A Song in my Heart

  ‘And what do you say to her?’

  ‘I tell her “not yet”.’

  ‘Is there still hope, do you think?’ asked Irene.

  Pat shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know any more. I was so certain he was alive and now … it’s been so long.’

  ‘Do you remember Theresa’s brother, Sean?’ asked Irene.

  ‘Vaguely. Didn’t Ted Grimes think he was involved with the IRA?’

  ‘Yes, but he wasn’t,’ said Irene. ‘I had a letter from Theresa a while ago telling me that Sean had been killed in the D-Day landings. I felt very sad. I loved him once, but I was just a girl. It felt strange to know he’d been killed. I hadn’t seen him for so long that he had faded into a memory.’

  ‘It won’t be like that for me,’ said Pat.

  When they arrived home, Martha was standing in the hallway in front of the mirror, dressed in her Sunday best, securing her hat with a large hat pin.

  ‘Where are you going, Mammy?’

  ‘Oh, did I not mention I was going to a recital at the Ulster Hall?’

  They eyed her suspiciously. ‘No, you didn’t,’ said Irene.

  ‘Who are you going with?’ asked Pat.

  ‘With Isaac – I won’t be late.’ She picked up her handbag, opened the door and shouted over her shoulder, ‘And go easy on that coal, there’s precious little left.’

  Chapter 38

  It was almost time to go home and Pat had just finished the list of families who would be allocated one of the new prefabs, when a messenger appeared at her desk. ‘You’re wanted in the Prime Minister’s office right away,’ he said.

  The corridor leading to the most elegant part of Stormont was long and thickly carpeted and at the end of it was the general office of the Prime Minister. She went straight to his secretary, an attractive, dark-haired girl with a ready smile, and gave her name.

  ‘Wait here,’ said the girl.

  Pat had seen less and less of Sir Basil Brooke since he became Prime Minister; her work was usually overseen by senior civil servants. As she waited, she went over in her mind the most recent reports for which she had been responsible. Had she overstepped the mark with her recommendations? She was only trying to get things done and that’s what she would tell him.

  ‘The Prime Minister will see you now. Follow me.’

  She was shown into a grand room with oil paintings on the walls and a large mahogany desk, but Sir Basil was standing next to the fireplace holding a piece of paper.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Goulding. Please sit down.’ He indicated an ox-blood leather armchair. He remained standing.

  ‘Oddest thing,’ he said. ‘Had a message come through from an aide at Headquarters, Supreme Allied Command. Thought it was concerning the excellent aircraft production rate at Short Brothers & Harland. Surprised to find it was concerning you.’ He looked at the paper and handed it to her. Pat could hardly breathe. Her hand shook as she took the paper and scanned it. She gasped and she felt her eyes fill with tears.

  ‘Captain Farrelly is your fiancé, I believe.’

  Pat nodded.

  ‘I won’t ask how General Eisenhower comes to be involved, but …’ He hesitated. ‘Please don’t cry,’ he said softly.

  Pat took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. ‘I’m fine,’ she said and looked up at him and smiled.

  ‘Sometimes there are happy endings,’ he said. ‘He’s one lucky soldier your Captain Farrelly.’

  Pat was shaking. ‘Yes sir, he is. How can I say thank you to General Eisenhower?’

  ‘I’ll tell him you are very grateful for what he’s done.’

  She stood up and steadied herself. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘Good luck to you both,’ said Sir Basil and he shook her hand.

  All the way home on the bus, Pat couldn’t keep the smile off her face – it was as though she was glowing with happiness. Once or twice she opened her handbag to check she really did have a piece of paper that said Tony was alive. She hopped off the bus and ran up the street, round the side of the house and into the kitchen.

  ‘Tony’s alive!’ she shouted and burst into tears.

  Martha and Irene stared at her.

  ‘He is, he’s alive; they found him in Italy, look …’ She took the paper from her handbag and gave it to Irene to read.

  ‘My goodness,’ said Irene, ‘it’s a miracle.’

  Martha went to Pat and put her arms around her. ‘Thank the Lord. Who would have thought it, after all this time?’

  ‘I thought it, Mammy. He promised me he wouldn’t leave me and I believed him.’

  ‘If you read this, he’s been incredibly lucky,’ said Irene. ‘It sounds a bit confused, but it seems he was in an advanced position when his unit was pulled back … He was caught in heavy shelling and wounded. A German patrol found him and carried him behind their lines and then he was evacuated to an Italian hospital under German control as a prisoner of war … He wasn’t liberated until the Allies finally broke through the line and the Germans were routed. It says he’s being repatriated.’

  ‘They tried so hard to find him,’ said Pat. ‘Eisenhower himself sent Tony’s details to all battalions thinking he might have become separated from his division. Someone recognised his name when he was liberated. That’s why they sent me word that he’d been found.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Irene. ‘Eisenhower did all that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pat, smiling. ‘It’s a long story.’

  Irene gave her sister a look and laughed. ‘Pat, it doesn’t matter how he was found, it’s simply the best, most unbelievable news.’

  When Peggy came home, the story was retold and the excitement shared again. All evening they marvelled that Tony, missing for so long, had been found. The talk had turned to the wedding that had been postponed when Peggy suddenly said, ‘If Tony’s being repatriated does that mean they’ll take him back to America?’

  Irene was always up early with Alexander and she would take him downstairs so as not to wake her sisters and mother. She would light the paraffin heater in the kitchen then change him and give him his bottle. By the time Pat and Peggy got up, the pot of porridge would be simmering on the range ready for their breakfast. Usually, Martha came down as soon as she heard the girls leave the house, but Irene began to notice that she was spending longer in bed and when she came down for her breakfast she still looked tired. When Irene asked her if she was all right Martha replied, ‘Ach, I’m fine.’

  A week later Martha slept till noon and came downstairs in a temper, complaining that Irene should not have let her sleep the day away. ‘But, Mammy, you look so weary these days I thought it was best to let you sleep. Is there something the matter with you?’

  Martha looked away. ‘I don’t know. To tell you the truth I could sleep for a week.’

  ‘Will you go to the doctor?’

  ‘Not at all, sure what’s he going to do? He’ll just say it’s my age.’

  ‘I could get you a tonic,’ Irene teased her, ‘Get my own back on you for all those times you made me swallow that disgusting stuff.’

  Martha managed a smile. ‘I’ll see how I am in a couple of days.’

  That night, when Martha went to bed, Irene talked to Pat and Peggy about her.

  ‘She’s been like this a few times before and then she’s all right again,’ said Peggy.

  Irene wasn’t so sure. ‘I try to do most of the work in the house, so you’d think she’d have more energy, not less.’

  ‘Let’s give her a week,’ said Pat, ‘and if there’s no improvement we’ll get the doctor out.’

  The following day Martha complained of a sore throat and added, ‘I’m not myself, you know.’ Irene looked at her mother’s drained face, devoid of expression, and immediately wrapped Alexander up warm, put her coat on and walked down the road to fetch the doctor.

  He came in the afternoon, looked down Martha’s throat, sounded and tapped her chest, took her temperature. ‘Hmmm,’ he said. ‘You
have an infection, Mrs Goulding, and your body is busy fighting it. Your temperature is not that high so I’d say the body is winning. There’s a bit of crackling in your lungs, but that’s probably left over from the bad chest you had a while ago.’

  He turned to Irene. ‘Plenty of water, keep the room aired, and send for me if her temperature rises.’

  Overnight Martha’s temperature rose rapidly and the doctor, when he saw her, arranged for her to be taken into hospital. The girls decided that, because only one visitor was allowed, Pat would be the one to visit their mother and to talk to the doctor. Meanwhile, Irene and Peggy waited at home.

  ‘Mammy’s never been in the hospital before, has she?’ asked Peggy.

  ‘I don’t think so; she’s never mentioned it anyway.’

  ‘I can’t believe she’s ill.’

  ‘She’ll be fine, don’t worry,’ said Irene.

  ‘She looked terrible … so old.’

  They heard Pat in the hallway and were standing up when she came in to the room. They could see right away that all was not well. ‘She had a chest X-ray,’ said Pat. ‘They told me it’s pneumonia.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good,’ said Peggy. ‘Can they make her better?’

  ‘They’re giving her some tablets to help with the infection. The doctor said we’ll have to wait and see what happens.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Peggy, her voice rising. ‘Surely they should be able to say whether tablets work or not.’

  ‘There’s no point in getting angry, Peggy. The doctors will do their best.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, I’ll be the one doing the visiting tomorrow night and that doctor had better have some answers,’ she said, and stomped out of the room.

  ‘What is she like?’ said Pat.

  ‘Ach, she’s just upset.’

  ‘Irene, we’re all upset but there was no need to shout at me as if it was my fault.’

  ‘Pat, do you think we should write to Sheila?’

  ‘I don’t know. It would only worry her and the chances are she wouldn’t get any leave unless … Let’s wait to see what happens with these tablets, aye?’

  Peggy’s visit turned out to be quieter than expected, because when she got there her mother was propped up in bed, still looking pale and drained, but brighter in herself.

  Peggy had brought her some flowers. ‘They’re from Mr Goldstein and I’m to say he’s thinking about you and he sends his best wishes for your full recovery.’

  ‘That’s kind of him, they’re lovely aren’t they?’

  ‘He wants to come and see you,’ said Peggy.

  ‘Oh no, no, no.’ Martha was horrified. ‘Absolutely not, tell him it’s family visitors only. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Aye, I hear you. It seems like you’re better today – will they let you home soon?’

  ‘I’ve asked them, but they’ve said it’ll be a week maybe, just to make sure.’

  Six days later, Martha was brought home in an ambulance, with strict instructions to stay in bed for another week at least until she had finished the tablets. The ambulancemen wanted to carry her into the house on a stretcher, but she insisted on walking.

  She finished the tablets a week later and by the end of the following day her condition had deteriorated again. The doctor wanted to send her back to hospital. ‘They can make you more comfortable there,’ he said.

  ‘But can they cure me?’ asked Martha.

  ‘I can’t promise anything. The tablets didn’t work, but maybe a bigger dose might do it.’

  ‘You can prescribe the bigger dose tablets and I’ll take them, but I’ll stay in my own bed, if you don’t mind.’

  Irene was beside herself. ‘Mammy, you have to go to hospital. Please.’

  ‘I’m not going back there, Irene. It was awful. The woman in the next bed died, for goodness sake.’

  The doctor tried again. ‘Mrs Goulding, I think you’re making a mistake. You will be well looked after.’

  But Martha had exhausted herself. ‘No’ was all she said and then closed her eyes.

  That night Pat and Peggy each went to sit with their mother to try to persuade her to go into hospital. Martha listened to them, but when they had said all that could be said she just shook her head. Later, the girls discussed what should be done. They agreed Sheila should be told.

  ‘But what will we tell her?’ asked Peggy.

  ‘The truth,’ said Pat. ‘Mammy’s ill with pneumonia and the tablets they’ve given her aren’t working. She’s getting worse and she won’t go to hospital.’

  ‘That’s awful blunt, writing that in a letter,’ said Irene.

  ‘How else can you put it? If you say “Mammy’s not very well” she’s not going to come, is she? And where will we be then if Mammy—’

  ‘All right,’ said Irene, ‘I’ll send her a letter tomorrow.’

  Over the next few days the neighbours, Betty and Mrs McKee, helped Irene by minding Alexander or sitting with Martha. The doctor prescribed aspirin for the pain in her chest and suggested honey in warm water for her cough. Irene sat with her and bathed her hands and face with cold water to reduce her temperature and they talked as they hadn’t done for so long until Martha fell asleep.

  Goldstein visited every morning, walking all the way from the Antrim Road, to inquire about Martha. Irene gave him the latest news and he asked her to pass on his best wishes for a full recovery. Each time, Irene invited him to come in, but he always declined.

  By the time Sheila arrived, Martha was fading.

  ‘Where is she?’ said Sheila as soon as she came into the house. ‘Upstairs?’ She dropped her kitbag on the floor.

  Irene stepped in front of her. ‘Just a minute, Sheila. Mammy’s sleeping, don’t wake her.’

  Sheila’s eyes were wide with panic. ‘I want to see her.’

  ‘In a while, come and sit down.’

  ‘Is she any better?’ asked Sheila.

  ‘Not really. I have to say she’s getting worse.’ Irene had gone over this conversation so many times waiting for Sheila to come home and every time she had cried just thinking about it. She knew her sister’s reaction would depend on how calmly she could explain the inevitable. ‘They’ve given her the medicine for pneumonia and it hasn’t got rid of it. She’s fighting so hard, but … Sheila, it looks like she might lose the fight.’

  Sheila took a series of quick, shallow breaths and began to shake, as the shock hit. The first sob was heart-wrenching for Irene and the ones that followed, heartbreaking. She stumbled towards the door and went out into the garden. Irene let her go, but watched her through the window. Sheila stood for a long while, wiping away her tears with the cuff of her tunic, before retracing her steps to the kitchen. Irene could see she was shivering and she went to her and rubbed her arms vigorously. ‘Come and sit by the fire now,’ she said, and she made her a cup of hot sweet tea. ‘Drink this. We knew it would be a shock.’

  ‘We can’t just sit here and let her go,’ Sheila said quietly. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘You could speak to her about going into hospital, maybe she’d listen to you, but I don’t think it would make any difference. She’s just not strong enough.’

  ‘I’ll go up now to see if she’s awake and I’ll talk to her about it.’

  Martha brightened up a little when she saw Sheila, but she still wouldn’t agree to go into hospital. ‘I’d rather be at home with my girls than in a hospital ward with strangers,’ was all she said.

  Later that evening her cousins the McCrackens visited Martha. John had brought his Bible and they prayed together and he read to Martha until she fell asleep. After that they sat a while with the girls in the front room.

  ‘When Martha was a girl, you know, she was that lively you never knew what she’d be up to next,’ Aggie told them. ‘She played the piano in church and the minister would put up the hymn numbers and if she didn’t like his choice she would play what she thought was more suitable and, of course, that’s wha
t we would sing.’

  ‘That sounds familiar,’ said Pat, looking at Peggy.

  ‘We looked forward to her coming to see us every Saturday. She’d always make us laugh, always great craic,’ said Grace.

  When the McCrackens had gone, Pat went upstairs to watch over her mother a while, but when the sound of laughter filtered upstairs she went back down to see what was going on.

  Betty and Jack were there and Peggy was telling the story of Martha and the Christmas turkey. ‘How was I to know she’d bought a live turkey and left it in the bathroom? I came home from work and went straight to the toilet and the beast flew at me – frightened the life out of me.’

  Irene took up the story. ‘We were helpless, couldn’t stop laughing, but then none of us would go near the bathroom. It would still be there now if Harry Ferguson hadn’t shown up – looking for you, Peggy.’

  Later, when the girls were alone, Pat said, ‘I was thinking that we need to tell Aunt Anna about Mammy. I know she doesn’t see her sister very much, but … well, I think we should. I’ll leave work a bit early tomorrow and go and see her. And when I’ve been there I’ll go and tell Aunt Kathleen.’

  That night Martha found breathing difficult. ‘Stay with me,’ she said between the rapid, shallow breaths and Irene held her hand and told her not to worry.

  Pat was not looking forward to seeing her aunt Anna. They really should have told her about their mother’s illness sooner and Anna would no doubt make a fuss. She left Stormont early and was walking down the driveway, when a car drew up beside her and she turned to see a grand, highly polished vehicle driven by a chauffeur. The rear window was wound down and someone called her name. It was Sir Basil Brooke. ‘Can I offer you a lift, Miss Goulding?’ She was about to decline, but the chauffeur was already out of the car and opening the door for her.

  ‘You’ve finished work early today,’ he said.

  Pat blushed. ‘I was given permission to leave early, because my mother is ill and I need to tell her sister what’s happened.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear about your mother. Is it serious?’