The second song went without a hitch and the curtain came down to rapturous applause. In the wings Irene caught Pat by the arm, ‘Are you all right? I thought–’
‘Yes, I’m fine. I just–’
‘Did something distract you?’
‘Sort of, I thought I saw something … someone in the wings.’
‘Nobody should have been moving in the wings! I’ll tell Goldstein.’
‘No, Irene, I’ve told you. There was nothing. Come on let’s get back to the dressing room.’
All the performers had crowded into the ladies’ dressing room and Goldstein was going round speaking to each of them in turn. ‘I’ll have to sit down,’ said Irene, ‘my legs are like jelly.’
‘There’s a seat over there out of the way – you grab it and I’ll get us some water.’
When Pat returned Irene was bent over clutching her stomach. ‘I feel a bit strange, nerves probably.’
Pat handed her the water. ‘You look very pale.’
‘Well, you did give me quite a fright out there.’ Irene tried to laugh it off, but suddenly she was doubled over and groaning. ‘I need to get to the lavatory.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Pat.
‘No, no I’ll be fine,’ and Irene struggled to her feet.
She had taken only a few steps when Pat called out, ‘Irene, wait!’
‘What, what is it?’ In reply Pat pointed at the back of her dress and Irene twisted round to see a red stain seeping through the green silk.
‘What is it? What’s happening?’ She felt for the chair behind her, eyes wide with panic. Seconds later her face contorted in pain and she doubled over.
‘Don’t move,’ said Pat and she went quickly to Goldstein. Moments later he ordered everyone to move to the men’s dressing room just down the corridor. Sheila passed by and asked Pat if she was coming.
‘Yes, I’ll be there in a minute,’ she told her. Peggy was one of the last to leave and Pat caught her arm. ‘There’s something the matter with Irene. We’ll need to get an ambulance. Can you find the manager’s office? There’s bound to be a telephone there. Phone the hospital and tell them to come to the stage door right away.’
‘Why, what’s happened? What’s the matter with her?’
‘Never mind that now. Just do it!’
When Peggy had gone, Pat persuaded Irene to lie on the floor with her legs raised and resting on the chair.
‘Lie perfectly still,’ said Pat. ‘I’ve sent for an ambulance.’
Irene tried to get up. ‘I’m not going in an ambulance, I feel much better,’ and then another cramp seized her.
At that moment, the sound of the orchestra playing ‘Chinese Laundry Blues’ blared through the dressing room speakers and the compère announced: ‘The star of tonight’s show needs absolutely no introduction. He’s one of Britain’s most popular performers we’re delighted to have him in the Empire Theatre Belfast – Mr George Formby!’
Irene lay shivering as the applause erupted. When it died down there was a moment’s silence then, in his distinctive Lancashire voice, George Formby called out, ‘Turned Out Nice Again!’ and as howls of laughter echoed in their ears Irene and Pat looked at each other and smiled at the incongruity of it all.
While Formby sang ‘When I’m Cleaning Windows’ Pat made Irene comfortable with a coat under her head and another tucked in round her. Then they listened in silence to the play-acting and silly songs until the ambulance arrived.
Pat decided that she would go in the ambulance with Irene and she told Peggy to go and tell their mother what was happening.
Irene was suddenly agitated. ‘We can’t tell her now, not in the middle of the show.’
‘It’s not an ideal time, but if we don’t tell her she’ll be upset,’ said Pat.
‘And if she’s told she’ll insist on leaving the theatre and that will disturb everyone.’ Irene was close to tears. ‘I don’t even want to go to the hospital!’
‘Calm down, Irene, please.’ Pat thought for a moment. ‘Right, this is what we’ll do. Peggy you tell Mammy at the end of the show that Irene had been taken to the Mater Hospital. Try not to worry her. She’ll probably come straight to the hospital but, Peggy, it might be as well if you and Sheila go home. No point in us all cluttering up the place.’
Unaware of the drama backstage Martha settled down to watch the second half. George Formby was a lively character, smiling and laughing all the time. His songs were funny, although Martha felt one or two were a bit coarse. ‘With My Little Stick of Blackpool Rock’ brought howls of laughter and, although Martha was a little unclear of the meaning, she could sense the crudity in there somewhere!
The finale was a lively singalong with performers taking a bow front and centre stage before stepping back and joining in with the songs. Martha sat forward in her seat and watched Sheila come forward to take her applause. She was greeted with whistles and cheers – she’d done so well and, not for the first time, Martha felt not just pride, but wonder at her talent. She waited for the Golden Sisters to appear, but George Formby came on to take the final applause. Martha sat through the speeches that praised the work of ENSA, recognised the quality of the local talent, recognised the superb organisation by Mr Goldstein. By the time they stood for ‘God Save the King’ it was all she could do to mouth the words instead of rushing out to find out what had happened to the girls.
Peggy was waiting for her mother when the concert was over, but before she could say anything Martha demanded, ‘What’s happened?’
‘Now you’re not to worry, Mammy, but Irene’s been taken ill.’
‘What do you mean ill?’
‘I’m not sure what’s wrong with her, but she’s gone in an ambulance to the Mater. Pat’s with her.’
‘Dear God!’ Martha tried to collect her thoughts. Ambulance, hospital – it must be serious. ‘Where’s Sheila?’ she asked.
‘She’s backstage collecting our belongings. Pat said I should take her home.’
‘Yes, that’s probably best. I’ll go to the hospital right away. I’d better tell Jack and Betty.’
‘I’ll do that. You go on.’
Waiting outside the Mater Hospital, Pat watched Martha hurry through the gates and was struck by how much she had aged over the last few years. Daddy’s death and the hardships of the war had taken their toll on her. The same felt hat she had worn for years had slipped a little and a wisp of grey hair had escaped from the bun at the back of her head.
‘Where is she? What’s happened?’ Martha cried.
Pat took her arm and led her to a low bench in the waiting area. ‘She’s going to be all right, Mammy. You’re not to worry.’
‘What’s the matter with her?’
‘She’s been haemorrhaging–’
‘Bleeding, you mean?’
‘Aye. Mammy, Irene’s had a miscarriage.’
Martha shook her head, went to speak, stopped; she had no words to speak of such things.
‘She’s being taken care of,’ said Pat. ‘We can wait here and they’ll let us see her when … everything is sorted.’
Martha gave a heavy sigh – perhaps she had been greedy and taken too much from this day. It had begun with such anticipation and brought excitement, success and pride, but now … now she needed to take care of Irene and help her with the sadness to come.
Chapter 29
During the night the temperature plummeted and Martha woke up shivering. She got out of bed and looked in on Irene. The coat that had been draped over the blanket to provide some extra warmth on the cold winter night had fallen to the floor and Martha gently replaced it.
‘Is that you, Mammy?’ Irene whispered.
‘Sure who else would it be checking on you in the middle of the night?’
‘I’m freezing.’
‘I know. I was going to refill your hot-water jar.’
‘I can’t sleep.’
‘There’ll still be a bit of warmth left in the kitchen, so give
me a few minutes to get the fire going again then come down and sit while the kettle boils to fill the jar.’
Soon they were sitting next to the range wrapped in their eiderdowns sipping tea.
‘You’ll need to start sleeping through the night when you go back to work next week, Irene.’
‘I know, but maybe it’ll be better then. I’ll have other things to concentrate on. You can’t let your mind wander when you’re riveting.’
‘Are you sure you’re strong enough to go back to all that?’
‘Macy says they’re working flat out at the factory. They’ve a big new order for Sterling bombers so they need everyone they can get. I might as well make myself useful because there’s no chance I’ll be back in Enniskillen for a while, not with all the extra staff there to protect the Atlantic convoys.’ Irene’s defiant tone broached no further argument; they’d been over all this before.
They sat a while staring at the glowing coals, both aware that the sad event on the night of the concert had not really been discussed. Peggy and Sheila had been told only that Irene had suffered a haemorrhage and would need a week off work. Pat and Martha had not spoken of it either together or with Irene. But tonight, in the warm kitchen by the light of the fire, Irene felt able to talk.
‘I was very frightened. I didn’t know what was happening to me, didn’t even know there had been a baby, until they told me it was lost. I keep thinking it should be here still. I would feel it growing every day. I would write to Sandy and tell him and he would be happy … I would be happy.’
In the range, the coals shifted in a spray of tiny sparks.
‘It just wasn’t to be,’ said Martha, ‘but there’ll be others.’
‘But there’ll never be this one. This one is lost. I’ll have to write to Sandy and tell him.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘But … how can I not?’
Martha shrugged. ‘Sometimes it’s better not to know. Sometimes it’s for a woman to grieve alone.’ The silence stretched between them until eventually Martha spoke again. ‘When you were very small, before Pat was born, I had a baby … a boy. He lived only a few weeks. I never imagined a man would grieve so hard. I always thought it was the woman who bore the brunt of it, but your father felt the loss of that wee boy all his life.’
Irene stared at her mother, who continued to look at the fire, and saw her now in a different light. She saw clearly what had always been there, behind and beneath – that her mother expected little and was grateful for small mercies, and that she would always worry about her children and find it hard to let them go.
‘What was he called?’
‘Robert, after his daddy. Ah well, they’re together now I’m sure.’
There were other reasons why Irene was glad to be going back to work rather than whiling away her life at home with her mother. Being a riveter was hard and, truth be told, dangerous work, but she loved the sense of achievement in doing the job and there was nothing better at the end of a shift than casting her eye over the rows of perfectly flush and aligned rivets along the carcass of a bomber. Best of all, there was the company of Macy and her other friends in the aircraft factory and the craic in the canteen during their breaks.
Throughout January rumours were rife that the US Army was on its way to Belfast. Outside of her family, Irene had said nothing about the fact that a small number been in Enniskillen for some time.
Then one morning in the canteen, a woman who worked in the stores came in singing, ‘The Yanks are coming! The Yanks are coming!’ at the top of her voice. ‘You’d better get behind me in the queue, girls, for I’m havin’ first pick off the boat!’
‘How do you know they’re coming?’ asked Macy.
‘Because me brother works down on Dufferin Quay and he knows for a fact that an American troopship is going to dock there later today. So it’s not hard to guess where I’ll be after work.’
The long anticipated arrival of American troops was discussed up and down the factory. Expectations were high that their involvement in the war would be the beginning of the end for the Germans.
‘After more than two years, it could be all over by the summer,’ someone said.
‘I hope there’s time to get to know the Yanks before they go back home,’ said another.
Irene wasn’t so sure. ‘It’s taken nearly three years for the Germans to spread across Europe, it could take the same again to send them back where they came from.’
When the hooter sounded to end the shift, the workers rushed through the factory gates. Some went home for their tea but a good few, the majority of whom were women, headed for the dockside to see if they could catch a glimpse of the Americans. The late afternoon had turned misty and a light drizzle had wet the streets, but the crowd was good-humoured. Lots of the girls linked arms and chatted and laughed, caught up in the excitement: ‘They say they’re very tall.’ … ‘Sure they’ll look like film stars, so they will.’ … ‘I’m on the lookout for Clark Gable, myself.’
The gates to Dufferin Quay were closed, but the word was that the Americans would march out, so the crowds waited outside. Those near the front could already see the ship approaching and as it came nearer they caught sight of hundreds of men lining the decks as eager to see what awaited them at a British port as the crowd lining the pavements were to see them.
It was a long wait while the ship docked, but no one minded. They shouted out greetings to each other and waved. One girl, with sharper eyes than the rest, spotted a soldier on the top deck and screamed in delight. ‘It’s a black man, look! Look! A black man!’ and those around her began waving and shouting too.
When the ship was secure and the gangplanks fastened the troops began to disembark. As they did so the band of the Royal Ulster Rifles, waiting on the quayside, struck up ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ and from outside the gates a lone voice sang along, accent and word perfect; a young woman with flaming red hair proudly welcoming her fellow Americans to Northern Ireland.
The troops marched through the gates to the sound of clapping and cheering and boarded the trucks waiting to transport them to army camps all over the Northern Ireland. Only then did the crowd become aware of the unmistakeable thud of heavy anti-aircraft guns in the distance, synchronised with the tramp of marching feet.
As her apprentice, Irene worked alongside Macy all day taking direction and advice on simple riveting and assisting her with the more complicated jobs. The one characteristic that set Macy apart from Irene’s other friends was that she was open and direct to a fault. She cared little about what others thought of her and always spoke her mind and at length. But when Irene returned to work she thought it strange that Macy didn’t mention Finn.
‘Are you still going out with him?’ she asked.
Macy glanced in the direction of the men working a little distance away then flashed Irene a look. ‘No, never see him at all.’ And she bent to her work again.
Later in the canteen Irene spoke to her about it. ‘What was all that about back there when I asked about Finn?’
Macy leant towards her and whispered, ‘Finn doesn’t want me to mention him to anyone. He said it would be better if no one knew I was going out with a Catholic.’
‘I don’t think they’d care, would they?’
Macy shrugged. ‘Finn said they would.’
‘So is it serious between you?’
‘He seems to think it is.’
‘And you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, maybe you should keep your options open now that there are so many Americans around,’ Irene laughed.
Over the Easter holiday Irene travelled down to Enniskillen and stayed with Sandy in a bed and breakfast for a few nights. She was a little nervous about seeing him again after four months, but he seemed even shyer than she was. They went to Lough Erne for the day.
He had brought a picnic from the NAAFI and when they’d eaten he said, ‘Come on, I’ll teach you how to fish.’ He�
�d brought his own fishing line. ‘I fish on my day off,’ he told her. ‘It gets me off the base for a few hours and out in the fresh air.’
He showed her how to bait the hook and cast the line then she stood for a while on the little jetty watching the red and white float drifting on the water.
‘Nothing’s happening,’ she shouted after a while.
‘Och, have you no patience, woman?’ and she smiled at his soft Scottish accent. He came to her and kissed her briefly before taking the line and checking the bait. She sat with her feet dangling over the water and watched him recast. This was how she first fell in love with him that day in July 1939 on a day trip with her friend Theresa to Stranraer. She had taken a walk with him along the harbour wall to where some wee boys were fishing and he’d helped them with their lines. Now here they were, married a year, and there was that same shy smile that made her heart skip a beat.
When Irene returned to work after the Easter break, the talk was all about the shooting of a policeman in the Lower Falls area.
‘D’ye see them uns,’ said one of the skivvying women from number four hangar, ‘they’re a disgrace, so they are, running round burnin’ food warehouses when this country is fighting for its life and the men on them supply boats is riskin’ their lives so we don’t starve altogether. Now they’re armed and shootin’ policemen! They should lock up those bloody IRA men and throw away the key!’
Golden Sisters Page 29
