Martha's Girls
Page 41
In the distance a clock began to strike the hour. Outside Harry was just finishing his cigarette when a car pulled up and he glimpsed Irene in the back. He ran over and opened the driver’s door.
‘There’s been a bit of a hold up, we’re waiting for a few more guests to arrive. Do you think you could drive round for five minutes?’
Moments later a powerful motorbike roared into the square and screeched to a halt outside the church. Sandy jumped off, removed his goggles and helmet and shouted to Harry, ‘Sorry I’m late, is everyone inside?’
‘All except you and Irene and she’s on her way.’
‘I’ve no best man. All leave has been cancelled, but they let me go when they were sure there’d be no follow-up daylight raid.’
‘Well …’ said Harry, ‘I’m far from a best man, but as you’re desperate, I’m your man!’ The two of them shook hands, Sandy gave him the ring and they went quickly into the church.
*
The service was simple and beautiful and contained, at Irene’s request, prayers for all those who had suffered as a result of the bombing: the dead and injured; the homeless and bereaved. When the bridal party left to sign the register in the vestry, silence fell like confetti from the vaulted ceiling. Peggy moved from the pew to the piano stool. The seconds slipped by, but Pat remained seated. Then, after what seemed like an age, she stood and walked slowly to the nave. Something in her expression caused Peggy to hesitate, uncertain whether to begin the introduction. Pat fixed her eyes on the triptych window high on the wall in front of her, took a full breath and began to sing. It was not what they had rehearsed; Peggy struggled to recognise it. One bar … two bars …suddenly she had it. Gently she laid her hands on the keys and played the accompaniment. The song told of a love lost. Pat sang in Italian, her pitch and pronunciation perfect and towards the back of the church, Kathleen closed her eyes and silently sang it with her. Only when the final notes had floated upwards, like little motes of sadness into the air, did Pat open her eyes.
He stood framed in the doorway in morning dress, a glint of silver on his tie. He came up the aisle and took her hand just as they had rehearsed. This time Pat smiled and nodded at Peggy who began the introduction to the opening aria of ‘The Marriage of Figaro’.
*
When Irene and Sandy walked down the aisle and out into the sunshine of the April afternoon it seemed the mood had altered perceptibly, as though the city had absorbed the terrible night and counterbalanced it with the joy of two young people on their wedding day.
Pat and William also emerged together talking quietly.
‘I didn’t hold that last note quite long enough,’ said Pat.
‘It was fine, don’t worry. Sorry I was late, things happening, you know.’
‘Yes, I know. It didn’t matter, you came.’
Pat noticed Sammy watching Irene as she posed for a photograph and was shocked by his appearance. She excused herself and went to speak to him. ‘Hello Sammy, I didn’t see you inside.’
‘No, I arrived late, just sat at the back.’ He was clearly agitated.
‘What’s the matter? Has something happened?’
‘I’m not staying for the reception,’ he said in a rush. ‘I wasn’t going to come at all, but I thought you’d want to know, Irene would want to know.’ He was close to tears.
‘Know what, Sammy? What is it?’
‘It’s Myrtle. We were going to come to the wedding together.’ He struggled to find the words.
Pat waited.
‘I went to collect her this morning from Thorndyke Street. I knew the area had been badly hit, but I hoped … I was sure she’d …’
‘What happened, Sammy?’ asked Pat softly.
‘The street was in ruins … I was there when they brought out the bodies.’
Pat reached out to touch him, but he pulled back, his face angry.
‘Leave me be,’ he shouted and turned away from her, pushing his way through the guests. She saw him moments later running across the road towards the City Hall.
Irene was chatting to the McCrackens, laughing with Grace and Aggie. I can’t tell her now, thought Pat, there’ll be time enough for mourning later.
Inside the lobby of the Imperial Hotel the wedding guests stood around in small groups chatting and sipping sweet sherry. Peggy and Harry were alone at the bar.
‘Harry, I know something’s the matter. Tell me.’
‘It’s nothing, everything’s all right. Don’t worry.’
‘You’ve got yourself into something again, haven’t you?’
At that moment the head waiter announced, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom invite you to join them for lunch in the dining room.’
‘Now isn’t the time, Peggy.’
Irene and Sandy appeared arm in arm, happy and excited, and took their seats at the top table. The room was splendid with red velvet curtains, white linen tablecloths, silver cutlery, crystal glasses and posies of white and blue flowers. In the centre of the table there stood an impressive three tier wedding cake, iced with intricate lace patterns and finished with little clusters of forget-me-nots.
The minister said grace and gave thanks, not just for the meal, but for the safe deliverance of everyone there from the terrible danger they had come through. After the speeches and toasts, the bride and groom cut the cake.
‘Peggy, I’m going out to get some fresh air,’ said Harry. ‘Do you want to come with me?’
He took her hand as they left the hotel and they crossed the road into the grounds of the City Hall. He stopped at a bench and they sat down.
‘I was sitting here the first time I saw you,’ he said.
Peggy looked around. ‘And I was sitting over there on the grass.’
‘You looked like the girl I’d imagined I would meet some day, so I followed you …’
‘To Goldstein’s shop.’
‘And later, we danced.’
They sat in silence a while, remembering.
‘Harry what is it, please tell me?’
‘I wanted us to have the bakery,’ he began. ‘It was a way to start a life together.’
She wasn’t clear what he was saying. Did he think she didn’t want to be part of it? ‘I love our shop,’ she said. ‘You know that.’
He shielded his eyes with his hand. ‘I know … but it’s gone.’
‘Gone? What do you mean gone?’
‘Last night … an incendiary … there’s nothing left. I went there early this morning. It’s just a blackened shell. Only the ovens are standing like twisted biscuit tins.’
Peggy thought of the lemon and white shop, its counter and display cabinets burned out, like the buildings they had passed on the road this morning. ‘But you can get new premises, new ovens can’t you. We’ll start again. I’ll leave the music shop and help you.’
He shook his head. ‘You don’t understand, Peggy. It’s gone! I can’t rebuild it.’ He shook his head. ‘All that money and effort for what? A wedding cake and a tray of shortbread, the only things I baked there.’
‘But isn’t there insurance or something to help you?’
His laugh was humourless. ‘There was no money for insurance. I borrowed from Dessie and when that wasn’t enough, I borrowed some more.’
‘More than the three hundred pounds?’ Peggy was shocked. ‘Who did you borrow that from?’
‘Someone I used to do some work for and he’s expecting it paid back every week from the shop takings, except there won’t be any takings. There isn’t any shop. And Dessie’ll want his money too.’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to get out of Belfast – fast.’
‘It can’t be that bad. We’ll go and speak to them. The shop was bombed. It’s not your fault!’ Peggy’s voice had risen and passers-by were staring.
‘You don’t know these people, Peggy. There’s no reasoning with them. I owe them a lot of money. I have to go.’
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br /> She saw the desperation in his eyes, guessed at the fear he felt.
‘Where will you go?’
‘To England.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight on the Liverpool boat.’
She stood up. ‘I’m coming with you.’
‘No you’re not, Peggy. I’m going to join the Army. It’s the only thing that makes any sense now. I can’t take you with me.’
He reached for her and held her tight until she stopped crying. Then they went across the road and slipped back into the hotel just as Goldstein rose to speak.
‘My dear friend Martha and her family have asked me to say a few words about the circumstances in which we find ourselves today. Here we are celebrating the marriage of Irene and Sandy and trying to be positive about their future, when our city has suffered and is suffering extreme hardship and despair.’
‘This war is not of our making, but we are determined to stand against tyranny. We thought we might escape what had befallen others in Poland, across Belgium and France into England, but last night we felt the full force of evil. So today, should we cower in fear? Should we hide in the ruins and say our lives have changed and we can no longer plan for our future? No. Today of all days we must celebrate the spirit of Belfast. Our young people will have a future. We have borne witness to that today with the marriage of Sandy and Irene. So I ask you to raise your glasses to toast the people of Belfast.’
Around the room the guests stood. ‘To the people of Belfast!’
‘And now,’ said Goldstein, ‘I think I noticed a piano in the corner of the room and we have three … no, on this special day … four Golden Sisters to entertain us.’
Peggy lifted the lid on the piano and tried a scale.
‘Is it in tune, Peggy?’ shouted Irene.
‘Of course not,’ she laughed, ‘but who cares!’
Irene, Pat and Sheila joined her. They had no trouble identifying the introduction and all came in on cue.
‘I’ll Take Romance’ they sang in close harmony.
At the end of the song, the four sisters stepped forward and took a bow. Peggy raised her head and saw Harry in the doorway. He smiled just for her, raised his hat and put it on. She bowed again and he was gone.
‘Let’s do one more,’ said Irene. ‘What will it be?’
‘It’s your wedding, you choose,’ said Peggy.
‘Let’s have ‘Whispering Hope’.’
Goldstein turned to Martha. ‘You must be so proud of them.’
‘Aye, they’re good girls, right enough.’
‘Indeed they are, Martha, indeed they are.’
Acknowledgements
Over the many years it has taken to write this book, my husband Jeff and sons Adam and Dan have supported and encouraged me in so many ways and always believed it would be finished. To my sister Heather, I owe a huge debt of gratitude. She was alongside me – despite being 3000 miles away – reading each chapter as it came into being and commenting, enthusing, encouraging. This is her book as much as mine. Thanks also to Dennis, my brother, for advice on all things Belfast and cousins Bernice and Noreen who added to our collective knowledge of the Goulding family. I am grateful to the Manchester Irish Writers, an immensely talented group of individuals, for their advice and the craic.
In writing an historical novel, it is essential to have access to comprehensive research that encompasses the social, historical and cultural climate of the period. I found all of this and much more in Brian Barton’s book ‘The Blitz – Belfast in the war years’. Heartfelt thanks to him. On the final steps towards publication the team at Matador have been professional and supportive.
It is thanks to all these people that the story has at last been told.
Table of Contents
cover
Prelims
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Acknowledgements
Table of Contents
cover
Prelims
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Acknowledgements