Martha's Girls

by Alrene Hughes

‘Is that the same man you have in mind?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh no, that’s not him,’ she laughed. ‘Not him at all!’

  Chapter 8

  Irene could sense an atmosphere as soon as she passed through the gates of the Ulster Linen Works. Small groups of men stood around talking quietly and there was none of the usual banter as they queued to clock in. In the finishing room Theresa’s place at the table was empty again. In contrast to the sombre mood, Alan Briggs seemed buoyant. ‘Come on you lot! We’ve a big order for tray cloths to finish. And would ye look at that, we’re one brushie down! Maybe she’s took herself out for the day, eh?’ he sniggered. ‘Round to Crumlin Road jail, I’ve heard.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Irene whispered to the girl next to her.

  ‘We found out why Theresa hasn’t been in.’ She paused and looked behind her. Alan Briggs was busy sorting out a new delivery of paint. ‘Saturday night, the Peelers raided a load of houses up the Falls.’

  ‘I heard,’ whispered Irene. ‘There was a policeman shot, wasn’t there? But what’s that to do with Theresa?’

  ‘Theresa’s Da was taken away.’

  ‘Arrested?’

  ‘Not exactly, they call it internment. Gets suspected IRA men off the streets.’

  ‘But Theresa’s family wouldn’t be involved in anything …’ Irene caught her breath, ‘and Sean, what about him?’

  ‘Nothing’

  ‘What do you mean, nothing?’

  ‘Got away, disappeared. Some say they’re lookin’ for him.’

  Alan Briggs appeared behind them. ‘Come on now you two, get to work. Don’t ferget, I’ll be countin’ how many each of youse has done by the end of the day.’

  At the dinner break Pat reminded Irene. ‘I’m going to see Mr Goldstein after work. Do you want to come with me?’

  ‘Sure he doesn’t need to see me. It’s about you doing a duet or something, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Peggy just gave me the message, she wasn’t for discussing it. I think maybe her nose was out of joint, but that’s nothing new. Now Irene, you go straight home. Don’t be thinking of taking a wee trip up the Falls, will you?’

  ‘But maybe Theresa …’ Irene struggled to explain why she wanted to see her friend. ‘I just need to show her that I …’

  Pat spoke sternly. ‘Listen, there’s nothing you can do. Keep out of this. Don’t even risk showing your face up there. They’ll know you’re not one of them.’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, Pat! It’s not about Catholics and Protestants. She’s my friend.’

  ‘I’m telling you, no good’ll come of it. Leave Theresa and her family be.’

  They finished their lunch in silence, then painted tray cloths all afternoon listening to the rain thrattle on the skylights above their heads until the hooter sounded the end of the working day. Pat was one of the first out to keep her appointment with Goldstein. Irene dawdled, unsure of what to do, but the torrential rain that met her outside and the swish of the trolley bus stopping a few yards away settled it. She could always see Theresa tomorrow night.

  Goldstein was just locking up when Pat arrived at the shop. She was surprised to learn that Peggy had already left.

  ‘I sent her home early so that she could call at the GPO to post some sheet music.’ He was wearing a wide-brimmed, high-crowned felt hat, the style of which Pat had never seen. ‘I thought we might have a bite to eat. The Pam Pam is very good. You know it, on the corner of Donegall Place?’

  Pat did know it, very new and stylish and she’d only half a crown in her purse. She hesitated. ‘I don’t think I can stay that long …’

  ‘Nonsense, the service is quick.’ He shook out his umbrella, pushed it up and took her arm, adding with a smile, ‘Besides, I like to treat beautiful young ladies.’

  The Pam Pam was very modern and very crowded. Goldstein helped her out of her wet coat. She wished she’d been wearing something with a bit more colour, but at least the navy dress was neat and, thankfully, slimming. Goldstein spotted someone in the far corner and waved and Pat followed him as he zig-zagged across the room.

  ‘Miss Goulding, you remember William Kennedy, I hope, from the auditions?’

  ‘Of course, the tenor. How nice to see you again.’ Now she wished she’d combed her hair.

  They shook hands, each a little surprised to see the other. She was impressed to see he wore a business suit and tie.

  Goldstein insisted on ordering for all three of them. ‘It will save time,’ he said, ‘and we can get on with our discussion. Patricia, William, I want you to be an extra act. Of course, William, you will still have your own spot, as will you with your sisters, Patricia. But you will also sing together.’ He looked from one to the other and hurried on. ‘You are familiar with the famous Hollywood couple Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy?’

  They nodded.

  ‘Well, I have the sheet music. I will find you the costumes … the Mountie … the Indian girl. You will be a sensation!’ He beamed in delight at his idea.

  Pat had a sudden image of herself dressed as an Indian squaw. ‘Mr Goldstein, I don’t think …’ she hesitated and turned instinctively to William.

  His tone was reasonable but confident. ‘They have fine voices, especially when they use them to sing opera … Puccini … Verdi. Perhaps we could look at their wider repertoire to find something suitable for our voices.’

  At that moment their food arrived and the talk turned to the arrangements for the Barnstormers’ first performance, at the beginning of December, just a month away. Goldstein had found them a place to rehearse and was arranging all the publicity. They would take Belfast by storm, he was sure. He ate quickly, chatting between mouthfuls about the performers, the venue, the ticket prices … then he wiped his mouth vigorously with his napkin and stood up.

  ‘Now I must dash. But you please stay and discuss what you will sing when you are Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy. I will get the bill at the door. I look forward to seeing you at the rehearsal on Sunday.’

  They watched him leave. Pat was the first to speak. ‘I’m not too sure about all this, are you?’ She felt a little embarrassed sitting in a restaurant with a man she hardly knew to discuss how they were to become the famous ‘American Sweethearts’.

  ‘Actually, I think I need to be getting home now.’ He stood up.

  ‘Yes of course, me too. I’m not really used to being out in the blackout.’

  He seemed to find his manners. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I’ll walk you to your stop.’

  ‘There’s really no need.’

  ‘No, please, I’d like to.’ He helped her on with her coat. Outside the rain had stopped and a full moon mocked the idea of a blackout as they strolled along Royal Avenue trying to remember the songs from the films of MacDonald and Eddy.

  *

  Around the time Pat was digesting the news that she had a new singing partner, Irene, turned into Joanmount Gardens and was just passing the corner shop when she heard someone call her name. A shadowy figure was standing beneath an overhanging privet hedge.

  ‘Sean … is that you?’ She moved closer. He had no coat, was soaked to the skin and wearing the same clothes he’d worn on Saturday night at John Dossor’s. ‘What are you doing here? I think the police are looking for you.’

  ‘I know, that’s why I can’t go home. I need you to get a message to Theresa.’

  ‘What’s going on, Sean?’

  ‘You remember the boys found me in Dossor’s? Well, they told me there were going to be raids. We wanted to stop them. There was talk of barricades, but it was too late. When we got there they were puttin’ me Da in the Black Maria. I stood on the corner and watched; they didn’t see me. I wanted to run out and hit them, scream at them, but I just stood there and let them take him. Then me an’ the other lads went somewhere in the Bone, an oul woman’s house where the Peelers wouldn’t look.’ His voice began to rise. ‘Now they’re searchin’ everywhere for me and I’ve got
te get out of Belfast.’

  The shop bell tinkled behind them and a tall man with an upright stance emerged. In the seconds before he closed the door against the blackout, Irene recognised him. In a flash, she reached up and drew Sean’s head down to kiss her.

  Ted Grimes paused for a moment to take a cigarette from the new pack and light it, before hurrying home to Vera and his tea.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I know him, he’s a policeman.’

  ‘He didn’t see me, did he?’ Panic was in his voice and Irene felt him shivering against her.

  ‘No I don’t think so. What do you want me to tell Theresa?’

  ‘Just that I’m all right … and tell Mammy not to worry. I’m goin’ over the border tonight. Just say I’ll be in Donegal, she’ll understand.’ Then he brushed his lips against hers in the most fleeting of kisses and walked quickly away. Over the Black Mountain thunder rumbled and heavy clouds obscured the moon.

  *

  Irene could smell the stew as soon as she pushed open the back door. Martha was at the ironing board, smoothing out some cloth.

  ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’

  ‘It’s a remnant, end of a roll.’ Martha held up the huge piece of turquoise cotton. ‘Vera Grimes sent it up with Ted. There must be over five yards here. She thought I could make some use of it.’

  ‘That was nice of her. What will you make with it?’

  ‘I was thinking it would do nicely for three matching blouses. You know, the sort that would look good on stage.’

  Irene’s face lit up. ‘You mean we can sing at the concert?’

  ‘Aye well, why not?’

  Irene hugged her. ‘What made you change your mind?’

  ‘Mr Goldstein.’

  ‘Goldstein?’

  ‘We had a long talk and the upshot of it was he asked me to act as chaperone.’

  ‘What’s a chaperone?’

  ‘I’m to be there keeping an eye on the young women. Looking after them backstage; seeing they come to no harm.’

  Irene felt a stab of disappointment. She’d been looking forward to being a Barnstormer, going out in the world, a bit of freedom, but now …

  Just then Peggy arrived, soaking wet and in high temper.

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, will you look at the state of me! A lorry drove in a big puddle next to the kerb, right over my head it went.’

  ‘Peggy, there’s no need to blaspheme!’ Martha chided her. ‘The fire’s lit in the front room. Away in there and get warm the pair of you. You can put your coats over the fire guard too or they’ll never be dry for the morning. I’ll get you some towels as well.’

  While they dried themselves, Irene told Peggy about the chaperoning.

  ‘My God that’s all I need, puts the tin hat on it. What a day I’ve had!’

  ‘Why, what else has happened?’

  Peggy was certainly not going to tell her nosey sister about her trip after work to the Ormeau Bakery looking for Harry Ferguson. Nor how angry she’d been to find he’d worked the early shift and left at dinner time. Then there was Goldstein’s big plan for Pat and that miserable looking tenor. Stars of the show indeed!

  They’d finished the stew and potatoes by the time Pat arrived home. She seemed delighted with the news that her mother would be attending each concert. ‘So we’ll be able to sing after all and, Mammy, you’ll be there to watch us!’

  Peggy rolled her eyes.

  Pat went on, ‘And did you hear about me singing duets as well?’

  ‘Aye, but who is this William Kennedy anyway? What do you know about him?’

  Pat reeled off a list of his attributes. ‘Very well spoken, works in an office, I’m told.’ Irene and Sheila looked at each other and made an ‘Ooooo’ sound. Peggy tutted. Pat carried on. ‘Good manners, smartly dressed, cuff links.’

  ‘Cuff links,’ said Peggy. ‘Well, he must be all right then!’

  ‘Don’t use that mocking tone with me, Peggy Goulding!’ Pat snapped.

  ‘Oh don’t you be getting on your high horse, just because you’ve got the chance to sing a few more songs. Don’t forget you could easily end up singing them unaccompanied!’

  ‘Will you girls stop it? This was supposed to be a nice evening … sorting out what you’re going to wear and everything.’ Martha had brought the turquoise material from the kitchen and spread it out over the settee. It was just like when they were children and she’d stop their bickering with a distraction.

  ‘Now then, Peggy, you’ve an eye for fashion,’ Martha said. ‘What style of blouse do you think you should have?’

  Peggy allowed herself to be flattered and knelt down to feel the material. ‘I assume we’ll stick to the black skirts; we’ve all got one.’ They nodded. ‘Now this material’s plain so the shape will need to give it style. I’m thinking, something dramatic.’

  *

  Alan Briggs was waiting for the brushies when they arrived for work the following morning, arms folded across his chest, a basket of painted tray cloths at his feet and a face on him that could sour milk.

  ‘Right, listen youse uns.’ He pointed at the basket. ‘Them’s a load of rubbish. Youse wasted yer day yesterday. There shoulda bin two hunred done and yer thirty short.’

  ‘Aye but, Mr Briggs, we were one down yesterday; Theresa was away,’ someone shouted from the back.

  ‘D’ye think I care if your woman was swinging the lead? Anyway, the colours isn’t right neither. The centres should’ve been magnolia cream with magenta petals on the outside. Not the other way about.’

  There was uproar, all the women shouting at once that he’d given instructions to paint them like that. In the midst of the noise Irene noticed that Theresa had slipped in at the back. She looked drained and her eyes were red. Irene moved through the shouting women until she was next to her friend and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

  ‘I saw Sean last night.’ Theresa’s eyes opened wide and she made to speak, but Irene cut her off. ‘He asked me to tell you…’ Theresa listened, nodding, then mouthed ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Well, would you look at what the cat’s dragged in?’ Alan Briggs seized the opportunity to distract attention from himself. The women turned to stare. ‘And has your brother shown his face as well? If he has, we’d best ring Mountpottinger police station, I think there’s a few questions they’d be wantin’ te ask him.’

  Irene could see Theresa was close to tears. ‘Mr Briggs, Theresa’s had a hard time over the last few days. I’m sure she’s just glad to be back to work.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but I’m afraid there’s no work any more for somebody who misses two days because they’re in trouble with the police.’

  There was another loud protest from the women, but he shouted them down. ‘Now look here! Youse had better quit arguing. This is insubordination!’ The grumbling continued, but the volume was lower. ‘If ye don’t like what goes on in this building then maybe youse need to find yersels an alternative place of employment.’ He pointed at Theresa. ‘And you Miss, can go and collect your cards right now. They have them ready for ye. An’ if there’s anyone thinks that’s unfair, well, ye can go with your Fenian friend and collect yours too.’

  The room was silent. Theresa turned to leave. Pat caught Irene’s eye and shook her head in warning, but it was too late. Irene turned on her heel and followed Theresa out of the room.

  The mill office was on the top floor, far above the clattering of looms, the lint-heavy air and the smell of sweating workers. Irene pressed the brass bell and when a woman appeared she spoke for both of them.

  ‘We’re here to collect our cards,’ adding quickly, ‘and our wages.’

  The woman showed no surprise. Instant dismissals were common. ‘Names?’

  ‘Irene Goulding and Theresa O’Hara.’

  She scribbled on a slip of paper and hurried away.

  Theresa sat on one of the bentwood chairs, her head in her hands. ‘You shouldn’t have walked out, Irene. I
knew they’d sack me, but you shouldn’t have got involved.’

  ‘What was I supposed to do? It’s not fair them sacking you like that. You’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘God Irene, Briggs is a bigot and he’s been looking for an excuse to get rid of me since I started here. I think me Da hauled off by the police and me brother on the run was too good an opportunity to miss, don’t you?’

  They sat in silence a while then Irene said, ‘You know what, Theresa?’ It’s a matter of principle, so it is. You have to stand up to bullies whether it’s Adolf Hitler or Alan Briggs. We’ve struck a blow for freedom here …’ She stopped and laughed, suddenly struck by the absurdity of it all. ‘And that’s what I’ll tell Mammy when she hits the roof tonight after I tell her I’ve no job!’