‘They’re shopping of course,’ laughed Peggy, ‘and we could do with a hand.’ For the next half hour Goldstein, Esther and Peggy served customers until they found themselves alone once more and staring at the open till, bursting with copper, silver and notes.
Goldstein gathered up the money. ‘What on earth happened? I’ve not seen anything like that since last Christmas Eve.’
Esther began to giggle.
‘What have you two been up to?’
‘Peggy had an idea, she–’
‘Ssssh!’ said Peggy, but she was laughing too.
Goldstein folded his arms and stared at his two assistants. ‘Come on, out with it.’
‘You have to promise not to be angry,’ said Esther.
Her uncle lifted his shoulders and raised his hands, palms upwards. ‘You have put money in the till. Why would I be angry?’
‘Because we opened the door and Esther invited people to come in,’ Peggy confessed.
‘And Peggy played the piano.’
Goldstein studied their faces. ‘And …’
Peggy and Esther looked at each other and giggled again. ‘And we all had a good sing-song!’
‘A sing-song! In my shop?’
‘You said you wouldn’t be angry.’
‘I’m not angry. I’m confused,’ and he took himself off to his office to count the takings.
Martha had stripped the beds and put the sheets to soak in the bath with a bit of bleach. She was just going back upstairs to tidy the girls’ rooms when there was the slap of the letterbox and a brown envelope landed on the mat. It looked ominous, official, and must surely be a bill of some kind. Martha sat on the bottom stair and scanned the letter quickly. How had this come about? She read it again and, as realisation dawned, anger rose within her. How dare she! And without a word to anyone!
Just then there was a shout. ‘Are you in, Martha?’ It was Betty from next door. Martha shoved the letter into her apron pocket and went quickly through the sitting room into the back kitchen.
‘Jack’s been clearing out the vegetable beds ready for summer planting,’ said Betty. ‘I brought you a few cabbages, they’re good enough for soup,’ and she put them on the draining board.
‘Ach, that’s kind of you, Betty. Don’t know what we’d do without your Jack – he’s a one-man Dig for Victory campaign!’
‘Sure he loves it, gets him out of the house. He’s tried for an allotment, you know, but you can’t get them for love nor money.’
‘Well any time he wants to come round and dig up my garden he’ll be very welcome!’ laughed Martha.
‘Thank heavens we were able to sleep right through last night, first one without an air-raid warning since the bombing.’
‘Aye, be thankful for small mercies. Do you stay in your bed when there’s an alert?’
‘Not any more I don’t, not after last time. I wish to God we had somewhere else to go, well away from Belfast.’
‘Would you leave your house?’
‘Certainly would.’
Martha touched the letter in her apron pocket. ‘They’re going to start evacuating children again, you know. There’s a chance Sheila could go, but I’m not sure …’
‘Away on with you! Why would you keep her here?’
Why indeed, thought Martha.
Betty went on, ‘And it’s not like she’s a little one who’d fret and pine. She’s a big girl.’
‘Aye, maybe you’re right.’
When Betty had gone, Martha rinsed the sheets, put them through the mangle and hung them on the line. Later, when they were dry, she took them down, ironed them and put them back on the beds, and all the time she wrestled with the problem of what to do about Sheila and what she’d say to Pat.
The cabbage soup proved an unexpected success thanks to the floury dumplings and an accidental slip of the hand when Martha was adding the pepper. It was Peggy and Sheila’s turn to do the dishes but, when they stood to clear the table, Martha said, ‘Leave all that, we need to talk about something.’ All four daughters turned to her, struck by the strange tone in her voice. ‘I’ve had a letter today,’ she told them, ‘telling me that Sheila is on a list to be evacuated.’ Suddenly she was bombarded by questions, only Pat said nothing.
‘That’s not fair,’ shouted Sheila.
‘Where’s she being sent?’ Irene wanted to know.
‘When’s she going?’ asked Peggy.
‘I’m not going!’ snapped Sheila.
Martha held up her hands. ‘Just stop a minute, will you? We’re going to discuss this without anybody getting annoyed and you’ll all have your say. The letter says the evacuees will leave on Sunday and Sheila is to go to Coleraine.’
‘Evacuees?’ said Peggy.
‘It’s what they call people being evacuated.’
‘Where’s Coleraine?’ asked Irene.
‘God knows, somewhere out in the country.’
Sheila folded her arms and scowled. ‘I’m not going!’
Martha spoke gently. ‘Sheila, think carefully please. Remember we talked about it being an adventure, a chance to go somewhere different and meet new people?’
‘That’s just it! I won’t know anyone. And what about school?’ Sheila was close to tears and searching her sister’s faces for some support. ‘I’ll finish in the summer and I’ll find a job and earn some money.’
‘God save us,’ said Martha. ‘We could be bombed out by then and there’d be no jobs for any of you.’
‘If you go, I’ll have the bedroom to myself,’ said Peggy.
‘What kind of a thing is that to say to your sister!’
Sheila sat bolt upright at a sudden thought. ‘Wait a minute. Why is my name on a list? How did it get there?’ The questions hung in the air.
Pat, who had listened in silence to the increasingly angry argument spoke softly, ‘I’m just going to say what I think,’ and she paused to collect her thoughts. ‘We know there’ll be more bombing very soon. Don’t we all want Sheila to be safe? This chance has come her way and if we refuse it and something happens to her …’ Pat struggled to find the words to persuade them. ‘She just has to go.’
Irene knew Pat was right, but sending Sheila away against her will would be heartbreaking for them all. ‘Maybe there isn’t a perfect answer to this,’ she began, ‘but what if Sheila could go and stay a wee while, until the beginning of the summer holidays, that’s not too long. Then, if there have been no bombings in the meantime, she could come home. What do you think?’ She looked around at her family.
Martha was the first to speak. ‘And, Sheila, maybe I could visit you after a few weeks.’
‘You could take your bike.’ Irene was warming to the idea.
‘You’d get well fed in the country,’ said Peggy.
‘Perhaps that’s a solution,’ said Martha. ‘A holiday in the country, then come back here and find a nice job. What do you say, Sheila?’
Sheila said nothing, just left the room and went upstairs to throw herself on her bed.
‘I see she’s got out of doing the dishes now,’ grumbled Peggy.
‘Irene, will you give Peggy a hand?’ said Martha and went into the sitting room, nodding at Pat to follow her.
‘Well, miss, what have you to say for yourself?’
‘Honestly, Mammy, I did it for the best. They had this list in work where we could put forward names of children to be evacuated. They’re trying to get the programme going again. You remember last time when hardly any children went? This’ll be the first evacuation since the bombings and they want it to work, so the first buses will be full of Stormont workers’ relatives.’
Martha shook her head. ‘That’s as maybe, Pat, but you’d no right to do that without consulting me.’
‘And in the meantime all the places would have gone!’
‘You girls forget sometimes that I’m the mother in this house, so don’t let me catch you going behind my back again. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,
Mammy.’
Martha knocked on the door to Sheila and Peggy’s bedroom and went in. The room was in darkness. She went to the window and closed the blackout curtains before switching on the light. Sheila was lying facing the wall. Martha sat on the edge of the bed.
‘Sheila, I can’t drag you down the town and push you on a bus and make you go. But maybe this is for the best. You know we just want you to be safe.’
Sheila didn’t respond so Martha went on, ‘Sometimes things happen for a reason. They’re just meant to be. You’re on this list to be evacuated and, to tell you the truth, I think it’s God’s will that you should go.’
It was still dark when Sheila and Martha made their way through the deserted city centre. Sheila had said goodbye to her sisters the previous night. Irene gave her half a crown, Pat some handkerchiefs still in their box and Peggy a new hairbrush. Sheila was the only one who didn’t cry; she’d slowly reconciled herself to the idea of being evacuated over the preceding days. ‘You’ll all write to me, won’t you?’ she’d urged them and they said they would. ‘Promise you’re going to come and visit me?’ she’d pleaded and Martha promised. ‘I can take my bike, can’t I?’ she’d asked and Martha had said, ‘Why not?’
In Great Victoria Street, they joined the procession of people walking towards the bus station, many of them laden with cases and trunks, some pushing prams piled high with children or household items. As they got nearer, they saw a crowd of people sitting on the pavement, many wrapped in blankets, all looking exhausted and cold.
Just then a bus pulled into the station and all around them people leapt to their feet, gathered up their belongings and rushed towards it. Amid screams and shouts, the strongest and most ruthless pushed their way to the front. A fight broke out next to Martha and close by a mother was desperately trying to hold on to her child’s hand, while the force of people moving forward dragged him away from her. Within minutes the bus was full and pulling away from the kerb, leaving those behind crying or cursing in frustration.
Martha spotted several policemen standing nearby, none of whom had made any attempt to control the crowd. ‘Was that the bus to Coleraine?’ she asked them.
‘Who knows?’ one laughed.
‘Who cares?’ said another. ‘Most people aren’t bothered where they end up as long as they get as far away from Belfast as possible. The driver’ll take them where the majority want to go.’
Martha showed them her letter from Stormont. ‘But I was told my daughter was being evacuated to Coleraine, now you’re telling me she could end up anywhere?’
‘Ah no, missus, this is different. Go down the side street here and you’ll see there are special buses laid on for the unaccompanied children. Just show your letter to the evacuation officer.’
Around the corner, the sight of a hundred or more children and their parents saying goodbye stopped Martha in her tracks and all her fears surfaced again. What was she doing, sending Sheila away to God-knows-what? How easy it would be to turn on her heel and take her daughter back home.
‘Mammy, what is it?’ Sheila’s face was full of concern. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No, I …’ but the moment of doubt had passed. Martha struggled to hold a smile and say something positive. ‘Sheila, remember you’re going to the country because that’s where you’ll be safe, but if you need me, just write and I’ll come.’
‘I know, Mammy, I know.’
The evacuation officer checked the letter, ticked Sheila’s name on his sheet and directed them to join the queue for the first bus. All around them the children’s faces reflected their fear and excitement. Few of them would ever have spent a night away from their own beds and a Sunday School excursion once a year would have been the longest journey they had ever made. The parents’ faces were strained with the worry of it all. The last few days would have been filled with the practicalities of choosing, then washing, ironing and finally packing the clothes in the recommended pillowslip with a drawstring top. Now there seemed only trivial things to say at this dramatic moment. ‘Don’t forget to wash behind your ears.’ ‘Remember your manners.’ ‘Say your prayers.’
Martha hugged Sheila and kissed her cheek, ‘You look after yourself, love. Remember to speak up and be afraid of no one.’
‘I will, Mammy,’ and Sheila lifted her bike on to the platform and climbed up after it.
‘Hey you!’ They turned to see the driver rushing towards them. ‘Get that contraption off my bus!’
Sheila didn’t move. ‘Why?’
‘Is she not allowed to take it?’ asked Martha.
‘No, missus, I’m not taking bikes on the bus. There’s no room.’
Sheila pointed to the roof of the bus. ‘You could put it up on the luggage rack for me.’
‘I’m not struggling to put a bike up there.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s not safe! Now are you gettin’ that bike off the bus or not, because we’re ready to go?’
‘I’m not going without it!’ Sheila was ready for an argument, but Martha could sense her child’s panic.
‘Then you’re not going,’ said the driver.
‘You can’t stop me!’
The break in Sheila’s voice brought Martha close to tears, but the last thing she wanted was to have a scene there on the pavement. She could insist Sheila leave the bike, but it was likely she meant what she said about not going without it. The only alternative was to follow the voice that screamed in her head, ‘Take her home!’
‘Now then, if you were wanting to go on my bus to Dungannon I could certainly take a young lady and her bike because I’ve got plenty of room.’ It was the driver shouting from the cab of the bus behind.
‘Dungannon?’ said Martha.
‘That’s right, the grumpy oul fella who won’t let you on his bus is going to Coleraine. This is the Dungannon bus.’
Martha turned quickly to Sheila. ‘I think Dungannon sounds a good place to ride a bike. What do you think?’
‘Dungannon it is then,’ said Sheila and she bumped her bike off the platform.
As the Dungannon bus pulled away Sheila slid back the top half of the window, stuck a hand out and waved. ‘Bye, Mammy!’
Martha felt the tears chill on her cheeks, but didn’t wipe them away. She simply smiled and blew her youngest daughter a kiss and waved until the bus disappeared round the corner.
Chapter 6
The bus up the Antrim Road to Bellevue Gardens was crowded with people from the city off to spend a Sunday afternoon in the late April sunshine. Pat managed to get a seat downstairs next to an elderly lady who told her she was meeting her daughter and grandchildren to visit the zoo.
‘And what about you, dear, meeting someone are you?’
‘Just a friend from work.’
‘I’m sure he’s very handsome.’
‘Oh it’s not like that,’ Pat blushed.
‘But it might be after today,’ the old lady smiled.
William was already there at the entrance. He looked different dressed in a sports jacket, flannel trousers and an open-necked shirt – younger, less earnest-looking. He waved and she walked to meet him, keeping her eyes on the ground, knowing he was watching her. It was the first time this year that she had worn a summer dress. She was conscious of the thinness of the material and was glad to have a cardigan draped over her shoulders and fastened with the top button at her neck.
They joined the throng of people walking up the steep hill to the entrance. All around them there was chatter and laughter. Pat and William walked in silence, both feeling awkward about what to say. Now and again, they glanced at each other and smiled.
The previous night Pat and Irene had sat in their bedroom, talking in whispers about what Irene had insisted was a first date. ‘Just relax and be yourself. Let him do the worrying. If he’s interested in you, he’ll have to find a way to tell you.’
‘But I won’t know what to talk about.’
‘Pat, when have yo
u ever been short of words? Look, if you’re stuck, talk about singing or work … best of all get him to talk about himself. Oh yes, and if he offers to pay for anything, you’re definitely on a date!’
They joined the queue at a kiosk next to a turnstile and Pat took her purse from her handbag.
‘No Pat, this is my treat.’
‘That’s very kind of you, William,’ and with a rush of confidence she added, ‘have you been here before?’
‘Never,’ he replied and took her hand. ‘Have you?’
They walked through the formal gardens, cut and trimmed with geometric precision, and past beds of daffodils, where Pat asked how he’d become interested in singing. He’d been a boy soprano in the school choir, he told her. On past the cream narcissi, while he talked about amateur operatic shows, Gilbert and Sullivan mostly. By the time they reached the tulip beds, Pat knew this would be one of the most memorable days of her life.
They sat for a while on a bench, where he let go of her hand to put his arm around her. ‘What did your mother say when you told her you were meeting me today?’
Pat knew she ought to tell him the truth – that her mother didn’t know she was with him – but that would break the spell of this warm April day, heavy with the scent of flowers and the touch of William’s fingers caressing her neck. ‘She said I should take a coat, because it’s going to rain.’
William didn’t detect the nervousness in her laugh; he saw only the blush on her cheeks and the pink of her lips and bent to kiss her. The kiss lingered longer than she could ever have imagined. She gave herself up to the moment: his fingers in her hair, his arm on her back pulling her towards him and above all his lips so intimate she could hardly breathe.
His mouth left hers, but she didn’t move; her head remained tilted, her eyes still closed, her breath came back, quick and shallow.
‘Pat,’ he whispered.
She opened her eyes. ‘William, I …’ but she had no words.
Golden Sisters Page 6