‘May I introduce the Golden Sisters, Irene, Pat and Peggy,’ said Goldstein and the Prime Minister shook each hand in turn.
‘I thoroughly enjoyed the dancing. Great fun!’
‘Aah, ‘Wings of a Dove’ a favourite of mine, beautifully sung if I may say so.’
‘And you must be Peggy. You were quite right, my dear.’ He held on to her hand, patting it. ‘The piano was slightly out of tune, but you coped with it admirably and very few would have noticed. May I also say, I have never seen an RAF uniform look so …’ he searched for a suitable word, ‘… impressive.’
So that’s how Goldstein got her to play, thought Pat. He told her Churchill would be watching the show.
The Barnstormers were invited back to the mess for a nightcap before the long journey back to Belfast, but at the door of the hangar Irene excused herself saying she had left her scarf backstage. As she suspected, a shadowy figure was still moving about overhead. She thought of calling out, but then noticed a series of ladders leading up to the gantry high above her. She slipped off her shoes and began to climb, silent as a cat. He was sitting on the edge of the platform his legs swinging. He heard movement behind him and called out, ‘You’re a bit late, Brian, I’ve sorted everything up here.’
‘It isn’t Brian, it’s Irene and I don’t think we’ve sorted anything yet.’
‘How did you get up here?’
‘Like you did, I climbed.’ She sat down next to him and swung her legs in time with his.
Surprisingly, he was the first to speak. ‘I thought you were very good tonight. I didn’t know you sang … and danced,’ he added.
‘There’s a lot about me you don’t know.’
‘I know you’ve a head for heights.’ She could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Sssh!’ she hissed and pointed below. Two figures wandered on to the stage hand in hand. The woman was unmistakeably Myrtle, but who was the man? As they watched, he took her in his arms and kissed her. Irene felt uneasy watching this intimacy with Sandy and she thought to call out to let them know they were watched. Suddenly, Sandy leaned away from her, there was a click, the lights blazed from the gantry and Irene found herself looking at Sammy’s surprised face, before Myrtle grabbed his hand and they ran laughing from the stage. Sandy flicked the switch and they were in darkness again. She felt him turn towards her, his hand touched the side of her face and a second later his lips were on hers. She closed her eyes and felt a lightness in her head as it tilted backwards. Then his arms were strong and steadying around her, high above the world and completely safe. The kiss that lasted and lasted was all she needed to know about him. Later, they came down the ladder and wandered out under the midnight sky to stare at the sickle moon. From the mess came the sounds of ordinary people and their meaningless chatter. Instinctively, they walked towards the Hurricanes and under the fuselage he kissed her again as if to reassure her that the excitement was not fleeting, but could be created anew each time he held her.
‘I never stopped thinking about you from the moment we met,’ he said. ‘I could stand here with you forever.’
She could have told him about New Year’s Eve, could have asked him if he received her letter apologising, but all of that was irrelevant. She lifted her head to be kissed again.
Pat’s voice echoing in the hangar reached them. ‘Irene, Irene where are you? We’re going now!’
He held her even tighter, ‘I know we haven’t spent a lot of time with each other, but does it matter? Irene, I want you to think about something …’ He paused and she held her breath. ‘Will you think about whether you would like to be my wife?’
Irene looked up at him, her eyes wide.
‘No, don’t answer now. Think about it. I’ll get a pass for next weekend. I’ll come to your house on Saturday afternoon.’
Pat’s voice came again, louder and more insistent. Irene nodded and ran to meet her sister.
*
‘You’re a bit of a dark horse aren’t you?’ said Irene.
‘What do you mean?’
It was the first chance Irene had to talk to Myrtle about what she’d seen on the stage at Aldergrove.
Irene looked around the canteen to make sure no one was listening then whispered, ‘You and Sammy!’ Myrtle feigned surprise. ‘Come on, I saw you on the stage kissing.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I did, right in the spotlight you were.’
‘Where were you?’
Irene pointed skywards.
‘Up in the lights?’ Myrtle looked confused. ‘What were you doing up there?’
‘I was with Sandy!’
‘Were you, now? You’re a bit of a dark horse yourself.’
‘Me? What about you! Here’s me thinking you and Robert McVey must be about to post the banns and there you are with—’
‘Sssh!’ Myrtle looked quickly around her, but everyone was busy chatting. ‘You know how it is.’
‘No I don’t. Have you finished with Robert?’
Myrtle raised an eyebrow at Irene’s naivety. ‘Anyway, never mind about me. What were you and Sandy up to?’
‘You know.’ Irene blushed. ‘He’s very nice and …’
‘And what, Irene?’
‘He asked me to marry him.’
‘What!’ screamed Myrtle. People at the tables nearby turned to look at them.
Irene lowered her voice ‘He asked me to marry him and …’
‘And what?’
‘… and he’s coming to my house on Saturday.’
‘You think he’s expecting you to give him an answer?’
‘Probably. Oh Myrtle, he is so nice.’
‘But you don’t know him.’
‘I do – a bit.’
‘But you’ve only spent a few hours with him.’
‘And there’s the letters he sent me from India.’
‘Look, take my advice, see how you feel on Saturday in the cold light of day. Don’t rush into anything.’
‘I could give you the same advice about Sammy!’
*
It was Friday night before Irene plucked up the courage to tell everyone that Sandy would be coming to visit the following day. They were sitting around the table and the chatter fell silent when Martha placed the bowl of potatoes in their skins on the table. Irene cleared her throat and said quietly, ‘There’s someone coming to see me tomorrow.’ Something in her tone caused them simultaneously to stop peeling and look at her. ‘It’s Sandy, you know the one who—’
‘Wrote to you from India,’ said Sheila.
‘Took you up the Cave Hill,’ said Peggy.
‘Worked the lights at Aldergrove,’ said Pat.
‘What’s he coming here for?’ asked Martha.
‘He’s probably going to take me out somewhere, but I thought you’d like to meet him?’
‘Will he be here for his tea?’
‘Maybe … probably … Oh I don’t know!’
*
Every night since she and Sandy had stood under the wings of the Hurricane, Irene had been awake into the early hours searching for an answer. Sometimes she would see how ridiculous it was to marry someone she hardly knew and of course she must say no. Then the alternative answer would present itself with as much force and she would remember how he kissed her. Now it was Saturday and soon Sandy would be on his way. She panicked and thought of going back to bed, pulling the covers over her head and telling her mother to say there was no one called Irene Goulding living here.
She was watching from the front bedroom when she heard the faint roar coming up the Oldpark Road. Louder and louder, then a softer purring into Joanmount Gardens and finally a whine as it slowed outside the window. She was out the front door before he had climbed off the bike. She saw at once two things, how nervous he was and how handsome.
Martha was out the back hanging out the washing. There was a stiff breeze, good drying weather. She was just using the clothes prop to hoist the underwear of five women into the
air when Irene came into the garden on the arm of a handsome airman.
‘Mammy, this is Sandy, remember, I told you he was coming today?’
Martha wiped her damp hands on her apron and shook his outstretched hand. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said. She had never seen the RAF uniform up close before and it instantly marked him out as different. ‘Was that a motorbike I heard?’ Sandy nodded. ‘Why don’t you bring it round the back before it’s covered in wee boys?’
As Sandy left to get the bike, Irene heard a suppressed giggle and looked up to see her sisters hanging out of the bedroom window. ‘Why don’t you come down and meet him properly,’ she shouted.
From the saddlebag of his bike Sandy produced some lemonade and they went inside. As he was introduced to each sister he gave a little smile and shook her hand repeating her name as if committing it and her face to memory. Sheila fetched some glasses and Sandy poured them all a drink.
‘Did you enjoy the concert?’ asked Pat.
‘Yes, I did … you were very good.’
‘And you did the lighting?’ said Peggy.
‘Brian and me, aye yes.’
They sipped the lemonade.
‘Where are you from, Sandy? You’ve a bit of an accent, so you have,’ asked Martha. Irene shifted in her seat. Her mother was trying to find out ‘what manner of man he was’, as she would put it.
‘I’m from the north east of Scotland, a wee fishing town on the coast.’
‘Near Edinburgh?’
‘Och, no it’s a long way from there, closer to Aberdeen.’
‘You’ve family there then?’
‘Aye I have, most of them trawler men; fishing, you ken, in the North Sea.’
‘So why aren’t you in the Navy then?’ interrupted Sheila.
He laughed. ‘Because I get seasick, always have since I was a boy.’
‘So you took to the air instead,’ said Pat.
‘Aye, then they sent me to India on a boat. I was at sea for six months.’
‘And you got over your sea sickness?’
‘No!’ He laughed again. ‘I was ill the whole time and all the way back too.’
*
Later Irene took him for a walk up Buttermilk Loney and as they left the house he took her hand. ‘I like your family,’ he said.
‘They like you too.’
‘Can you tell?’
‘Oh yes, they wouldn’t have invited you to stay for your tea if they didn’t.’
There were primroses pale as churned butter in the hedgerows and somewhere in the hill above them a cuckoo called. They walked a while in silence. The question hung between them. The lane steepened and narrowed until they came to a five bar gate. They leant against it looking across the rough pasture towards Napoleon’s nose.
‘Irene …’
‘Yes.’
‘What I asked you the other night …’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you thought about it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you decided?’
‘Yes.’
Sandy stood in front of her and rearranged a strand of hair that had blown across her face. ‘Well?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does that mean—’
‘Yes … yes I will marry you!’
He took a small velvet drawstring bag from his pocket, undid it and shook its contents into his hand. It was a gold ring with a milky grey stone. He took her hand and placed it on her finger. ‘It’s a moonstone from India. I chose it for you the day I bought the sari.’
She looked into his eyes and saw such an expression of love. ‘But we’d only met the once at Stranraer for a couple of hours.’
‘It was long enough,’ he said.
*
Martha was not altogether surprised when the two of them returned to the house for tea and Sandy asked shyly if he could have a word with her in the front room. She’d seen the way Irene looked at him, a softness around her eyes, and her voice too was different when she spoke to him. She’d been younger than Irene herself when Robert had proposed. What would she have done if someone had stood in their way? Sometimes you have to trust your instincts, she told herself, and instinctively she knew that Sandy was an honest and decent young man.
Even so, she was shocked when they told her they wanted to be married as soon as possible. Sandy knew his work would not be completed at Aldergrove until the end of April, but after that he could be sent to any RAF base in the country. He had already asked about a two day pass, hoping Irene would accept his proposal. They had less than a month to arrange an Easter wedding.
Chapter 26
William Kennedy was incandescent with rage. He stormed out of the bomb shelter in Donegall Place leaving the rest of the delegation from the Ministry of Public Security in the stinking interior. He had marched nearly a hundred yards down Chichester Street, before he had calmed himself sufficiently to return to his staff. Pat had seen it coming, knew how angry he would be, how he would rage against the apathy.
They had driven down to the city centre in two cars, intending to see for themselves ‘the state of preparedness’ as it was termed. ‘The bombs will fall,’ he’d said time and again and recently he’d taken to adding, ‘but how many can we save?’ Judging by what they’d seen so far, very few.
He had been full of determination and hope when he returned from London in January. ‘They said they’d help us,’ he told Pat. ‘I gave them a list: search lights, anti-aircraft guns, barrage balloons, money for shelters. God knows they’re stretched themselves. The bombing in London was terrifying to experience, but you felt that the authorities were … well sort of looking after you. I went in a shelter in the Old Kent Road. It was packed, people had brought bedding and food and they even had a singsong. Can you believe it, Pat, as the bombs fell and shook them to their core, they were singing.’
They returned to Stormont in silence, discouraged beyond belief. As they drove up the long drive towards the grandeur of the shining Portland stone building, William ordered the driver to stop. He got out and stared at the building in horror. ‘Good God,’ he said. ‘Even the seat of government will gleam like a beacon in the moonlight to guide the enemy to our heart.’
Later as Pat left the office to go home, William was waiting for her. ‘Sorry about that little display earlier,’ he said.
‘Don’t apologise. You were absolutely right to be angry after all you’ve tried to do.’
‘It’s not just me, Pat. It’s everyone at the Ministry and you especially.’ He paused as though considering something. ‘Pat, I’d like you to meet someone.’
He drove towards the university and pulled up outside a three storey Edwardian terrace close to the Botanical Gardens. They had just got out of the car when the door flew open and a little girl of four or five rushed up the garden path and into William’s open arms. He swung her above his head then carried her to the door, where there stood an elegantly dressed woman with blond hair piled neatly on top of her head. William kissed her quickly on the cheek and turned to Pat.
‘Pat, this is my sister Helen and my niece Rosemary. They live with me.’
Pat found herself looking into eyes identical to William’s. ‘Hello, Pat, lovely to meet you at last, William has told me so much about you. Would you like some tea?’
Later, as William drove her home, he explained that Helen’s husband was stationed permanently at the War Office in London and she and Rosemary had been living with him since the start of the war.
‘So you see, Pat, the reports of my marriage were greatly exaggerated.’
‘William, I understand what you are telling me, but it really is none of my business.’
‘But it is, Pat.’
‘I never presumed—’
‘I know you didn’t, but I want to make it clear that my intentions are honourable.’
*
The concert at the Palace Barracks in Holywood had gone well. The Barnstormers had done several encores and by the time they
boarded the bus for the drive back to Belfast, it was nearly half past eleven. Some, lulled by the low hum of the engine, had fallen asleep. Pat and Peggy were chatting quietly when Pat stopped mid sentence. ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘can you hear that?’
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