A Song in my Heart Read online

  Sheila was pleased for her friend. Most of the girls could probably turn their hand to any job they were given, but Jessica was a one-off. Nell, with her office skills, was assigned to clerical work. Barbara and Linda were in the kitchens. Sheila desperately hoped that she would get work that directly contributed to the war effort. Geraldine stepped back from the noticeboard and declared without much enthusiasm, ‘I’m in the stores.’ With her heart beating madly, Sheila searched for her name. There it was. Her eyes jumped to the next column where there was just one word: ‘Plotter’.

  Chapter 23

  Peggy was late. It wasn’t her fault – it was the weather. She was meant to be meeting Archie at the gates of the Botanic Gardens at two o’clock, but she couldn’t decide what to wear. It was warm for September, but was it warm enough to leave the house in a cotton dress and cardigan? In the end, she chose her pale green dress and matched it with Irene’s little box jacket with the three-quarter sleeves. Still she wasn’t satisfied and then she remembered Pat’s cream straw hat with the pleated brim.

  Dates with Archie had been few and far between. He had explained that his new role at headquarters was very demanding and that he was at the beck and call of his commanding officer most of the time. No matter, Peggy was just happy to be with him whenever he could get away and she was glad she had the photo of the two of them on Royal Avenue to look at every night. Since the misunderstanding at the dinner dance, he had been the perfect gentleman, but sometimes in her dreams she felt again the passion of his kisses that night.

  She could see him as she turned the corner, his back to her – so upright, so tall – her dashing major. She was at his side before he realised she was there and she slipped her arm into his. ‘Hello, soldier, are you looking for someone to spend an afternoon with?’

  He looked down at her and appeared to study her. ‘I was supposed to be meeting someone. I think her name was Peggy but, alas, she hasn’t arrived.’

  Peggy tutted. ‘What a shame, and you so handsome. We can’t leave you lonely, can we?’

  ‘No, but you’ll have to be very nice to me, not like Peggy.’

  She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek and together they walked into the gardens.

  There were people everywhere, dressed in their Sunday best, enjoying the sunshine. It might have been possible to forget that they had been at war for four years, had it not been for the number of people in uniform. Lately, a mood of optimism had settled over the city and there was talk of a new, even bigger wave of American troops coming to Northern Ireland. Forces were gathering, plans were being made and this war would be won.

  Peggy and Archie strolled along a broad path lined with vividly coloured begonias towards the ornamental lake. Anyone watching would surely have thought they were lovers, so attentive was he, smiling and chatting and making her laugh. She gazed up at him, content to listen and adore. They sat for a while watching the sun sparkle on the fountain and listening to the splashing of the water. Archie had one arm across her back, the other across her waist. Peggy had her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed, enjoying the feel of his gently stroking fingers beneath her jacket. She could have stayed there forever.

  ‘Come on, let’s walk a bit further and see if there’s someone selling ice cream,’ said Archie. They found a cart next to the band stand with ‘Mesci, Italian Ice Cream’ written on the side in green, white and red.

  ‘Due gelati, per favore,’ said Archie.

  Peggy looked at him in amazement. ‘I didn’t know you spoke Italian?’

  ‘Ah, Peggy, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

  Archie laughed. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’ He took the ice creams and handed her one.

  ‘You could start with how you learned Italian.’

  They wandered past impressive specimen trees: redwoods, monkey puzzles and Japanese acers, while Archie explained that he had had an Italian nanny as a child. ‘She mostly spoke Italian when we were on our own and by the time I was thirteen I had a good grasp of it. Then I went away to boarding school.’

  ‘Your parents sent you away?’

  ‘Of course, that’s what happens in families like ours.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s what makes a man of you, they say, that and the army.’

  By this time they had arrived at the most impressive sight in the park, the spectacular cast iron glasshouse. It towered above them; thousands of panes of glass reflecting the sunlight. Archie looked up in amazement. ‘My word, it’s the image of the famous glass house in Kew Gardens. My family home is just down the road from it.’ He sighed. ‘I used to go there such a lot with my …’ He stopped himself and shook his head as if clearing his thoughts.

  ‘Let’s go in and have a look,’ said Peggy. There were two parts: the cool house, a long low building, and the Palm House, a high globe-like structure with a large curved section at ground level and a high dome to allow for the tropical palm trees.

  Inside, the Palm House was hot and humid and the smell of damp earth and vegetation hung in the air. They followed the iron walkways past towering tropical trees, and flowering shrubs and cacti, several of which Archie recognised. ‘I’ve seen mango trees like these in India. The fruits are the size of my hand, sweet and juicy. Those are proteas – they flower in South Africa.’

  ‘You’ve been to so many places,’ said Peggy. ‘I’ve never been out of Ireland.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’re young,’ he said, ‘you’ve so much ahead of you,’ and he stroked her cheek and bent to kiss her head.

  But she wanted more, so much more. She reached up and put her hands around his neck, drew him towards her and kissed him with a passion she had no idea was inside her. His arms were round her and he pulled her body towards his so fiercely that she could hardly breathe. His lips were on hers, his hands caressing the backs of her thighs. Her breath quickened; there was nothing else in the world but his lips and his hands and her body.

  Suddenly his lips were gone, his hands pulled back. She opened her eyes. The iron walkway was rattling with the sound of running feet and two children came round the curve of the building and stopped suddenly in front of them. Archie took her arm and whispered, ‘I think we need to leave.’

  They went outside and sat on a bench at the front of the Palm House. Peggy’s face was flushed, her lips slightly parted. She didn’t speak.

  ‘Peggy, my dear, you’re full of surprises.’

  She couldn’t look at him. Then he covered her hand with his. ‘It’s all right, you know. It’s what happens when you’re attracted to someone. It’s how the journey begins.’

  They sat a while in silence watching a boy with a kite trying to catch the wind. He ran this way and that and just when he thought it was about to soar it crashed to earth.

  Archie reached out and turned her face towards his. Her eyes were downcast. ‘Do you remember what I said when we were in the Café Royal after what happened at the dinner dance?’

  Peggy shook her head.

  ‘I agreed to do everything you tell me. That means that, although I’m older and I have more experience of the world than you do, when it comes to us, you are in control.’

  She looked up, her eyes glistening. ‘I think I’d like to go home now,’ she said.

  ‘Would you look at that?’ shouted Pat. ‘I’ve just seen my straw hat go past.’

  Martha looked up from shelling her peas. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Pat pointed. ‘There – on the other side of the hedge – my hat.’ And as she followed it, Peggy emerged and walked up the path. Pat was waiting for her, hands on hips, when she came in.

  ‘You stole my hat!’

  ‘I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.’ Peggy replied as if she had barely the energy to speak.

  ‘In my book, if you borrow something without asking, it’s called stealing.’

  ‘Whatever you say, Pat.’

  ‘And while I’m at it – that’
s Irene’s jacket. Mammy, will you tell her she can’t keep taking other people’s belongings!’

  Peggy ignored her and crossed the room, heading to the stairs.

  ‘Where are you going? We’re supposed to be rehearsing.’

  ‘I’m too tired,’ said Peggy. ‘I’m going to lie down.’

  Martha looked at her in amazement. ‘Tired? Since when have you ever been tired?’

  ‘Since I arrived home to such petty nonsense,’ she said and swept out of the room, leaving Pat and Martha lost for words.

  She put the hat and the jacket back where they belonged, took off her dress and, still in her slip, got into bed. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings and she couldn’t pin any of them down for long enough to begin to piece together what had happened between her and Archie. One minute she was deeply embarrassed by what she’d done in such a public place, the next she thrilled again at the physical intensity his response had awakened in her. How could she ever face him again and how could she bear not to? What kind of girl would he think she was? She blushed to think what he would have assumed.

  Peggy reached for the magazine she kept under her bed and took the photograph of her and Archie from between the pages. She traced his face with her finger and kissed him. This was so much more than she had ever felt with Harry. This was a love so fierce that she ached for him.

  Much later, Martha crept upstairs to check on Peggy and found her fast asleep, her face to the wall. She pulled the bedspread over her bare shoulder and underneath was a magazine, and something else …

  Martha was taken aback by the photo. The officer next to Peggy cut a striking figure, tall and good-looking, but he was no young lad wet behind the ears. Everything about him suggested a man in control. She could tell that the photo had been taken in winter so Peggy must have known him for quite a while. But as she looked closer the real shock was not the man, but the expression on Peggy’s face.

  There was a time when Martha might have shaken Peggy awake and demanded to know who this man was. She might even have insisted he was too old for her and forbidden her to see him again. But instead she gently placed the photo back into the magazine and slipped out of the room.

  Downstairs Pat was listening to the news on the wireless. ‘The Americans have invaded mainland Italy,’ she said.

  ‘You think Tony’s there now?’

  ‘Probably – this will be the start of the next campaign. Sicily was just a toehold to launch an invasion in Italy. They need to get the Italians out of the war.’ Pat fetched her school atlas. She knew from Captain Walters that Tony had been in Tunis in North Africa and at some point he would have boarded a ship. She traced the route across the Mediterranean to the island of Sicily, then on to the mainland and north towards Rome.

  When Peggy came down for her tea she looked a lot brighter and later she and Pat rehearsed as they usually did on a Sunday. Goldstein had decided that there was no point in trying to replace Sheila after she joined the WAAF and had suggested to Pat that she should sing some Vera Lynn songs in the concerts, accompanied by Peggy. Neither of them was keen on the songs, but they were so popular with the audience that Pat, at least, had warmed to them.

  ‘It’s only because you get the loudest applause of the night,’ Peggy had complained after their first performance. ‘But of course it’s not really for you, is it? It’s for the sentimental lyrics and the fact that they can all have a good sing-song.’

  Unlike her daughters, Martha liked the songs. They made her proud that her country had stood up to a tyrant and gave her hope that they would come through this war. She leaned back in her chair and hummed along, enjoying her own personal performance by her daughters.

  ‘You’re in good form tonight, Mammy,’ said Pat.

  ‘It’s just lovely to sit here and be entertained.’

  ‘It’s “We’ll Meet Again” next. That’s your favourite, isn’t it?’ Martha nodded and Pat said, ‘Come on then, get up and sing it with me.’

  ‘Ach, away on with you,’ said Martha, but the girls didn’t listen. They took an arm each and pulled her out of the chair. She tried to protest, but Peggy was already playing the introduction. Once Pat began to sing Martha joined in, softly at first, but when Peggy came in on the second verse all three of them sang it as though they were on the stage at the Grosvenor Hall. By the time they finished, Martha’s face was flushed. ‘Mercy me!’ she said. ‘I haven’t sung like that in years.’

  But Peggy was playing again, and they carried on with ‘Tomorrow Just You Wait and See’.

  It was after ten by the time they had run through the songs. ‘I haven’t enjoyed an evening aas much since I don’t know when,’ said Martha.

  ‘I think I’ll have a word with Mr Goldstein tomorrow,’ said Peggy.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Getting you signed up for the Golden Sisters – you’re better than Sheila!’

  And Martha couldn’t stop herself laughing in delight. ‘Aye, an ould woman like me is just what you girls need to show you how it’s done.’

  ‘You’re not an ould woman, Mammy,’ said Pat, ‘and when you laugh like that you look lovely.’

  When Pat had gone off to bed with the school atlas under her arm, Peggy sat picking out a tune on the piano. Martha watched her a while, then asked, ‘Are you all right?’

  Peggy swivelled round on the piano stool. ‘Hmm … yes, I think so.’

  Martha struggled to frame her words so that Peggy wouldn’t fly off the handle. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m prying, but can I ask you something?’

  Peggy was immediately on her guard. ‘You can ask, but don’t start shouting if I don’t want to tell you.’

  ‘I won’t shout,’ said Martha. ‘I went up earlier, to see if you were all right, and you were asleep.’ Peggy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Martha went on, ‘There was a photograph on the bed … you with a man, a soldier. I wondered who he was.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s any of your business and if I told you I’d never hear the end of it.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me, Peggy, but I’d like you to. You’re old enough to make your own decisions and I’m not going to stand in your way.’

  Peggy was taken aback by her mother’s words and wondered why she was being so measured and so calm. Perhaps now would be the time to tell her about Archie – especially if, as she hoped, their relationship was becoming more serious.

  ‘His name is Archie and he’s a major in the British Army. He’s older than me and I like that because he’s such an interesting person. I don’t see him very often – he has a very important job.’

  ‘I see – and do you like him better than Harry Ferguson?’

  Peggy shrugged. ‘I thought that Harry and I would end up getting married when the war was over, but I’m not so sure now. He’s always let me down, you know. He never writes –’

  ‘And what about Archie? Does he want to marry you?’

  ‘No. Well, not yet. It’s too soon to say but, Mammy, I really like him …’

  ‘Will you bring him home to meet us?’

  Peggy gave a nervous laugh. ‘Not yet, I don’t want to scare him off,’ she said, and stood up, aware that she had revealed quite enough already. ‘I’m away to bed now. Night-night.’

  ‘Night-night, love,’ said Martha, but she couldn’t stop herself from adding, ‘but just be careful, Peggy, and don’t let yourself down.’

  When Peggy had gone, Martha sat a long while considering what she’d been told. This was a man with considerable authority and no doubt experience of the world. As to how old he might be … by the look of him, he was certainly past thirty. She felt herself getting agitated, but what could she do? Peggy seemed quite smitten with him and would surely disobey any attempts to stop her seeing him. If only she could see the two of them together, then she’d know. If he came to the house she could get a good look at … what was his name? Archie, that was it. Martha gasped. Wasn’t that the one Pat had called a sugar da
ddy?

  Chapter 24

  Sheila’s heart was racing as she took the slip of paper and noted the coordinates. Working quickly, she plotted the position on the huge map of the Atlantic Ocean pinned to the table that filled the operations room. She reached for the rake that, during the course of her training, had become an extension of her arm and used it to manoeuvre a grey cigar-shaped wooden block across the table. During her training she had been instructed not to think of the blocks as ships, planes or submarines, but as she stepped back she shivered at the thought that she had just moved a German U-boat several miles closer to a convoy of twenty Allied ships loaded with food, fuel and people. Clemmie, standing next to her, squeezed her elbow as if to reassure her. Sheila had completed her six-week training in the ops room and was now being shadowed by Clemmie, an experienced plotter, for a short time, after which she would be allowed to work independently.

  Above the map table a wooden gallery encircled the room from where Coastal Command senior officers had a bird’s-eye view of the ocean while they received situation updates, made their decisions and directed operations. Within minutes the coordinates of the response to the U-boat closing in on the convoy were in Sheila’s hands and she turned a Liberator plane in its direction. Time slipped away and the many blocks on the map moved steadily over the ocean, but all eyes flickered towards the U-boat and the Liberator each time they were adjusted. The race was on and tension mounted as they waited to see whether the plane could destroy the submarine before it reached the convoy. Sheila had been on duty for five hours already, but she felt no tiredness; she was desperate to see the U-boat removed from the table and the convoy and the plane turn towards home. Then suddenly the coordinates for all three converged on the table. The clock high on the plotting room wall moved at a snail’s pace: one minute, five minutes, ten minutes … There was a shout from the gallery and the room erupted into cheers … The U-boat had been hit and Sheila was instructed to remove the block from the table.