a problem.’
Irene explained, ‘The dress is the same one Pat wore when she lost her voice at the Plaza concert. She can’t face wearing it again.’
‘Aaah,’ Goldstein nodded and went to sit on a trunk opposite Pat. ‘Irene, would you give us five minutes?’
Goldstein sat a while, listening to the muted sounds of the orchestra tuning up. Soon the show would begin. To have come so far with this company … they had been through so much and he looked on all the performers as his friends. But the Goulding girls and Martha, they were something more, they were like his family.
‘Do you remember after the last bombing when my shop was almost destroyed? I wanted to give up when I saw it. The grand piano was covered in dust, plaster, broken glass. I was numb inside. I remember opening the piano lid and there were the keys, gleaming and pristine, just waiting to be played. Mozart, Puccini,’ he laughed, ‘even “We’ll Meet Again”. Right there and then I vowed to carry on entertaining people who had been through a nightmare. Something told me that as long as there was music …’
‘That’s when William and I found you.’
‘Indeed, and do you remember what he said?’
Pat nodded, ‘William said, “That’s the spirit, Mr Goldstein. I wish we could bottle that.” And then you said we’d be the stars of the show – Belfast’s Sweethearts.’
‘Just so, just so.’
Pat didn’t even look at Peggy when she returned to the dressing room. She simply put on the green dress and sat down to add the finishing touches to her makeup, all the time listening to the voice in her head that told her, ‘That’s the spirit. That’s the spirit.’
Martha had been past the Belfast Empire many a time, but had never been inside. She would have liked to have seen some of the big names that had played there over the years, but Robert had never been keen. ‘We’ve more important things to spend the money on,’ he’d say. ‘Wait’ll these girls are reared, before we go gallivanting.’ Aye well, their family was long reared and Martha wasn’t sure what he would make of his girls on the stage and her gallivanting off to see them.
She had been delighted when Goldstein had sent her three tickets and decided at once that she’d ask Betty and Jack to go with her. They’d been the best of neighbours for many years. Time and again when she had been down on her uppers they had been there to support her. Indeed, the food they grew had saved her family from hunger pangs often enough.
Quite a crowd had gathered outside the theatre and at first they were unsure whether it was a queue to get in but, as they stood there, several cars drew up in quick succession and men in dinner suits and women in floor-length organza, satin or brocade spilled out, and swept through the entrance into the dazzling lights of the foyer.
‘Come on,’ said Jack, ‘this is the way.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Martha, ‘sure, this isn’t the door for the likes of us.’
‘Of course it is. We’ve tickets for the front stalls and you’ve four daughters performing,’ and he offered an arm each to Betty and Martha and, three abreast, they entered the theatre.
There were so many people milling around inside, all of them chattering excitedly. Jack squeezed Martha’s arm and pointed to a large board on an easel. In the middle was a picture of George Formby with his toothy grin and, around that, photos of the other performers. There was no mistaking the smiling Golden Sisters above his left shoulder – sure hadn’t she stitched those colourful blouses herself. Jack led them towards a door above which was written in gold leaf ‘Front Stalls’ and they passed into the auditorium. Martha caught her breath at the sight of the rows and rows of seats upholstered in red velvet that descended to the stage and its matching red velvet curtains with gold tassels and braid. Somewhere beyond those curtains her girls were waiting. Please, God, look after them tonight, she prayed. On down the aisle they walked, closer and closer to the stage.
‘Here we are,’ said Jack at last, ‘row G, right in the middle. Best seats in the house!’
From where she sat Martha could see the boxes on either side of the stage and their occupants. It was easy to pick out the mayor, with his gold chain, in one of them and next to him a woman in a peach-coloured, off-the-shoulder evening dress and long white evening gloves. In another box were several military officers in dress uniform.
Jack nodded towards them. ‘If I’m not mistaken there are a few Yanks in that party. What would they be doing in Belfast do you think?’
In one of the boxes on the opposite side a group of young well-to-do people were laughing and passing round a hip flask. The sound of a violin being tuned made her start; she hadn’t noticed the orchestra pit with its subdued lights highlighting the silver and brass and illuminating the music stands and starched shirts.
After what seemed like an age, the house lights dimmed, the leader of the orchestra appeared on his podium and the overture began. How strange to hear snatches of George Formby’s most popular songs played as though they were introducing a symphony and not a variety show. The applause was enthusiastic, but almost immediately the curtains opened to reveal a wonderful painted backdrop of Belfast City Hall gleaming against a starry sky and, at the sight of it, there was loud cheering. On to the stage came the Templemore Tappers, lined up one behind the other and with their hands resting on the waist of the girl in front as they high-kicked in unison, first one side and then the other. Their routine was lively and well coordinated. Martha knew that Macy had inspired them to try to new ideas, but it was the memory of Myrtle’s dusty tap shoes in a coffin in St George’s Market that filled her mind.
The dancers were followed by a baritone, a middle-aged man, slightly rotund, who put some strain on his bright red cummerbund when he reached for the high notes. Then there was a female impersonator, not something Martha expected to enjoy, but soon she and the rest of the audience were roaring with laughter at his antics. He left the stage to run after a trolley bus, skirt hitched up to reveal red flannel drawers.
The stage was plunged into darkness and there came the haunting sound of a saxophone, then a solitary spotlight picked out the head and shoulders of a woman standing centre stage. Her head was bowed, but Martha had recognised the introduction of ‘God Bless the Child�
� and knew it was her child standing there. Sheila raised her head and began to sing softly. Martha had heard it rehearsed so many times at home that she almost sang it with her, sensed how perfectly the volume and pace were controlled, how moving the lyrics. The applause was enthusiastic. Betty and Jack leant across.
‘Wonderful, just wonderful!’ said Betty, her face flushed with pleasure.
‘Who’d have thought wee Sheila could sing like that?’ said Jack.
Sheila’s second song was an Ella Fitzgerald number, ‘A-Tisket, A-Tasket’, completely different in every way to the first. The spotlight grew and Sheila clicked her fingers and moved to the beat as the kingfisher dress rippled with colour. She seemed so confident that Martha relaxed a little in her seat. Sheila took her final bow and her face lit up with pleasure at the applause. Martha had never seen her so happy or so beautiful.
Macy was next and she looked stunning in a Ginger Rogers-style dress – figure-hugging, powder blue and scattered with sequins. She danced to ‘Cheek to Cheek’ from the Fred Astaire film Royal Wedding. She used the whole stage, skipping across it at speed one minute and then slowing down to turn elegantly, her whole body conveying grace and precision. As she took her bow, the officers in the box were on their feet applauding and cheering.
The other acts seemed to race by and each was of such quality that it was hard to believe they were amateurs. The Golden Sisters were the final act before the interval – the second half being entirely devoted to the top of the bill, George Formby. Martha felt a tightness in her stomach. They had rehearsed so much at home in addition to Goldstein’s rehearsal schedule and were note-perfect, but Martha knew well enough that counting chickens was a fool’s game.
They were introduced as Belfast’s answer to the Andrews Sisters and ran on stage smiling and waving. The dresses were beautiful, complimented by the City Hall behind them bathed in green light to mark the finale of the Irish half of the show. Peggy was quickly at the piano and Irene and Pat stood just in front of it as the intro played. Three bars and they’d be into ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo.’ Pat would sing the first line before the other two joined in. Martha leaned forward and clenched her fists, her eyes on Pat. One bar and Pat was moving in time with the beat, two bars and she smiled at Irene. Just like rehearsals. When it came to the third bar, Martha saw Pat stiffen slightly, eyes flitting to the side of the stage. The cue came and went without a note from Pat. Peggy improvised a few notes to smooth the way into repeating the intro. Still swaying, Irene reached out, took Pat’s hand and swung it in time, maybe she squeezed it too for Pat looked at Irene and smiled back. Into the third bar, Pat turned to the audience, ‘Pardon me, boy, is this the Chattanooga Choo Choo?’ and her voice was strong and clear.
Golden Sisters Page 28
