A Song in my Heart Read online

  He came towards her, his arms open. She stepped back.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he said.

  She didn’t look at him. ‘It’s not right.’

  ‘Not right? You don’t mean that, Sheila. What happened between us before was meant to happen. You know that you felt the same way I did.’ He took another step towards her.

  ‘I made a mistake.’ Sheila’s voice was strained. ‘I forgot for a moment that I’m engaged. I shouldn’t have let you …’

  ‘But it wasn’t a mistake – you know that. You let me kiss you and you kissed me back.’ He held out his arms. ‘Come here. I can’t let you go now I’ve found you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Philippe. It’s not me you’ve found, is it? It’s the Golden Sister, that’s who you kissed. You wouldn’t have kissed me, Sheila the WAAF, would you?’

  The slight hesitation before he spoke sealed his fate. ‘You’re Sheila, my friend, and it was you I held in my arms.’

  ‘But don’t you see that things won’t be the same between us now. I don’t know who you think I am? I can’t explain it but …’

  ‘Sheila, you kissed me and I know you felt the same as I did.’

  ‘Philippe, I don’t know how I feel about you.’

  He touched her arm and again she stepped back.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Let’s forget tonight ever happened, okay? We’ll be just the same as before. What do you say?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Sheila. ‘I’m tired now and I need to get some sleep.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then?’ he said. ‘We’ll talk like we always do.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Sheila, and she turned and walked away.

  Chapter 27

  On the morning of Christmas Eve there were plenty of people on the streets of Belfast despite the fact that the temperature had plummeted overnight and there wasn’t a great deal in the shops. Nevertheless, Martha, Irene and baby Alexander wrapped up warm and were determined to enjoy the festive atmosphere down the town.

  Their first stop was the toy department in Sinclair’s to see the decorations and Christmas tree and to find a suitable toy for a nine-month-old boy. The little wooden car painted blue and red was just the right size to fit in Alexander’s hand so he could push it over the oilcloth.

  On Royal Avenue they walked past carol singers and sang ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’ along with them until they reached the Salvation Army silver band further along the street, where they switched to ‘Good King Wenceslas’. That took them as far as Goldstein’s music shop where they called in to say hello. Peggy and Esther’s squeals of delight when they saw the pram being pushed into the shop brought Goldstein out of his office.

  ‘Oh, such a boy you have, Irene,’ he said, and lifted the child out of the pram. ‘A strong child too – see how his legs are wanting to run. Ah, look at him, he sees the lights reflecting off the instruments.’ Goldstein carried him over to the brass and silver section. ‘You like these? That is because you are musical, like your family. I can see it in your eyes.’ He took a flute from the shelf and Alexander reached out and held it fast. Goldstein declared, ‘A good choice,’ and he took the child and his flute to the counter. ‘Esther, wrap this up for Alexander.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Goldstein, thank you so much. It’s such a beautiful gift.’

  ‘Not at all. It’s my pleasure,’ and he lifted Alexander up into the air. ‘Remember this, my boy, when you are seven years old, you come to Mr Goldstein’s shop and he will teach you to play your flute.’

  They left the music shop and headed for Robb’s, braving the biting wind that swirled round Castle Place. There were crowds of children and their parents on the pavement, looking at the beautiful window displays. Irene took Alexander from his pram and held him up to see Cinderella in a sparkling blue ballgown crossing the cotton-wool snow in her glass slippers to get to her cardboard coach. On to the next window, where a gingerbread cottage, lit from within, was surrounded by painted trees and right at the front of the window lying on the ground were Hansel and Gretel, under a quilt of russet leaves, surrounded by stuffed woodland creatures. Each window a different fairy tale, and when they came to the entrance door there was a large sign: ‘Rocket Ride to the North Pole’.

  ‘Oh Mammy, is he too young to see Santa?’

  A huge smile lit up Martha’s face. ‘You’re never too young to see Santa, Irene, and never too old either.’

  On the first floor they bought their tickets and followed the ‘North Pole’ signpost down a corridor decorated with pictures of toys until they came to a closed door. Several people were already waiting their turn to travel in the rocket. The door swung open and a rather large elf emerged and asked them to have their tickets ready. One by one they filed into a dimly lit space and, as their eyes adjusted to the light, they could see rows of oddly shaped chairs. When everyone was seated, the door closed, and boards of flashing lights and dials lit up and revealed metallic walls and portholes. There was the sound of something like an engine starting up, and Irene leaned towards her mother and whispered, ‘I’m not sure about this. I hope Alexander doesn’t start screaming.’

  A sudden crackling sound made everyone jump and a tinny voice in a broad Belfast accent began the countdown. ‘Ten, nine, eight …’

  ‘Mercy me!’ said Martha. ‘What on earth?’

  The roar of the engine got louder and louder and a child screamed. Alexander was making whimpering sounds.

  ‘… two, one, zero, BLAST OFF!’

  Their seats began to shake and Martha grabbed Irene’s arm. ‘They didn’t say it was a real rocket!’ she screamed.

  At that moment the portholes lit up and they watched in amazement as the moon and the stars went rushing past. There were gasps, then everyone was laughing and pointing and their fear evaporated in a chorus of oohs and aahs.

  All too soon they were instructed to get ready for a landing at the North Pole. The night sky disappeared from the porthole windows, the lights dimmed and the engine faded away with a soft whine. The elf stood at the front. ‘Welcome to the North Pole. Please follow the signs to Santa’s workshop.’ Then he pulled back a curtain to reveal another door through which they all disembarked in high excitement.

  After the rocket trip, meeting Santa in his wooden hut was a bit of a disappointment for the adults, but for the children it was the highlight of their trip to the North Pole. Alexander took it all in his stride. He sat on Santa’s knee and had his photo taken and, when he was given his gift from the sack, he shook it and threw it away and Santa laughed a special ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’ just for him.

  Before they left Robb’s they paid a visit to the ladies’ department to see Grace McCracken. Martha had told Irene about Grace walking out with the manager of the shoe department and how her brother John had forbidden her to see him.

  ‘I feel so sorry for her,’ said Martha. ‘Aggie and Grace don’t have much in their lives to cheer them, so I thought I’d invite them round for our Christmas get-together tomorrow night.’

  Grace was just serving a customer who was buying evening gloves so they wandered round the department looking at the clothes until she was free. ‘They’re awful dear in here, aren’t they?’ said Martha.

  ‘Aye, but they’re good quality, they’d last you a lifetime, so they would.’

  A candlewick dressing gown caught Irene’s eye, soft green with swirls of pink roses. ‘Here, Mammy, why don’t you try this on?’

  ‘Sure, I have my felt dressing gown.’

  ‘You’ve worn that for as long as I can remember and I don’t think it was yours to begin with, was it?’ Irene slipped the dressing gown off the hanger and made her mother try it on.

  ‘Right enough, it’s lovely and thick to keep the heat in, and so soft,’ said Martha as she stroked the material.

  ‘Well, that’s your Christmas present from me sorted.’

  ‘You can’t buy me this – it’s far too dear.’

  ‘Mammy, I’ve been away for months and I’ve
not spent any money or used any clothing coupons. So I’m buying you this and that’s an end to it.’

  ‘But you—’

  ‘But me no buts – I’m buying it.’

  They took the dressing gown over to Grace and she wrapped it, then put the notes in a little cylinder which she fed into a pipe above the counter. There was a sucking sound and Grace said, ‘That’s it away to accounts. The change’ll be back in a minute.’ While they waited, Martha told Grace about the ‘wee bit of a party’ she was having. ‘Will you come and bring Aggie and John?’

  ‘That’s really kind of you, Martha, but I’m not sure John could be persuaded.’

  ‘Well, if he wants to stay at home that’s up to him, but I hope you and Aggie will come.’

  Grace smiled. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Their last bit of shopping was at St George’s Market to see if there were any bargains to be had for the party. On the butcher’s stall there was one small piece of ham left. ‘I can let you have it for three shillings. Finest Galway ham, you’ll not get better.’ But Martha hesitated – would it be enough for the sandwiches? ‘Ach missus, call it half a crown – what d’ye say?’

  Alexander slept soundly on the bus back home, and Martha felt her eyes closing too. It had been a lovely day, the three of them together, and it was surely going to be the best Christmas ever.

  Sheila came off the night shift early on Christmas Eve morning and went straight to Command HQ to collect her two-day pass. There would be just enough time to walk to Ballykelly Station to catch the Londonderry to Belfast train when it stopped there at nine o’clock.

  Nell from her hut was on duty and she checked the in-tray. ‘Here it is, Sheila. Oh—’

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Nell. ‘It’s been cancelled – look.’

  And Sheila saw the red ink scrawled across her precious pass. ‘But that can’t be right. I won the pass, didn’t I, so I’m going home for Christmas.’

  Nell was nearly in tears. ‘Oh Sheila, I’m so sorry, but somebody’s stopped it. You can’t go.’

  ‘Who stopped it?’

  Nell lowered her voice. ‘I shouldn’t tell you, but it’s got Sergeant O’Dwyer’s initials on it.’

  Sheila’s heart sank. She needed to get it sorted quickly, if she was to catch the train. ‘There must have been some mistake. What can I do?’

  ‘I heard O’Dwyer say she was going to the NAAFI for a fag. Why don’t you go and speak to her?’

  Sheila ran all the way there, but as she pushed open the door, she was met by a wall of sound and a room packed with air crews who had been out on patrol overnight. She pushed her way through the crowd, searching for the sergeant. At one point she caught sight of Philippe. She wasn’t surprised to see him there – she had plotted his plane all the way back to Ballykelly and knew it had landed half an hour earlier. She hadn’t spoken to him since the night of the concert three days before and she had no intention of seeking him out. She just needed to find O’Dwyer as quickly as possible. She spotted her sitting alone on the far side of the room smoking a cigarette and, without any thought of how to manage the situation, she walked straight up to her, saluted and said, ‘Permission to speak, Sergeant.’

  O’Dwyer nodded her consent.

  ‘My pass has been cancelled,’ Sheila explained, ‘and I need you to sort it out for me or I’ll miss my train to Belfast.’

  O’Dwyer narrowed her eyes and blew out a stream of smoke. ‘You won’t be going to Belfast.’

  Sheila felt as though she had been slapped in the face. ‘But I won the pass and I need it to get home for Christmas.’

  O’Dwyer leaned forward and stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray. ‘Not today you’re not. I’ve a plotter in the sick bay doubled up with food poisoning. You’ll be working her shift tonight in the ops room.’

  ‘That’s not fair. I was promised the pass.’ Sheila’s voice was bordering on the shrill and the buzz of conversation around them ceased.

  ‘Of course it’s not fair. Nothing’s fair when there’s a war on,’ said O’Dwyer, ‘and you need to watch how you’re speaking to a superior officer, Airwoman Goulding, or you could find yourself on a charge.’

  ‘I apologise,’ said Sheila. ‘It’s just that I thought I was going to see my family.’

  O’Dwyer shrugged her shoulders. ‘If she’s any better in the morning you can have the pass.’

  ‘But that’s no good. There’s no train tomorrow and I’ll be stuck here.’ Sheila was close to tears.

  ‘Just like the rest of us, then.’

  Sheila wanted to tell her how desperate she was to see her family and how cruel it was to dash her hopes at the last minute, but the sneering look on the sergeant’s face told her there was no chance the pass would be authorised. So she bit her tongue, saluted smartly, wheeled round and marched across the room and out of the door.

  Back at the hut some of the WAAFs were getting ready to go on duty. Jessica was sitting on her bed rolling her hair and pinning it above her collar. She put the end of a kirby grip in her mouth and eased it open. ‘Are you off?’ she asked as she secured the final piece.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sheila and she grabbed her bag and greatcoat. ‘I’ll see you on Boxing Day,’ she said, and she ran out of the hut and all the way to Ballykelly Station.

  Several people were waiting on the platform. At the ticket office there was a small queue and the wait gave her time to get her breath back and with it came some semblance of calm. She bought her ticket and went to stand on the platform. She wasn’t the kind of girl to cause trouble, she told herself, but it was a matter of principle. She was entitled to the pass and Sergeant O’Dwyer was wrong to say she couldn’t go to Belfast to see her family. In any event, there would be time enough when she came back to sit down and persuade Sergeant O’Dwyer that she was right. The signal had changed to show the train was approaching and within a minute the sound of it was audible. As it drew closer, she became aware of the conflicting voices in her head. She was certainly entitled to leave, but now there was another opinion vying to be heard. She had joined up to do something worthwhile, to be part of that vast force working together to bring an end to the war. Was she not obliged to stay and do her duty?

  The train came into view and the sound of it braking filled her head, drowning out the shouts from someone on the road beyond the station. She moved closer to the edge of the platform and the train slowed to a stop. Her hand was on the carriage door when a sudden shout made her hesitate. It came again. ‘Sheila, Sheila! Where are you?’ There was the sound of movement behind her. She hesitated a moment and suddenly strong arms were around her, preventing her from moving. She looked down at the sleeves of a flying jacket.

  ‘Philippe, is it you? Let me go.’

  He was behind her and when he spoke she felt his breath on her ear. ‘No Sheila, you can’t leave. I won’t let you.’

  ‘I’m going home for Christmas. It’s nothing to do with you. So don’t try and stop me.’

  He turned her towards him, but his grip was just as tight. ‘You think this is about me and how I feel about you? Don’t you realise, if you leave the base and go AWOL, you’ll be court-martialled.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll get my knuckles rapped when I come back, but I’m in the right here.’ She struggled to free herself from his arms.

  ‘Stop behaving like a silly girl. So you want to see your family? We all want to see our families, Sheila, but what really matters is those convoys and the boys who risk their lives out there to protect them. Tonight you’re needed in that ops room to bring them home safely – to bring me home safely.’

  She lowered her eyes and the fight left her. People were pushing past them to get into the carriages, but still he held her. ‘Look at me.’ His voice was fierce. She raised her eyes and flinched at the hurt in his face.

  The passengers were all on board, the stationmaster blew his whistle and lowered his flag and the train
chugged slowly out of the station, leaving the two figures locked in a fierce embrace, wreathed in billowing clouds of steam.

  When Pat had attended the now annual children’s party at the American Red Cross Services Club on the Sunday before Christmas, Joe Walters had invited both her and Peggy to join their Christmas Eve celebration. At first Pat had dismissed the idea, but Peggy, who was disappointed that Archie had not been in touch for several weeks, was determined not to sit at home moping.

  ‘Oh come on, Pat, don’t be so miserable. I tell you, a Christmas Eve with the Americans is something not to be missed.’

  In the end Pat gave in to her nagging. ‘I’ll go for an hour to show my face, that’s all,’ she said, knowing that would be time enough to get the latest news on the Italian Campaign from Joe.

  From the first day it opened, Pat had loved the atmosphere in the club. Of course, it helped that she and Tony had created it together – it was where they fell in love and where he proposed – but it was more than that. It was the Americans themselves. She loved their optimism and generosity of spirit, their informal ways and straight talking.

  When they got to the club, Joe was in the foyer greeting everyone as they arrived. As soon as he saw the girls his face lit up. ‘Hi Patti, glad you could come. And Peggy too – gee, it’s good to see you again.’ He shook their hands warmly. ‘Go on in and get yourself a drink. You’ll find I’ve put you on a table with some friends of mine. I’ll come join you when I’ve finished out here.’

  The ballroom was festooned with decorations and the Christmas tree, strung with coloured lights, went all the way up to the ceiling. But it was the sight of so many immaculate GI uniforms that impressed Peggy. ‘Oh my,’ she said, ‘and they’re all so handsome, aren’t they?’

  Joe’s friends made them welcome and brought them Coca Cola from the bar. There was a six-piece band playing Christmas music – some couples were already on the floor and it wasn’t long before the girls were asked to dance.