A Song in my Heart Read online

  ‘Were they coming back from patrol? What was the call sign? I was probably plotting them early this morning.’

  ‘No,’ said Jessica, ‘they hadn’t been on patrol. They went out this afternoon on a training flight, something to do with testing parachutes.’

  As soon as Sheila heard the words ‘training flight’ she let out a cry: ‘Philippe. It’s Philippe, oh no!’

  Jessica got hold of her by the arms and spoke sternly. ‘Listen, we don’t know the names of the crew yet. Some of them don’t even belong on this base. We’re waiting to hear—’

  Sheila tried to squeeze her words out between sobs. ‘He told me this morning he’d been rostered for a training flight. He didn’t want to go, said he couldn’t get out of it. It’s him, I know it is.’

  Jessica could see the unsettling effect of Sheila’s distress on everyone. Philippe was popular on the base and his name spread across the room in seconds. ‘Sheila, you need to calm down. Come outside with me and we’ll walk over to HQ to see if there’s any more news.’ And she took her by the elbow and led her out into the night.

  ‘You were talking to Philippe this morning?’ asked Jessica.

  ‘Yes, he was annoyed about the switch to the training flight. If only he’d gone on patrol …’ Sheila’s voice cracked and she began to shiver.

  ‘Look, you’ve got to be very brave, Sheila. You know that, don’t you? It was only a matter of time before one of these planes came down. I know you were friendly with Philippe, but it’s not like he was your boyfriend or anything.’

  ‘No, he wasn’t,’ said Sheila, ‘but I liked him – he was my friend.’

  Inside the HQ building Jessica spotted one of the squadron leaders she had driven many times. ‘You wait here and I’ll see if he knows anything.’

  Sheila hadn’t been inside HQ since that first day and she felt she shouldn’t be there now. People were coming and going and she could see the effects of the grim situation they were dealing with on every face. In her head she said over and over, ‘Philippe … Philippe,’ until she could bear it no longer; she had to get away. She rushed outside and ran and ran until she came again to the empty hut where she threw herself on her bed and let the darkness envelop her. When she could cry no more she brought to mind the image of him in the tea shop when they met, the first time he said she had brought him luck. Well, she wasn’t lucky after all, was she? Then she remembered the impulse she had to touch him this morning; if only she had done so, maybe then she would have sensed he was in danger. If only she’d known …

  She sat up. Was that a noise? Someone was in the hut. Had they come to find her? She sensed someone searching for the light switch. ‘Who’s there?’ she called.

  The single bare lightbulb dangling from the centre of the ceiling came on, illuminating the central area, and beyond that Sheila could make out a shadowy figure coming towards the light. She held her breath.

  ‘Sheila, are you in here?’

  She gasped at the sound. The figure moved again and stepped into the pool of light and her heart stopped. Philippe! His face was pale and drained of expression.

  ‘Are you here?’ he called again.

  She stood up and went towards him. ‘Is it you?’ she said.

  ‘Yes. I’m here,’ he said, and she ran to him and flung her arms around him.

  ‘Easy, easy,’ he said and held her while she wept. ‘Come on now, I’m okay.’ He stepped back and they were staring into each other’s eyes.

  ‘They told me the plane had crashed and everyone was dead,’ said Sheila.

  ‘Not my plane,’ he said. ‘After I left you this morning there was a sighting of the U-boat that disappeared off Donegal last night when you were on duty. They needed an extra plane out there and, because I was rested, they sent me on patrol.’

  ‘But the training flight went ahead.’

  ‘Yes, it was scheduled for late afternoon and by that time there were other pilots who were rested and able to do the training flight. I guess …’ Philippe bowed his head a moment and when he spoke again his voice was just a whisper. ‘I guess one of them would have volunteered to do it.’

  ‘When did you get back?’

  ‘I’ve only just landed. Walked into the NAAFI to get something to eat and they were all staring at me like they’d seen a ghost. Then Jessica told me you’d gone off on your own so I went looking for you. Came here as a last resort.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘And I’ll tell you, if I get caught in WAAF quarters, I’ll be for the high jump.’ He touched her hair and winked. ‘Come on, Lucky, let’s go get something to eat before you go on night shift.’

  Chapter 25

  Oldpark Presbyterian Church was anything but welcoming that first Sunday of Advent. Martha had walked there in the bitter cold for the morning service, only to find it was even colder inside the church than out. There were no flowers to brighten the altar and seemingly no end to the sermon. The Revd Lynas had taken the theme of hope and twisted it and turned it to preach anything that came to mind and, by the end, all Martha could think of was, ‘Abandon all hope ye who enter here’.

  When the service was finally over she didn’t linger to chat to anyone, but as she paused in the porch to put on her gloves someone behind her spoke her name.

  ‘Martha, I wonder if I could have a private word.’

  She knew exactly who it was; his country accent and commanding tone were unmistakable. She turned round to face Ted Grimes, but didn’t speak or smile.

  ‘Are you well, Martha?’

  She shrugged her shoulders. If this man thought he could just accost her in church after his disgraceful behaviour, he was in for a rude awakening.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about ye for a while so I have and, to tell you the truth, I need to get something off me chest.’

  She weighed him up, with his RUC uniform, cap under his arm and his gun on his belt. Had the man no sensitivity, coming into a church like that?

  ‘I want to apologise for all that misunderstanding with Irene last year. I was wrong. I know now that Irene was friendly with Theresa O’Hara, but I was wrong in thinking she had anything to do with her republican brother.’ He paused as though expecting some acknowledgement from Martha. There was none. He shuffled his feet and tried another tack. ‘Well anyway, I’ve wanted to say that for a while. The other thing is … ah … I thought you’d want to know that Vera isn’t well, not well at all – looking bleak as they say.’

  When Ted Grimes had accused Irene of withholding information about the whereabouts of an IRA fugitive and his wife, and threatened her with jail, Martha had severed all ties with him, despite the fact that they had known each other for years. She certainly had no desire to renew their friendship just because he’d made a half-hearted apology; but his wife Vera was another matter. She was a pleasant woman, would always ask about the girls when they met on the street and pass the time of day. God help her, she’d always been delicate, but Martha had no idea she was in a bad way.

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’

  Her question was the trigger for Ted to pour out everything that he had come to say to her. ‘It’s her heart. Sure, she can hardly walk now, sleeps downstairs. It’s her breathing too; sometimes she struggles for breath and time and again I think she’s never going to catch it. Lately she’s been asking about ye and wondering why ye never call round. She took a turn for the worse this last week and … I don’t know … she wanted me to ask if you’ll come and see her.’

  Martha had nothing against Vera and she was sorry to hear she was so ill, but she didn’t want to get involved with Ted ever again. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t leave it too long,’ said Ted, and he took his cap from under his arm and set it firmly on his head and straightened the peak. ‘Good day to you, Martha.’

  When her mother had left for church, Pat quickly got ready in her Sunday clothes and slipped out of the house. She too was going to worship, but not in Oldpark Presbyterian Church
– she was heading for the cathedral in the centre of town. She hadn’t been there since the Wings for Victory day, when the grandeur and atmosphere had had such a profound effect on her and she had felt that Tony was somehow with her, even though he was far away in North Africa.

  She knew from the wireless reports that his unit must now be somewhere in Italy, but there hadn’t been a letter from him for almost three months and during that time she had felt that he was steadily slipping away from her. Maybe in the cathedral she would feel close to him again and, although she couldn’t explain it, she had the feeling that he would somehow know she was thinking of him.

  Not being a member of the congregation, she sat towards the back of the church when she arrived, but it wasn’t long before every pew was full and the service began. The building itself was as impressive as she remembered it and the first sounds from the organ lifted her spirits as it filled the vast space with a rich, dramatic sound. The choir were wonderful: so well trained; such beautiful voices. The minister preached a lively sermon about love. But try as she might, she couldn’t find the comfort she had experienced the last time she had been in the cathedral. That day she had believed that her prayers would be heard and that Tony was alive and well and thinking of her. But today she felt nothing and knew she had been foolish to come at all.

  When the service ended the people filed down the aisle past her and she sat a while with her eyes closed, trying to gather her thoughts.

  ‘Hello Patti. I didn’t expect to see you here?’

  She opened her eyes to see an American uniform and the smiling face of Captain Joe Walters.

  ‘It’s good to see you again,’ he said and slipped into the pew in front of her.

  Just hearing the American accent made her feel better. ‘And you,’ she said. ‘How are you?’ and she almost managed a smile.

  Joe tilted his head to one side and studied her. ‘I’m okay,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure about you. Is there something wrong?’

  Pat didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t possibly tell him that she was worried sick about Tony and had come to the cathedral for some sort of comfort or a sense that Tony was with her in spirit.

  Joe took an educated guess and said, ‘Have you heard from Tony lately?’

  Pat shook her head.

  ‘You mustn’t worry, you know. Since they crossed on to the Italian mainland the situation is changing all the time and communications are not that good. Sometimes they’re moving fast and letters probably aren’t being written. Gee, even if they were, there isn’t the time or the backup to run a mail service. Up till now it’s been about advancing, but the weather’s closing in and …’ he paused, uncertain whether to go on.

  ‘And what?’

  He lifted his hands. ‘Who knows, maybe they’ll dig in for the winter, or the advance could be halted anyway.’

  ‘What do you mean “halted”?’

  Joe didn’t answer.

  ‘Tell me, I need to know.’

  He gave a deep sigh. ‘The mountain terrain is difficult and there’ll be more resistance the further north they go. I can’t really say more than that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Pat and she stood up to go.

  Joe caught her arm. ‘Hey, maybe this is the wrong thing to say, but … if you need someone to talk to, maybe explain things, you know I’d be happy to oblige any time.’

  ‘That’s really kind of you,’ said Pat, and together they left the cathedral.

  Later, it being Sunday, her mother drew the blackout curtains in the front room and lit a small fire so they could spend the evening listening to the wireless. Pat got out her atlas and studied the map of Italy, tracing the Apennine Mountains mentioned in the latest news report on the Italian Campaign. On reflection, she was glad she had gone to the cathedral because in a way she had connected with Tony. She had met Joe and he had been able to explain why there were no letters and, what’s more, he was honest enough to tell her what was likely to happen. Her certainty that Tony would come through the war as he had promised was as strong as ever.

  Shortly after seven there was a knock at the front door and Peggy went to answer it. There was the sound of a man’s voice and Peggy answering. Martha tutted and shouted, ‘You’re letting all the heat out, Peggy! Who is it?’

  The door opened and Peggy came back in, followed by a man with a cap pulled low over his eyes. Martha recognised the Harris tweed coat immediately. What was Charles Turner doing coming to her door on a dark Sunday night?

  He quickly removed his cap and stood twisting it in his hands, and when Pat saw how nervous he was she said, ‘Come and sit near the fire, Charles. It’s a bad night isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye, it is.’ His eyes flitted round the room and it was clear he was building up to saying something, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Pat.

  ‘Aye. Well, no … I wanted to ask if you’d heard from Sheila lately.’

  ‘We had a letter a week ago, didn’t we, Mammy?’ Pat gave her mother a nod as if to say, you’d better deal with this.

  ‘Yes, she wrote me a page like she does most weeks,’ said Martha. By the look on Charles’ face she deduced that he wasn’t getting regular letters. She had feared that something like this might happen after seeing the way they had parted at the train station. Martha went on, ‘Just general chat about life on the base. Nothing about her job, of course – that wouldn’t be allowed.’ Martha leaned forward in her chair. ‘Am I to take it that she hasn’t been writing to you?’

  Charles nodded. ‘Haven’t heard anything for over a month – I just keep writing and I get nothing back.’

  Pat and Peggy exchanged looks. This could be embarrassing for their mother and when she answered they could hear the annoyance in her voice.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I think that’s very remiss of Sheila.’

  ‘I thought she might be having second thoughts about our engagement. She didn’t say anything to you, did she?’

  ‘Good heavens, no.’

  ‘She could have met someone else.’

  ‘Certainly not.’ Martha was affronted. ‘Right, I’ll send her a letter tomorrow to ask her what’s going on and why she’s not been writing to you.’

  Charles wasn’t listening; he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

  ‘I’ll write to her,’ said Martha again.

  ‘I didn’t want her to join the Air Force, you know. I told her that her place was with me, but she wouldn’t listen. She’d got it in her head that she was free to do whatever she wanted – never a thought for me. I told her, you’re engaged now and you don’t have to prove anything to anybody.’

  The Goulding women stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘Now, just a minute,’ said Pat. ‘Sheila joined the WAAF because she wanted to do something that would help bring an end to the war and we’re proud of her.’

  Then Peggy waded in. ‘Look here, our Sheila is free to do what she wants and the cost of an engagement ring doesn’t give you the right to say otherwise.’

  ‘If you’d decided to enlist, which of course you haven’t,’ said Pat, ‘Sheila certainly wouldn’t have stood in your way. She’d have supported you.’

  Charles stood up. ‘There’s no conscription here and anyway I would never have left Sheila. But when she comes home at Christmas I’ll have this out with her.’

  ‘She won’t be home for Christmas,’ said Martha. ‘Did she not tell you there’s no leave from their base until they’ve been there six months?’

  Charles swore under his breath and stormed out of the house, leaving the door wide open and letting the heat out and the freezing night air in.

  The following morning, Martha posted her letter to Sheila explaining that Charles was worried that he hadn’t heard from her and suggesting she should write to him. If it hadn’t been for his outburst the previous night, her tone would have been a lot stronger.

  When she came out of the post off
ice she hesitated, uncertain whether to go straight back home or walk down the Cliftonville Road to Ted Grimes’ house. The truth was she felt guilty about losing touch with Vera because of Ted’s behaviour and, now that she was ill, it seemed petty not to visit her. She just hoped that Ted would be at work.

  She stepped into the vestibule and knocked, but there was no answer. She tried the door and it opened. ‘Hello,’ she shouted, ‘anybody home?’ There was just enough light inside for her to see the heavy hall stand, no cap or gun there. Ted was out. ‘Vera, it’s Martha,’ she called again and there was a muffled sound from the parlour. She pushed open the door and was met by stale air and the sound of laboured breathing. The curtains were closed and she could just make out the shape of Vera propped up in her bed.

  ‘Is it you, Martha?’

  ‘Aye, it is. I’ve come to see how you are.’ She pulled up a chair. ‘Ted tells me you’ve not been well.’

  ‘The doctor says it’s my heart, but the worst of it is I can’t be walking anywhere, not even to the front door.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Vera. Is there anything I can do for you?’

  ‘Ah, just sit a while, will you? I don’t get much company at all. Tell me, how’s those girls of yours?’

  And Martha told her the news about each one: Irene’s baby, Peggy and the major, Pat singing for Eisenhower and Sheila in the WAAF. ‘Sure, I can hardly keep up with them,’ she said.

  ‘Right enough, it must wonderful to have those girls. We were never blessed with children as you know and when you’re coming to the end of everything …’ She left the rest unspoken as she struggled to get her breath and, when she found it, her voice was stronger and more urgent. ‘I worry about Ted. God knows, he’s not an easy man to like and I’m sorry if he offended you in some way. But the thing is, Martha, you’re one of the very few people he respects. He’s no family in Belfast other than me and when I’m gone there’ll be nobody.’

  Martha became increasingly uneasy as Vera talked, and tried to steer the conversation in another direction. ‘But Ted has his work, he’s devoted to the police force and I’m sure he has good friends there.’