Martha's Girls (6 page)

At the end of the evening the Reverend Lynas made a point of seeking Martha out to thank her for allowing the girls to take part. ‘We’re going to need plenty of community spirit, before this war is over. Morale boosting events like this could be our secret weapon, Mrs Goulding, believe you me. Well, I must be off before it gets too dark to see. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the black out.’

Peggy appeared. ‘Mammy, come and meet Mr Goldstein.’

He smiled broadly, his eyes crinkling behind his gold-rimmed glasses and offered a neat, well-manicured hand. ‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs Goulding.’

‘Nice to meet you, Mr Goldstein, did you enjoy the concert?’ asked Martha.

‘I thought it excellent entertainment and best of all were the Goulding Sisters. You must be very proud of them.’

Martha blushed. ‘Yes I am.’

Goldstein went on. ‘Now, it is getting late and the rain continues to fall very heavy outside. So, if you ladies do not mind being a little cramped, I could offer you a lift home.’

‘Oh no, we couldn’t take you out of your way,’ Martha said politely.

‘Not at all, I live on the Antrim Road. It is but a little detour. I insist.’

Chapter 5

Pat stood in front of the iron railings of May Street National School and watched the boys at one side of the playground kicking a small bundle of rags around, jerseys marking out the goals. On the other side the girls were playing games Pat recognised from her childhood: hopscotch, giant steps, the farmer wants a wife. Two girls broke free from a circle and ran up to her. ‘Can we help you?’ they sang in unison.

‘I’ve come to see Miss Goulding.’

‘We’ll take you,’ said the one with a pudding basin cut.

‘We know where she is,’ said her friend with pigtails.

Her friendly guides led Pat down a long echoing corridor with half glazed walls giving her a view of the classrooms on the other side, then up a winding staircase.

‘She’s in here.’

Pat was amazed to find herself in what looked like a parlour. Kathleen stood in front of an open fire and around her half a dozen pupils were dusting, sweeping, polishing.

‘Good afternoon, Pat.’ If Kathleen was surprised to see her, she didn’t show it. Instead, she added without a moment’s hesitation, ‘You’re just in time for lunch.’ They went through to the next room where children were laying a damask covered table with crystal glasses and silver cutlery.

Kathleen shouted out instructions. ‘Come on now, John, I’m sure you can remember where the soup spoons go. That’s right girls, set a napkin in its ring next to each place.’

‘Miss Goulding, we’ve arranged the flowers in the centre piece can we put it on the table now?’ asked a girl, so pale and fragile, wearing a faded dress several sizes too big for her.

‘Yes, Joan.’ Kathleen touched the child’s matted hair. ‘But ask Audrey to help you.’

Pat was surprised. Could this be the fierce Aunt Kathleen who gave her family short shrift and was famous for not suffering fools gladly?

‘I didn’t know you had somewhere like this in school,’ said Pat.

Kathleen smiled. ‘I had this attic space made into a flat a few years ago so that the children could learn how to hold their heads high in polite society. They may come from poor homes, but good manners cost nothing.’

‘And they learn how to wait at table?’ asked Pat.

‘Yes, as well as which cutlery to use and how to hold a knife and fork.’

Pat watched the children take their places. One boy in a filthy shirt and trousers held up with string pulled out a chair for a girl to sit down before taking his place next to her, he then removed a napkin from its ring, shook it and placed it on his lap.

‘Did the school provide the cutlery and glasses?’ asked Pat.

‘No,’ said Kathleen in her dismissive way, ‘they’re mine.’ Pat cast her eyes around the cosily furnished flat and realised most of the furniture looked familiar.

They ate a good lunch of leek soup, Irish stew and fruit salad, no doubt Kathleen had provided that too. The conversation was often initiated and managed by her, but Pat was very impressed with the confidence of the pupils. Their accents were strong, but they discussed a wide range of topics and inevitably the talk turned to war.

‘Do you think we’ll be evacuated, miss?’ asked one girl with her front teeth missing.

‘I don’t know,’ answered Pat, ‘probably not. The Germans aren’t likely to bomb us here.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Kathleen, ‘You know my views on burying our heads in the sand. The Germans will bomb Belfast. They’d be fools not to and, believe you me, Hitler is no fool.’ And with that she clapped her hands. ‘Right, let’s get all this cleared away and we’ll join the rest of the class for some arithmetic.’

When the children were busy with their chores Kathleen gave Pat a long hard stare. ‘Well Patricia, out with it.’

‘I’ve come to ask you a favour.’

‘Have you now?’

‘I’d like you to train my voice.’

‘You have a lovely voice, Pat, very pleasant on the ear,’ said Kathleen.

Pat detected a note of condescension. ‘But I feel I could do more with it.’ She struggled to express the dreams she had of standing in an opera house, maybe in Covent Garden or even La Scala, and singing to the tiered galleries. ‘Aunt Kathleen, you did it. You learned to breathe the right way, to use your voice to move people. All those stories you told me about singing in music festivals. The time you went to Milan to sing. Please help me.’

Kathleen looked at her favourite niece. There was so much in Pat that reminded her of herself. Not just the physical characteristics, the full mouth and toothy smile, the ample bosom, but she also saw in Pat a sensitivity that set her apart.

‘Pat, it takes years.’

‘I’ve got years. I’m only nineteen.’

‘I’m not trained as a singing teacher.’

‘But someone taught you. You know what needs to be done. Please, Aunt Kathleen, couldn’t we try it for a few months? I’ll work so hard.’

In the few moments it took to think about Pat’s proposition, Kathleen saw the chance to take one of Robert’s daughters under her wing. ‘Very well, you’re to come to my house one night each week after work and each Saturday afternoon at two o’clock. You must not miss a single lesson.’

Pat’s face broke into a broad smile and, despite herself, Kathleen’s did the same.

*

‘Listen to this,’ said Irene. She was sitting in the armchair by the window, catching the last of the light to read the
Belfast Telegraph
before they had to draw the blackout curtains.
‘
Wanted. Entertainers to join a fund-raising troupe. Auditions to be held at the Grand Central Hotel, Royal Avenue.
’
She looked towards Pat and Sheila who sat opposite each other on the settee. Sheila held a hank of pale blue wool taut between her wrists and Pat was unwinding it into a round ball. ‘We could go.’ Irene added.

Sheila’s eyes lit up. ‘Brilliant!’

Pat stopped winding. ‘A troupe?’

Irene could see the possibilities. ‘It’ll be just like the Grosvenor Hall, singing on stage, raising money for the war effort. It’ll be great! What do you think? Should we audition?’

‘We have to go, Mr Goldstein’s expecting us,’ said Peggy without looking up from the book she was reading.

‘What’s Mr Goldstein got to do with this?’ asked Irene.

‘He’s arranged the whole thing.’

‘Did you know about this advert?’

‘Of course I knew about it. I helped write it.’ Peggy raised herself from her prone position on the hearth rug, sat cross-legged in front of them and carefully turned over the corner of the page she was reading. ‘He got the idea when he came to the Grosvenor Hall; a group of entertainers willing to put on concerts to raise money and keep morale high. He’s going to organise everything and I’m going to help him.’

Martha, who had been sitting quietly in the corner chair mending a stocking stretched over a wooden mushroom, looked up. ‘Wait a minute. Don’t you be getting carried away here. What does it involve exactly? I’m not having you girls out late at night in the blackout, gallivanting here, there and everywhere with goodness knows who.’

‘Mammy, we’re old enough to take care of ourselves,’ said Irene. ‘Anyway there’s four of us so we’ll be together. We’ll come to no harm.’

‘A troupe of entertainers,’ said Martha dismissively. ‘Imagine the type of person you’d be mixing with. Remember, if you lie down with dogs, you’ll rise with fleas!’ She was getting more and more agitated. Without a father, she had to keep these girls of hers on a tight rein. ‘I’ll hear no more about it, thank you.’

*

Less than a week later on a drizzly Wednesday evening Pat and Irene hurried along Royal Avenue towards the Grand Central Hotel. They’d plotted the deception the day after reading the notice in the paper and decided to tell their mother they would be going to the cinema straight from work to catch the early house. If she was suspicious of the coincidence that they were going to be in the town on the evening of the audition she didn’t say anything. They’d had to exclude Sheila. They wouldn’t normally take her out with them, especially on a school night.

The outside of the hotel lived up to its name, with revolving doors and a liveried doorman who touched his peaked cap and smiled at the girls as they entered. The outside was impressive, but they had walked past it many times and given it little thought. Inside, however, was a different matter. They had never seen, let alone imagined, such style: thick red carpet; highly polished wood panelling; elegant chairs and sofas; large displays of tastefully arranged flowers. They paused a moment to take it all in, then Peggy came rushing towards them looking elegant in her shop clothes, a slim navy skirt with a crisp white blouse and her hair piled on top of her head to show off a string of pearls and matching earrings.

‘You’re here at last. Come on, I’ll take you upstairs. Lots of people are already there. I’ve been taking names and addresses.’

The room was a good size, with a small stage at one end, a piano to one side and a small dance floor in front of it. People sat around chatting quietly. Suddenly Irene began waving. It was Myrtle and her Templemore Tappers ready in their black tap shoes, short red taffeta skirts with white embroidered gypsy blouses. They joined them and kept a seat for Peggy, who was still welcoming new-comers and taking their details. The girls passed the time until the auditions began by scanning the packed room trying to guess what sort of act each person might perform. Then a young man arrived and sat across the aisle from Pat. She studied him closely: smartly dressed with fair, neatly cut hair. He straightened his cuffs and Pat was impressed to see a flash of silver cufflinks.

‘He’s a comedian,’ said Irene, following her sister’s gaze.

‘No, he’s a musician, I think.’

‘But where’s his instrument?’ asked Irene.

‘Where do you think?’ whispered Myrtle and Irene threw back her head and laughed. Pat didn’t. Truth be told, she found Myrtle a bit common.

‘He’s a pianist of course. He’ll play the piano over there.’

By the time Goldstein stood up in front of the microphone it was well after seven. He looked dapper in his pinstripe suit, set off by a crisp white shirt and a paisley dickie-bow, which gave him a jaunty air. He appeared a little nervous as he juggled his papers and gold spectacles, eventually putting the papers down temporarily to adjust the spectacles around his ears. Despite his accent, he spoke excellent English with the formality of a BBC announcer.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming tonight to what I hope will be a momentous occasion.’ He paused and looked over his spectacles, eyes sweeping the room, giving everyone present the feeling that he was speaking directly to them. His voice became grave. ‘We are at war … at war with a tyrant. One who will not easily be defeated and we are all soldiers in this struggle, but not all of us will carry guns. This is a call to arms, but we will arm ourselves with music and dance and laughter, a company, not of infantry, but of entertainers.’

Pat could sense a stillness fall over the room; all shuffling, whispering, coughing ceased as they gave Goldstein their full attention.

‘Imagine a troupe of variety artistes using their talents to raise the spirits of a city as it faces the ordeal of war. Imagine if in doing so, they could also raise funds to help those in need, or to support vital services.’

Yes, Pat could imagine that quite easily. It was the natural thing to do, not to be a part of it would be squandering their talent.

‘So, ladies and gentlemen, I am looking for twelve excellent acts to join this company. The auditions will begin in five minutes. Good luck to you all!’

Goldstein left the stage to thunderous applause. If this was his audition for inspirational leader, he had won the part, not to mention the hearts of all there. He made his way to a small table set out at the front of the room. Before sitting down he straightened his papers, produced a silver fountain pen from his inside pocket and carefully arranged everything on the polished surface. Almost immediately, a young man with unfashionably long dark hair jumped up on to the stage. ‘Let’s get started, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll call each act in the order in which they signed in tonight. Good luck everyone. Our first act is Lizzie Riley.’

Peggy leaned towards Irene and whispered ‘That’s Horowitz, a friend of Goldstein’s. The two of them will decide on the twelve acts.’

‘He’s quite good looking in a sort of foreign way isn’t he,’ said Irene. ‘Is he married?’

‘How would I know? I only met him tonight!’ hissed Peggy.

Lizzie looked about sixteen and was clearly flustered at being the first to perform. She was painfully thin and her navy pinafore, drawn in at the waist with a belt, made her look as though she had come straight from school. She heaved a sizeable instrument case on to the stage, unclipped the fastenings and pulled out a piano accordion, glistening red and gold. With it strapped over her shoulders, she looked in danger of toppling over on to Goldstein’s table. She bent her head and carefully placed her fingers over the keys and buttons. Pat wondered if every note would take as long to find. Lizzie straightened up, fixed her eyes to the back of the room, took a deep breath and began to play a lively reel, tapping her foot energetically to keep time. Slowly, the pained look of concentration gave way to a bright smile and her delicate fingers danced over the keys. Soon the audience were tapping their feet too and Goldstein leaned in towards his young friend, spoke into his ear and both nodded. Lizzie finished her audition to loud applause, but by then the smile had disappeared and was replaced by her anxious look.