17 Martin Street

by Marilyn Taylor

  ‘They’ve got some people out,’ a boy with an ARP armband muttered to her. ‘They’re down there, waiting for ambulances.’

  Setting off to where he pointed, she noticed him joining the diggers and realised who he was – the older Byrne brother from next door who’d returned Ma’s cake. And squinting, she realised that digging alongside him was Ben.

  Anxiously scanning everyone she met, Hetty hurried down the road to where ambulances were arriving. And to her enormous relief, Eddie appeared, white with dust, limping towards her like a vision. With a cry she hurled herself at him, nearly knocking him over. He rested his head on her shoulder for a moment and whispered, ‘Ma, Da, are they all right?’

  ‘They’re digging them out,’ she said reassuringly, hoping against hope it was true. Then she heard a familiar yapping. Glancing down she saw at Eddie’s heels, Flossy, whom the dust had turned into a pure white puppy – and to her horror, Hetty burst into tears.

  ***

  Afterwards Hetty recalled the scene in irregular snatches, like a confused dream. She and Eddie tried to help dig, but the chunks of masonry were too heavy for them. Now and again there was a shout when a person was uncovered or someone heard calling or groaning from under the rubble.

  More people arrived. One of them, an older man, balding and thickset, wearing a woolly hat, seemed to know the Byrnes and immediately set to work beside them.

  Watching with Eddie, Hetty noticed the easy strength of the older brother as he swung his shovel, and the younger boy’s laboured breathing. Neighbours from the streets around appeared with flasks of hot tea and hastily-made sandwiches.

  After what seemed like hours, Da called Hetty and Eddie over. He was smiling through the sweat and grime on his face. There, in a crater, still lying on their bed across which rested a heavy beam, which had, amazingly, protected them, she saw her aunt, clutching her shoulder in pain, and her uncle, both coated with dust and looking like ghosts, but alive.

  They were lifted carefully on to stretchers. Uncle Sam managed to smile shakily as Eddie bent to give him a hug. Hetty felt relief welling up. As an ambulance drove up, the older man with the Byrne boys approached them.

  ‘I believe you’re neighbours of my nephews here, Sean and Ben?’ he said to Da. ‘I just want to say I’m glad your family’s all right.’

  Da shook his hand and said quietly, ‘Many thanks to you – to all of you – for your help.’ He turned to Hetty. ‘Hetty, I’m going with them to Vincent’s hospital. You go home with Eddie and tell Ma to have hot food ready. I’ll bring them home as soon as they’re released.’ Then he added, ‘Mabel should go to Zaida and Bobba before someone tells them the news and they start thinking the worst.’

  ***

  Much later, Da returned with the news that Aunt Millie had been kept in hospital with a broken collar bone. Mabel had reassured Bobba and Zaida. Eddie and Uncle Sam, shocked and bruised but otherwise unhurt, slept on mattresses in the Goldens’ parlour, with Flossy, who’d got a warm welcome from Mossy, curled up beside them.

  For what was left of that night, once an over-excited Mabel had finally stopped talking, Hetty tossed and turned, images of the devastated street and Eddie limping towards her all whirling through her mind.

  She also recalled Ben and Sean digging frantically with their uncle and so many others, concerned only for the trapped and injured. All on the same side. And yet she’d once vowed passionately never to speak to the Byrnes. How one dramatic night had changed everything!

  Eventually she dropped into an uneasy sleep, to be woken only an hour or two later – like Ben next door – by the familiar clip clop of the milkman’s horse and the chink of bottles on the doorstep, just as though everything was normal and nothing unusual had happened.

  ***

  After an early breakfast, Hetty and Mabel, leaving Eddie still asleep, accompanied their father and uncle to salvage what they could from Donore Avenue. Zaida insisted on going with them, linked on either side by Uncle Sam and Mabel.

  In the cold morning light the wrecked street, with police and ARP officers still on duty, resembled a battlefield.

  Zaida gazed at the destruction. With the skullcap on his silver hair and lines of sorrow etched on his face he looked like an Old Testament prophet, and people glanced at him with sympathy.

  No sign of Ben, but his uncle, who was still there helping out, came over and asked about Aunt Millie.

  ‘She’s in pain,’ said Uncle Sam, ‘but she’ll be all right.’ He touched his bruised forehead. ‘We had a lucky escape.’

  ‘It reminds us of what the war’s really about,’ Uncle Matt said earnestly to Zaida. ‘You, sir, understand that better than us.’ He paused. ‘We’re a bit smug here in Ireland, sheltering behind our neutrality.’

  ‘Thanks again for your help,’ said Uncle Sam.

  At home Zaida sank into the armchair, his face still clouded. Uncle Sam put his arm round him. ‘At least we’re all safe, Papa, and Millie will be all right.’

  ‘Amazing no one was killed in the raid,’ said Da, ‘except a parrot in a cage!’

  ‘Poor parrot,’ put in Hetty.

  ‘But people are hurt,’ said Zaida, ‘and some have lost everything. And the synagogue–’

  ‘The rabbi said the windows were smashed, but the holy scrolls are unharmed,’ Da reassured him. ‘There’s debris and dust, but the lights are working.’

  ‘And the Presbyterian church isn’t badly damaged either,’ put in Mabel. ‘That’s where my friend Alison goes.’

  As they sat over cups of tea, Zaida muttered, ‘The destruction, the violence, they remind me …’ His voice tailed off.

  ‘Abbie, it’s not a pogrom,’ said Bobba briskly. ‘It’s not persecution like we had in the heim – our old home. That would only happen here if the Nazis came.’

  ‘I know,’ mumbled Zaida. ‘But still …’

  Hetty picked up Solly and plonked him on Zaida’s lap. The child reached up to Zaida’s bristly cheek, and Zaida was soon jigging him on his knee while Solly crowed with joy and blew bubbles.

  There were approving nods and smiles from the grown-ups, which, Hetty reflected, didn’t come her way very often.

  13

  Money Troubles

  In the next few weeks, the immediate excitement of the bombing died down, the houses were being rebuilt, and Aunt Millie was recovering. But Hetty couldn’t get the plight of the refugee, Renata, out of her head. Every day she waited in vain to see if there was a letter or message from her. She and Eddie had decided to say nothing until they’d actually made contact with her, so Hetty was trying to act normally. Not that that was difficult, as everyone’s mind was on different matters.

  First there had been a argument at home after her father had slipped off to Powers at Kelly’s Corner to ‘put a few bob on the gee-gees’. It appeared his horse had won and he got the few bob all right, but then lost it all again backing another ‘dead cert’.

  The atmosphere in the house was tense. Ma was very cross and worried. But fortunately, that evening Carmel and Maureen came to show off their outfits for the Irish step dancing competition in the Rotunda Winter Gardens. Everyone admired the dresses and sashes in scarlet, green and gold, with braid and tassels, made by their auntie from oddments of material.

  ‘Show us a bit of a dance,’ begged Mabel, and they did, arms straight by their sides, feet tapping and twinkling and their identical red curls bouncing. Even Hetty watched admiringly, and Da came downstairs to have a look and managed a weak smile. When the girls had gone, Mabel complained, ‘Why can’t we do Irish dancing?’

  ‘Or tap dancing?’ Hetty put in.

  ‘Yeah!’ agreed Mabel. ‘You wear lovely shiny shoes with metal studs and bows. I saw Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers doing it in a film, they were so fast–’

  But Ma, her usually cheerful face grim, snapped, ‘There’s no money for any of that nonsense.’ She looked pointedly at Da, who grabbed the Evening Mail and crept back upstairs.

/>   Mabel said eagerly, ‘I could leave school and work in a shop–’ She stopped short. ‘Though I s’pose Michael mightn’t like it!’

  ‘Oh really, Mabel,’ Hetty burst out, ‘who cares what a snob like him thinks? Is he going to help us out when the rent’s due?’

  ‘You’re just jealous,’ protested Mabel, ‘because you haven’t got a boyfriend–’

  ‘No, and I don’t want one,’ spat Hetty, ‘at least not if he’s like your precious Michael–’

  ‘Girls, please,’ said Ma wearily, as Mabel rushed upstairs and slammed the bedroom door behind her. ‘This isn’t a time for quarrels.’

  Hetty scooped Mossy into her arms and cuddled him. I’m the only one who talks straight in this house, she thought.

  And now she wouldn’t be able to get into the bedroom to do her homework or read the latest School Friend comic, donated by Mabel’s friend Alison, for at least half an hour.

  ***

  A week later, without warning, the blow fell. Da came home late, looking troubled. Ma had just finished sweeping the kitchen floor and handed Mabel the tin of Cardinal red polish and a rag.

  ‘Well, Leon?’ Ma asked him in a resigned tone. ‘Now what’s wrong?’

  ‘Not the “gee-gees” again!’ Hetty whispered to Mabel.

  After a long pause, he muttered, ‘A wage cut.’

  ‘Oy!’ Ma’s rosy face turned pale.

  ‘It could be worse,’ said Da quickly. ‘I could have been sacked. They’re cutting back on the bespoke suits, and there’s a new machine that does buttonholes–’

  ‘But the rent?’ Ma’s anxious tones echoed Mabel’s and Hetty’s thoughts. ‘And we owe some of the shops as it is.’

  ‘It’ll be all right.’ He forced a cheerful tone. ‘The Lord will provide.’ Putting on his coat he announced, ‘I’m going to prayers, we’ll talk later.’

  As the door slammed, Ma sank down at the table, her head in her hands. She was always the strong person in the house through thick and thin, and the girls had never seen her so shattered. Mossy, sensing the atmosphere, gave a little whine.

  Even Hetty was perturbed. ‘Will I make you a cup of tea?’ she asked Ma.

  In a low voice, almost as if talking to herself, Ma said, ‘It’s not only the rent, shoes and clothes, it’s the other things, like food. The traditions, the hospitality, the nurturing are part of our life, of who we are, of who I am …’ her voice broke. ‘Now we could do with the savings.’ Knowing where the savings had gone, they were silent.

  Mabel jumped up. ‘That’s it!’ she declared. ‘I’m going to leave school and get a job.’ Her mother tried to interrupt, but she carried on, ‘Carmel’s cousin got a job in the Monument Creamery in Rathmines. She says it’s not bad, you get a little white apron and hat, and leftover butter and eggs at the end of the day. I could help with the rent and,’ she paused, a dreamy look in her eyes, ‘maybe there’ll even be enough to perm my hair, like Alison.’

  Hetty snorted, recalling the perm, which had made Alison look as if she’d been electrocuted.

  Sipping the tea, Ma began to perk up. ‘You’re not to leave school, Mabel,’ she declared. ‘There’s your future to consider. I can do dressmaking and alterations, that’ll help. We’ll manage somehow,’ she said, more like her usual brisk self. ‘If the worst comes to the worst, at least you could be trained in typing or tailoring. That’s better than a shop.’

  ‘But I can always go to night school later,’ pleaded Mabel. ‘In the Monument I’d be earning straight away.’

  ‘Not much,’ retorted Ma.

  ‘I could get a job after school,’ put in Hetty.

  ‘Nonsense!’ snapped Ma, ‘you’ll be needed to help me here.’

  A roar from upstairs announced that Solly was awake, and normal life, for the moment, took over.

  ***

  Hetty thought she’d never get through that week. Whatever about Da’s occasional gambling, a wage cut was a bad blow. Even though he snapped at her sometimes, she felt sorry for him. This wasn’t his fault, and it was happening to others too. At least he hadn’t lost his job.

  But there was a deep sense of insecurity in the house, and endless arguments about Mabel’s future. Hetty herself remained in a permanent bad temper at being expected to do more than her share of chores while this went on. The only good thing was that a second-hand pram had been passed on to them by a friend of Aunt Millie’s, so she could now take Solly for walks and escape from the house.

  She wondered if Ben knew about her da. Maybe he’d have to stop working for them, though it was Zaida who left his weekly payment. That would mean she’d never see him. She felt an unexpected jolt of disappointment at the thought.

  But what bothered her even more, like an itch nothing would soothe, was that there was still no word from Renata.

  Two days later, when Hetty arrived home from school, the house was unusually empty. Mabel had gone to Alison’s and Ma had taken Solly with her to buy material for a skirt for her first customer, a neighbour of Bobba’s.

  In the hall, she stooped to pick up a torn piece of paper which had been pushed through the letterbox. There was no name, but she unfolded it, her heart thumping.

  At that moment Ma came back with Solly and a parcel of material. Noticing the paper she asked, ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Hetty. Quickly she pulled her coat back on. ‘Just going round to Eddie’s.’ And she sped off, the folded note clutched in her hand.

  ***

  Luckily Eddie was alone in his house, working on an intricate balsa-wood model of a Spitfire fighter plane. He listened as Hetty read the note, in strange, foreign-looking, loopy handwriting:

  Liebe Hettie!

  My englisch not good.

  I came you house by address I got from family at Dalkey. I need help, my visa not good, I must to meine Papa go in other part Irland. I try come again but I must be carefully, not to be sent away.

  Renata Stern.

  ‘No address,’ Hetty groaned. ‘If only I’d got back earlier!’

  ‘Let’s hope no one noticed her,’ said Eddie worriedly. ‘Maybe she’ll come again.’ He rose. ‘Nothing we can do now. Want to stay for a bit, maybe have a game of draughts? I’ve done my homework.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t touched mine, and anyway there’s trouble at home.’

  ‘I heard,’ said Eddie sympathetically.

  ‘Zaida offered to help,’ said Hetty, ‘and your da, too. But still …’

  ‘It’ll be all right, Hetty.’ Eddie patted her shoulder. ‘And Zaida said he wants to go on paying Ben, so at least that won’t change.’

  One positive thing on this black day, reflected Hetty as she set off home, though she wasn’t sure why Ben’s job continuing made her feel better. Strange, too, that despite the money problems piling up at home, she felt somehow that saving Renata would make it easier to tackle everything else.

  14

  Echoes of the Past

  But someone had noticed the foreign girl dropping the note.

  Ben had been watching for the glimmer man again. It was spilling rain but at least that meant there was no football game to torment him. He’d picked up hints about the wage cut, and the Goldens’ money troubles somehow showed they were just like everyone else, whatever Dad said about them.

  But would it mean an end to his job? He’d just begun to get accustomed to the Golden household – to Mossy’s welcome, Zaida’s jokes and stories, the spicy smell of Mrs Golden’s ‘kuchen’ cake, baked on Fridays for the Sabbath, a piece always left out for him on the table.

  Even Hetty had thawed slightly. Last week she’d brought down Solly, in a blue jacket knitted by Bobba. As she strapped him into the bulky old pram with its huge wheels, strong black hood for rain and green-fringed sunshade, Solly gave Ben an amiable, dribbly smile showing two tiny teeth. Ben made clicking noises with his tongue and smiled back, and so, for a moment, did Hetty.

  But what would she say, an insistent voice in his head
whispered, if she knew he’d once nearly reported the refugee she was trying so hard to save?

  As his thoughts circled, he took care to keep an eye out for the glimmer man. So he was quick to notice a strange girl walking down the street, peering at the house numbers. She was tall and thin, an ill-fitting check jacket pulled tightly around her and a headscarf tied over her bright hair.

  As she knocked hesitantly at Number 17, Ben wondered at first if she was some friend or relation of the Goldens. She knocked again, and in that instant he realised who she must be – the famous refugee whom everyone was searching for! The girl whose name he didn’t know, whom he had almost betrayed.

  Certain it was her, he jumped to his feet. Then he stopped. If he went down to talk to her, she’d probably take fright and run away. And anyway, what would he say? And Dad was due home from work soon and might spot them both. That would be a disaster.

  Thanks to the rain the street was empty. He watched her take a scrap of paper and pencil from her bag, scribble a note and drop it through the letter-box. Then she left.

  Although Ben had barely glimpsed her face, all the talk and discussion and simplistic labels faded away and she suddenly became not a possible spy, not even just a refugee, but a real girl, a vulnerable girl, a girl in trouble.

  ***

  The following Saturday Ben arrived early at Number 17, wondering if they’d got the note from the girl. Hetty, putting the breakfast dishes in the sink, barely greeted him. Later, when she brought Solly down – smiling and pointing at Ben with his chubby little hand – Zaida had arrived and invited Ben into the parlour to identify for him, as he’d promised to do ever since he found Ben gazing at them, the people in the sepia photographs on the wall.

  ‘That was my father, may he rest in peace,’ Zaida said, indicating the white-bearded, hawkfaced old man whom Ben had noticed. ‘He passed away after I left home. That’s my mother beside him holding the youngest grandchild, and my sisters and their families.’ He gazed unseeingly out of the window at the street. ‘The last time I saw my father was in the field near our home in Lithuania, in a shtetl – a village called Akmiyan, a long way from here. I had learned some tailoring there from my father.’ He gave Ben a sad smile. ‘I was pulling up beets and he came out to warn me – Cossack soldiers were raiding the shtetl, there were screams and smoke and flames …’ He paused, his voice husky. ‘My father said, “They’re rounding up young men for the Tsar’s army. You must leave now, my son.”’