Martha's Girls

by Alrene Hughes

  Aggie didn’t speak and Sheila felt obliged to fill in the silence. ‘That’s great, Uncle John. Do you get a uniform and everything?’ She thought of Ted Grimes in his smart bottle green, with the shiny badge on his cap.

  ‘It’s a bit soon for that, Sheila. I’ve many a Saturday training to do and we’ll probably get an armband for the evening patrols.’

  Suddenly, Aggie spoke up. ‘What about the shop, John? Saturday’s our busiest day. The men come home with their pay on a Friday night and this place is packed out from nine in the morning.’

  ‘Aggie, God wants me to do this. He’ll help us.’

  Sheila could see Aggie’s agitation, her hands clenched against her chest, shaking a little as she struggled to find the words to get through to her brother. ‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘it’s to be hoped He has some experience with a bacon slicer then!’

  John rounded on her. ‘Now listen here, Agnes McCracken—’ he began. Just then the shop bell rang and, as neither of them seemed to have heard it, Sheila gratefully slipped through the chenille to keep shop. The customer was a young woman who didn’t look as though she had two ha’pennies to rub together. She carried a sleeping child wrapped in a shawl tied round her hip. She bought two eggs, a pan loaf and a quarter of Nambarrie tea. The child’s head lolled backwards escaping the shawl as the mother counted out the coppers on the counter and when Sheila said the baby had lovely curls, the mother smiled with pride showing her rotten front teeth. By the time Sheila returned to the kitchen, John and Aggie were eating cake and smiling.

  ‘Now then, young Sheila,’ said John, dusting the crumbs from his hands. ‘Aggie tells me you’ve a bit of a way with the customers, been helping out this afternoon while she tended Aunt Hannah.’ Aggie winked at her and gave a smile of encouragement as John went on. ‘How would you like a wee part time job here at the shop?’ Sheila’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to reply, but John carried on. ‘Of course, you’d have to ask your mammy, see what she thinks. You could come here Fridays after school and on Saturday you’d have to be here at eight on the dot to help me open up and you’ll work to six. We’d give you your tea both nights. Then when your mammy comes for her messages on Saturday night, you could go home with her. Now, how does that sound?’

  Sheila beamed. It sounded great, better than great. It was just what she wanted. She hugged them both. It was true what they said in Sunday school, she thought, God did work in mysterious ways.

  *

  ‘Mammy, I love champ, but I’m fed up eating it,’ complained Irene. ‘Can we not have something else?’

  Martha ignored her and called through to the sitting room. ‘Pat, will you get this table set. The tea’ll be ready in five minutes.’ She drained the pan and mashed the potatoes vigorously, then tipped in the frothing pan of milk and green scallions. A big plate of champ would stick to their insides. Pat laid the table carefully, as always, then went to the foot of the stairs and called Peggy. Martha arranged the portions of champ in a circle on each plate with a hollow in the middle into which she slid a lump of butter then carried each to the table as quickly as possible before it melted.

  ‘I’ll have to put Sheila’s in the oven to keep warm. I’ve no idea where she’s got to.’

  ‘I’ll have hers if she doesn’t come in soon,’ said Peggy.

  ‘You will not!’ snapped Martha, ‘She’ll have a proper meal like the rest of us. I’ll not send a child of mine to bed with just bread and jam.’

  ‘Sure I’ve been working all day and she’s just been sitting in school doing next to nothing,’ said Peggy.

  Irene changed the subject. ‘We’ll need to decide tonight which songs we’re going to sing at the Grosvenor Hall and I think we should have a practice every night. We’ve got to be on top form in front of all those paying customers.’

  ‘Well, I think they’ve got to be classy songs,’ said Pat. ‘A piece of light opera would be nice. What about a bit of Gilbert and Sullivan, ‘Three Little Maids from School’ maybe?’

  ‘Ach for goodness sake, Pat, people don’t want that. We need something up to the minute,’ said Irene. ‘Peggy, what about that song you were playing last week? We could work out some good harmonies for that. What was it called again?’ Peggy turned her head slowly and stared at Irene, who thought she hadn’t made herself clear. ‘You know the one with the great title. ‘Paper Moon’, that was it!’

  Peggy ignored her and pushed her empty plate to one side. ‘I’ll leave you to it then. I’m off down the Oldpark to the pictures with Thelma.’

  In unison Pat and Irene turned towards her. ‘What?’

  Martha caught Peggy’s arm as she made to leave the table. ‘Now, you listen to me, my girl. You’re not going to let this family down. This concert is important; it’s for the church and to raise money for a good cause. It doesn’t feel like it yet, but make no mistake, there’s a war on and if the last war taught me anything, it was that we have to help each other. Morale’s important and the last thing needed is for us to fall out among ourselves.’

  Peggy was calm. ‘Mammy, I’m not letting anybody down, because I never agreed to be part of it. There’s nothing more to be said.’ And with that she got her coat and left.

  Irene and Pat set about doing the dishes with heavy hearts. ‘We’ve got to perform at this concert,’ said Irene. ‘It’s too good an opportunity to miss.’

  ‘But we need three of us for the harmonies to work.’

  ‘Maybe we could get Sheila to sing too.’

  ‘And have you forgotten?’ said Pat. ‘We’re three sisters and a piano. We need to be accompanied.’

  ‘We’ll get Mammy to play. Sure she taught Peggy the piano. She could do it. I’ll go and ask her.’

  ‘Mammy’s not got the same style as Peggy. It wouldn’t suit us at all.’

  ‘Ach it’ll do rightly. It’s the singing that counts. We’ll just have to be brilliant to make sure nobody realises that Mammy’s not familiar with boogie woogie!’ The two of them began to laugh at the very thought of their mother playing in that style. As usual, once Irene started she couldn’t stop. She tried to wipe her eyes with her soapy hands and ended up with suds over her face. They were still wiping away tears when Sheila came in the back door and wanted to know what was so funny. They tried to tell her, but found it impossible to speak. It was just a moment to be completely silly and Sheila, without even knowing why they were laughing, was soon in stitches.

  ‘So, the plan is this,’ explained Pat. ‘You, Sheila, will become the third Goulding sister, and you, Mammy, will be the accompanist.’

  She and Irene smiled expectantly.

  ‘Lord, bless us!’ Martha looked at them as if they were mad. ‘I couldn’t do that. Sure I’ve never been on a stage in my life, an oul woman like me, away on with you!’

  ‘You could do it. Sure you’re a great pianist.’ Pat shot a sideways look at Irene who was struggling not to laugh.

  ‘But I might not know the songs.’

  ‘You know two of them well enough,’ Pat reassured her. ‘The Mountains of Mourne’ and ‘Whispering Hope’, the third one’s ‘Zing Went the Strings of my Heart’ and you could easily learn that.’

  Martha chewed her lip. ’Right enough, it’d be a shame for you to miss out on an opportunity like this. I’ll tell you what. I’ll learn the songs and play for you to practise and, who knows, maybe Peggy’ll come round before the concert.’

  That’ll do for now, thought Pat. ‘Right, let’s get practising.’

  Sheila had followed all this without saying a word. There had been so much laughter and excitement since she arrived home and, with Irene and Pat chatting continuously about the concert, there hadn’t been a chance to tell them her good news.

  ‘There might be a bit of a problem on the Saturday night,’ Sheila began.

  Martha swung round on the piano stool. ‘What kind of a problem?’

  Sheila took a deep breath. ‘I’ve got a part time job. I’ll be working on Sa
turday.’ All the way home from Manor Street, Sheila had imagined the moment when she would tell her family the good news. She imagined them smiling with delight, praising her, saying how clever she’d been, now all that was denied her and she looked at the surprise, followed by disappointment, spreading across their faces.

  Irene was the first to speak. ‘A job … where?’

  ‘What kind of job?’ Martha raised an eyebrow.

  It came tumbling out in a rush, although Sheila was careful to make it clear that it was John who asked her. She said nothing about why she’d gone to the shop in the first place.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ said Martha. ‘So the McCrackens have come to our aid after all.’

  ‘I’m to get three shillings a week and they’ll give me my tea. But I’m likely to be there ‘til half six at least on Saturday and I would need to get washed and changed and the concert starts at seven. So you see …’ Her voice trailed off and she hung her head and let the tears of disappointment fall.

  Pat put her arm round Sheila’s shoulder. ‘Now, don’t you worry, you’ve done well to find a job. We’re really pleased for you. You know, it might still be possible for you to sing. If we could make sure we were on after the interval, you could get washed and changed before you leave the shop, then hop on a tram and be there in time.’ She looked at Martha and Irene. ‘What do you think?’

  *

  Peggy sat on the grass outside the City Hall, leaned back on her elbows and tilted her head to catch the warm September sun on her face. So what, if things were a bit awkward at home, that wasn’t her fault. Let them rehearse every night. Mammy might be a good pianist, but she didn’t have any idea about modern music; how to use the keys to bring out the best in Pat’s voice and add that syncopation to the beat that brought out the warmth of their harmonies. Sheila’s voice was lovely, but she didn’t use it to complement the other two and she had no stage presence at all. The concert was two days away. Without her, their performance would be … she frowned slightly as she searched for the word … mediocre. That was it, neither good nor bad. Well, let them be mediocre, she didn’t care.

  She flipped open her compact and moved her head from side to side examining her makeup. The Bourjois rouge still gave her cheeks a glow, but her nose was shiny so she applied a touch of powder followed by a slick of lipstick and smiled at her reflection. Suddenly self-conscious, she looked around her. He was sitting about ten yards away, his arms stretched across the back of the bench looking straight at her, a slight smile on his lips. He had a look of Humphrey Bogart about him with his tie loose and his hat tipped back. Their eyes met, but he didn’t look away. Peggy felt suddenly embarrassed. How long had he been watching her? All the time she’d been thinking about the concert? Her face had probably shown every expression to match her thoughts. She stood up and straightened her slim black skirt and her black and white polka dot blouse with its short peplum. She wondered if he was watching her walk away, but even if he wasn’t, she knew she’d turn plenty of other heads as she strolled back up Donegall Place.

  Goldstein was standing inside the shop window pasting a large poster with the words ‘GRAND CONCERT’ picked out in red. Peggy scanned the rest, ‘In aid of the Red Cross at the Grosvenor Hall’. Somehow it was worse to see it written down, made it seem much grander.

  ‘Ah see, Peggy.’ Goldstein gestured towards the poster as she crossed to the counter and began to put away some sheet music. ‘A benefit concert; you mark my words, this will be the first of many in this city.’

  ‘Oh, why’s that?’ Peggy tried to sound nonchalant.

  ‘Many reasons. First, in times of hardship, and I understand these things, people want to be happy, to enjoy themselves if only for an evening. Second, money will be needed for a great many reasons in a war and the good people of Belfast will raise thousands of pounds because the authorities will have no cash to look after distressed citizens and believe me before this war is over we will see more distress than we can even imagine right now.’

  Peggy stopped. She hadn’t thought of that.

  ‘And of course,’ Goldstein went on, ‘it will be good for business.’ She gave him her full attention. ‘People will want sheet music, not just performers, everyone. And they’ll all want records, wirelesses, gramophones, instruments. We might even sell a few more pianos. Oh yes, Peggy, you’ll see, we are in just the right business.’

  ‘And you think this concert could be just the start?’

  ‘I’m sure of it. That’s why I have advertised the shop in the programme and made a donation. Now, Peggy, I need to get on with the invoices. Call me if it gets busy.’

  She wanted to shout ‘I’m going to be in the concert’, but she didn’t because Mammy and Sheila had taken her place. How could they do this to her? It was just so unfair!

  ‘Excuse me.’

  What’s more, Mammy always said that Sheila was too young to go on the stage and now she was going to let her—

  ‘Excuse me, please.’

  ‘Yes, yes what is it?’ she snapped. And there he was, Humphrey Bogart from the City Hall, only taller, broader and altogether more handsome.

  ‘I’m … ah …’ He looked around the shop and smiled as he brought his eyes back to meet hers. ‘I’m interested in buying a gramophone.’

  Goldstein normally dealt with such important sales, but he was just disappearing into his office. Peggy touched her hair and found her best smile. ‘Of course, I’ll just demonstrate them and tell you a little about each one.’

  His tie had been straightened and he had removed his hat. His hair was dark and brushed back. Her mother’s words came unbidden into her head, “Never trust a man who wears a hat indoors.” Well, he was off to a good start.

  ‘We have three makes of gramophone: Bush, Echo and Decca. Now the Bush is very simple to operate, but the Decca has a more stylish cabinet.’ She was aware that he seemed to be looking at her much more than the gramophones.

  ‘And what about the Echo?’

  ‘Aah, the Echo …’ She hadn’t a clue about the Echo. ‘Look, the best way to decide which one to buy is to hear how they sound. What kind of music do you like?’

  ‘What kind of music do you like?’ That smile again.

  ‘Oh, different types, depending on how I’m feeling.’

  ‘And how are you feeling?’

  She looked up at him, noticed the brown eyes and long dark eyelashes. ‘Quite happy, I suppose.’

  He pulled a serious face, as though considering his state of mind. ‘Um, me too. So it looks like we need some quite happy music to test these gramophones. What would you suggest? Some Bing Crosby?’

  ‘Too sentimental.’

  He pretended to think hard. ‘How about some Gracie Fields?’

  Peggy pulled a face. ‘Too silly!’ She was beginning to enjoy herself.

  ‘I know the very thing.’ He nodded wisely. ‘Ella Fitzgerald.’

  Her eyes lit up. ‘Yes, but which one?’

  ‘There’s only one quite happy Ella Fitzgerald worth its salt.’

  ‘I Want to be Happy!’ they shouted together.

  Peggy lowered the needle carefully onto the record and waited with that frisson of anticipation she never failed to get as the needle settled into the groove followed by five seconds of soft static noise. Five seconds when without fail she held her breath and waited for the only thing that moved her. Music. The distinctive opening bars began, her foot tapped. She felt an arm circle her waist, she swayed to the beat and Bogey took her hand. They swept around the shop. He was a good dancer, held her firmly and guided her confidently around the displays of instruments and grand piano as though they’d danced together for years. Peggy felt the roughness of his tweed sports coat as her hand rested on his back and felt her other hand disappear into his. She was aware of his smell, the blueness of his chin above her, and most of all the lightness in her heart. As they circled the piano for the third time, he stopped abruptly and it was a moment before Peggy remembered sh
e was in the shop, selling a gramophone … and Mr Goldstein was standing in his office doorway looking at her in horror.

  ‘Miss Goulding! What are you doing?’ He looked outraged and moved swiftly to the gramophone to lift the needle.