Martha's Girls

by Alrene Hughes

  ‘You look different.’

  ‘Do I, how?’

  ‘I don’t know, your hair, your skin maybe.’

  ‘Oh that’ll be the sun, or it could be the malaria.’

  ‘Malaria? What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a disease I had in India. Oh, don’t worry,’ he added quickly, ‘I haven’t got it anymore and you can’t catch it. You get it from mosquito bites.’

  ‘Were you very ill?’

  ‘I was for a while. I lost a lot of weight, had to stay in hospital. No duties, no parades, just lying still in a dark room …’ His voice trailed off as if remembering. ‘That’s why I didn’t write to you when I promised I would, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I thought you’d probably forgotten.’ Irene smiled to reassure him. Sandy’s face was serious. ‘Oh I never forgot, honestly, I thought about you all the time.’

  Irene felt embarrassed by the sudden intensity in his voice and tried to move the conversation in another direction.

  ‘What was it like in India?’

  He relaxed. ‘Very hot. It lightened my hair and darkened my face. It’s full of sounds and smells the like of which you wouldn’t believe. A lot of the time we were in camp working on the planes, installing radio equipment mostly, but we had leave and sometimes we’d take a trip; a few pennies would take you a long way on a train in India. Once we went to the Taj Mahal. Have you ever heard of it?’

  Irene shook her head.

  ‘Neither had I. It’s the most beautiful building, white marble shimmering in the sun. Another time we saw the Ganges, the Indian people think it’s a holy river. There were thousands and thousands there, some sort of religious festival, I think. People were bathing in the water all in orange robes and there were flowers everywhere. We felt like explorers. People would crowd around us wherever we went, they wanted to touch our pale skin and my hair, because … I don’t know … maybe they hadn’t seen red hair before.’ He paused then as if he’d used up all the words he had in a sudden rush of description. Irene wondered if she spoke whether it would break his chain of thought, or whether he was waiting for her to speak.

  ‘Were you frightened?’ she whispered.

  ‘No, they meant no harm, just curious, like we were. Lots of times we went to the markets; that’s where I bought your sari. Did you like it?’ His voice was anxious again.

  ‘I love it. I have it covering my bed.’

  ‘Do you?’ He looked at her in surprise.

  ‘I’ve worn it too, in the house, but I like to see it on my bed everyday when I wake up.’

  He smiled a little then and she knew he was pleased with her answer.

  They walked away from the castle and the ground began to rise steeply. ‘Are those caves up there?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, it’s called the Cave Hill so they probably are. I’ve never been up there.’

  ‘Do you think people live in them?’

  ‘No, of course they don’t,’ she laughed.

  ‘And there’s all of Belfast below us. They have us studying it on maps and charts at the base. The ring of hills and the Lough a clear passage straight up from the sea to the city.’

  They walked back to the motorbike and Sandy looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll need to get back soon, but I could give you a lift home.’

  ‘No it’s not far, I can walk. If you take me home my sisters will want you to come in and then you’ll never get away!’

  They parted on the Antrim Road. Irene wondered if he might kiss her and felt a stab of disappointment when he shook her hand and jumped on the bike.

  ‘I’ll write to you when I get another pass, I promise!’ he shouted and opened the throttle. Irene waved until he was out of sight, but he never looked back.

  *

  The nights were drawing in and to save on coal Martha lit only a small fire each evening. ‘When that shovelful is done there’ll be no more tonight,’ she’d say or ‘Better get an extra cardigan on you, for I’m not burning money.’ They took to going to bed before ten with a hot water jar, coats on their beds and bed socks on their feet.

  As usual Martha locked up and checked the fire was safe and she was just looking in on Sheila to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep with a book in her hand, when there was the beginning of a wailing sound that escalated to a loud mechanical scream within seconds. At first she thought it was coming from inside the house, then she realised what it was.

  Pat was quickly out of bed. ‘It’s the air raid siren!’ she shouted. ‘Quick! Get down stairs into the shelter!’

  Peggy was sitting up in bed. ‘What is it?’

  Pat grabbed her. ‘Get up!’ she shouted, but Peggy resisted.

  ‘It’ll be a test that’s all.’ And she fell back on to her pillow.

  ‘Mammy, tell her!’ screamed Pat and rushed to shake Irene awake.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Irene.

  ‘It’s an air raid!’ Pat pushed her mother towards the stairs. ‘You go down, Mammy, and these ones’ll follow you.’

  ‘Where am I going, Pat?’

  ‘Under the stairs, have you forgotten?’ Pat looked at the bemused faces of her family and with all the force she could muster she screamed, ‘Our home is our air raid shelter!’

  ‘Oh God help us,’ moaned Peggy. ‘The man from the ministry is back!’

  Finally, with the siren still screaming Pat got them to the bottom of the stairs, but instead of going through the door to the living room and on into the kitchen, Peggy stopped. ‘I’m going to have a wee look outside to see if there’s any planes?’

  Pat grabbed her. ‘You can’t do that, stupid. If you can see the planes they’ve already dropped the bombs on you!’

  ‘Oh don’t be ridiculous, Pat.’ Peggy unlocked the door and went out into the street.

  Under the stairs the air was chill, but none of them had thought to take the coats off their beds. In the pitch black, Pat’s voice sounded like something from the information films they’d been showing at the cinema for months. ‘It’s important not to panic. This is the safest part of the house. We’ll remain here until the all clear sounds.’ She rummaged around in the dark. ‘There’s a torch here somewhere. Ah, here it is.’ She switched it on and was shocked at their pale and frightened faces. ‘There’s blankets too, here wrap these round you.’

  Martha could feel Sheila shivering next to her and put her arm around her. ‘Don’t worry, love, it’ll be a practice that’s all.’

  ‘But what if there’s bombs dropping? What if they land on the house?’

  ‘Sssh … it’ll be over soon, you’ll see.’

  ‘I’m going to look for Peggy,’ said Irene decisively and stood up only to hit her head on the stairs.

  ‘You can’t,’ said Pat. ‘You have to wait for the all-clear, that’s a completely different noise. You’ll recognise it when you hear it. It goes like this … Woooo—’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, Pat, move out of the way, so I can find out what’s happening.’

  Outside in the street, a group of neighbours were standing in the road chatting and occasionally looking skyward. Some children were running around, arms outstretched, pretending to be planes shooting at each other. Peggy was talking to Thelma and her family.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Irene asked.

  ‘We think it’s a practice. The ARP warden was here a few minutes ago trying to get us to go indoors, apparently the biggest danger is from falling slates. But then he said there hadn’t been any anti-aircraft fire from the guns down near the docks and there would have been if any planes had been sighted.’

  ‘Well, it’s too cold to stand out here. I’m going back in,’ said Irene.

  ‘Me too,’ said Peggy, ‘but I’m not spending the night under the stairs. I’m for my bed and you can wake me if you hear the guns.’

  Irene wisely made a detour upstairs and collected coats and the eiderdown from Martha’s bed, at least they would be warm while they waited. Then she went back t
o the others and told them what had been said. Pat was adamant they should wait for the all clear, so they sat on in the cold and dark with few words to say between them, while upstairs Peggy slept.

  *

  The next day at the Ministry of Public Security, Pat was given the job of contacting police stations across the city to gauge the reaction of the public to the first air raid warning. She could have written the report based on what happened in Joanmount Gardens or indeed what happened in the Goulding house: there was some fear and panic; some had taken earlier advice and had prepared a place to shelter; others wandered out on to the streets; quite a few had stayed warm in their beds.

  Over the following weeks there were many more false alarms and the reports Pat made to her superiors revealed increasing complacency. Then at the beginning of December, Pat was summoned to the office of the senior civil servant in charge of air raid precautions. She had never before spoken to anyone higher than her immediate supervising officer and wondered if her work was unsatisfactory. She had tried hard to be precise and accurate in her reports, but she knew that the results of her findings would not be well received.

  In a part of Stormont reserved for senior level civil servants, she followed the red carpeted corridor to room sixteen and knocked on the door.

  ‘Come in!’

  The room was dominated by a large dark wooden desk behind which sat a man with his back to her looking out over Stormont’s sweeping drive. He stood up and turned to face her, his hand outstretched.

  ‘Hello Pat, how are you?’

  William Kennedy looked tired and his closely cropped hair made him look severe, but his smile was just as she remembered it.

  Pat tried to match his tone, despite her surprise and confusion. ‘Hello William, I’m very well. How are you?’ She knew she was blushing.

  He invited her to sit down. ‘Working hard, Pat, like everyone in this building. I’ve been appointed permanent secretary to John MacDermott to work on Northern Ireland’s preparations for civil defence in the event of enemy attack.’

  The mention of the minister by name surprised Pat, as did the implication of William’s close connection to him.

  He went on. ‘I’ve been reading your reports on the public response to the alerts. Very thorough, you’ve a good grasp of what’s going on out there. I’m told that people are very calm about the whole thing.’

  Pat could see he why he might think that was the case, but she explained. ‘People don’t panic, they take the false alarms in their stride, because that’s what they always are…false alarms. The trouble is they don’t believe the Germans will ever attack us, they’re concentrating on bombing London, Liverpool, Manchester, so why divert their efforts to Belfast?’ She paused then, conscious that she’d expressed views that she’d never spoken aloud. Now here she was pouring them out to a permanent secretary.

  ‘Maybe the people are right?’ he ventured.

  ‘Of course they’re not! The Germans will come here. Not only because we build ships and planes, but because we’re easy to bomb.’

  William’s face was grim and he nodded slowly. ‘I fear you’re right, Pat. All the soundings I’ve taken from those with some knowledge of the situation correspond to yours. We will be bombed and we are currently ill-prepared.’ He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. Time passed. Somewhere a door slammed. Somewhere else a telephone rang. Eventually William spoke. ‘Pat, I’ve always admired your honesty and common sense and I’d be interested to know what you think would bring about a fundamental change in attitude.’ Pat thought of Peggy with her flippant views and what it would take to alter them. ‘I think the problem is that there is no evidence that those in charge believe there will be bombings. People don’t carry gas masks, they break the black out regulations, but nothing happens. Except for round the docks, there are no anti air-craft guns installed and there are very few bomb shelters being built. It looks like those in the know aren’t expecting bombs. Otherwise they’d have done something to protect us, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Such things take time.’

  ‘True, but has a start been made?’

  ‘We wouldn’t want to promote panic.’

  ‘You’ve certainly avoided that, but what you’ve got instead is complacency.’

  ‘You’re right of course.’ He looked at her across the desk and, to her surprise, he smiled. ‘Pat, I know that we didn’t part on the best of terms; there was …’ He hesitated, ‘some misunderstanding between us.’

  That’s one way of putting it, thought Pat.

  ‘But I’ve found our conversation today very helpful and I hope you won’t mind if I ask you to come and talk to me again. You give me a different perspective on a difficult situation and I value that.’ He stood up.

  ‘It was nice to see you again, William, and I’d be happy to help in any way I can.’ Pat kept her voice light.

  He walked her to the door, ‘Are you still singing with the Barnstormers?’

  ‘Yes, we’re members of ENSA now, you know, entertaining the military.’

  ‘Really!’ He looked genuinely pleased.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I don’t have a lot of time for singing, but I’m a member of the Civil Service choir. We’ll be singing in a carol concert in the entrance hall just before Christmas. Why don’t you join us? We could do with a good soprano.’

  Chapter 21

  The gun-metal grey clouds, heavy with snow, had gathered throughout the morning and by noon a luminous twilight enveloped the city streets. The first tiny flakes began to fall around two and by three o’clock the floor of the Goldstein’s shop was wet with melting slush. Esther had disappeared into the back of the shop as soon as Peggy began mopping up, but moments later she reappeared buttoning up her coat.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ demanded Peggy.

  ‘I’ve some errands to do.’

  ‘Not again. You’ve hardly put in a full day this week!’

  Esther stepped over the mop. ‘Never mind,’ she laughed. ‘If I don’t see you through the week, I’ll see you through the window.’

  Peggy swept the icy water out after her and watched her walk away. Within a hundred yards Esther crossed the road and went straight into the Ulster Milk Bar. The nerve of her, thought Peggy, she’s just taking the afternoon off! She swept the pavement furiously causing passers by to give her a wide berth. Then suddenly she stopped. What had Esther said? Peggy had taught her most of her English, but she could not recall teaching her that ‘through the window’ expression. In fact, there was only one person she knew who used that silly saying. Peggy left the mop in the doorway and without bothering to fetch her coat marched down the street. It took a moment for her to see through the condensation on the window of the cafe, but there they were. Esther giggling and Harry Ferguson no doubt talking some nonsense. Well, she’d certainly seen them through the window.

  *

  When Irene arrived home from work that evening, she could hear Peggy screaming up the stairs at Pat. ‘Will you stop singing those Christmas carols? I’m fed up listening to them!’

  ‘I’m rehearsing.’

  ‘Rehearsing for what?’

  ‘Never you mind!’

  Martha was in the kitchen and didn’t acknowledge Irene’s ‘Hello’ or her chatter about some cheek Myrtle had given the foreman.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ asked Irene.

  No answer.

  ‘Are you annoyed about something?’ Still no answer.

  Irene went into the front room, where Sheila was curled up on the settee reading a book.

  ‘You got more letters today,’ Sheila whispered.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ laughed Irene. ‘They’re on the mantlepiece!’

  Sheila looked at her quickly and shook her head in warning. Too late, Martha was standing in the doorway wiping her hands on her apron and one look at her face was enough to confirm Irene’s fears that she was in trouble.

  ‘I think it’
s time we called a halt to all this letter writing, don’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, first post you’ve a letter from an airman we’ve never seen and another from someone in Donegal and a third arrived second delivery this afternoon posted in Belfast at eleven o’clock this morning.’

  ‘Mammy, there’s no harm in getting letters from my friends.’

  ‘Yes, but who are these friends? I’ve never met them. They could be any kind of people.’

  ‘Ach Mammy, catch yourself on. They’re just people like you and me.’