‘But your lovely hair,’ Irene was close to tears as she picked up a handful, but Macy knocked it to the ground. ‘It’ll grow back,’ was all she said.
Chapter 31
When Pat arrived at Stormont the following morning she went straight to her desk in the Ministry of Public Security with every intention of finishing the list of evacuees due to return home the following week. She had been there no more than half an hour when she looked up to see Captain Farrelly standing at her desk.
‘Okay, lady, time to go.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Pat was aware that the other clerks had stopped work at the sight of an American officer, curious to know why he was speaking to her.
‘I’ve orders to tour the US bases to see if they’re suitable for’ – he struggled to find the words – ‘social events, and you’re to accompany me on the tour as a representative of the Northern Ireland government.’ He couldn’t have looked more annoyed if he’d tried.
‘Oh yes,’ said Pat, ‘and would those social events include concerts?’
‘I’m told that might be possible.’
‘Only possible?’
‘Depending on the facilities on the bases.’
That would do to be going on with. Pat took her coat from the back of her chair and a notebook and pencil from her desk and followed Captain Farrelly out of the office and into the warm May sunshine where a US Army jeep was parked with its engine running.
They drove south and neither said a word until they were out into the country where the hawthorn hedges were in full flower and the whin bushes in bud.
‘We didn’t get off to the best start yesterday. I’m Tony Farrelly.’ Without taking his eyes off the road he held out his hand and she shook it.
‘I’m Patricia Goulding.’
‘It seems our governments are expecting the pair of us to keep the US Army entertained until they’re sent off to fight. Like I said yesterday, that’s thirty thousand US troops and counting. I’ll be straight with you – I don’t think a few concerts will cut it. Physical exercise is the key – it gets them fit and tires them out.’
‘And that’s your solution, is it?’
‘Well, it’s more than that. I’m going to get a baseball league going with teams from the different companies. I’ll be looking for a field at each base that’s suitable for conversion to a baseball ground.’
‘I’m not traipsing round the countryside with you looking at fields! I’ve told you I’m expected to get concerts organised.’
‘Oh yeah and how often are they likely to happen?’
‘How about every time you have a baseball game?’
They drove on and the morning sun grew warmer. The captain took a pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket and put them on. Pat observed him as he drove, noticed his skin had a glow about it as though he’d spent some time in the sun. This close to him, she realised he might be younger than she thought. They arrived at the first camp around lunchtime and met with a major there. He seemed anxious to get some social events organised.
‘Bored soldiers get soft – lose their discipline,’ he told them. ‘We’ll go eat, then you can take a look around, talk to the men if you want. Let me know what you can do.’
The mess hall was a good size, filled with long tables and folding metal chairs. There were windows down one side and, high above them, rafters made from steel girders and a corrugated iron roof were visible. As they queued with the soldiers for their lunch, Pat was surprised at how informal it all was. Officers chatted and laughed with ordinary soldiers. Several of the men smiled at Pat and called out ‘Hi!’
There was so much food to choose from – some of it Pat didn’t recognise.
‘Meatloaf is always good. You should try it,’ said Captain Farrelly and passed her a portion.
She did recognise ice cream even though she hadn’t had any for a few years. Finally, he reached out and grabbed two bottles of Coca-Cola, flicked off their tops and handed one to her. She had seen the distinctive bottle so many times in films and often wondered what a Coca-Cola would taste like and now she had one, ice-cold in her hand. Just wait till her sisters heard about all this!
The major was keen on the baseball league idea and said he would take them to see a suitable field, but he warned it would take some money to get it playable.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Captain Farrelly, ‘whatever it takes; the budget is big.’ Pat caught his eye and smiled.
The major turned to Pat. ‘Now tell me about these concerts, Patricia.’ She was flattered that he had remembered her first name and had chosen to use it. Captain Farrelly had not called her by any name – either Miss Goulding or Patricia – since they met.
‘I’ve been involved in concerts since the war started,’ she told him. ‘Variety shows, you know, singers, dancers, comedians – lots of different acts. They’re very popular with the civilians and the military – the British Army, I mean.’
‘We really need something like that. The men get to see films, but they’re often out of date or so British that the guys just don’t get what’s going on. Newspapers and radio don’t have any relevance to them either. I’ll be honest, Patricia, the guys have money to spend, but nothing to spend it on but drink and dames and both of those usually lead to trouble.’
‘A few concerts won’t stop that,’ said Captain Farrelly.
The major shook his head. ‘Maybe not, but we have to start somewhere. Baseball games and concerts sound good to me, and if you can solve the problems we have to deal with when soldiers are in Belfast on one- or two-day passes, that would be even better.’
‘What sort of problems?’ asked Pat.
The major looked a little embarrassed. ‘They get into trouble in the pubs and dance halls, trying to pick up girls mostly. The local guys don’t like that so they get into fights. Before we know what’s happening they’re being picked up by the police – does a lot of damage that kind of thing.’
On the way back to Stormont, Captain Farrelly talked enthusiastically about the baseball field and how easy it would be to level the ground and maybe construct some seating – bleachers he called it.
‘And what about the concerts?’ asked Pat. ‘The major seemed very keen to get them started.’
‘I ain’t so sure they’d work. A mess hall is hardly suitable.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Pat. ‘With stage blocks and decent sound and lighting it would do very well and of course we’d have to find a piano.’
‘That all sounds expensive.’
‘Well, like you said, the budget is big.’
‘But you heard the major, he thinks stuff over here isn’t relevant to our guys. Some Irish baloney ain’t gonna keep them entertained.’
‘Why are you always coming up with reasons why there shouldn’t be concerts? You’ve no idea what they’re like!’
‘I can guess.’
‘Why don’t you do better than that? Why don’t you come to the next concert I’m involved in?’
‘I just might do that!’
‘I’ll get you a ticket,’ Pat snapped back.
They didn’t speak another word until the jeep pulled up in front of Stormont. Pat climbed out and was about to walk away when Captain Farrelly leaned across and handed her a brown paper bag.
‘I got you these,’ he said and in a moment he had swung the jeep around and driven away. It was four bottles of Coca-Cola.
That evening after tea Irene was writing a letter to Sandy and Sheila and Peggy were reading some magazines that Betty had passed on to them.
‘What are you doing, Peggy?’ asked Pat.
‘What does it look like?’ said Peggy without looking up from the magazine.
‘We need to get rehearsing – the Grosvenor Hall concert’s next Saturday.’
‘That’s a bit rich coming from you isn’t it? Plenty of times I’ve wanted to rehearse and you lot have always had an excuse not to.’
‘It’s a big concert. Important people might be there,�
� Pat argued.
‘Like who?’
‘Like a captain in the US Army for a start.’
Her sisters stopped what they were doing and stared at her.
Peggy laughed. ‘Don’t tell me, Captain Farrelly, who never smiles and is too old for you, is coming to see the show.’
‘He’s not that old,’ said Pat.
‘Oooh, had a change of heart, have you? Persuaded him to come and watch you sing? Maybe that’ll put a smile on his face.’
‘Don’t be so silly! There’s a chance the Barnstormers could be invited to sing at some American bases, but they need to see the show first and it has to be very good.’
‘Wouldn’t it be great to perform for the Americans?’ said Sheila.
‘Imagine the spread they would have for us in the officers’ mess!’ said Irene.
‘I can assure you it’s excellent,’ said Pat, ‘particularly the meatloaf.’
‘Meatloaf?’
‘Yes, and the Coca-Cola is very good too.’
‘You’ve tasted it?’
‘Of course, I had it today when I visited one of their bases.’
‘What did it taste like?’
Pat fetched the four bottles from her bag. ‘You can have one each when we finish rehearsing.’
There were whoops of joy and Peggy burst into a chorus of ‘Drinkin’ rum and Coca-Cola … Workin’ for the Yankee dollar’.
The following day Captain Farrelly was waiting for Pat when she arrived at work. ‘Hi,’ he said with a hint of a smile. ‘Are you okay to visit a few more bases?’
‘Of course, Captain Farrelly,’ and she too attempted a smile.
As they walked to the jeep he said, ‘I’m not sure we got off on the right foot you and me, how’s about a new day, a new start?’
‘All right,’ said Pat.
‘My name’s Tony. What should I call you?’
‘Patricia, Pat … I don’t mind’
‘My sister’s Patricia, we call her Patti at home. How’d you like to be Patti?’
And to her surprise Pat found herself saying, ‘Why not?’
The miles flew by in Tony’s company with his stories about life in the army. He’d joined up straight from college. When the war in Europe broke out he hadn’t expected to fight, but the bombing of Pearl Harbour had changed everything. She could see how determined he was to be involved. His frustration at being assigned the job of organising the leisure time of the US troops was evident and slowly she came to realise that it wasn’t her that he resented, but the prospect of spending the war behind a desk. By the end of the week they had visited all the US camps within driving distance of Belfast and had set in motion the work to prepare the baseball fields. Pat had made detailed notes on everything that was required and left copies with the officers in charge. Her notes were equally detailed about the concert facilities, but she and Tony agreed to wait until after the concert at the Grosvenor Hall when, together with Goldstein, they would decide on the most suitable acts for an American audience.
‘Can you get me a couple of extra tickets for the concert?’ he asked. ‘Me and the guys thought we’d make a night of it in Belfast – dinner, the show, some drinks maybe, just like back home.’
‘I think that could be arranged,’ said Pat, ‘if in exchange we can borrow three US Army uniforms – the smallest you have.’
‘Sounds kinda interesting. What are they for?’
‘You’ll have to wait until Saturday.’
The atmosphere backstage at the Grosvenor Hall was electric. Knowing that three American officers would be watching the show was very exciting, but the thought that their performance tonight could lead to regular concerts for the US Army was enough to ensure that even the most seasoned performers found it difficult to remain calm.
When Pat arrived with three GI uniforms and hung them up on pegs at the back of the dressing room, everyone crowded round, anxious to see them up close.
‘They’re such good quality,’ said Irene fingering the material. ‘No expense spared for the Yanks, eh?’
Peggy picked up the cap and put it on her head at a jaunty angle and saluted.
‘Leave them for now,’ said Pat. ‘It’s not time.’
Goldstein arrived just then in the dressing room and also went to look at the uniforms. ‘Excellent. Excellent – something a bit special for the final act,’ he said. Then he climbed onto the upturned crate set out for him, clapped his hands and called for order.
‘Time for one of his stirring Churchill speeches,’ Peggy giggled.
‘Sssh!’ Pat snapped. ‘Try and behave yourself.’
‘Pardon me,’ said Peggy. ‘Here’s me a mere assistant director, while you have the ear of the entire US Army!’
Goldstein regarded the company standing before him – his Barnstormers. He seemed to take his time as though collecting his thoughts. He looked into each and every face until he was satisfied they were calm, focused, ready.
‘There have been so many significant moments in the history of this company, some overwhelmingly exciting, others so sad we could hardly bear to perform. Tonight is, in effect, an audition and we must rise to the occasion. The Americans are now in this war and have chosen Northern Ireland to begin their campaign. We deserve to be a part of that, but we must show them our mettle and our talent. The Barnstormers is a superb company and can bear comparison with the finest the USA has to offer. So I want to tell you that your final rehearsal on Sunday was the best show I have seen, but tonight you will do even better.’ With a flourish, he raised his arm high in the air. ‘Tonight you will excel!’
The opening music for the concert was ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’, performed by a small orchestra that Goldstein had put together to accompany the acts. When the curtains opened the Templemore Tappers marched on stage in stars and stripes costumes. They paraded with precision, shaking their pompoms, following a girl tossing a baton. Throughout the first half, Goldstein stood at the back of the hall, observing each act closely and trying to imagine the performances seen through American eyes. It soon became apparent that the comedy routines would need different material. Jokes about the Belfast experience of wartime that brought hoots of laughter from the local audience, would fall flat in front of GIs. The acts came and went – Sheila’s Ella Fitzgerald songs and Macy’s stylish tap routine in dinner suit and homburg, both American in origin, drew warm applause.
The Golden Sisters had their usual spot as the final act of the first half. They stood in the wings in their US Army uniforms. A bugle sounded the reveille and they marched on stage, turned and saluted. ‘This is the Army, Mister Jones,’ they sang. It was a lively tune making fun of a new recruit who had joined up, expecting home comforts. It brought laughter from the audience and Pat thought she could hear Tony laughing from his seat close to the front of the stage. For their second song, Peggy crossed to the piano at the side of the stage and Pat and Irene joined her to sing ‘Rum and Coca-Cola’ but at the end of the first verse Irene shouted, ‘Stop, stop!’ Her sisters feigned confusion and the audience wondered what was going on.
Irene went on, ‘You can’t move in Belfast without bumping into a guy from the good ol’ USA. I bet there are some here tonight.’ She put her hand to her forehead and scanned the audience. ‘Is there an American in the house?’
There was a shout from the audience. ‘Can you stand up for us?’ shouted Irene. ‘Can we get a spotlight on our American visitors?’ Tony and his two friends were bathed in light and the audience clapped politely. ‘No don’t clap them, they haven’t done anything yet!’ she went on. ‘I heard that it was the Americans who invented the Lindy Hop – would one of you like to come up and show us how it’s done.’ There was some shaking of heads and embarrassed refusals.
‘Can’t do it without a partner!’ said the tallest GI.
‘No problem,’ said Irene and she went down the steps into the audience and took the GI by the hand. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked when they were centre stage.
>
‘Dwight,’ he said.
‘Right, Dwight! Tell me have you ever been to John Dossor’s?’ The audience laughed at the reference to Belfast’s famous dance hall. Dwight looked confused, but Irene took his hand and slipped it round her waist and took his other hand in hers. ‘Let’s go!’ she shouted and Peggy belted out the fast-paced ’Rum and Coca-Cola’ with backing from the orchestra while Pat sang.
Dwight grinned and entered into the spirit of the performance. He had clearly danced the Lindy Hop many times and was soon swinging Irene round, trying different lifts, and at one point danced away from her to show off a few moves never seen in Belfast. Irene stood back and clapped along, while the audience cheered him on. They finished with a spectacular lift and Dwight set Irene back on her feet and leaned over to kiss her as the curtain came down.
Backstage, Goldstein and Pat discussed the first half.
‘I didn’t think there was enough glamour,’ said Pat.
‘I agree. We’re missing something like Macy’s Ginger Rogers’ routine.’
‘We could put that back in for the second half.’
‘We don’t have the dress, do we?’
‘Yes, it’s in the trunk,’ said Pat.
‘But they’ll see her shaved head.’
‘Not if we can cover it up. I’ll think of something.’
‘Well you had better be quick.’
Goldstein went to find the crooner to ask if he could sing an extra Bing Crosby song at the start of the second half that would give them more time to sort Macy.
‘But I’m a bit rusty with that second one,’ said the crooner.
‘Not as rusty as the orchestra are, so you had better show them how it goes!’
Peggy, as Pat had hoped, took on the challenge of Macy’s hair.
She eyed up Macy as she stood in the dress. ‘We’ll take the chiffon that’s round the neckline and–’
‘You can’t do that. It’ll make it way too low.’ wailed Macy.
‘Nonsense,’ said Peggy. ‘These strapless dresses are designed not to move; the chiffon’s just for show. Anyway, what did Goldstein say? We need more glamour! Then we’ll trim off some of this stiff petticoat underneath. It’s the same colour as the chiffon. Pat, go and collect some jewellery from the Tappers. They’re always covered in that cheap sparkly stuff. And while you’re about it, shoot that bloody crooner – he’s murdering that song!’
Golden Sisters Page 31
