A Song in my Heart

by Alrene Hughes

  ‘Now don’t start, Sheila. That’s good nourishing food.’

  ‘I’m not complaining. I’m that hungry I could eat a horse and the wee boy on it.’

  ‘That’s all right then, because I got the last horse in the butcher’s.’

  Sheila’s eyes widened. ‘It isn’t, is it?’

  Martha laughed. ‘Praise be to God, we haven’t come to that … yet. Now get the table set – you’re not the only one coming home from work starving.’

  They didn’t wait for Pat to come home before eating. ‘Sure, she’ll be a while choosing the ring,’ said Peggy.

  ‘Tony might take her somewhere for her tea afterwards,’ Irene suggested.

  ‘And then they’ll go for a walk and hold hands and she’ll look into his eyes and he’ll—’

  ‘That’s enough, Sheila,’ said Martha, but the girls were already giggling and Martha let them be.

  ‘Did you get Pat’s dress from Mrs McKee?’ asked Peggy.

  ‘Indeed I did and I finished the embroidery as well. It’s upstairs, I’ll fetch it down when Pat comes in. That’s if she doesn’t have Tony with her. We wouldn’t want him to see it before the wedding.’

  After tea they sat in the front room round a meagre fire of some sticks and a shovel of coal dust and listened to the wireless. They were laughing so much at Tommy Handley and It’s That Man Again that they didn’t hear the back door. Martha caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and realised Pat was standing in the doorway. ‘Ah, you’re home at last,’ she said and looked past her. ‘Is Tony not with you?’

  ‘No,’ said Pat, ‘he had to go back to base.’

  ‘Mammy, can we see the dress now that Pat’s back?’ asked Sheila.

  ‘Away and get it then. It’s on my bed.’

  Pat slowly unbuttoned her coat and Martha was struck by how weary she looked. ‘Here I’ll hang that up, Pat. You go and sit near the fire. Have you had anything to eat?’

  ‘No, sure I’m not that hungry.’

  ‘Well, did you get the ring?’ asked Irene, but Pat didn’t seem to hear her. At the sound of Sheila running down the stairs, all eyes turned towards the door. She burst into the room and held the lavender dress up against her, holding the skirt out and swaying to show it off.

  Irene and Peggy were on their feet at once examining the dress, feeling the soft material, admiring the embroidery and commenting on how beautiful it was. It was a moment before they realised that Pat hadn’t moved. ‘Do you like it, Pat?’ asked Irene.

  Pat caught a sleeve and her fingers traced the embroidered leaves and petals and stroked the pearls. ‘It’s beautiful. I’m glad it’s finished.’

  ‘Just in time,’ said Martha, and laughed. ‘Why don’t you try it on and we’ll check the hem length?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘It’ll only take a few minutes.’

  Pat leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Her face was drained of expression. ‘There’s no need, it’ll be a long time before I get to wear it.’

  ‘What do you mean? The wedding’s on Saturday,’ but even as she spoke, Martha knew there would be no wedding. The tears that escaped from Pat’s closed eyelids were proof enough of that.

  Pat sighed. ‘The Americans have started leaving already; Tony goes first thing in the morning.’

  No one spoke – there were no words to comfort someone who had lost her first love in a bombing only to have her second sent to fight days before their wedding. Pat wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and looked at the sadness on the faces of her family.

  ‘We will get married,’ she told them. ‘This war can’t last forever and Tony’ll come back for me, I know he will.’ She managed a smile. ‘Would it be all right if we didn’t talk about it now?’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Martha, ‘just you sit there quiet, love. Sheila, take the dress back upstairs. Now, Pat, could you manage a bit of wheaten bread?’

  Later, the conversation turned to the Grosvenor Hall concert and Peggy’s eyes lit up. ‘I’ve got such good news, you’ll never guess. We’re top of the bill and, Sheila, you’re to open the second half with two songs. In fact, we could start rehearsing right now, if you like?’

  ‘Well, maybe not tonight, Peggy,’ said Martha, with an almost imperceptible nod towards Pat.

  Peggy’s face fell. ‘Oh Pat, will you not want to sing at all, after what’s happened?’

  Pat’s tone was icy. ‘I may have lost my voice once before, but this is not the same at all. I’ll be singing in the concert, don’t you worry!’

  When Martha locked up and went upstairs to bed, she didn’t switch on her bedroom light or draw the blackout curtains. Instead she went to the window and gazed upwards at clear skies and a full moon – a bomber’s moon. It was nearly eighteen months since the city was last bombed and she was thankful that the searchlight of war had swept elsewhere. Around midnight she awoke in panic and turned to see the lavender wedding dress, a ghostly shadow on the wardrobe door, and understood that fear comes in many guises.

  Chapter 2

  The girls were laughing as they came from the cold November night into the Grosvenor Hall, but as they entered the auditorium, with its sea of wooden chairs and huge stage, they fell silent.

  ‘I can’t believe we’re back here again,’ said Irene. ‘Our first big concert – remember how nervous we were?’

  ‘First days of the war,’ said Pat softly. ‘If we’d known then what lay ahead of us …’

  ‘All the concerts to come, singing with George Formby, Glenn Miller—’

  ‘I was thinking of three years of war, Peggy. The bombings, the deaths—’

  ‘But we’re still here, Pat, still singing and tonight we’re top of the bill.’

  ‘Come on you two.’ Irene linked her arms through theirs. ‘Let’s go and see who else has arrived.’

  ‘Do we get our own dressing room now?’ asked Pat.

  ‘Ha!’ said Peggy.

  There were already performers standing around backstage in costume and full makeup. ‘It’s a big cast tonight,’ shouted Peggy over their excited chatter. ‘These people will be in the first half and the second-half performers like us will just be arriving now so there should be space in the dressing room.’

  ‘Did I just see wee Lizzie and her accordion?’ asked Pat.

  ‘Probably,’ said Peggy. ‘Mr Goldstein has brought together some of the original Barnstormers and the newer acts from the Stars for Troops show.’

  It was even busier and noisier in the dressing room. ‘Follow me,’ said Peggy and she squeezed through the crowd.

  ‘There’s Davy the magician.’ Irene waved at a bulky man in white tie and tails. ‘I hope he doesn’t get stuck in this crush or his poor doves will suffocate.’

  At the back of the room were four coat-pegs and a mirror with a piece of cardboard stuck in the corner: ‘Reserved for the Golden Sisters’. Pat shook her head in disbelief.

  ‘Irene!’ a disembodied voice screamed and a headdress that looked like a cascading fruit bowl came towards them through the crowd.

  ‘Oh my God, Macy, what are you wearing?’

  ‘My Carmen Miranda costume. What do you reckon?’ And Macy swivelled her hips to show off her vibrantly coloured skirt, caught up at the front to reveal her long, shapely legs.

  Then she leaned in and whispered, ‘Do you see the young guy in the South American costume – ruffles on his sleeves?’ Irene nodded. ‘My new dancing partner. Kinda cute, ain’t he?’

  ‘He looks about eighteen,’ said Irene. ‘Where did you find him?’

  ‘Betty Staff’s Dance School, of course. I taught him everything he knows,’ she said, and she gave her deep-throated laugh and sashayed back to the boy.

  It was Goldstein’s custom to speak to the performers before curtain up, to rally his troops and inspire them to excel. Everyone squeezed into the dressing room and someone found Goldstein a crate to stand on. He straightened his dicky bow and cleared h
is throat.

  ‘The Grosvenor Hall is where I saw the first fundraising concert of the war and I knew then that entertainment would be crucial in sustaining the morale of this city. And so it has been – even in the darkest days you have put aside your sorrows and fears to tread the boards. And I salute your courage.’

  There were cheers from the company and after a moment Goldstein held up his hand. ‘Tonight, we have some special guests in the audience – British Army top brass and an advance contingent of US Army officers replacing those who have only recently left, en route to North Africa. So, I ask you once again to raise the roof with your incomparable Belfast talent.’

  The first half moved along at a good pace and Pete, the new compère, had the audience in stitches with his jokes. When Macy and her partner left the stage after their ‘South American Way’ routine to the sound of cheers and wolf whistles, Pete quipped, ‘Haven’t seen that much fruit in one place since before the war. We’ll be raffling it off at the interval!’

  Backstage, Pat was applying Sheila’s makeup. ‘This is a big stage, with strong lights,’ Pat told her. ‘Large sections of the audience are quite a distance from you so everything needs to be emphasised.’ She stood back and studied Sheila’s face. How her little sister had changed over the past few years. The schoolgirl had grown into a beautiful young woman. Her face was less round, her cheekbones more pronounced, though not so much as Peggy’s, and there was a softness about her features. Hers was a gentle beauty.

  Pat applied the foundation and rouge, then used shadow to enhance Sheila’s almond-shaped eyes and added mascara, before sweeping a dark pencil under her lower lashes to extend the outer corners. With Sheila’s chestnut hair and the striking kingfisher blue dress she would be wearing, Pat decided that a strong red lipstick would be the dramatic finishing touch.

  ‘There you are – a Hollywood starlet if ever I saw one.’

  While Sheila and Pat were occupied, Irene thought it might be a good idea to have a quiet word with Peggy. ‘Just come out here a minute,’ said Irene and they went out into the corridor. ‘Do you think Pat’ll be all right? You don’t think she could lose her voice again like she did when William was killed?’

  Peggy shrugged her shoulders. ‘Who knows? She’s been putting a brave face on it since Tony left but … Oh, I don’t know … She managed the rehearsals, but there’s something missing, isn’t there? Take the Gracie Fields solo, “Wish me Luck”. All those difficult high notes – it’s a song made for her range, but all she does is complain about it. She’s just not got that vitality about her at the moment and, I’m telling you, that has an effect on her singing.’

  ‘If only she’d had a letter from Tony it might have lifted her.’

  ‘He’s not been gone two weeks. That’s hardly enough time to settle in his new billet and I’m sure his first priority wasn’t to get out the Basildon Bond.’

  Irene nodded towards the dressing room. ‘The tension’s already building up in there, so we’ll just need to keep her calm.’ She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. ‘Peggy, are we still singing the same songs we agreed on?’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘It’s just that sometimes—’

  ‘What!’

  Irene could sense Peggy’s temper fraying. ‘Well, you know sometimes when we’re on the stage you, maybe for a very good reason, change your mind and play the introduction to a different song, and we have to—’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ said Peggy, ‘the songs we rehearsed are the songs I will play,’ and she stomped off.

  ‘That’s grand,’ Irene shouted after her, ‘but will they be in the right order?’

  The Golden Sisters, Irene, Pat and Peggy, stood in the darkness of the wings dressed in their polka dot blouses and slim black skirts, listening to the compère introduce them.

  ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, these three Belfast girls have been singing their way through the war in the concert halls, dance halls and army camps. Tonight they’re top of the bill at the Grosvenor Hall, so please welcome on stage Belfast’s answer to the Andrews Sisters – our very own Golden Sisters!’

  They ran on to the stage smiling at the warm applause. Peggy went straight to the piano and started the introduction to ‘Zing went the Strings of my Heart’, while Irene and Pat went to the microphone and swayed to the music. So far so good, thought Irene and she glanced over at Pat. Please God, let her be all right, let her sing, and in that split second Pat turned to her and winked and they came in right on cue. It was clear that the excitement of being on stage had restored Pat’s sparkle and, as usual, the strength of her voice carried her sisters along in their harmonies.

  As the act at the top of the bill they had a longer set of eight songs with a staggered costume change halfway through. After the third song Irene and Peggy left the stage, leaving Pat to sing the Gracie Fields number. It was to be a celebration of those going off to fight, and Peggy had choreographed it to the second. The front row of the audience had been given flags to wave and Pat was to lead them up one aisle and down the other with everyone singing the chorus, finishing with Pat back on stage for the spectacular ending of high notes.

  Backstage, Irene was getting changed. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘These trousers.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘They won’t fasten.’

  ‘What do you mean? They fitted you before.’

  ‘That was a month ago. I’m another month pregnant now.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Peggy. ‘We took the waist in to fit you, remember? We’ll just let out the stitches. I’ve got some scissors—’

  The tannoy, that allowed those in the dressing room to hear what was happening on stage, had fallen silent. Peggy’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Something’s wrong – Pat should be singing by now.’ They listened with bated breath, and then there was the sound of footsteps and Pat clearing her throat and finally speaking softly into the microphone.

  ‘I’m supposed to sing a song now about leaving the ones you love and being happy and positive about everything. Well, a lot of young men have been leaving lately to go and fight and I’d like to tell you what it feels like to be the one left behind.’

  And without any accompaniment she began to sing. ‘I’ll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places …’ and her voice had such purity of tone and emotion that a stillness passed over the audience and seemed to move backstage, along the corridors and into the dressing room to settle on the performers.

  ‘I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you …’

  Pat sang her heartbreak and the rapturous applause when the last note faded showed that all who heard her felt it too.

  By that time, Irene and Peggy had changed into US Army uniforms for their medley of American songs and, as Pat came offstage to get into her uniform, Peggy couldn’t resist a comment. ‘So much for sticking to the programme, not to mention all those wasted rehearsals!’

  ‘Well, what do you always say, Peggy? Oh yes, that’s it – I changed it for something much better.’

  After the finale, Goldstein was full of praise for his company and described Pat’s impromptu change to the programme as ‘inspired’, adding that the Gracie Fields number might still get an airing in a future concert.

  He then invited the sisters to join him at the Grand Hotel where he was meeting some of the British Army officers for a nightcap. ‘They will no doubt want to discuss concerts for the troops,’ he said, ‘and it is always helpful to have some performers there.’

  The lounge at the Grand Hotel on Royal Avenue, with its large sofas, winged armchairs and subdued lighting, was popular with Belfast’s prominent citizens and high-ranking British officers late at night. The latter were easily spotted not only by the khaki they wore, but by their loud English voices.

  ‘Over here, Mr Goldstein!’ A tall, well-built officer was on his feet, having seen them coming through the revolving door. He held out his hand. ‘Major Archie Dewer, Coldstream
Guards, so glad you could join us, we were just about to order some drinks.’ He was speaking to Goldstein, but his eyes never left the girls. ‘My, my, how lovely that you’ve brought along some of your wonderful performers. All sisters, yes? Now let me work it out …’ He looked from girl to girl. ‘You must be Sheila. Your Billie Holiday songs were thrilling.’ He had the cut-glass diction of a BBC announcer but without the formality. ‘Then we have the Golden Sisters. I know your names from the programme, but which name suits which sister?’ He pretended to consider then said, ‘You look like a Peggy to me.’

  ‘No, I’m Irene.’

  ‘Then you must be Peggy.’

  ‘No, I’m Pat.’

  He turned to the final sister. ‘At last I’ve found you, Peggy.’ He took her hand and brought it to his lips and, of course, Peggy giggled. ‘Now all of you, sit where you like, there’s plenty of room,’ he said, and still holding Peggy’s hand he led her over to the sofa and sat down beside her.

  The conversation focused on a plan for an evening’s entertainment in the officers’ mess at British Army Headquarters. The major explained, ‘We’ll have a good dinner, Mr Goldstein – you’re welcome to join us for that – followed by a show featuring a few of your performers such as these lovely girls and perhaps that striking-looking dancer. What do you think?’ Archie Dewer leaned back and slid his arm along the top of the sofa in the direction of Peggy.

  For a moment Goldstein seemed to be weighing up the major and when he spoke, his tone was cautious. ‘We don’t normally do such intimate evenings,’ he explained. ‘I have always worked on the principle that the shows should be seen by as many people as possible, particularly ordinary ranks in the military.’

  Archie Dewer smiled. ‘Absolutely agree, old chap, must look after the squaddies. Thing is, the CO is not that keen on entertainment – doesn’t want the men going all soft and sentimental. However, if he were to see the quality of your show, I think he might be persuaded, particularly if I tell him that the Americans are keen to have you for themselves.’