At Bangor, they walked from the station with all the other Belfast people, down the hill to the sea front. They leaned on the wall to look at the little scrap of beach rapidly filling up with people.
‘We’ll away round the corner,’ Martha decided. ‘There’s a better sandy beach there and less people.’
The girls had never owned a bathing costume each – there had been no need. They never went swimming together so they simply shared. But just for today, Irene and Pat had borrowed costumes from neighbours. When Pat emerged from under her towel there were howls of laughter. Mrs McKee’s bathing attire had seen better days, probably in the 1920s. Pat took it all in good humour and pretended to model it as though she was some bathing beauty. Sheila, in her elasticated costume, ran straight into the sea, screaming as soon as she hit the freezing cold water, and one by one her sisters followed. Martha settled herself on the sand and watched their antics get rougher and rougher – splashing and pushing and taking turns to lift Sheila and throw her into the sea. Eventually they came back to sit in the sun, teeth chattering and shivering as their bodies cooled. The lemonade was passed around and some bloater paste sandwiches. Then Martha took a tin from her basket.
‘I thought today should be a celebration, so I’ve got something special to eat,’ and she opened the lid to reveal a sponge cake.
‘What are we celebrating?’
‘A birthday.’
‘But it’s nobody’s birthday today.’
Martha laughed. ‘I know it’s not, but since poor Sheila’s birthday is 29 February, she only gets to celebrate every four years and you ones always tease her about that, so I thought we’d give her a birthday this year and it’s today!’
Sheila clapped her hands in delight. Martha sang ‘Happy Birthday to You’ and the others joined in. When the song ended nothing was said, but everyone was aware that Pat had only mouthed the words.
The sun rose higher in the sky and Irene and Peggy went looking for crabs in rock pools while Sheila attempted a sandcastle without a bucket or spade. Martha and Pat walked together along the edge of the water in their bare feet.
‘It’s hard to believe that only a few months ago we were in fear of our lives,’ said Martha. ‘You couldn’t get a more peaceful day than this. Gives you hope, makes you think we could come out the other end of all this destruction and misery.’
‘Mammy, I was there.’
Martha stopped, alarmed by the sudden anguish in Pat’s voice. ‘Where?’
‘In Dublin with William on the night he died.’
‘Dear God,’ Martha gasped. ‘You were there? When we spoke of his death I assumed he was in Dublin alone and you were just repeating what you’d been told. So, the two of you went off there together?’
‘It wasn’t like that! We went on business, I can’t say why, but then …’
‘Then what, Pat?’
‘He asked me to marry him, gave me a ring, then went out and got himself killed.’
‘You must have been–’
Pat cut her off. ‘I can’t say any more, I can’t bear to think of it, but I’ve wanted to tell you so much.’
Martha looked into her daughter’s eyes and saw no tears, just aching sadness. She put her arms around her and held her close.
In the afternoon they strolled along the front and ate ice cream – sliders and pokes. Then, while Martha and Pat sat on deckchairs around Pickie Pool watching the children scream with laughter and fright at Punch and Judy, the others went off to the amusement arcade. They tried the slot machines, roll a penny and then Peggy put a farthing in a sinister-looking machine called The Hangman. At first nothing happened, then there was some screeching melodramatic music and a light went on in the box to reveal a scaffold with a hangman holding a noose. As they watched, a model of a man obviously on some sort of track chugged towards the scaffold where the hangman proceeded to put the rope round the man’s neck. Only it didn’t fit quite right and when the trapdoor opened the man fell right through, leaving the noose behind.
‘I want my money back,’ shouted Peggy.
‘That was horrible,’ Sheila shuddered. ‘What’s that got to do with amusement?’
‘This is better,’ said Irene pointing at a fortune-telling machine.
‘But that’s a waste of money too,’ Peggy told her. ‘You’ll just get a card from the slot with some rubbish printed on it. I’d have a better chance of predicting your future!’
‘Go on then.’
‘You have to cross my palm with a thruppenny bit first.’
‘No, let me,’ Sheila shoved in front of Peggy. ‘I’ll do it for nothing!’ she cried, and she took Irene’s hands in her own and closed her eyes. Irene and Peggy giggled and made spooky noises, but Sheila seemed unaware of their antics. After a moment, still with her eyes closed she began to speak. ‘You’ll meet a friend, someone you haven’t seen for a while, and they’ll have news for you.’ She stopped and thrust Irene’s hands away, as the image of an empty noose flashed into her head. ‘That’s all, nothing else.’
‘That’s not much! Just as well I didn’t pay thruppence for it!’ laughed Irene.
Martha had one final treat for them before they caught the train home: fish and chips. ‘It’ll save us cooking when we get home. Betty told me the Jubilee Café is very good.’ There was a queue out the door, but they didn’t have to wait long and soon they were tucking into fish and chips with tea and bread and butter.
‘This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,’ declared Sheila.
‘But you’ve only had four,’ pointed out Peggy.
‘I know, but now I think I should have one every year at this time with a trip to the seaside as my present.’ She reached for another slice of bread. ‘We don’t have enough treats, do we?’
‘That’s because treats cost money,’ said Pat, helping herself to more tea.
‘The thing is,’ Irene said, ‘everything seems so miserable and sad, with all the bomb sites and people looking half-starved. We’ve been lucky. We still have a roof over our heads and we manage to get some food each day, but it’s hard not to get depressed by it all sometimes.’
‘I think it seems better somehow when the weather’s good. Sunshine lifts the spirits, and so does a change of scenery,’ said Martha.
‘Like the song,’ said Peggy. ‘The blue skies chase the dark clouds far away.’
‘Yes that’s it,’ said Sheila, ‘and sometimes you have to make an effort to be happy. You might not feel like smiling, but you should do it anyway. It costs nothing,’ and she gave the widest, happiest smile possible.
‘And somebody might smile back!’ Irene matched Sheila’s smile and it went round the table.
Sheila was so busy chatting to Irene as she left the café that she didn’t see the couple coming through the door. She collided with the man and in that instant the image of the empty noose flashed again before her eyes. She felt a moment of horror. Then she heard Irene call out and turned to see her speaking to the couple.
‘Theresa! How are you?’ Irene was saying.
‘I’m fine. You remember Michael, don’t you?’
Irene nodded at the handsome man with his arm around Theresa’s shoulders. She’d met him before and he still wore the same sullen expression as he had done then.
‘Are you still working at the aircraft factory?’ Theresa asked her.
Irene nodded.
‘And what about Sandy?’
‘He’s based in England at the moment. What about you?’
‘Well the big news is,’ she looked up at Michael and smiled, ‘we’re getting married.’
‘Congratulations! When?’
‘We haven’t set a date yet, but it’ll be sooner rather than later. I was going to invite you to the wedding.’
‘I’d love to come. Have you heard anything from your brother?’ Irene tried to sound casual. There wasn’t a day she didn’t think about Sean O’Hara and the last time she saw him before he fled the country.
‘Oh, Sean’s settled in America now, working in the building trade and he’s got himself a girl!’
‘I’m really pleased for him. Tell him–’
‘Irene, come on we’ll miss the train!’ Peggy shouted.
‘I’d better go. Great to see you, don’t forget to let me know about your wedding.’
‘Who were they?’ asked Sheila.
‘That was Theresa – I used to work with her at the linen mill. I don’t really know Michael.’
The train was packed, but they managed to squeeze into a carriage with another family. The guard blew his whistle and they chugged out of the station, everyone sleepy after a day in the sun.
‘We’ll meet again …’ Irene sang softly and one or two voices joined her to the end of the verse. ‘Till the blue skies chase the dark clouds far away.’
The light was fading as they approached Belfast and Martha looked at her girls who were all now dozing: Sheila with her head on Irene’s lap, Peggy leaning on Pat who rested her head against the window. ‘Count your blessings,’ Vera had said and Martha did just that: one, two, three, four.
Chapter 23
The fierce heat of August faded rapidly and September turned chilly enough to warrant a small fire in the sitting room in the evening. Martha was sitting quietly doing some sewing for Betty, turning a wooden orange box into a bedside cabinet by making an elasticated skirt to go round it and covering the top with a matching piece of material.
‘Who ever thought of doing that?’ said Peggy.
‘Well, I learned it off a next door neighbour when I was first married. It’s what they call “Make Do and Mend” these days. Sure, when you have nothing, you make do with what you have.’
‘What?’ Peggy giggled. ‘Mammy you say the daftest things sometimes!’
Martha looked up from her stitching and saw all four daughters laughing at her. ‘Ach away on with you, you know what I mean. You should be doing the same. Away and get those jumpers I knitted that are too small for you now and unravel them. Then you’ll have enough wool to knit something else.’
‘Ach, sure we’re better singers than knitters,’ said Peggy. ‘Which reminds me, does anyone fancy running through a few songs for the next Barnstormers’ concert? Did I tell you I’m the new assistant director?’
‘Yes!’ they chorused. ‘A hundred times!’
Peggy sat at the piano and played a few bars of ‘We’ll Meet Again’.
‘I thought you hated that song,’ said Irene.
‘I do,’ said Peggy, ‘but Goldstein has me playing lots of Vera Lynn to bring the customers into the shop, so he’ll probably want a few in the next concert. Sheila, you sing as well if you want. Come on, everybody on your feet, you too Pat.’
‘I don’t think–’
‘Oh come on, it’s only us.’
Reluctantly Pat joined her sisters round the piano and Peggy played the introduction. Martha pretended to continue sewing, but sneaked a look at Pat. The introduction ended and Pat opened her mouth to sing. Her sisters’ voices rang out strongly, but all of them knew there was a voice missing. They sang to the end of the first verse and Peggy stopped playing.
‘Do you want to try it again, Pat?’
‘No,’ Pat’s voice was no more than a whisper.
‘You can do it. Come on. How many times have you sung this song?’ There was a touch of frustration in Peggy’s tone.
Pat stiffened. ‘I can’t do it!’
‘Of course you can.’
‘Leave her be,’ Martha was on her feet. ‘Can’t you see she can’t?’
‘If she’d only try–’
But Pat had already left the room.
Peggy had promised that the Golden Sisters would be at the next Barnstormers rehearsal, but she didn’t specify which sisters. Irene and Sheila had practised with her every night, but it was clear that without Pat their distinctive sound could not be replicated. Instead, there was something, not off key, but slightly out of kilter about the blend of voices. When they arrived at the rehearsal hall it was already packed and the noise levels were high. She left Irene and Sheila chatting to Macy and went in search of Mr Goldstein. He had a good ear, maybe he could fix it.
When the Templemore Tappers arrived, late as usual, Goldstein called for silence. ‘Our next concert will be in three weeks’ time at the British Legion. They want to raise funds for the St John’s Ambulance Brigade and, provided there is no more bombing between now and then, we can expect a sizeable audience. Peggy, our new assistant director’ – the performers cheered – ‘has drawn up a running order and I hope those of you who need accompaniment have already provided her with your music. Let us get started and don’t forget – pace, pace, pace!’
The acts came and went and it was clear that Goldstein was determined to raise the standard. Those who thought they could get away with sloppy performances were given detailed notes on how to improve. Then it was the turn of the Golden Sisters, with Sheila replacing Pat in the line-up. On stage they looked every inch the professional performers and the first song ‘I’ll Take Romance’ was lively, confident and engaging. Throughout it Goldstein leaned forward, his head turned to one side to better concentrate on the sound, and let them proceed without interruption. They took their bow and waited for his comments. He said nothing.
They waited and eventually Peggy spoke, ‘Mr Goldstein–’
He held up his hand. ‘The first verse again please.’
Once more he listened intently and when they had finished he said, ‘Same again, but this time just Sheila.’
Sheila glanced at Irene who nodded encouragement. Sheila sang. Goldstein listened.
‘Now sing it again, Sheila,’ he said, ‘only this time without accompaniment and sing it the way you would if there was no one listening.’
The rest of the performers, curious to know what was going on, stopped chatting and focused on the solitary figure on stage. Sheila bowed her head, raised it, took her breath and began to sing. Slower this time, unclouded by harmonies, the beauty of her voice and the way in which she interpreted the melody revealed the emotion of each phrase.
It was well past six when the girls arrived home, disturbing the tranquillity of Martha’s evening with their chatter and laughter.
‘Oh, Mammy, you’ll never guess what’s happened!’
Martha looked up from her knitting. ‘I’m sure I won’t, so why don’t you just tell me.’
‘Our Sheila’s going to sing solo in the next Barnstormers’ concert,’ announced Peggy.
‘You’ll never believe the way she can sing – all sort of jazzy and … and … different!’ said Irene.
‘She’s to learn a whole new repertoire and I’m to decide on the songs,’ Peggy’s voice rose with excitement. ‘I’ll be her musical director and we’re going to have some Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday–’
‘Just hold your horses a minute,’ Martha cut Peggy off in full flow. ‘What’s all this about? I thought Sheila was just standing in at the rehearsals until Pat felt up to singing again. Now you’re telling me she’s going to be the star of the show. Learning new songs, is it? Well, I’ll tell you something for nothing. Sheila’s got more important things to do than spend her days learning songs – like finding herself a job!’
‘Mammy, you don’t understand,’ Peggy explained. ‘Mr Goldstein says Sheila has a rare talent and she could go far in the business.’
‘Ach, catch yourself on, Peggy Goulding! I’ll not have you filling Sheila’s head with a load of nonsense.’
At that moment Sheila spoke up. ‘Mammy I want to do this. When I stand on the stage on my own and sing the way I want to sing, it just feels so … so right.’
‘Sheila love, that’s all very well, but you’re only young and your first priority is to get a job.’
‘But I have a job at the McCracken’s shop. I can do that and still sing.’
‘That’s not a proper job – a few hours a week. You’re the one said you wanted a good j
ob in an office or something like that.’
‘But everybody there today said I was very good. They said I could sing professionally – maybe get a job with a dance band.’
Martha hit the roof. ‘God give me strength!’ she shouted. ‘Not another one with her head turned. I never thought I’d hear the like from you, Sheila.’ Martha stood up. ‘I despair of the lot of you!’ She flung down her knitting and headed for the door. ‘I’m away out of here.’
‘Away where, Mammy?’ asked Sheila.
‘Church,’ she shouted over her shoulder, ‘to ask God to give me patience, for I’m in sore need of it!’
The following morning Martha did not get up early to make the girls’ breakfasts. There was bread and butter and porridge, if they could be bothered to make it, or they could go to work hungry. She lay in bed and listened as each one left the house, rising only when she heard Sheila wheel her bike down the path. From the bedroom window, she watched her pedal off down the street, on her way to do a few hours’ work at the McCracken’s.
She wandered into the bedroom Peggy and Sheila shared and stared at the unmade bed, the clothes on the floor, make-up on the dressing table. She shook her head and left, closing the door behind her. In Pat and Irene’s room the scene was much the same, with the addition of two dirty cups on the dressing table. Instinctively, she lifted them, changed her mind, set them down again. That’s when she saw the envelope: British Forces franking mark, a Ballyhalbert address in Sandy’s writing, crossed out and, in another hand, redirected to Joanmount Gardens. She picked it up. It had been opened. She hesitated, set it back on the dressing table and went downstairs.
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