A Song in my Heart Read online

  Vera shook her head. ‘I’m not so sure. Men bury their heads in the sand when things are awkward. They’ve not much sense when it comes to feelings, wouldn’t notice things like a woman would. All I’m asking, Martha, is that you keep a wee eye on him, no more than that.’

  Chapter 26

  ‘She’s here, she’s here!’ screamed Peggy and she flew out the door and up the path to throw her arms around her sister. ‘I can’t believe you’re here, Irene,’ she said, ‘and Alexander too,’ and she peered into the pram.

  Martha, still in her apron and with her hands covered in flour, was hard on Peggy’s heels. She hugged her daughter. ‘Is he asleep?’ she asked and right on cue Alexander began to gurgle.

  Irene laughed. ‘Well, he was!’

  Martha took control of the pram and together they went into the house. ‘My goodness it’s warm in here,’ said Irene.

  ‘Aye, that’ll be the new paraffin heater, Mammy’s pride and joy,’ said Pat from the kitchen doorway. ‘We’ll all be roasted.’

  ‘Now then,’ said Martha, as she lifted a sleepy Alexander. ‘We have to keep you nice and warm don’t we, wee man?’

  Peggy held out her arms. ‘Give him to me, Mammy, you’ll get flour all over him.’

  Irene took off her coat and flopped down on the settee. ‘That was such a long journey I thought I was never getting here.’

  ‘Never mind, you’re here now and for two whole weeks,’ said Peggy as she struggled to get Alexander out of his winter coat, hat and mittens.

  ‘It’s going to be the best Christmas ever,’ said Pat.

  Alexander stretched and yawned and looked around him at the strange faces. Peggy jigged him on her knee. ‘You’re with your Aunt Peggy now,’ she told him, but his face puckered and he began to cry.

  ‘Ach, you’re too loud, Peggy – you’re frightening him,’ said Pat. ‘Give him to me.’ And she took the child and walked with him round the room pointing out the piano with the bust of Tchaikovsky on top and the wireless and the china cabinet. ‘There you are; he’s happy with his Aunt Pat.’

  ‘Only because you have an ample bosom for him to rest his head on,’ said Peggy.

  The next day Irene took Alexander to the aircraft factory to show him off to the women she used to work with. She arrived in time for the dinner break and went up to the canteen. Everyone crowded around her and Alexander was passed from one woman to another. They cooed over him and talked about his eyes, his hair, his tiny fingers while he was bounced on knees and lifted into the air. They pressed silver sixpences into his palm, ‘for his moneybox,’ they said, and Irene rescued them one at a time and put them safely away. Macy waited until everyone had held him and gone back to their dinner before cradling Alexander in the crook of her arm, where he promptly fell asleep.

  ‘How the hell are you, Irene?’ she said. ‘How’s things in the back of beyond?’

  Irene laughed. ‘I’m grand – going to Fermanagh was the best thing I ever did.’

  ‘Never thought I’d hear you say that.’

  ‘It’s like Sandy and I have started all over again. He works so hard, but we get to spend time together when he’s off duty and, now we have Alexander, I feel like we’re a proper family.’

  ‘You’re very lucky,’ said Macy.

  ‘I am,’ said Irene. ‘And what about you? You look well.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m just waiting for this war to end so I can go home.’

  ‘I heard you got an offer from Bob Hope.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe I’ll go to California and turn up at his Beverly Hills mansion. Next thing you know, you’ll be watching me on the screen at the Ritz.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ said Irene.

  ‘How’s Sheila doing? Found a handsome pilot yet?’

  ‘I don’t think so, but Mammy’s a bit sad that she won’t be coming home for a while. There’d be room at the table for Christmas dinner, if you’re not doing anything?’

  Macy winked. ‘I’m gonna be kinda busy – there’s a sergeant major who’s promised me a real good time over the holidays.’

  If anyone at the base had asked Sheila whether she was homesick, she would almost certainly have said ‘No’. She was too busy either working, sleeping or enjoying the company of her friends. But the truth was that sometimes when she went straight to bed after a long shift in the ops room, she couldn’t calm her racing brain. So, instead of tossing and turning, she would imagine herself back home in Joanmount Gardens, sitting in the kitchen with her mother or listening to the wireless in the front room. Sometimes she would be with her sisters rehearsing for a show and she’d sing all the songs in her head until sleep overtook her.

  As Christmas grew nearer, the NAAFI acquired a ceiling-high spruce bedecked with lights, paper decorations criss-crossed the room and the longing for home crept steadily into her heart. But in the end it was the letter telling her that Irene and Alexander would be in Belfast for Christmas that finally tipped her over the edge into a severe bout of homesickness.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ asked Jessica as they sat together in the tea shop.

  ‘Nothing really.’

  ‘You’ve hardly spoken since we got here.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, I’m just thinking about Christmas.’

  ‘Christmas? It’s going to be great fun with too much to eat and dances in the NAAFI and the village hall.’

  ‘I know,’ said Sheila, ‘but I’ve been thinking about my family. It’ll be the first time I’ve not been with them. I haven’t seen my sister Irene since last Christmas when she went to Enniskillen, but she’s coming home with her little boy and I really wish I could be there.’

  When Clemmie arrived she took one look at them and said, ‘I don’t think I’ll bother sitting with you two …’

  ‘Sheila’s homesick,’ explained Jessica, ‘and I think she’s smitten me as well.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll get over it,’ said Clemmie. ‘This’ll be my second Christmas away. I’ve not been home since I signed up. At least you’re not three thousand miles away from your families. You might be lucky and get a bit of leave next year.’

  Sheila shook her head. ‘What I wouldn’t do for a pass. A two-day one would be enough for me to get home for Christmas dinner even if I had to leave before the plum pudding.’

  Clemmie smiled. ‘Funny you should say that. Talk about singing for your supper – you could sing for your Christmas dinner.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘They’ve just put up a notice about a talent competition next Saturday. The winner gets a two-day pass.’

  ‘No, really?’ said Jessica.

  ‘Yeah, it’s right there on the noticeboard. So, either of you a got talent you’ve been hiding under a bushel?’

  Jessica laughed. ‘Of course. I’ll have you know I play the piano very badly. What about you, Sheila?’

  But Sheila was staring into the distance, a strange expression on her face. ‘I’m going to sing,’ she said.

  ‘Okay,’ said Clemmie. ‘Have you sung before, in front of an audience, I mean?’

  ‘Ah … yes, yes I have, with my sisters and on my own as well.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us you could sing?’

  Sheila shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘So you’re serious? You really want to do this?’ said Jessica.

  Sheila nodded. ‘I’m going to win that two-day pass.’

  They could see how determined she was. ‘Do you want an accompanist?’ asked Jessica.

  ‘Oh, that’d be great. We’ll need to practise a bit together.’

  Jessica was suddenly excited. ‘I say, we could nip down to the church hall, there’s a piano in there. I’m not on duty until later. What about you?’

  The church hall was empty when they slipped in and Jessica went straight to the piano, lifted the lid and played a few notes. Sheila stood at her side and Clemmie, happy to be the audience, pulled up a chair.

  ‘What do you want
to sing?’ asked Jessica.

  ‘I’m not sure yet. I’ll run through a couple and you play along. Do you know “Stormy Weather”?’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’ Jessica tried an introduction and Sheila began to sing.

  The warm bluesy sound of her voice filled the hall and both Clemmie and Jessica looked at her in astonishment. How could such a powerful sound come from this slight, almost fragile, figure? Her voice, expressing such emotion, touched them so deeply that Jessica all but stopped playing to listen and Clemmie felt tears prick her eyes. When the last note had died away, they both squealed with delight, jumping up and down, hugging her.

  ‘I can’t believe you. How did you learn to sing like that?’ said Jessica.

  ‘Hey girl,’ said Clemmie. ‘I think that pass has your name on it.’

  ‘Was it all right?’ asked Sheila. ‘I haven’t sung for so long. I’ll need to practise quite a bit.’

  ‘Gosh, I think I’m the one who’ll have to get practising,’ said Jessica. ‘I don’t know if I can do you justice.’

  Clemmie was suddenly serious. ‘Sheila, why didn’t you ever mention to us that you could sing like that?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s not something you go around saying to people, is it?’

  Clemmie smiled. ‘Well, I suppose not. Come on then, you said you had other songs, can we hear those as well?’

  Sheila sang ‘Blue Moon’ in an upbeat, swing style, then ‘Night and Day’ just like Ella Fitzgerald and Jessica began to get a sense of Sheila’s rhythm and phrasing.

  ‘I think if you and I could get an hour or two of practice over the next week I could polish up the accompaniment,’ said Jessica as they walked back to the hut. ‘And we’ll have to sort out what you’re wearing.’

  ‘And which song you’ll sing,’ added Clemmie. ‘Maybe we should ask the boys what they think.’

  Sheila stopped walking. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. I don’t want a fuss, with people asking me about it. I just want to sing one song on the night to try and win the pass.’

  ‘What, keep it a secret?’ said Jessica. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

  Sheila didn’t know what to say. How could she explain that when she joined the WAAF she just wanted to concentrate on doing a good job? Singing was in the past, that’s why she hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. It was one thing to perform in Belfast for the war effort, but she couldn’t help thinking that her new friends might just see her as a show-off.

  ‘I … er … might get a bit nervous if people are talking about it. I’d rather just get up there and sing.’

  ‘Oh, like a surprise – that could be fun!’ said Jessica. ‘Can you imagine their faces?’

  On the night of the concert, the NAAFI was packed – every seat taken and plenty of airmen standing at the bar and around the edge of the room. At one end there was a makeshift stage with a piano and a microphone lit by a single spotlight. The WAAFs from the hut had got there early and pushed three tables together. Brad, Philippe and some of their air crew sat just behind them. As the noise levels rose and the excitement and anticipation built up, Sheila wished Pat could be there with her to calm her as she always did before they went on stage. She had never felt so nervous but, as the butterflies fluttered inside her, she remembered Pat’s advice. ‘Breathe deeply and don’t worry about the song – it’s there inside you just waiting to be sung.’

  She relaxed a little and whispered to Jessica. ‘Thank you for the dress. I love it.’

  Jessica had insisted she should wear her cocktail dress and, as soon as Sheila stepped into the ruby silk, she knew at once how beautifully made and expensive it was. The amethyst necklace and matching earrings were Jessica’s too. Sheila wore a cardigan draped round her shoulders to cover the top of the dress until it was time for her to perform.

  At seven o’clock precisely, a leading airman known as ‘Gift of the Gab Gerry’ jumped on to the stage and, amid cheering and whistling, welcomed everyone to the Ballykelly Talent Show.

  ‘What a prize up for grabs – two days without drills, kit inspection and the deadly Ulster fry. We’ve got every kind of act you can imagine and plenty of others you couldn’t. We’ve got judges, too, so put your hands together for Station Commander Thornton, Squadron Leader Price and WAAF co-ordinator Sergeant O’Dwyer.’

  When the applause died down he went on: ‘We’ve twelve acts and they’ve drawn lots to determine the running order. First up is a maestro of the mouth organ, navigator Alan Hardman.’

  Alan was sitting near the front and his friends clapped and cheered and slapped him on the back as he stood up. Once on stage, he stood there grinning from ear to ear before someone shouted, ‘Get a move on, mate, we ain’t got all night.’ He pulled the mouth organ from his trouser pocket, blew the dust off it and played a rousing medley of tunes that had everyone singing along. Next up was a gunner telling the sort of jokes that made everyone groan, followed by a WAAF, still in uniform, who sang ‘We’ll Meet Again’.

  Sheila leaned across to whisper to Jessica, ‘She sang that really well, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, she did, but it lacked something and the uniform was a mistake.’

  The acts came and went and, as the audience grew more raucous, Gerry struggled to get them to be quiet as each new act was introduced. Then once they began to perform it wasn’t long before someone would make a wisecrack and they’d all be laughing again. The act before Sheila consisted of three airmen in full makeup dressed as WAAFs right down to the lisle stockings and beetle crusher shoes. They ran on to the stage blowing kisses to the audience and went straight into the Andrews Sisters’ big hit ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree’.

  The room erupted and Sheila rocked with laughter at the sight of what looked like a ludicrous version of the Golden Sisters. They even got one hapless airman up on the stage to dance, just like the Golden Sisters used to do, while his friends roared them on. At the end they left the audience helpless with laughter by lifting up their skirts to jump off the stage showing their regulation ‘blackout’ knickers, which came down to their knees.

  Sheila was still laughing when the compère returned to introduce her. ‘And now a complete change in mood, so settle down for a song from a genuine WAAF – Sheila Goulding from the ops room.’

  Sheila slipped the cardigan from her shoulders and there were audible gasps and a few whistles from the men behind her as the off-the-shoulder sheath dress was revealed.

  She took a deep breath and walked confidently on to the stage to stand at the microphone looking out over the audience. Meanwhile, Jessica settled herself at the piano and seconds later began the introduction. Sheila, smiling as she waited for her cue, swayed to the beat and began to sing ‘Blue Moon’. At first there was some cheering and clapping, but the audience quickly settled down to listen. Sheila could see them swaying, some with their eyes closed, others smiling, and she reached deep within herself to convey the emotion of the lyrics through her voice. She held the final note and raised her hands in the air. A moment’s silence and she swept her hands back into a final bow.

  The audience were on their feet clapping, cheering, whistling and shouting for an encore. Sheila swept the room with a delighted smile and blew them a kiss. She returned to her seat accompanied by warm applause and as she sat down she felt a hand touch her shoulder and a familiar voice whisper, ‘Ma chérie, you were wonderful.’

  There were just three more acts after Sheila, and then the judges went away to decide on the winner of the two-day pass. The girls from the hut were so excited about the fact that one of their friends could sing so well that they bombarded her with questions about how she had learned to sing and whether she was a professional. After a few minutes a movement at the door caught Sheila’s eye and she looked to see Philippe beckoning her over. She excused herself and followed him out outside.

  ‘You were wonderful,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t believe it was you.’

  ‘Well, it was.’ She laughed.

&nb
sp; ‘I know that, but do you remember when we first met and I said I thought I knew you?’

  ‘Yes, but that was just a joke, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. When you were singing tonight I realised that you’re one of the Golden Sisters. I saw you at RAF Aldergrove months ago, couldn’t take my eyes off you that night.’ He laughed. ‘And here you are. I’ve found you again.’

  ‘Philippe, what are you talking about? You haven’t found me; I’ve been here all the time.’

  ‘But now I know you’re her. The Golden Sister, the one I dreamt about for weeks.’

  ‘Come on, that’s silly. I’m just Sheila. You know, the WAAF?’

  ‘Sheila … yes, I know that,’ he said, and before she knew what was happening she was in his arms and being kissed with such tenderness.

  She had no idea how long the kiss lasted, but at the sound of the compère at the microphone calling for order, she stepped back, her head still tilted upwards, her eyes closed.

  Philippe reached for her again. ‘Oh, Sheila …’

  She looked at him, eyes wide with wonder. ‘I have to go now,’ she said.

  The results were announced in reverse order. ‘The act in third place is the trio of WAAFs also known as Bill, John and Ian. In second place, wireless operator and amazing tap dancer Jim Maguire. Finally, unanimously voted the best act and winner of the coveted two-day pass – Miss Sheila Goulding!’

  While Sheila celebrated with the girls, Philippe stood at the bar with some of his crew. Maybe he too felt a bit awkward about their kiss. After such an intimate moment, she was unsure how to behave towards him.

  The girls were in high spirits and singing ‘Blue Moon’ at the tops of their voices as they left the NAAFI. Philippe was waiting outside.

  ‘Hello Sheila, can I speak to you?’

  There was an ‘Oooh!’ sound from the girls and plenty of suppressed giggles.

  Sheila went to him, her heart beating fast.

  ‘Come on, girls,’ said Jessica, ‘let’s leave these two to have their little chat.’

  ‘And the rest!’ shouted someone and, as the girls marched off into the darkness, a line from the song came again: ‘Now I’m no longer alone’.