A Song in my Heart Read online

  Bridie rotated it three times, turned it upside down on the saucer and waited a few seconds. Then she took the cup and studied the patterns of tea leaves on the china.

  ‘I see a friend, maybe an acquaintance, and death surrounds this person. They need your help.’ Bridie frowned.

  ‘What is it? What can you see?’

  ‘No more than that, but be careful, Martha. Trust your instincts.’

  As Martha came up her garden path, the unmistakable sound of ITMA on the wireless floated out through the open window – ‘Shall I do you now, sir?’ said Mrs Mopp, followed by howls of laughter so clear that Martha could distinguish the individual laughs of her daughters. She knocked on the window and watched the surprise on their faces when they saw her. Sheila was first on her feet to open the front door, but Pat and Peggy were close behind and then they were all laughing at once and Martha kissed and hugged each daughter. ‘Mercy me,’ she smiled, ‘coming in the front door of my own house. It must be a special occasion.’

  ‘Will I make you something to eat, Mammy?’ said Pat. ‘Egg on toast and I’ve a slice of my bacon ration left you can have.’

  ‘That’d be lovely,’ she said, and handed Pat a string bag. ‘Put this somewhere cool, will you? It’s full of the sort of food you won’t have seen in a while that Bridie gave me. Oh, and there’s an apple tart too so we can all have a slice of that.’

  There was so much to catch up on, beginning with the concerts. ‘Sheila’s been great, every bit a Golden Sister,’ said Peggy. Pat talked about the election. ‘So exciting – you know that Basil Brooke’s the new prime minister?’ Then Sheila shyly held out her hand to show her beautiful engagement ring, and Martha was overwhelmed with the happiness of it all.

  ‘And what about you, Mammy?’ said Pat. ‘What have you been doing?’

  Martha hardly knew where to start. ‘I’ve had such a good time,’ she said. ‘I worked in the butcher’s shop, went on long walks and met lots of lovely people. I even went to a hooley and danced till I was exhausted.’

  ‘You look so well,’ said Peggy.

  ‘And happy,’ said Sheila.

  ‘Why didn’t you stay a bit longer?’ asked Pat.

  ‘Ach no, it was great, but it was time to come home. Sure, I missed my own bed,’ she said, and they all laughed.

  ‘And did you miss us, Mammy?’

  ‘What, miss you three? Away on with you!’

  Chapter 20

  In the summer, a second wave of American Forces began arriving. The GIs disembarked from ships and aeroplanes and travelled on trains and in trucks and jeeps to camps right across Northern Ireland. These soldiers had never seen military action, but they were about to undergo extensive training for a campaign, still in the planning stage, that all hoped would be the beginning of the end of the war.

  Goldstein was delighted to see the influx of Americans and wasted no time in making an appointment with Captain Walters, who was in charge of entertainment for the troops. The Barnstormers’ concerts for the British Army were always well received, but there was something special about the American audiences that made Goldstein think of Broadway, and the motion pictures.

  After his lengthy meeting he rushed back to the shop, eager to tell Peggy and Esther his news. There were two customers being served and it was all he could do to stop himself from interrupting them. Instead, he paced the shop wishing for the first time in his life that his customers would go elsewhere.

  When they finally left, he closed the door behind them and turned the card hanging in the door to read ‘Closed’.

  ‘Such news, such news I have!’ he said, his Polish accent thickening with excitement. ‘A Hollywood star is coming to Northern Ireland with his entourage to entertain the American troops. The good news is he is short of female acts to bring some glamour to the biggest show at the Langford Lodge base and I have been asked to provide them. The one thing I have learned about performances for GIs is to give them what is familiar, something to remind them of home. So I think the Templemore Tappers, Macy and, of course, the Golden Sisters would fit that bill exactly.’

  ‘Who is it? Who’s the Hollywood star?’ asked Peggy.

  ‘Bob Hope, star of The Road to Morocco.’

  ‘A comedian …’ Peggy sounded a bit disappointed. ‘Is he bringing Bing Crosby and Dorothy Lamour with him?’

  ‘I do not know,’ said Goldstein. ‘To be on the bill with one film star sounds like a great opportunity to me, but as usual, Peggy, there is no pleasing you.’

  By the time Peggy arrived home that evening she had come round to the view that performing on the same bill as a film star was precisely the sort of achievement that would enhance the reputation of the Golden Sisters. When she told her sisters there were squeals of excitement.

  ‘Even better than the George Formby concert,’ said Pat.

  ‘Imagine, a real Hollywood star. I loved The Road to Morocco,’ said Sheila.

  ‘Mr Goldstein says we’ll probably be asked to learn a few new song and dance routines. He says the rehearsals will start next week and the show will be at the end of July. Who knows, we could be discovered and go to America to be in Bob Hope’s next film.’

  Martha tutted.

  The first rehearsals for the Bob Hope show took place on a warm Sunday afternoon in early July at Betty Staff’s dance studio. The plan was that ten Templemore Tappers, three Golden Sisters and one Macy would rehearse as detailed in a letter from Bob Hope’s stage director. Their final rehearsal would be the day before the show when the American cast would arrive and there would be technical and dress rehearsals.

  ‘This will be the most challenging show you will ever do,’ Goldstein told them. ‘We will be expected to fit in with a cast we have never met, to perform routines we have rehearsed in isolation.’

  ‘So we won’t have our own spots in the show at all?’ asked Macy.

  ‘No, that is not how it will work. They want some link to The Road to Morocco so we will be looking at the songs from the film for the Golden Sisters and some Moroccan-style music for the dancers. I have some records we can use. The idea is to have some interaction with Bob Hope; he likes to get on stage and crack some jokes, and that might be while you’re performing.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Macy, ‘that’s a tall order you got there.’

  ‘It certainly is,’ said Goldstein, ‘and I will have to rely on you quite a bit, Macy. You have worked wonders with the Tappers in the past, so I am going to ask you to start work right away on the choreography for their routine. Then I’ll work with you on your solo dance. Golden Sisters, you get started on “Moonlight Becomes You” and try to make it more upbeat than in the film.’ He clapped his hands. ‘We have the rehearsal space for the next eight hours. Let’s get started.’

  With the girls out for the rest of the day, Martha took herself down the road to visit her cousins the McCrackens, who had a grocery shop on Manor Street. It felt good to be out walking on such a lovely summer’s day and, as she passed some of the big houses on the Cliftonville Road, she admired the neat gardens and the flowers all in bloom. The shop was closed, of course, and the blinds had been pulled down to protect the stock from the sunlight, but she rapped sharply on the front door and waited for someone to come through from the back of the house. There was no answer at first, but on her second knock she could hear some movement. Slowly the locks and bolts were undone and a pale-faced Aggie peered round the door.

  ‘Oh Martha, it’s you, thank the Lord. Come in, come in.’ Martha was surprised to see Aggie looking so anxious – normally she was full of smiles – and then she noticed that her arm was in plaster of Paris.

  ‘What on earth’s happened to you?’

  ‘Just lock up for me there, would you? Then come through and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  Aggie fetched some homemade barley water from the cold press and they sat at the table sipping their cool drinks.

  ‘Now, what’s the story?’ said Martha.

  ‘
It was stupid, so it was, my own fault altogether. I should never have gone out in the pitch black, I tell you, but here’s me thinking I’ve only to cross the yard and put my hands out in front of me till I come to the privy door. Well, how was I to know that John had left crates of empty lemonade bottles in the middle of the yard? I caught this auld calliper of mine on the edge of a crate’ – she slapped the metal brace on her leg – ‘and down I went. Tried to break the fall with my hand and ended up in the Mater Hospital.’

  ‘That’s awful, Aggie. You know, the number of times I’ve heard of people getting injured in the blackout. Sure, there’s been people run over and killed.’

  ‘The broken arm’s not the worst of it.’ Aggie leaned closer to Martha. ‘I’ll tell you the rest, seeing as those ones aren’t here.’

  ‘John and Grace, you mean?’

  ‘Aye, John’s ragin’ because I can’t serve in the shop with him. Says he can’t manage on his own and we’ll either have queues out the door, or we’ll lose customers altogether. Then he starts on Grace, telling her she’ll have to give up her job at Robb’s to help him.’

  ‘And what did Grace say to that?’

  ‘I’ll give her her due, she stuck up for herself. Said she wasn’t giving up a good job that she enjoyed doing. The two of them stood in this kitchen after church this morning and went at it hammer and tongs. Says he, I’m your brother, head of this household, and you’ll do as I say. Says she, I’ll do what I like, and she put on her coat and left.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘John’s out at a Bible reading and Grace …’ Aggie hesitated. ‘You know, working in Robb’s department store is Grace’s life. It gets her out of this house and she’s well respected there. She has a life outside these four walls where she’s meeting people: customers and colleagues. Grace has friends.’

  ‘Where is she, Aggie?’

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, Martha, but Grace has a friend. He’s the manager of the shoe department. She meets him every Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘And John doesn’t know, does he?’

  Aggie shook her head. ‘He’d forbid it, call it sinful. He’d probably lock her in her room if he found out …’ Aggie pursed her lips as if to keep the anger inside, but clearly she couldn’t. ‘It’s not fair that she’ll lose her job and her friend, but that’s what’s going to happen and I’m at my wits’ end because I keep thinking it’s all my fault.’

  ‘Now, you listen to me, Aggie. None of this is your fault. If John hadn’t left those crates out, you wouldn’t have fallen in the first place. But even if we call that an act of God, he still has no right to dictate what his sisters can and can’t do. Just wait till I see him, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t say anything to him, Martha. You know what he’s like. He’ll dig his heels in and we’ll all be damned.’

  ‘Well,’ said Martha, ‘maybe you’re right, but there’s more than one way to skin a cat. When he gets home, you just tell him that I’ll be round first thing in the morning to serve in the shop and I’ll do that until your arm is mended. Oh, and you can tell him I’m fully trained on the bacon slicer.’

  The month Martha had spent in the butcher’s in Dungannon had been a pleasure: spending the day talking to and serving all the different customers, the weighing and wrapping, the reckoning and giving change. She had loved it all. And the McCrackens’ grocery shop was, if anything, a step up. There were so many things that people could ask for and she had to know where to find each item and learn the prices, not to mention knowing about the different foods on ration. And as each day passed, she learned much more than how to keep shop.

  Martha was no stranger to hardship – she could remember the twenties and thirties – but the desperate people coming through the door of McCrackens’ shop were enough to break her heart.

  That first day serving, Martha watched the women, some with just a handful of coppers, trying to buy something to make a meal. She lost count of the number of women coming in with barefoot children, their clothes threadbare, who looked ground down with the strain of living.

  When John locked the shop door at the end of the day, Martha went home with a heavy heart and thanked the Lord that she had three girls in decent jobs and a home untouched by the bombing.

  Chapter 21

  The pavement outside Goldstein’s music shop was crowded with his performers, all in a high state of excitement as they waited for the transport to arrive.

  ‘I’m so nervous,’ said Sheila. ‘I just want to get there and get it over with.’

  ‘Don’t think of it like that,’ said Pat. ‘Keep calm and tell yourself it’s just another show.’

  Peggy laughed. ‘Yes, except this one’s got Bob Hope in it.’

  ‘You’re making me worse,’ said Sheila. ‘I’d have been all right if we’d actually been able to rehearse with him like they promised. It’s not going to be easy on stage with him if we’ve never had a run-through.’

  Goldstein interrupted. ‘I will speak to the director as soon as we get there. There will be plenty of time to sort out a quick rehearsal. Ah, here we are …’ The US Army truck pulled up in front of them and the Tappers, the sisters, Macy and Goldstein climbed on board.

  Langford Lodge, close to Lough Neagh, was a huge American base for the servicing of planes. The mess hall where the concert would take place was already set up. There was seating for five hundred, gantries of lights and a stage with a banner proclaiming ‘Bob Hope – Tonight’.

  In the makeshift dressing room the girls got into their costumes and were putting on their makeup when Goldstein came in looking annoyed. ‘Listen, please,’ he said. ‘I have some bad news. Bob Hope has been delayed, which means that there will be no time for the run-through. The director has decided that you will be in effect the warm-up acts. So you will be able to perform, but of course all the interaction with Mr Hope that we rehearsed will be impossible.’

  There were audible sighs of disappointment. ‘But the whole point was that we’d be performing songs from The Road to Morocco. Now we’ll be doing it without the star from the film.’ Peggy sounded cross as much as disappointed.

  ‘None of the time we spent getting everything right will be wasted,’ said Goldstein. ‘You will sing the songs as we rehearsed them and I do not want to see anything less than a superb performance from all of you.’

  The Templemore Tappers opened the show to cheers and wolf whistles that threatened to drown out the music, but the excitement and enthusiasm of five hundred GIs brought out the best in them. Their smiles were wider and their high kicks higher and, when they finished the routine, the applause and whistles went on and on until the compère walked on to the stage and pretended to shoo the Tappers off.

  ‘What about that, guys?’ he shouted. He held up his hands for silence and went on, ‘If you like that, you’re gonna love this. A beautiful woman all the way from Queens New York; put your hands together for Macy!’ The music began and from the wings a long, shapely leg appeared and as the audience watched the leg kicked in time with the first dramatic chord. On the next chord an arm appeared and the hall filled with the music of a North African souk. A striking figure emerged, tall and willowy in shimmering red and gold gossamer, and swirled across the stage. On her head she wore a jewel-encrusted turban from which there hung a veil covering the lower part of her face. She extended her arms and with the smallest of movements she made the veils hanging from her wrists shake and, without breaking the rhythm, she pulled each one away and let it fall. The music quickened and now it seemed that every part of her body was in motion, shimmying and writhing. The bracelets on her arms and ankles rattled and the veils of gossamer that hung from her body lifted and fell as she moved. With a sweep of her arm she caught the veil across her middle and there was a gasp from the audience as her gyrating belly was revealed. She moved towards the front of the stage and turned her back to the audience. Her long red hair swished from side to side as her
body swayed in a wide arc. She pulled the veil from across her chest and spun round to face the audience, exposing a brassiere covered in gleaming jewels, and the whistling and cheering erupted. She moved sideways across the stage and back again, leaving two more veils on the floor. Now the men were on their feet, drawn by the fluid, sensuous movements. Time and again she dipped and rose, never breaking the endless rhythmic shaking of her body, until the music slowed and her hands, intertwining like a temple dancer, moved upwards and pulled aside the veil to reveal her beautiful face. The applause was deafening.

  Pat, Peggy and Sheila were standing in the wings as Macy came off stage shivering with excitement. ‘Great audience, but so loud,’ she whispered, then added, ‘Bob Hope’s here, I saw him as he came in at the back of the hall.’

  ‘He’s here!’ Sheila gasped.

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Pat. ‘Macy, go and get covered up – you can relax now.’

  When she had gone, the girls waited while the compère told a few jokes and the GIs calmed down. Soon it was their cue. ‘Hey guys, we got three more lovely ladies for you now with a couple of songs from Road to Morocco. So give a big welcome on stage for the girls with the golden voices – the Golden Sisters!’

  The girls, one behind the other, with a hand on the shoulder of the sister in front, began singing the opening line ‘We’re off on the road to Morocco’ from the wings, and then walked on stage swaying from side to side just as Bob Hope and Bing Crosby did when they were riding a camel in the film. When they reached the microphone they went straight into three-part harmony. They were halfway through when they noticed some movement in the audience. Soldiers were standing up to get a better look, pointing at the stage and laughing. The girls carried on singing, never letting their concentration or their smiles slip, until they were aware of another voice joining in. They turned to see that Bob Hope had joined their line-up. He winked at them and began swaying alongside them – out of time – then he took Sheila’s hand and danced her round the stage, and all the time the GIs were roaring with laughter at his antics.