Martha's Girls

by Alrene Hughes

  ‘Ach no, sure it’s my afternoon off.’

  ‘Oh, that’s grand. We’ll sit in the front room. Will you take a wee cup of tea?’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do, Martha.’ He eased himself into the armchair to the left of the fireplace.

  ‘I was very grateful the other night when you came to collect us from the McCrackens,’ shouted Martha from the kitchen.

  ‘Not at all, not at all.’ Ted looked around the neat room, noted the bust of Beethoven on the piano and was that Tchaikovsky on the china cabinet? Martha was a woman with unexpected depths.

  ‘Nice and strong, just how you like it,’ said Martha handing him the tea, ‘and you’ll take a bit of fruited soda as well, won’t you? It’s still warm from the oven.’ Back in the kitchen, Martha removed her overall and returned with a thick slice of buttered soda and her own tea and sat opposite Ted. ‘Did they get the one who shot the policeman?’

  ‘Well, they’ve taken a few Catholic fellas from the Falls Road into custody. That caused a lot of bother itself; people out on the streets protesting and throwing stuff.’ He shook his head. ‘Internment’s the only answer in my view.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but what about the families? It’s them I feel sorry for without the man’s wage. I know how hard that is.’

  ‘Ach Martha, never you worry yourself about them.’

  ‘God knows, Ted, it’s hard to put food on the table.’ Martha looked away as though she’d said too much already. The last thing she wanted was Ted Grimes to think she was crying poverty. They sat in silence for a while. From the street came the strangled cry of the herring man. ‘Ardglass!’

  ‘Have you thought any more about evacuating Sheila?’ Ted changed the subject.

  ‘Ah no, she’s safe enough here for now.’

  ‘A lot of the primary school childer have gone. The offer’s still there you know. My cousin Edna would welcome help on the farm in exchange for board and lodging.’

  ‘Aye I know that, but she needs to finish her schooling. She could get a decent job, you know. She’s talked about working in an office. She’s bright as a button.’

  ‘Is that going to matter do you think?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Ted leaned forward to press home his point. ‘You know she’s a lovely girl. I’m guessing when she’s old enough she’ll find herself a young man and stop work altogether, if you get my drift.’

  ‘Your drift seems to be to get me out of the way to provide cheap labour for your family in the country.’ Sheila stood in the doorway, hands on hips. She turned to her mother. ‘Mammy, why are you listening to him? What’s he doing here anyway?’

  ‘Now, Sheila, don’t you be rude to Mr Grimes.’

  ‘We talked about this and you agreed I could stay here. I’m not going anywhere!’ She snatched the cup, saucer and plate of half eaten soda out of his hands. ‘But you are!’

  ‘Sheila, how dare you speak to a guest like that!’

  Ted stood up, towering over the two women. ‘It’s all right,’ he said quietly to Martha. ‘It’s time I was getting back anyway. Oh, by the way, I brung you yesterday’s Telegraph, chance you hadn’t seen it already.’ He set it on top of the piano and turned to Sheila. ‘As for you, miss, you’ve far too much to say for yourself.’

  *

  Martha didn’t draw the blackout curtains. There was no need; she hadn’t switched on any lights. Upstairs, too, was in darkness. After she had sent Sheila to bed, Martha listened to her sobbing until, eventually, there was silence. Later, as darkness fell, she crept upstairs to find her lying fully clothed on her bed fast asleep. At half six, Irene, Pat and Peggy arrived home together. Irene was first through the door.

  ‘Mammy, what are you doing in the dark?’ Without waiting for an answer she leaned over the draining board and drew the curtains and Pat crossed the kitchen ready to turn on the light as soon as Irene finished checking there were no gaps.

  ‘Is the tea ready? I’m starving.’ Peggy went to hang their coats in the little back hallway.

  ‘Where’s Sheila?’ asked Pat.

  ‘What’s for tea?’ asked Irene, bending down to look inside the stove.

  Martha didn’t move. ‘It’s nearly ready; Sheila’s upstairs asleep; stew, mashed potatoes and cabbage, but that can wait until we sort something out.’

  Irene stood up from the stove, Peggy paused in the doorway, Pat stopped at the sink, a glass in one hand, her other reaching out to the tap, each struck by the strange tone in their mother’s voice.

  ‘Sit down, all of you.’ Martha waited while they sat. ‘Did I, or did I not, forbid you to join that troupe of entertainers?’

  The girls looked quickly at each other. Irene was the first to answer, trying to be honest, ‘Yes, yes, you did.’

  ‘And now I hear you’re going to sing in a show next week.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ asked Irene.

  ‘Never mind who told me. What I want to know is … Is it true?’

  ‘Well it’s sort of true …’ Irene hesitated.

  ‘Sort of, what do you mean, sort of?’ Martha raised her voice.

  Peggy intervened. ‘What Irene means is that we said we’d do one show, because Mr Goldstein’s been let down by one of the acts.’ Pat gave her a sideways look, but Peggy carried on. ‘Someone can’t perform that night … a singer it is. So, he asked us.’

  ‘And that’s all, is it? One show?’ asked Martha looking sternly at each daughter in turn. Irene looked embarrassed; Pat was looking at Peggy, her face flushed. Peggy nodded, smiling.

  The Belfast Telegraph was on the high mantelpiece above the stove. Without a word, Martha retrieved it. It had been folded to show the picture of Peggy leaning on her elbows, one hand laid flat over the other supporting her chin, her face beautifully made up and smiling, looking for all the world like a Hollywood starlet.

  Martha began to read, ‘Peggy Goulding (pictured) and her two sisters Irene and Pat are members of the new company.’ Martha paused and looked at them over the paper, then continued. ‘Peggy told our reporter, “We’ve always dreamt of being entertainers and as members of the Barnstormers we’ll get lots of opportunities to perform.”’ Martha pursed her lips and looked at them. ‘So, one concert is it?’

  ‘We were going to tell you, Mammy, honestly.’ Irene was close to tears.

  ‘Oh, aye, and when was that? Next Saturday as you went out the door, all dolled up like this one in the photo? Or when you arrived home at midnight and me worried sick?’

  ‘Ach Mammy, we’re old enough to look after ourselves,’ said Peggy. ‘And anyway there’s three of us. We wouldn’t be anywhere on our own.’

  ‘That’s not the point. I’m your mother and you girls defied me.’ Martha was on her feet, leaning across at them, knuckles on the table.

  ‘Mammy, we were going to tell you.’

  ‘Oh were you now.’ Martha faked an understanding smile. ‘Would that be like you told me about going to the audition?’ Martha pointed her finger at each daughter in turn. ‘Deceit is a dangerous game. I never thought I’d see the day my daughters would stoop so low. Not only have you lied to me, but you’ve got yourself involved with some low music hall characters.’

  ‘Mammy, that’s not fair,’ said Irene. ‘You don’t know these people. They’re really nice.’

  ‘Irene, don’t be so naïve. Before you know where you are, m’lady, you’ll be out smoking and drinking in some back street dancehall. And if you think I’m standing for that, you’ve got another think coming!’

  Irene thought of Saturday night with Myrtle and said no more.

  Peggy waded in then. ‘But Mr Goldstein is a respectable businessman. Sure you know he owns a shop in Royal Avenue.’

  ‘I’m sure he is respectable, it’s not him I’m worried about,’ argued Martha.

  ‘Do you not trust us, Mammy?’

  ‘I thought I could, but now I’m not so sure. I wonder sometimes what goes on in your head, Peggy. And as fo
r you …’ She turned again to Irene. ‘You’re the eldest. What on earth were you doing, encouraging your sisters to get involved in something like this?’

  ‘Mammy, we just wanted to do something different. Something that was …’ She struggled for the word, ‘something exciting.’

  ‘Dear God.’ Martha sat down again and put her head in her hands. ‘Exciting isn’t for the likes of us. We’ve to work to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table, you know that. And since Daddy died it’s harder than ever. And now there’s a war.’ She shook her head. ‘Is the threat of bombs not excitement enough for you, but you have to go out in the blackout to God knows where, with God knows who?’

  ‘But we’ll be helping the war effort, Mr Goldstein said so. We’ll keep people’s spirits up, so we will,’ argued Peggy. ‘And you never know,’ she went on, ‘we could become famous.’

  Martha laughed out loud. ‘Peggy Goulding you are unbelievable. Listening to music all day in that shop has turned your head. Who do you think you are?’

  ‘Somebody who isn’t going to waste their life cooking and cleaning and raising we’uns!’ Peggy shouted.

  At that moment, Pat, who had listened without comment to her mother and sisters arguing, spoke up. ‘Will you stop it! We shouldn’t be arguing like this. Look, Mammy, we were wrong. We shouldn’t have gone to that audition without telling you. I’m …’ She looked at her sisters. ‘We’re sorry. But you know this war is going to take young fellows off into real danger. We can’t go and fight, but we should do something. It’s about morale and carrying on even though there might be danger. And you know we can do this, Mammy. You saw us at the Grosvenor Hall. You heard the Reverend Lynas say how important it was to have more events like that. That’s what we want to do.’ She reached across the table and put her hand on Martha’s. ‘And we want to sing, Mammy. You know that. We want to sing.’

  ‘Sure I know that, but this isn’t the odd concert in a Christian church hall. Your Daddy would never have agreed to this and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.’

  ‘Mammy, we’ll be all right.’ Pat took her hand. ‘Sure haven’t you brought us up to know how to behave? You need to trust us.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but do you think I’d trust some of these men? I don’t want any of you letting me down. You know what I’m saying now, don’t you?’ She looked at each of them in turn. They nodded.

  Martha stood up, seeming to shake herself, as though shedding such distasteful thoughts. ‘I’m going to have to think about this. So that’s an end to it for now. Let’s get this meal served before it’s spoilt altogether.’

  *

  The following day Martha left home at twelve o’clock and caught the trolley bus into Belfast alighting on Royal Avenue just across the road from Goldstein’s music shop. She waited there until one o’clock, when she saw Peggy leave and walk towards the nearby Queen’s Arcade, no doubt to spend her lunch hour looking in the windows of the expensive shops inside. Almost immediately after, Goldstein appeared at the shop door where he turned the sign to show it was closed. By the time he had bolted the door Martha had crossed the road and was knocking on the window. He looked startled and was about to indicate the closed sign when he looked more closely and recognised her.

  ‘Mrs Goulding,’ he said as he opened the door. ‘I am afraid you have just missed Peggy, she has gone for her lunch.’

  ‘I know,’ said Martha. ‘It’s you I’ve come to see.’

  If Goldstein was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded and ushered her into the shop. ‘Of course, Mrs Goulding, follow me.’

  Martha was struck by the formality of the office with its heavy mahogany desk and matching filing cabinets.

  ‘Please sit down.’

  Martha sat on the edge of the chair, her back completely straight, clasping her handbag on her knee.

  ‘Can I offer you a cup of tea?’

  ‘No thank you. I’ll come straight to the point, Mr Goldstein. I’m here about my daughters joining your entertainment troupe.’

  Goldstein smiled. ‘You mean the Barnstormers?’

  ‘Yes. I will be perfectly honest with you, I’m concerned about the wellbeing of my daughters, about them keeping company with, what sounds to me like, music hall acts.’

  Goldstein leaned back in his chair, made a tent of his hands, and observed Martha for a few moments. ‘What exactly are you concerned about, Mrs Goulding?’

  Martha blushed, took a deep breath and addressed her words to her handbag. ‘Let us say, shall we, that my daughters are innocent, naïve even, and might be easily led astray by undesirable people.’

  ‘Aah.’ Goldstein nodded slowly. So that was it. He appeared to consider his words carefully. ‘Peggy, it seems to me, is a very strong-willed young woman. She likes to get her own way and once she makes up her mind there is no changing it. Am I right in that judgement?’

  Martha managed a grim smile. ‘Indeed you are.’

  ‘I doubt whether she could be influenced by anyone,’ said Goldstein. Martha said nothing. He went on. ‘Pat I have met only twice, but she struck me as a serious young woman, dignified and sensible. Is she?’

  ‘Straight-laced, you mean? Well, maybe she is.’ Martha conceded.

  ‘Now, Irene is friendly and enjoys company. She is the eldest, is she not?’

  Martha was well aware of where all this was going, ‘She is.’

  ‘She would want to look after her sisters, would want to set them a good example I’m sure.’

  ‘She would, Mr Goldstein. And I’ve no doubt that my daughters would behave correctly. After all, they’ve been well brought up. As I said before, it’s not their behaviour I’m worried about. It’s the behaviour of the men they’d be mixing with.’

  Goldstein folded his arms, pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling. Martha sat perfectly still as the silence stretched into a minute then two. Suddenly, Goldstein leaned across the desk and smiled warmly.

  ‘I am very glad that you came to see me, Mrs Goulding. It is important that I look after the very talented young people who have volunteered to join the Barnstormers. I have an idea. I’d be interested to know what you think.’

  *

  While her mother was deep in conversation with her employer, Peggy had walked the length of the Queen’s Arcade, ignoring the temptations of the dress shops and emerged on to Fountain Street where she turned right towards Smithfield. Within minutes the quiet street gave way to a noisy, busy area, crowded with stalls that spilled second hand goods on to the pavements and out into the road. Hawkers stood on street corners. One, a wizened man with a humped back, was trying to press packets of razor blades into the hands of passers-by. Another had a wooden tray covered with handkerchiefs hung with rope around his neck. Peggy ignored everything and walked purposefully to the shop at the far side of the market. She paused a moment under the sign ‘I buy anything’, took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The air was musty like a room closed up for years. Towards the back of the shop heavy sideboards, tables, chairs, settees were piled in crazy configurations like some stairway to the grimy skylight. Elsewhere, the contents of a hundred houses had seemingly been abandoned in the shop, proving that Kavanagh was true to his word. The man himself was sitting in a leather-covered chair with horsehair stuffing escaping from the arms. He acknowledged Peggy with a curt nod assuming, because she wasn’t carrying anything to sell, that she intended to look around the shop. Peggy had worked out exactly how to get the information she wanted.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Kavanagh?’

  ‘It is, surely,’ he replied. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I work for Mr Goldstein of Goldstein’s Music Shop.’ She smiled warmly and held out her hand. Kavanagh, a little taken aback, quickly wiped his hand on his waistcoat and shook hers.

  ‘I’ve come to thank you for recovering the wireless that was stolen.’

  ‘Sure it was nothing. People need to know I don’t handle st
olen goods. That’s how I build my reputation.’

  ‘The thing is Mr Kavanagh, I have a feeling I might have seen the thief in the shop, but I’m not sure enough to mention it to the police. Could you tell me what he looked like?’

  ‘Oh aye, saw him as plain as day. Tall fella he was.’

  Peggy’s heart sank.

  ‘About seventeen, eighteen, I should think.’

  Her hopes rose.

  ‘Ginger hair, a right ugly bake on him he had.’

  Peggy couldn’t stop herself grinning. ‘Is that right?’