Golden Sisters

by Alrene Hughes

  Dressed in her Sunday coat and hat, Martha caught the trolley bus to the city centre and walked the ten minutes to May Street National School. She crossed the empty playground and paused in front of the closed doors while she found her handkerchief and wiped her face. That was the trouble with her sister-in-law, Kathleen Goulding, she always made Martha nervous. She was what Martha would describe as well-to-do with her big house on the Cregagh Road and her position as headmistress. Right from the start, Kathleen had disapproved of her brother marrying the daughter of a blacksmith and over the years she had kept her distance. But Martha knew that Kathleen, though she would never admit it, had a soft spot for Pat. Maybe because she recognised something of herself in her, the soprano voice, a love of opera, the auburn hair.

  A bell sounded and the door swung open leaving Martha startled as dozens of noisy children ran past her into the fresh air.

  ‘Good heavens, Martha, what on earth are you doing here?’ Kathleen had followed the children out into the playground.

  ‘Hello, Kathleen, would you have a few minutes to talk to me?’

  ‘I suppose I have, but it’ll have to be outside – I’m on duty today,’ and she began to walk around the perimeter of the playground, her eyes trained on the children. Martha hurried after her, trying to match her long stride.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about the girls–’

  ‘You, boy, stop that at once!’

  ‘Well, it’s Pat really that’s the problem.’

  ‘Pat’s a problem?’

  ‘No … yes … Look, I know you’ve helped Pat in the past with her singing.’

  ‘Some voice training, yes.’ A child rushed up to them. ‘No, Edith, I can’t watch you just now, I’m speaking to this lady.’

  Martha collected her thoughts and started again. ‘You heard about William Kennedy?’

  ‘Indeed I did, from acquaintances at Stormont, a terrible tragedy.’

  ‘Well, it’s hard to explain, but since William’s death Pat hasn’t sung a note. I don’t know whether it’s because she can’t or she won’t. Kathleen, you know what singing means to her and it breaks my heart–’

  ‘Martha, if you’ve come here in the middle of the school day expecting me to explain why Pat has stopped singing, then I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. I have no experience of such matters.’

  ‘Oh, I just thought …’ Martha sighed. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you,’ and she turned away.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Kathleen snapped. ‘I was about to say that I have, however, heard of children who have stopped speaking as a result of experiencing a tragic event.’

  Martha brightened. ‘Maybe you could–’

  Kathleen held up her hand. ‘All I’m saying is I’ll give the matter some thought.’

  They walked a while in silence and stopped to watch some girls play three-ball against a wall.

  ‘You think rearing them is hard,’ said Martha, almost to herself, ‘but letting them go is harder.’

  ‘You said “girls”.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You wanted to talk about the girls, not just Pat.’

  ‘Yes, the truth is I’m worried about Sheila as well. She’s finished school and she needs a decent job. She’s bright, you know, did very well–’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t stand here chatting,’ Kathleen interrupted her. ‘I have to go and sort out those boys over there before someone gets hurt,’ and off she went, striding across the playground. ‘Stop that immediately, do you hear!’

  That evening around the tea table, Irene announced that she’d been invited to Theresa’s wedding reception on Saturday night. ‘You remember we met her in Bangor. It’s in her uncle’s bar, and there’s going to be food and music. She was waiting for me tonight when I came out of work to tell me about it. I was with Macy and she invited her along too, so I wouldn’t be on my own.’

  Martha laid down her knife and fork and stared at Irene. ‘Would this be the same bar you were in when you collapsed and ended up in the Royal Hospital at death’s door?’

  ‘Mammy, that was over two years ago. And you’re not being fair. It wasn’t Theresa’s fault I got blood poisoning; it was because I cut my hand that first day at the aircraft factory.’

  Martha gave a thin smile. ‘Oh yes, but it was Theresa who was the cause of you losing a perfectly good job in the linen mill and having to find another more dangerous job in the aircraft factory.’

  ‘The linen mill sacked Theresa because she’s a Catholic. I couldn’t stand by and let that happen. It was a matter of principle!’

  Martha ignored her. ‘Away you girls into the front room. I want a word with Irene in private.’

  When they’d gone, Martha turned again to Irene. ‘So, we’re talking principles are we? Well, what kind of principles is it that makes you think deceiving your husband is the right thing to do?’

  ‘Deceiving? What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean letting the man think you’re still in Ballyhalbert, when clearly you’re not!’

  Irene looked as though she’d been slapped in the face. She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out except a scream of frustration and she ran out of the kitchen, through the front room and up the stairs. Martha followed her, but Pat caught her arm.

  ‘Stop this, Mammy.’

  Martha shrugged her off. ‘No, I’ll have this out with her.’

  She made it as far as the turn of the stairs. Irene was standing at the top, Sandy’s letter in her hand.

  ‘How dare you read my letter!’

  ‘I didn’t read it – why would I? It’s private.’

  ‘Well, that’s never stopped you before! Sure, didn’t you write to Sandy the last time he was away without telling me. I’m fed up with it! You’re always interfering in our lives.’

  ‘I was trying to help.’

  ‘But it’s none of your business! I’m twenty-three. I’m a married woman!’

  ‘Then you’d better start acting like one!’

  Chapter 24

  They could hear music from the end of the street, and with it the babble of voices and sudden raucous laughter. The door of the bar was open and light spilled out onto the pavement in defiance of the blackout. Outside some men stood around, glasses in hand. As Macy walked into the pool of light there were whistles and shouts in her direction.

  ‘I told you you’d cause a stir dressed like that,’ said Irene. ‘I doubt if they’ve ever seen a dinner suit around here, let alone a woman wearing one.’

  Inside was crowded, but they found Theresa standing at the bar dressed in a cream lace wedding dress and matching mantilla.

  Irene hugged her friend. ‘Theresa, you look lovely. Your dress is beautiful.’

  ‘It was my mother’s. She always said I would wear it one day. Mind you, it’s been in the pawn so many times it’ll find its own way back there on Monday.’ Michael appeared at her side, smiling for once and shook hands with Irene and Macy.

  ‘And this is my brother Finn,’ he said. Irene and Macy looked from one brother to the other. ‘Yes, I know, we’re the spit of each other.’

  ‘You’re twins?’ asked Irene.

  ‘No, I’m the oldest by a year,’ said Michael.

  ‘And I’m the smartest by a country mile,’ said Finn, with a glint in his eye. ‘And who have we here?’

  Theresa introduced them. Finn shook Irene’s hand, but his eyes never left Macy’s face.

  ‘Hi, glad to meet you,’ Macy held out her hand and Finn took it and pulled her towards him.

  ‘Macy with the smiling face, will you dance with me?’

  ‘But the music’s stopped.’

  ‘I can change that.’

  Finn, with his arm around Macy’s waist, guided her across the room to where the fiddler was enjoying a drink. After a brief conversation with Finn, he started playing again and moments later Finn and Macy waltzed out the door and into the street to the strains of ‘My Wild Irish Rose’.

 
‘Well, I’ll leave you two to have a gossip,’ Michael winked, ‘but keep an eye on your friend, Irene.’

  ‘Maybe you should go after her,’ Theresa suggested.

  ‘No, she’ll be fine. She’s a big girl,’ said Irene. ‘Anyway, tell me about today. You had good weather, didn’t you?’

  ‘Aye, it’s been a lovely day. I only wish my mother could have been here to see it … but I’m thankful for small mercies; my father was there to give me away.’

  ‘They released him from prison?’

  ‘I think in the end they had to. It wasn’t as if he’d committed a crime. The internment was to get suspected IRA men off the streets in case they’d somehow help the Germans. I suppose they realised that wasn’t going to happen.’

  ‘So what about Sean, will he be able to come back now?’ Irene held her breath.

  ‘No, he’ll never come back. He’s still officially a wanted man, even though there’s no evidence against him. He’s better off in America anyway. He loves it there.’

  The musicians had gathered again around the fire and began a lively jig.

  ‘Come on,’ laughed Theresa. ‘The hooley’s about to begin!’

  The tables were pushed back and soon the floor was crowded with dancers including Macy, easily spotted towering above the other women and still in Finn’s arms. Irene danced with several partners and it seemed to her that the pace of the music speeded up with each tune until her head was light with all the spinning around.

  When the dancers were tired and the musicians thirsty, there was a break. Irene found her way back to Theresa who nodded towards two women who were now standing in front of the fire and facing the crowd.

  ‘Lilters,’ she whispered. ‘They’re famous round here, Kitty and Nora, been doing it since they were wee girls.’

  Three taps of their feet and they began to sing, but it was like no singing Irene had ever heard. There were no words only strange melodious sounds that made the heart soar and Irene smiled in delight.

  Theresa touched Irene’s arm, ‘I’m going to say hello to some people who’ve just arrived.’ She leaned closer, ‘and if I was you, I’d go and rescue Macy. She’s surrounded by the sort of fellas she should be stayin’ well away from.’

  Irene found Macy seated in the midst of several young men. ‘There you are.’

  Macy raised a glass of porter in Irene’s direction. ‘You’re sure missin’ some great craic from these guys.’ Her eyes were bright, her smile huge.

  ‘I think it’s time for us to go,’ said Irene. ‘We don’t want to miss the last bus.’

  Macy moved even closer to Finn to make room for Irene to sit down. ‘Come and join us. Hey, you haven’t got a drink. Someone get Irene a drink.’

  ‘No it doesn’t matter, we’re going now.’

  But Macy, her voice too loud and shrill, insisted. ‘Sit down and have a drink, Irene.’

  At that moment a man began to sing, unaccompanied, a song about a boy caught up in some heroic deed. The tune was poignant and the words heartbreaking, and those around her joined in the chorus. Surrounded by strangers, Irene suddenly felt overwhelmed by the smell of stale beer and cigarettes, by the unfamiliar music and the tragic tale of Kevin Barry.

  ‘Macy, we’ve got to go, it’s getting late.’

  ‘But there’s gonna be more dancing.’

  ‘But I have to go and I don’t want to leave you here,’ Irene was close to tears.

  ‘I’ll be fine, you go on,’ said Macy. ‘Finn’s gonna walk me home,’ and she nestled even closer to him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Irene hesitated.

  ‘She’ll be safe with me.’ Finn stroked Macy’s hair, whispered in her ear and she threw back her head and laughed.

  Outside, a full moon the colour of straw lay low in the sky – a bombers’ moon. Irene pulled her coat tightly around her and took a headscarf from her bag. She kept her head down and walked as quickly as she could along the pavement’s edge away from doorways and alleys. At least there was light enough to see where she was going. At a corner further down the road a group of men were standing and as she passed they called out to her. She didn’t respond and, although they continued to shout after her, they didn’t follow her.

  On the main road she heard the sound of a bus and realised there was a stop just yards in front of her. The bus slowed to let someone off and she hopped on, sitting just inside, close to where the conductor was standing. In the centre of the city, she was relieved to find a trolley bus going as far as Cliftonville Circus, leaving her with a ten-minute walk home. Nothing to worry about, she’d be safe in her own area.

  It was late when she got home. No one was up, but Irene knew her mother would be awake and listening. She felt for the key on the string behind the letterbox. It wasn’t there. Had Martha in her disapproval locked her out? Round the back of the house, on the drain, under the scrubbing brush she found the back door key. Inside the house, it was pitch-black, not a chink of moonlight came through the blackout curtains. Irene felt her way past the sink and round the kitchen table to the door. She went into the front room and got her bearings, china cabinet on the left, arm of the settee on the right.

  ‘Argh!’ She touched warm flesh. ‘Mammy is that you?’

  ‘Irene?’

  ‘Sandy!’ She sensed him swing his legs off the settee and stand up. She reached out to touch him. ‘Sandy, is that you?’

  ‘Yes it’s me. What time is it?’

  ‘I don’t know – not too late.’

  ‘Where have you been?’

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she felt her way across the room to the light switch.

  He blinked rapidly in the bright light and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Irene caught her breath at the sight of him, stripped to the waist, his shirt and air force tunic over the back of the armchair. He ran his hand through his thick auburn hair, his brown eyes looked so sad – her husband, her handsome husband.

  She moved towards him, her arms outstretched. He stood quite still, arms by his side.

  ‘You left Ballyhalbert,’ he said.

  ‘I needed to come home. I couldn’t– ’

  ‘You left without telling me.’

  ‘I didn’t want to upset you.’

  ‘Upset me!’ he raised his voice. ‘I went there to find you. They said you left the same day I did.’

  ‘Sssh, sssh,’ Irene tried to quieten him. ‘You’ll wake everyone.’

  He shook his head in disbelief, but when he spoke he lowered his voice and spat out his words, ‘You made me look stupid!’

  There was the creak above them and instinctively they both looked towards the ceiling. ‘Someone’s on the landing,’ said Irene. ‘Get your coat on. We’ll go for a walk.’

  They left by the back door, closing it softly behind them, and didn’t speak again until they got to the bottom of the street and turned right towards the corner shop. They took shelter in the doorway.

  ‘I didn’t want to stay in Ballyhalbert without you. I get lonely. I need company.’

  ‘You had Jeanie, you and her got on really well together.’

  ‘Yes we did. She was good to me and reminded me of Mammy, but don’t you understand? It’s not the same. I wanted to be at home with my family. I wanted to go to work and have a laugh.’

  ‘Why didn’t you write and tell me?’

  ‘I thought you’d be angry.’

  ‘And what do you think I am now!’ he shouted. ‘I follow you here and you’re away out somewhere. Next thing you come sneaking in, in the middle of the night, stinking of cigarettes and beer! I don’t know where you’ve been. I don’t know who you’ve been with. I don’t know what you’ve been doing.’ He breathed deeply and sighed. ‘In fact, Irene, I feel like I don’t know you at all!’

  ‘It’s not the middle of the night and I’ve been to my friend’s wedding reception where, strangely enough, people were having a drink and smoking. And it sounds to me like you don’t know me, but maybe that’s because every
time we start to get to know each other better, you leave.’

  ‘Don’t get clever with me! I can’t help it if I get posted. There’s a war on.’

  ‘Yes there is and that’s another reason why I don’t want to sit in Ballyhalbert on my own when I could be in the aircraft factory helping to build bombers!’

  Sandy left the doorway and stood on the pavement, his back to her, looking up at the moon. Irene watched him: his broad shoulders, the tilt of his head. Her heart had lifted when she saw him standing in her own front room. She left the doorway and put her arm in his.

  ‘I’ve been posted to Enniskillen.’ His voice was calm, but still he didn’t look at her. ‘A big new airbase, something to do with the Atlantic convoys and protecting them from the U-boats. It’ll be a long posting, probably – till the end of the war, whenever that is.’

  ‘When do you go?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow!’

  He took her arm from his and held both her hands. ‘I came to get you. We need to be together or this marriage won’t work. Enniskillen is two hours on the bus from Belfast. When you need to see your family, you can come back and visit them. They can come and visit us.’

  Irene’s eyes were fixed on the ground. He put his finger under her chin and raised her head. ‘Irene, my darling, come away with me.’

  Chapter 25

  ‘Will you sit still, Sheila?’ Pat’s hand shook a little as she moved the eyebrow pencil to the outer corner of Sheila’s eye. In her head, she could hear Peggy’s instructions – ‘Just a little upwards flick will widen the eyes, but not too much. We want her to look natural.’

  ‘I can’t, I’m so nervous. I don’t think I can even remember the words of the songs.’

  ‘Of course you can. You’ve practised those two songs every night for the last three weeks and always remembered them.’

  ‘But it’s different being in front of an audience.’

  ‘Yes, it is different’ – Pat dusted a tiny amount of powder across Sheila’s nose – ‘but it’s so much better. Once you’re standing up there the audience will lift you and you’ll sing like you’ve never done before.’