‘You don’t know it’s them,’ said Macy.
The woman glared at her. ‘Are you stupid or something? Who else in this city shoots policemen? Bloody Yank, what do you know? Unless you’re one of those Irish Americans tryin’ to bounce us into the Free State?’
Around three in the afternoon the foreman marched into hangar four flanked by two policemen and went straight to the plane where Macy and Irene were working. They halted at the bottom of the steps and one of the policemen called out, ‘Police! Miss Macy come down here immediately!’
A few moments later Macy appeared at the door of the plane. ‘What do you want?’ she asked.
‘We need you to come to the police station. We believe you can help us with our inquiries.’
‘What inquiries? I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘It would be better for you if you came with us now. We’re investigating a serious matter.’
At that moment the woman who had argued with Macy in the canteen shouted, ‘There ye are, didn’t I tell ye she was a republican!’
Macy began to climb down the ladder and Irene called after her, ‘I’ll come with you.’
Macy turned. ‘No you won’t, Irene. I’ll not have you dragged into this mess,’ and she let herself be led down the steps and out of the building.
It was two days before Macy returned to the aircraft factory. In the meantime, Irene had listened to the rumours become more and more outrageous: Macy was a member of the IRA; a German spy; she wasn’t an American at all. Some people turned on Irene, ‘You’re her friend – you must know what she’s done!’
To which Irene simply replied, ‘She’s my friend and I know she wouldn’t do anything wrong.’
Shortly after the day shift began on the second day, the policemen returned to hangar four, this time accompanied by Macy and the managing director of Short Brothers and Harland – a man only ever seen arriving and leaving in his Rolls Royce.
He addressed the workers: ‘Miss Macy is returning to work today. She has been assisting the police with some vital war work, so important that they are unable to say what it involved. But be clear about one thing – she is an American citizen who came to Northern Ireland to help with the war effort by using her considerable skill as a riveter. She is an honest and brave woman and we are lucky to have her here.’
The workers seemed to accept the explanation, after all Macy was popular in the factory, but Irene caught sight of the woman who had accused Macy of being a republican. She stood in the middle of her friends, arms folded, with a face that could sour milk.
Chapter 30
‘But I don’t understand, sir. I’m needed out there in the bombed communities. We’ve done so much to resettle people and they still need help to get things back to normal. I’m just in the middle of arrangements to bring more evacuees back home.’
Cyril Wood, Pat’s superior officer, understood that she was reluctant to leave the important work she was doing, but he was certain she was the right choice for this new post. ‘You’ve done exceptionally well Pat, but there are other members of staff who can take over your role. On the other hand, I have no one else who has the experience and knowledge for this task. You must see that.’
‘What, making sure the Americans enjoy a full social life by organising concerts for them during their stay here? I hardly think that’s important war work!’
‘We have no idea how long the Americans will be here, but we’re beginning to understand the sort of impact they might have on our community. We need to find off-duty activities for them. They need to be kept occupied, entertained.’
‘But what’s this got to do with me?’
‘Because you come highly recommended. There was an advance contingent of American officers sent over here in early January to look at facilities and potential bases. It seems they were taken to a George Formby concert and they were mightily impressed: so much so that they contacted the organiser, Mr Goldstein.’
‘So why don’t they ask Mr Goldstein to do it?’
‘Because he has business commitments, and in truth we would prefer to have one of our own staff involved. We, ah, would like to keep an eye on what the Americans are doing – socially, I mean – while they are guests in our country. So, imagine how pleased we were when Mr Goldstein recommended you, one of our civil servants.’
‘It’s all very well me having experience of the sort of concerts Mr Goldstein organises, but I’ve no idea what American troops would want. Besides, there must be lots of other things needed to keep them occupied.’
‘Exactly, that’s why your job will be Community Liaison Officer.’
‘Really?’ Pat didn’t hide her dismissive tone. ‘And who exactly am I liaising with?’
‘Follow me.’ He led her to an office just down the corridor and ushered her inside. ‘Miss Goulding, I would like you to meet Captain Farrelly of the 5th US Army Corps,’ he said, and Pat found herself looking into the face of the most handsome man she had ever seen.
His handshake was firm, but he did not smile. Instead he went behind the desk and stood with his back to Pat staring at the picture of King George VI on the wall.
‘Well, I’ll leave you two to get started,’ said Wood, heading for the door.
Pat stood in the middle of the room waiting for Captain Farrelly to speak. Her eyes wandered over the immaculately pressed shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and up to the closely cropped dark hair flecked with grey and squared off above his collar. Once he moved slightly as if to speak, but turned again to the picture. A full two minutes passed, during which Pat’s opinion of Captain Farrelly went from interest to annoyance – the man clearly had no manners. She was about to leave when he swung round.
‘Let’s get this straight, lady. I didn’t ask for this job and I certainly didn’t ask for no assistant.’ He spoke quickly, his accent pronounced. ‘There are over thirty thousand American personnel in this combat zone with plenty more arriving every day and I ain’t about to turn these army bases into some kinda vaudeville theatre! As far as I’m concerned, what these men need is additional physical-fitness drill and advanced combat training. Do I make myself clear?’
Pat drew herself up to her full height. ‘Perfectly clear, if somewhat misguided. I too did not ask for this job and I am certainly not your assistant. I’m an officer of the Northern Ireland government whose time would be better spent helping alleviate the suffering of families who have been bombed out of their homes rather than pandering to huge numbers of American servicemen who don’t know what it’s like to go without.’
She paused for breath and was encouraged by the surprise on Captain Farrelly’s face. ‘I’ve been asked to liaise with you because I have seen how good entertainment can lift morale. Sometimes people have to be taken out of themselves and given the chance to forget about the war, but clearly that’s not something you understand.’ Pat knew her voice had taken on a strident tone, that she had gone too far, and there was nothing else for it but to leave the room. At least she managed not to slam the door behind her.
When Peggy and Irene arrived home for their tea that evening, Martha was frying sausages in the pan and singing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’.
‘You’re in good form, Mammy,’ said Peggy.
‘That’s because I’ve been spending our coupons very wisely today. We’ve Carson’s finest beef sausages with onions and gravy, and a rhubarb tart for pudding. Sure you wouldn’t get better fare than that at the Carlton restaurant. Now get your hands washed and this table set and then you can read your letters.’
‘Letters!’ they said in unison.
‘Waiting for you on the mantelpiece – once the table’s set.’
Irene was surprised to find a five-pound postal order enclosed in Sandy’s letter. He’d been sending her a little money now and then, but when she’d seen him at Easter he’d told her he wanted to save up so they would have some money at the end of the war to start their new life together. His letter was tender an
d full of the same endearments that had thrilled her when they were last together and he told her he could not wait to be with her again in July. She hid the postal order in her drawer and put the letter under her pillow to read again later.
Peggy’s letter was from Harry Ferguson. He had written a few times since they met in November at the carnival: friendly letters full of jokey accounts of what he’d been up to at the training camp in the south of England. Well, at least he hadn’t been sent overseas yet, but Peggy wished his letters had been more about the two of them and not him and a battalion of soldiers.
When Sheila and Pat arrived home they sat down to eat and by the time the rhubarb tart was on the table the talk turned to the Barnstormers concert that Goldstein had arranged at the Grosvenor Hall.
‘We’d better fit in some extra rehearsals for ourselves,’ said Peggy. ‘We could do one tonight and try out that new Andrews Sisters’ song “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree”. I’ve got the sheet music. Everyone’s talking about it.’
‘Great title,’ said Pat.
‘Great tune,’ said Peggy.
‘Sorry, can’t rehearse tonight’ – Irene reached for the custard – ‘I’m going to the pictures with Macy. It’s her birthday.’
‘Well, that’s just great!’ snapped Peggy. ‘I thought you said she was off work.’
‘She was, but she’s back now.’
‘Talking of Americans,’ said Pat, who’d been looking for a way to tell them about her American encounter, ‘I met a captain from the 5th US Army Corps at work today.’
They stopped eating.
‘This rhubarb is really good, isn’t it?’ said Pat, knowing all eyes were on her.
‘Pat!’ shouted Peggy.
‘What?’ said Pat.
And her sisters bombarded her with questions.
‘How did you meet him?’
‘What was he doing there?’
‘What was he like?’
She finished her pudding, set down her spoon and, knowing she held the stage, took her time and made the most of it. ‘The uniform is very smart – especially when you see it up close – a sort of olive green colour, I would say.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Peggy, ‘what was he like?’
‘His manners were none too good.’
‘Manners!’
‘But I soon put him straight.’
‘Was he young, old, tall, short?’ asked Irene.
‘What colour was his hair and were his teeth really white?’ asked Sheila.
Peggy leaned in close. ‘And what was his name?’
‘Captain Farrelly was quite tall, broad shoulders and he had dark hair. Couldn’t tell you about his teeth – he never smiled. I’m supposed to be working with him, but I think I’ve put paid to that idea. And before you ask, no, I didn’t think he was attractive and, anyway, he was far too old for me.’
When Irene met Macy outside the YMCA she was surprised to see her dressed up and her hair in a French pleat with curls carefully arranged on the top of her head. ‘You’re a bit overdressed for the pictures, aren’t you?’ laughed Irene.
‘That’s because I’m going dancing, honey, and so are you!’
‘But look at the state of me.’ Irene was dressed in her trousers and a jumper.
‘Hey, you look great. I’ve decided I don’t wanna spend my birthday at the movies. I promise you we won’t stay late.’
The Kingsway, a dance hall off Castle Street, had a good resident band for dancing, but it was also a well-known fact that the management didn’t mind if those dancing liked a drink or two. Macy had a bottle of Yates’s Australian wine in her handbag and she wasted no time in heading to the toilets to drink it.
‘What have you got that for?’ asked Irene when she saw it.
‘Because after the week I’ve had I need a drink. Here, it’s for you too.’
‘I don’t want it. I don’t mind dancing, but I’m not drinking.’
Macy took several mouthfuls then put it in her handbag and headed for the door. ‘Come on then, let’s have a dance.’ Just then the door opened and the woman from the aircraft factory who had had the argument with Macy came in.
‘Well, well if it isn’t the Yankee republican! Enjoy your time in Mountpottinger police station, did ye? Ye didn’t fool anybody – helpin’ the police with important war work, my arse!’
‘Get out of my way,’ said Macy and pushed past her.
‘You’ll get what’s comin’ to ye all right,’ the woman called after her.
‘Best give her a wide berth,’ said Irene.
‘Sure will,’ said Macy, ‘with a butt that big.’
Inside, the dance hall was dimly lit. Coloured spotlights were dotted around the room and there was a small spotlit stage at the far end with a three-piece band: piano, snare drum and double bass. Tables and chairs were arranged round the edges of the dance floor. Irene barely noticed any of this, for it was no different to any other dance hall, but her heart skipped a beat at the sight of thirty or more American soldiers lounging at the tables or standing at the edge of the dance floor. They were making a noise loud enough to drown the band. It took only seconds for them to notice Macy who stood out because of her height and style and, by the time she and Irene reached the counter where drinks were being sold, they were surrounded by Americans clamouring to buy them a drink.
One soldier had pushed himself to the front. ‘Hey guys, take it easy. As the highest-ranking GI in the room’ – he pointed to the stripes on his arm – ‘I get to buy these ladies a drink. What’ll it be, orange juice or lemonade? That’s all they got!’
Macy gave him her dazzling smile. ‘Jeez, the guy’s from Brooklyn! How about that?’
The sergeant looked confused. ‘You been practising the accent?’
‘Been speaking it all my life, born in Queens overlookin’ the East River.’
‘Well I’ll be darned,’ he shouted, ‘she’s one of us!’
The evening wore on and Irene and Macy remained the centre of attention. They danced with every GI at least once and laughed and chatted with them every time they sat down. There were other women there, including the woman from Shorts and her friends, but although the GIs danced with them too, it was clear that it was Macy and Irene they wanted to be with.
By ten o’clock Irene was getting anxious. She was supposed to be at the cinema and would be expected home no later than half past.
‘You stay,’ said Irene, ‘I’ll be fine.’
But Macy insisted she was leaving too. Outside they stood for a few moments in the light of the doorway.
‘We can come back another night. It’ll be just as good,’ said Macy.
Irene went off to catch her bus while Macy had only to walk the short distance to the YWCA. Within a few yards Irene heard shouting and the sound of a scuffle coming from behind her. She looked round and could just make out a group of figures and flickering torches. She hesitated, uncertain what to do, but at the unmistakeable sound of Macy screaming, she ran back. Macy was on her knees, her face illuminated and someone was standing over her.
‘It’s her all right!’ a voice said.
There was the flash of a blade and Irene screamed. Behind her the dance hall door was flung open, flooding the street with light, and several GIs rushed out and began to fight with Macy’s attackers. Irene skirted round them in search of Macy and all at once her blood ran cold. Macy was sitting on the ground, head bent forward, and all around her lay her beautiful red hair which had been shorn from her scalp.
‘Oh my God, Macy!’ Irene put her arms around her friend. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No, I’m okay,’ but Irene felt her shaking.
In the poor light, it was impossible to make out Macy’s attackers.
‘Who are they?’ asked Irene. ‘Is it that woman from work?’ Her thoughts raced on. ‘It’s because we were with the Americans!’
There was the sharp blast of a police whistle, and the sound of running feet. Someone shouted, ‘I
t’s the peelers, so it is!’ and Macy’s attackers fled, leaving the GIs shouting after them.
When the police saw the Americans they immediately ordered them back into the dance hall. ‘Brawling again? Over some slut was it? Get inside so we can call the military police.’
‘They should be getting an ambulance for you. I’ll tell them!’ shouted Irene.
But Macy grabbed her arm. ‘No, I’m not hurt. I don’t want any fuss. It’s my own fault.’
‘No it isn’t, those people attacked you. Look what they’ve done to you!’
‘Stop it, Irene. You don’t understand. It’s not about the Americans. If it had been you’d be the one who lost her hair, not me. No one would get angry about me, an American, fraternising with GIs. No, this is much worse.’
‘How could it be worse?’
‘This is about the policeman who was shot dead.’
‘What’s that got to do with you?’
‘It’s to do with Finn. He was taken into custody with other suspected IRA men after the shooting. He gave me as his alibi, said I was with him all night. When the police came to the factory and took me away it was because they thought I was involved. But I wouldn’t lie to the police. I told them I wasn’t with him. They didn’t believe me at first, but on the night of the shooting I was in the YWCA as usual; people saw me in the dorm and after lights out I sat up half the night with a girl who was ill. Do you see, Irene? His alibi was false and, because I wouldn’t lie for him, that was my punishment. I recognised one of those people. I’m lucky to be alive.
‘There’s something else you should know. I saw your friend Theresa at the police station. They arrested Finn’s brother Michael as well.’
Irene looked at her friend’s beautiful face and the ugly scraps of hair on her skull. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘First thing, I’m going to buy a turban. After that I’ll carry on building planes.’
Golden Sisters Page 30
