Martha's Girls

by Alrene Hughes

  Minutes later, another wave of planes flew over just above the barrage balloons and the flares multiplied. Still there was no sound of the anti-aircraft guns. Martha took Sheila’s hand. ‘Come on we need to get even higher.’

  The finale was over by eleven, the Barnstormers’ bus was in the city centre before midnight and Goldstein dropped the girls at the bottom of the Cliftonville Road half an hour later. Within minutes they heard the enemy planes and witnessed the first of the magnesium flares in the sky.

  ‘It’s just like last time,’ said Irene. ‘Next we’ll see the incendiaries. Then they’ll drop the bombs.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll make it home in time,’ said Pat. ‘We need to get in a shelter quickly. There’s one on Atlantic Avenue. It isn’t far.’

  As they approached the shelter, the sound of singing and laughter could be heard. Inside it was cold as a tomb. From the light of a few candles and glowing ends of cigarettes, they could just make out the huddled shapes of people lying, sitting and leaning.

  ‘Not much room is there,’ said Irene.

  The man next to her agreed. ‘All right ‘til ten minutes ago, then this crowd were put off the tram comin’ from the dance at the Floral Hall, the driver said he was goin’ no closer to the centre.’

  Irene stepped into the street again, watched in awe the beauty of the flares and knew for certain she wasn’t going back in the shelter. Of course she wanted to be at home with all her family the night before her wedding, but it was more than that …

  ‘Pat, Peggy, we can’t stay here!’ and she reached in, and pulled them out.

  ‘Irene, the worst place to be during a raid is out on the streets,’ shouted Pat.

  ‘Maybe, but we can get home before the bombs fall if we run.’ Pat and Peggy looked at each other unable to decide what to do, but by then Irene was twenty yards away. ‘Come on!’ she screamed. Then they too were running for home.

  Just past Cliftonville football ground the first incendiaries began to fall with crackling sounds like sparks from tramlines followed by bursts of flame. Little fires were breaking out all around them and still they ran. Roofs of houses were ablaze. They passed a public house burning fiercely, the heat so intense they had to take a detour down a side street where incendiaries were burning harmlessly in the road. An ARP warden shouted at them to get indoors immediately, but still they ran. In the distance they could hear the anti-aircraft guns, but dominating every sound was the ceaseless droning of the Heinkels overhead.

  By the time they came to Joanmount Gardens their eyes were streaming from the acrid smoke of the thousand fires they’d passed, but they were home at last. They ran round the back of the house. Irene was first into the kitchen.

  ‘Mammy! Mammy! We’re home, are you all right?’ She pulled open the door beneath the stairs, but the space beyond was in darkness.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell them to go in the shelter!’ shouted Pat. Peggy and Irene listened to the sound of her feet on the stairs, heard her scream, ‘They’re not here! They’re not here!’

  ‘She’s taken the blanket and the torch,’ said Irene.

  ‘And their coats are missing,’ said Pat.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Irene was frantic. As if in answer, there was an enormous roar followed by a heavy thud as the doors and windows shook and the sky turned red.

  ‘Get in here quickly!’ shouted Pat and the three of them crawled on hands and knees into the only shelter they had.

  *

  Martha and Sheila were not alone in the lanes beyond the city. Whole families were climbing the hills, some pushing prams containing not only children, but possessions they wanted to save from the bombs. A few had little billycans and were making tea and passing round sandwiches.

  Martha spread out the blanket and they sat together hunched up, nursing their knees. The main roads running north out of the city could be seen clearly, all of them on fire. The sky was blood red. Shortly after one o’clock, the heaviest bombing began and the sounds reverberated around the cauldron of the city. Time and again the waves of planes passed over, dropping high explosives and it became clear that the targets were homes and families, not industry.

  ‘God help us, where are those wee girls of mine, out in all this?’

  ‘They’ll be all right, Mammy, they’re probably in a shelter somewhere, at the camp maybe.’

  ‘And us with the wedding tomorrow.’

  *

  Martha awoke with a start, feeling a stiffness in her neck that she quickly realised was in every joint of her body. Sheila was still asleep and leaning heavily against her. She shook her gently.

  ‘Wake up, there’s a good girl. It’s time to go home.’

  The sky was suffused in a soft pink glow and below them hung a heavy pall of smoke. Fires were still burning across the city and a thousand spirals of smoke meandered upwards.

  They saw the first bomb damage at Carr’s Glen school, where incendiaries had crashed through the roof and destroyed the upper storey. Further down the hill, broken windows and slates littered the road. They instinctively reached for each other’s hand as they turned into Joanmount, praying the house was still standing.

  It was there! Martha let go of Sheila’s hand and ran. ‘Please, please. Let them be …’

  Irene’s face was at the kitchen window, the door was flung open – one, two, three girls all there, all smiling.

  ‘Praise be to God!’ laughed Martha and hugged them all.

  She was happy to take the scolding she received, not just from Pat, but from Irene and Peggy too. ‘Whatever possessed you, Mammy, to go away up there?’

  ‘Sure you were just as bad, running up the Cliftonville, when you could have been in a shelter!’

  ‘Never mind all that now,’ said Peggy. ‘Haven’t we a wedding to go to?’

  Chapter 28

  Martha would have been hard pressed to say who was the most beautiful of her daughters. It would depend on what was meant by beautiful. One by one they came downstairs and each in turn took her breath away. She imagined Robert next to her, sharing each moment and knew that her thoughts were his thoughts.

  Pat with her rich auburn hair and fair skin, enhanced by her emerald dress, had a voice to make the heart soar.

  Peggy so slim and elegant in her navy costume, skirt fashionably short, had the darkest hair, olive skin, brown eyes and a sharp ear for melody and rhythm.

  Sheila, all softness of looks, of voice, of nature, dressed in primrose yellow.

  Finally Irene, eyes full of laughter, a talker, a listener, a peacemaker, in her wedding dress the colour of flax flowers.

  *

  Harry arrived at ten in a large grey Rover, looking tired and drawn. ‘It’s not so bad down the town, but up this end there’s terrible damage. We’d better get going, but I’m warning you, it’s bad out there.’

  Martha, Pat and Peggy were to go with him, leaving Irene and Sheila to travel with Thomas and Anna a little later in their car. Martha took Irene’s hands in hers and stepped back. ‘You look lovely, so you do.’ Then she kissed her cheek and whispered, ‘Daddy would be so proud.’

  Half a mile from Joanmount Gardens they saw the first damage, a row of shops black and smouldering, and the further they drove, the thicker the air became with smoke and the stench of burning. People on the streets seemed wide-eyed and dazed. Near the Antrim Road the walking wounded appeared, many bandaged or bleeding, all with blackened faces. Then the worst of it. Houses with every window blown out gave way to those that were roofless or without a gable wall. In one street a piano stood in the middle of the road undamaged. Further on there were crumpled terraces. Looking up the side streets they saw only ruins, rubble, dust and people like worker ants crawling and clawing over the mounds. There were uniforms too, civil defence and military, better equipped, but just as desperate. Here, they saw the first shapes on the ground covered in coats or blankets, one small shape under a checked tablecloth. They fell silent then.


  A fire tender raced past them, bell ringing. ‘Look at that,’ said Harry, ‘the Drogeda Fire Brigade. I heard de Valera gave the order for them to cross the border early this morning. They’ve probably just got here. God knows, we could’ve done with them last night when incendiaries were burning people’s homes and businesses to the ground.’ The fire tender braked suddenly and shot down a side street. ‘It’ll be on its way to the Victoria Barracks, what’s left of it after the bombers destroyed the searchlight.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Pat leaned forward in her seat.

  ‘They had a new searchlight, arrived last week.’

  ‘Yes I know, but what happened to the Victoria Barracks?’

  ‘A direct hit.’

  She couldn’t think straight. The words ‘direct hit’ lodged in her brain. There was no room for any other thought. She tried to regain some capacity to reason, instead she saw his face, heard his last words to her. “Of course I’ll be at the church by twelve. I’m planning to call in at Victoria Barracks to see how effective the search light is, maybe check some shelters. I’ll have time for a couple of hours sleep before coming to the church. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to sing that duet.”

  Around Carlisle Circus the footpaths were fringed with ruins, but from there down into the centre, the damage lessened again. Buildings were still standing and men were boarding up windows. On down Royal Avenue they drove, took a detour for a crater in the middle of the road, and on into Donegall Square East and the church. It was unscathed.

  In Joanmount Gardens, Thomas and Anna arrived to find Irene and Sheila agitated.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ said Irene. ‘I was trying to think how to get to the church without you.’

  Thomas kept his voice light. ‘Well, there’s quite a bit of damage you know, especially around the Newtownards Road. Filthy black smoke by the docks slowed us down too, but we’re here now. Are you ready to go?’

  Irene nodded, but didn’t move. Thomas in full morning dress stood with his hands across his waistcoat and twisted the gold ring on his little finger. Anna adjusted the fox fur around her shoulders and surreptitiously consulted the tiny marcasite watch on her wrist. After a few minutes Sheila whispered, ‘We need to go now, Irene.’

  ‘I know I know, but … what if Sandy isn’t there? If something’s happened to him and …’ her voice trailed off.

  Thomas was business like. ‘If he’s been delayed at the base, I’m sure he’ll try to let you know, but you must understand that there may be some people missing—.’

  Anna saw the shock in Irene’s face and interrupted. ‘Because of the delays and disruption, but if you and Sandy are there, then the wedding’ll go ahead.’

  Still Irene didn’t move. She needed finally to quell the doubts that had grown every day since she had accepted Sandy’s proposal. She thought she loved him, but maybe it was the whole romantic notion of being married that she loved?

  Sheila touched her hand. ‘Sandy’ll be there, you’ll see.’

  ‘Sandy…’ Irene closed her eyes and tried to bring his face to mind. She couldn’t see him as he was at Stranraer the first time they met, or at the castle, or in the moonlight under the Hurricane bomber when he held her. But slowly a memory took shape, her mother and sisters around the kitchen table and in their midst Sandy in his Air Force uniform. She saw him at last … his kind eyes … and gentle smile.

  She took a deep breath and turned her bouquet so that the trailing gypsum fell at the front and the sprigs of white heather were clearly visible among the flax flowers. Thomas offered her his arm and together they went out into the street where the women and children were waiting to see her off with handshakes, shouts of ‘Good Luck’ and even some clapping.

  Within ten minutes of leaving the house Thomas was forced to make a detour. A soldier waved them down. ‘Had to shut the road, mate, ruptured gas main, dangerous with all these fires still burning. Tell you what, go back up a couple of streets; you’ll see some army vehicles where they’ve cleared the road. Along there, make a right and it’ll take you straight on to the Antrim Road.’

  It was no longer a street, but a series of mounds interspersed with blackened house fronts. The road was strewn with glass and slates that crunched under the car wheels. Thomas, fearful of puncturing the tyres, drove slowly and his passengers had time to take in the terrible damage. In places there was so much splintered wood piled on rubble at crazy angles that it looked like a bonfire waiting to be lit. Soldiers were shifting the debris hand to hand. Suddenly, there was a shout further down the street and a soldier with a little boy hanging in his arms slithered down a slope. They watched as he laid the child gently on the ground and within seconds a medical orderly rushed past them. Through the rear window, Irene watched anxiously until she saw the boy raise his blackened head to drink water from a canteen.

  Towards the end of the road an army lorry was parked facing them and, when they paused at the junction, Irene found herself puzzling at the misshapen load it carried, then a blackened arm fell out from under the tarpaulin.

  They joined the main road and almost immediately slowed to a crawl.

  ‘My God!’ whispered Thomas. ‘It’s a shelter. Must have taken a direct hit.’

  ‘Where are we?’ asked Irene, already knowing the answer.

  ‘Corner of Atlantic Avenue, I think.’

  They were already lining up the bodies on the pavement.

  *

  The City Hall stood defiantly in the middle of the square with as many buses, cars and people on the streets around it as there would have been on any Wednesday. A small crowd, on hearing a wedding was about to take place, had gathered on the pavement outside the church in the hope of seeing the bride. The guests were beginning to congregate under the colonnade. Each new arrival was greeted with warmth and relief that they had come safely through the night, but there was anger too.

  John McCracken voiced his opinion. ‘They attacked us without hindrance. There was no proper barrage. There wasn’t a single enemy plane hit, let alone brought down! The people in charge of the defence of this city should hang their heads in shame this morning.’

  Pat, who was anxiously scanning the square in hope of seeing William, couldn’t let that pass. ‘John, that’s not fair. There are people at Stormont who have tried so hard to find the money and resources needed.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, Pat, but it’s no comfort to those finding themselves homeless, or bereaved today.’

  She could take no more and hurried into the cool interior. Keep calm, she told herself. He might still come. But he was always punctual, hated letting people down and the feeling that he was lost threatened to overwhelm her.

  ‘Excuse me? Aren’t you one of the singers?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I’m the minister. Bad news, I’m afraid, the pianist hasn’t arrived. There’ll be no accompaniment for the hymns or the singing.’

  ‘My sister could do it,’ said Pat, ‘Would that be allowed?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. I’ll just fetch you an order of service.’

  Meanwhile, Peggy was deep in conversation with Harry. ‘What’s the matter with you, today?’

  ‘That’s a stupid question to ask.’

  ‘Don’t call me stupid!’

  ‘I didn’t. I said it was a stupid question and it is considering the night we’ve all had and what we’ve just driven through.’

  ‘I feel that too, we all do. But it’s something else isn’t it.’

  ‘Peggy, this is a wedding. Can we get through it without an argument, do you think?’

  ‘Oh suit yourself!’ she snapped and stormed off into the church. Harry stayed outside, lit a cigarette with trembling hands and inhaled deeply.

  Pat was on her way outside when Peggy marched in. ‘There’s no pianist. You’ll have to play.’

  ‘Me? I don’t think so.’

  ‘Peggy you have to. We can’t have a wedding without music!’


  The guests were filing into the pews, but there was no groom or best man at the altar, there would be no music and Pat knew for certain that there would be no William either. She bowed her head and wept. Peggy watched her a moment then, without a word, walked up the aisle and sat at the piano.