The neck end of lamb simmering on the range filled the kitchen with a mouth-watering meaty smell. The blue potatoes still in their skins were boiling away and the carrot and turnips were ready to be mashed. Sheila was the first home and she was setting the table when Pat and Peggy came in.
‘Smells good, Mammy,’ said Pat.
‘Been out spending your coupons and pension have you?’ Peggy laughed.
‘Never mind making fun, you should be grateful you’re coming home to food on the table. There’s plenty of people who aren’t as well fed or looked after as you. Now, sit yourselves down.’
Martha wouldn’t dream of telling them about Irene’s letter until they had eaten. Decent food was hard to come by and needed to be appreciated. Besides, Irene’s letter and the news it contained would cause such uproar that the food would most certainly be forgotten and allowed to go cold. Instead, she let the girls chatter about their day as they usually did and kept the letter in her apron.
‘There’s been a lot going on today at Stormont with the big noises,’ said Pat. ‘Meetings behind closed doors, government ministers you hardly ever see coming and going in their grand cars. Word is the prime minister might resign.’
‘What, Andrews? Sure, why would he go when he’s got the best job in the country?’ said Peggy. ‘Plenty of money for telling other people what to do.’
‘I think he’s too old,’ said Pat. ‘We’d be better off with Basil Brooke, if you ask me.’
‘Oh, here we go, Pat Goulding leading the charge for Brooke again.’
‘I’m telling you, Peggy, he’s the only one in the building talking about rebuilding this city and looking after those that have nothing.’
‘Oh, spare us the politics again. Now I’ll tell you something interesting. Mr Goldstein’s going to start booking three shows a week instead of two. There are more servicemen in Northern Ireland than there’s ever been and, because there are no bombing raids for the moment, people are going out to be entertained. He gets requests from all over the place for the Barnstormers to perform. He’ll be on the lookout for new acts and he’s already told Esther and Reuben they’ll have a permanent spot in the show.’
‘That’ll be because they played so well for General Eisenhower.’
Peggy rolled her eyes, but Pat went on, ‘Maybe he might want me to sing a few arias. Did I tell you what the general said to me?’
‘Yes!’ said Peggy and Sheila in unison and Martha added, ‘Several times. Now finish eating and I’ll tell you my news too.’
The table was cleared and Martha took the letter from her apron.
‘It’s from Irene, isn’t it?’ shouted Sheila. ‘Has she had the baby? Has she, Mammy?’
Martha looked at the anxious faces of her daughters and nodded. Instantly, they were on their feet, jumping up and down, screaming and laughing and hugging each other. Then the questions: ‘When? … What is it, a boy or a girl? … Is Irene all right? … When’s she coming home?’
Martha tried to keep calm and dabbed her eyes a little. ‘It’s all in the letter, so it is, but Irene can tell it better than me.’ And she took the letter from the envelope, smoothed out the pages and began to read. Truth be told, she knew every word by heart, so many times had she read it since she opened it that morning.
Dear Mammy, Pat, Peggy and Sheila,
The baby has been born. A boy. He’s the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen. He was born in the early hours of Monday at the Necarne hospital. It’s an American hospital and an American doctor delivered him. I didn’t have him at home because there was a complication called breech birth, but the doctor knew how to fix it.
When I went to the hospital there was a big emergency because a plane had crashed and everybody was helping with the air crew, but the doctor stayed with me. Sandy came to see me and the baby as soon as he could. He couldn’t get away earlier because of the crash. I waited until he arrived to name the baby. He is called Alexander after the brave pilot in the plane, and Dennis after the doctor who delivered him.
Alexander Dennis weighs 7 pounds and has blue eyes and lots of black hair, but my friend Dorothy says that all babies have blue eyes at first. I have to stay in hospital for a week then I’ll go back to Dorothy’s. I wish you could all see Alexander. Maybe someone can come and visit me.
Yours truly, with love from
Irene
xx
When everyone had calmed down, the talk of Irene and the baby continued.
‘Mammy, I think you should go and visit Irene right away,’ said Sheila, and Pat and Peggy agreed.
Martha desperately wanted to go, but she hesitated. ‘It’s an awful long way to Fermanagh and I don’t know where I could stay. Sure, Irene’s living with people and I don’t think they’d have the room for me?’
‘Look,’ said Pat, ‘Irene’s in hospital for the best part of a week. Why don’t you send a letter tomorrow and ask if you could come and visit her once she’s out of hospital? I’m sure there must be somewhere you could stay.’
‘And you could give her all the things you’ve knitted for the baby and we could buy a present for him and you could take it,’ said Sheila.
‘What do you think, Mammy?’ asked Pat.
And Martha said simply, ‘I think I’d like to see my grandson.’
Martha quickly answered Irene’s letter, asking if there was anywhere she could stay, and a week later she stepped off the train on to the crowded platform at Enniskillen station. Irene had replied that she could stay at Dorothy’s house if she didn’t mind it being a bit cramped. She added that they were quite a way out of the town but that Davey, their neighbour, would pick her up from the train station.
The people milling around were loaded up with just about anything that could be raised or cultivated: a man had a bale of hay on his shoulders; a woman carried a wicker basket with live chicks inside. There were crates of onions, cabbages and turnips stacked on the platform. A pedlar went by with all his wares hanging from two stout poles.
Good grief, thought Martha, it’s as bad as the Twelfth of July. How on earth would she recognise the fellow they said would collect her? She squeezed through the crowds and emerged at the front of the station. The street outside was just as busy and then she heard someone call her name. A man was waving at her from across the street. ‘Mrs Goulding,’ he shouted, ‘over here!’ She crossed the road to where he was standing by a horse and cart and with a touch of his cap he acknowledged her, then laced his hands for her to climb up on to the cart.
‘How did you know it was me?’ she asked when he joined her.
‘Ach, sure, you can tell a city woman easy enough among all these country folk,’ he said. ‘Anyway, you’re carrying a suitcase and not something you’ve bought on market day.’ And he took the reins and clicked his tongue and the horse trotted off away from the crowds and out of the town.
Davey was easy company. He told her his farm was close to Dorothy’s house and, seeing as he was coming into Enniskillen anyway to bring vegetables, fish and rabbits to the market, he was happy to have company on his way home. Something about him reminded Martha of Vincent, a farmer she had met in Dungannon when Sheila was evacuated there. Maybe it was the ruddy cheeks or the soft country lilt of his voice that set her at her ease on the long road to Castle Archdale.
The late March afternoon was drawing in when they turned on to a narrow lane and followed it up an incline to a faded white cottage with a steep thatched roof. They were still a good way from it when the door flew open and Irene ran out to greet her, laughing and hugging her. Martha saw at once how Irene had filled out, which was a good sign after having a child, and what’s more her skin glowed with health. She thanked God that her daughter was looking so well.
Martha came into the house and, as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, she saw a good-sized room with an open fire and smelled the turf. She was introduced to Dorothy, a comely girl with a toddler on her hip and her little girl holding on to her mother’s ski
rt. ‘You’re very welcome, Mrs Goulding. I hope you’ll take us as you find us, we’re not very grand,’ she said shyly.
‘Never you worry yourself,’ said Martha. ‘I’m just glad to be here and it’s very good of you to put me up.’
‘Come on, Mammy.’ Irene grabbed her arm. ‘Come and see Alexander, he’s upstairs. Bring your case and I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.’
Martha’s heart was palpitating. She never thought she would feel the excitement of this moment so physically. The room under the eaves was just catching the rosy light of the setting sun and next to one of the beds was a wooden crib. Irene bent down and lifted the baby out, speaking softly to him. ‘Look, Alexander, someone very special has come to see you.’ And she brought the little bundle in a blanket to show her mother.
Martha gazed upon the most perfect little face. Did she know this face? Something there was familiar: the almond-shaped eyes; the tiny Cupid’s bow mouth; the fine bones of his tiny fingers. He was a stranger newly arrived in the world, but she did know him and his focused look told her that he recognised her too. Irene passed the child to her mother. Martha had no words to express her feelings. It was enough just to look at him. Irene was talking about the birth and his sleeping and feeding, but Martha just gazed at his face and whispered, ‘Hello, Alexander, I’m your gran.’
Chapter 17
With their mother still away in County Fermanagh, the Easter weekend gave the girls the opportunity for long lie-ins and the chance to skip church altogether on the Sunday. They got up around twelve and Sheila made a pot of porridge for them all.
‘You can tell the weather’s going to be good,’ said Pat. ‘We should make the most of it and go out somewhere for the day.’
‘Do you remember that Easter when we went to the Waterworks and rolled our eggs and went on the boats?’ said Peggy.
‘Ach, you wouldn’t want to go there now – it’s a mess after the bombing,’ said Sheila. ‘What about Bellevue, or Bangor?’
‘They’ll be packed out for sure,’ said Pat.
‘I know where we can go,’ said Peggy. ‘We’ll get dressed up and go down town to the Wings for Victory day. It’ll be like a carnival, so it will, with plenty going on and we could treat ourselves to our tea after.’
In the centre of Belfast there was a vast empty space where shops and businesses had once stood, but after bombs fell in 1941 it had been cleared and was now known as Blitz Square. As they got off the bus, the girls heard the sound of a military band playing a Sousa march and saw in the distance the sun glinting off the planes lined up in the square.
‘What does it mean, “Wings for Victory”?’ asked Sheila.
‘They’re trying to get people to buy National Savings bonds, then they’ll use the money to build more planes,’ said Peggy.
‘And it’s planes like these that are keeping the Nazis at bay,’ added Pat. ‘People say they’ll win the war for us and I think they will – in the air. But if you ask me, as time goes on, it’ll be armies on the ground that’ll put an end to this war.’
First they went to look at a Stirling bomber. Sheila stared in amazement: ‘Is this the plane that Irene built?’
In reply, there was a familiar laugh from the cockpit and they looked up to see Macy’s face staring down at them.
‘Sure is!’ she shouted. ‘Why don’t you climb up and take a look inside?’
One by one they climbed the steps, holding their skirts close around their legs, and at the top Macy reached out and helped them into the fuselage. She was dressed in her working clothes – trousers, checked shirt and turban; so different from the glamorous costumes she wore for the Barnstormers’ concerts. ‘I’ll give you the tour of Belfast’s finest,’ she said. Sheila hung on Macy’s every word, asked about the tools she used, touched the rivets, and gazed in awe at the cockpit instruments. ‘It’s incredible,’ was all she kept saying. When they left Macy, Sheila decided she wanted to see inside every plane on display, but her sisters were content to wander around in the sunshine.
Pat noticed that the cathedral next to Blitz Square was open and people were going in and out. She’d never been in the cathedral, though she had walked past it many times. A sign at the door invited people to come in to pray for an end to the fighting and for the safety of all those serving in the war. She pulled open the door and stepped inside. She was amazed at the interior: the vast, arched roof supported by stone pillars soared high above her. She marvelled at the huge stained glass windows filling the space with light. Why had she never before been inside this beautiful building right in the centre of her city?
She walked the length of the nave, past people praying, and on towards the altar. How grand it all looked with the choir stalls, the altar, the pulpit topped by a gold eagle. Oldpark Presbyterian was nothing like this. She sat in a pew and allowed the peaceful atmosphere to wash over her. She prayed for all of those fighting in the war and pictured Tony’s face in her mind’s eye, imagining him in the heat and dust of North Africa. ‘I’m here,’ she whispered. ‘Keep safe, my love.’ Over and over the same words. ‘I’m here, keep safe, my love.’ She sat completely still with just his face and these words in her head until she believed he had heard her. She didn’t know how long she sat there, but slowly she became aware of the coolness of her tears on her cheeks. It was time to go, but she knew she’d return.
She walked back down the nave towards the entrance and caught sight of an American uniform. The officer stood up and moved along the pew towards the aisle. ‘Hello Patti, how you doin’?’
‘Captain Walters, what a surprise.’
He fell into step alongside her. ‘I came to look at the planes,’ he said. ‘They kinda reassure you, don’t they? Then I saw the church was open and I thought it would be something to come in and say a prayer. It’s a mighty fine church.’
‘It is,’ said Pat. ‘It almost makes me think that God might be right here to catch our prayers.’
‘Don’t doubt it, Patti. He’s here all right.’
‘You must have a strong faith.’
He smiled. ‘Southern Baptist – lapsed though, since I came over here. Might think of coming on a Sunday morning.’
Pat stopped walking. ‘Captain Walters, can I ask you something?’
‘Sure, fire away, but please call me Joe.’
Pat gave a quick smile to acknowledge his attempt to put her at her ease and went straight to the point.
‘The North African campaign – will it be over soon?’
‘Well, I really can’t say …’
‘Captain Farrelly’s with the 34th and it’s been a while since I’ve had a letter. I just wondered …’
He took a moment to measure his words. ‘We’re on the move pushing towards Tunis, I hear. Word is it’s going well.’
‘Thank you so much,’ said Pat. ‘I just needed …’
He touched her elbow. ‘Patti, if there’s anything I can do for you, you’ve only to ask.’
‘You’re very kind,’ she said and they walked out into the sunshine.
Pat found Peggy at the makeshift stage where a band was playing and lots of people were dancing in the sunshine. She had already danced with quite a few people and had promised dances to several more, but the afternoon was drawing on and they decided to head to the NAAFI canteen set up in the square.
‘Where do you think Sheila’s got to?’ asked Pat.
‘Well, judging by the interest she’s been showing in the planes, she’s probably at the controls of one right now, looping the loop.’
‘Over the Channel in a Spitfire as we speak!’ said Pat, and they laughed.
Sheila joined them. ‘What’s so funny, you two?’
‘Just making fun of you as usual,’ said Peggy.
Pat noticed Sheila had some papers in her hand. ‘What’s that?’ she said.
Sheila’s face was suddenly animated. ‘I’ve just been talking to this woman about the WAAF.’ She held up the papers. ‘And she gave me all
this information. It sounds great.’
‘The WAAF?’
‘Women’s Auxiliary Air Force. It’s like the RAF but for women.’
‘We know that,’ said Peggy. ‘They’re the ones with the unflattering uniform, guaranteed to make them look like sacks of potatoes.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Sheila. ‘The hat’s nice.’
Peggy wrinkled her nose. ‘Nice? It looks like a mob cap with a peak.’
Sheila ignored her. ‘Anyway, they’re recruiting. The only trouble is I’m not quite old enough to join yet, but she says I can apply now if I want and I’ll get my call-up papers in a few months.’
Her sisters looked at her as if she was mad. ‘You can’t join the Forces,’ said Peggy.
‘Yes I can. What’s to stop me?’
Pat realised the conversation was racing out of control. ‘Just slow down a minute, Sheila. There are two very good reasons why you can’t join the WAAF. Number one, you’ve already got a good job at the Academy and number two, you’re engaged to be married.’
‘And why would you walk away from a very good life to join the Forces and be sent to God knows where?’ Peggy added.
‘Because I want to do something that helps bring this awful war to an end. Pat, you’re always going on about your job; how you pushed the Water Board to get supplies connected after the bombing and how you organised free school milk. I don’t want to sit in an office and file things for the rest of my life. I want to get out there and do something.’
‘But what about Charles?’ said Pat. ‘You can’t leave him now – you’ve only been engaged two minutes.’
‘Why can’t I? We aren’t getting married till the war’s over anyway. So I’ll just tell him that I’m joining up. Look at it this way, he’s a man and if he said he was going off to fight, nobody would bat an eyelid, would they?’ Sheila looked at her sisters expecting a comeback, and when they said nothing she threw her hands up in triumph. ‘There you are. You see my point, don’t you? I’ve made my decision, I’m applying for the WAAF and nobody, but nobody, is going to change my mind.’ And she stomped off.
A Song in my Heart Page 13