A Song in my Heart Page 8

‘I was thinking two pounds a week including meals,’ said Dorothy.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Sandy as he looked around the room, while Irene smiled shyly at Dorothy.

  ‘Well,’ said Dorothy, ‘sure I’ll leave you here so you can think about it.’

  When she had gone, Sandy said, ‘I’m sure you’d be fine here, but you need to think seriously about whether you really want to be away from Belfast and the family.’

  Irene opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand. ‘Take your time, because the last thing I want is for you to be unhappy. I won’t be with you as much as I’d like and I don’t want you complaining that you’re lonely because, I’ll tell you now, I can’t be worrying about you when I’ve work to do.’

  Irene sensed the mixture of frustration and concern in his tone and knew this was the moment when she had to choose and that, once made, the decision would be irreversible. It would change her life completely. But it wasn’t about her any more; it was about her husband and their child. Her mother and her sisters would always be there for her, but soon she would have a new family and she would be the one to make it work.

  She reached up and put her arms around Sandy’s neck. ‘I know now that all I want is to be with you and the baby. I’ll be happy here, don’t worry.’

  Sandy’s broad smile said it all. ‘Irene, I know this is a big decision for you and I’m so happy.’ He kissed her tenderly. ‘I love you so much and I promise you we’ll come through this war and we’ll settle down in our own house – you, me and the baby.’

  Chapter 9

  In the cosy parlour of Kathleen’s large Edwardian terraced house on the Cregagh Road, Pat and her aunt sat making plans to ensure that as many children as possible returned to school after the Christmas break.

  ‘You don’t think the promise of a free dinner will be enough?’ asked Pat.

  ‘Oh, the parents who were at the Christmas party might have been convinced, but lots of them weren’t there. Besides, plenty of the children will wake up to a cold and miserable day in January and decide they’d rather stay in bed and the parents will let them.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  Kathleen took a sheaf of pages from a large envelope, split it in two and gave one half to Pat. ‘These are the names and addresses of the pupils who attend May Street School. I think we should do some canvassing – knock on doors to persuade parents to send their children to school.’

  ‘But what if they already send their children?’

  ‘Simple, you just say that’s grand and could they pass on the message to other parents. In these communities people know each other so well and soon they’ll be talking about what’s happening with the free dinners and everything.’

  ‘But what about the children who don’t go to your school?’

  ‘Ah, you don’t know how children’s minds work, Pat. If we can set the ball rolling to get our pupils to come to school, it won’t be long before other children in the area follow suit. The last thing they want is to be left behind with fewer and fewer friends to play with on the streets. You’ve heard of the Pied Piper, haven’t you?’

  And that was the plan. They had one week to persuade as many parents – mostly mothers – as possible to send their children to school. Pat arranged with Cyril Wood that she could sign in at the office every morning before going out to canvass. ‘If you can restore some normality in the education system in that area of the city that’ll be a start, but don’t get your hopes up,’ he told her.

  Pat decided to start with Frankie to make sure he would be attending. His mother, Trixie, invited her in and, when she explained why she was there, Trixie interrupted her. ‘Oh, don’t you worry, Frankie’ll be there. You can’t wait can you, Frankie?’

  Frankie nodded, but then Pat asked, ‘What about your friends? Will they come, do you think?’

  Frankie shrugged his shoulders. ‘Some said they would, but some won’t bother I don’t think.’

  Trixie tutted. ‘What’s the matter with people? It’s like they’ve lost their way altogether and just accept this terrible state of affairs. The way I look at it is this. Let’s get the childer sorted right now, then we’ll get pushin’ for the runnin’ water and a decent roof over our heads. You know what I think?’ Trixie didn’t wait for an answer. ‘You should contact the Belfast Telegraph and get them to write about these childer not goin’ to school. The headmistress was right – education is what’ll set this city to rights after the war. In the meantime, I can promise you I’ll go round everyone I know in this area and I’ll tell them to make sure they send their childer to school next Monday.’

  When Pat met Kathleen after a day walking the streets they compared notes. The response had been mixed but, like Trixie, several women said they would spread the word. Pat wasn’t sure that would have any effect, but Kathleen was heartened by what she had heard.

  ‘Look at it this way,’ said Kathleen, ‘when we started this morning there was only you and me and now there are all these women out there prepared to tell others about the importance of education. Reminds me of another time when women got together. I was about your age then and standing shoulder to shoulder with other women was so exciting. We didn’t change the world, but we did enough to give women a sense that they could make a difference. Maybe we’ve forgotten that over the years, but in here’ – she touched her heart – ‘maybe we still have that power. I’ve a feeling our time will come again.’

  Pat hadn’t intended to mention Trixie’s suggestion of going to the Telegraph, but hearing Kathleen talk of change and power she wondered if it might not be a way to reach other women whose children weren’t going to school.

  Kathleen’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes, of course, it’s exactly what we should do – harness the power of the press. Emmeline Pankhurst knew all about that.’

  ‘Emmeline who?’

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it sometime.’

  Kathleen telephoned the deputy editor there and then, and she and Pat met the following morning outside the front door of the famous sandstone and red-brick building on Royal Avenue. ‘I knew the man when he was a cub reporter,’ said Kathleen. ‘He’ll write a good piece for sure.’ The deputy editor listened carefully when they explained what they were trying to do and he made copious shorthand notes as they talked. He seemed quite shocked by the number of children not in school and asked about the role of the Belfast Education Committee. Kathleen told him she had written to them several times about the problem, but there had been no response. Finally, he made sure he had spelt their names correctly, noted their official titles and assured them he would write the report immediately and that it would appear in the late edition of the paper.

  The following morning when Pat signed in at work, she was told to report to Cyril Wood immediately. She knocked on his office door and waited for him to call ‘Enter’. He was leaning back in his chair smoking his pipe and on the desk in front of him was a copy of the Belfast Telegraph with the headline in large black letters: ‘CITY SCHOOLS EMPTY’.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he demanded.

  ‘I didn’t say the schools were empty.’

  ‘No? Well, what exactly did you say?’

  Pat could feel her heart race. ‘I said there were too many children from bombed areas not attending school. I said their lives had been disrupted and it was time to get them back in school so they could get an education.’

  ‘Very laudable, Miss Goulding, but what concern me are your remarks about the Belfast Education Committee, several members of which have telephoned me this morning demanding to know why a clerk in the Ministry of Public Security had seen fit to damn the city’s entire education system.’

  Pat was horrified. ‘I didn’t do that.’

  He leaned forward and set his pipe on the desk, turned the newspaper towards Pat and put his finger on one line.

  ‘Miss Goulding explained, “As far as I can see the Belfast Education Committee do not seem interested in the missing pupils.”’ />
  Had she really said that? Weren’t they Aunt Kathleen’s words? She felt the anger rise within her. Never mind who said it. It was true!

  She looked Cyril Wood straight in the eye. ‘The fact remains that if we can persuade at least some parents to send their children to school, that’ll be a good thing, won’t it?’

  ‘The committee want you stopped,’ he said.

  Pat’s face fell. Was he going to dismiss her? ‘You agreed that I should do what I could to improve the lives of the children,’ she said.

  ‘Yes I did, but I’m going to have to suspend you from duty for a week to let all this fuss with the Education Committee blow over. Now go home and say nothing more to the newspapers. We don’t want any more trouble between the Stormont government and Belfast Corporation, do we?’

  By the time Pat arrived at Aunt Kathleen’s house her anger had been replaced by a stubborn defiance that not even the thought of losing her job could shake. Kathleen must have been watching for her because she threw open the front door before Pat had opened the gate. Her face was flushed with excitement and she said, ‘Pat, you’ll never guess what’s happened. I’ve had schools from all across the city telephoning me to say they’re going to follow our lead. Operation Pied Piper has begun!’

  Within half an hour both Pat and Kathleen were back on the streets knocking on doors.

  Chapter 10

  Pat and Kathleen stood in the January drizzle and stared at the almost empty yard of May Street School. Just a handful of children were gathered inside the gates, while teachers watched from the classroom windows. It was almost nine o’clock and Kathleen had the brass bell ready in her hand to ring the start of the school day. ‘I can’t understand this,’ she said, ‘by this time we would certainly have had more children arriving. Do you think—’

  ‘Listen,’ said Pat.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s music … sounds like a bugle.’

  And as they listened other bugles joined in. Then came the sound of tramping feet. Left right, left right …

  Pat ran across the yard to the gate. Now they could hear the sound of children singing. ‘Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag …’ Round the corner they came, a whole procession, led by a band of American soldiers, and bringing up the rear was a catering corps truck. The children came to a rather shambolic halt in the yard and when the song ended and the bugles were silent, Captain Walters from the American Services Club stepped forward and saluted Kathleen. ‘They’re all yours now, ma’am.’ Kathleen rang the bell for all she was worth and the children lined up class by class then marched into their lessons.

  Pat shook Captain Walters’ hand. ‘How on earth did you do that?’

  ‘Old army trick,’ he said. ‘We were coming here anyway with the catering truck so we thought we’d drive round the neighbourhood and play the “Reveille”. If it can get lazy troops out of bed it can sure as hell shift kids.’

  At that moment there was a clicking sound and Pat turned to see a man taking their photograph and she realised with a start that she was still holding the captain’s hand.

  The following morning Pat returned to Stormont after her one-week suspension and went straight to Cyril Wood’s office. He looked up as she came in, but didn’t speak and went back to reading a memo. Eventually, he put it down and with a stern face said, ‘You should have done what you were told and spent the week at home; that way you’d still have a job in my department. Instead of which you ploughed ahead and now’ – he paused for effect – ‘you’re on the front page of the Telegraph with the Americans, cocking a snook at the Education Committee.’

  Pat felt her stomach turn over. ‘But lots of children went back to school yesterday and there’ll be more today. Other schools are starting to do what we did and now there’s milk and bread being donated to feed the children. Surely that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Why should I lose my job for trying to help people who have nothing?’

  ‘Pat, I’ve been asked not to discuss this with you. You’re to go right away to the Ministry of Commerce offices – they’re expecting you.’

  ‘The Ministry of Commerce? Why there?’

  Cyril Wood shrugged his shoulders. He had known Pat Goulding would cause a stir, but he hadn’t expected her time in his department to end like this.

  Commerce had been one of the smallest ministries before the war, but after a slow start to war work it had found its feet and now ranked as the most important in the government. As Pat followed the signs down long corridors to the far side of Stormont Buildings she presumed she would arrive at a pokey office where a miserable clerk would have her cards ready and that would be the end of her career in the civil service. As she walked, both her pace and her sense of injustice quickened. ‘How dare they,’ she said between clenched teeth.

  Pat took a deep breath and pushed open the door marked ‘Ministry of Commerce’ and was surprised to find herself in a large airy room with a high ceiling where several men, clearly senior civil servants, were working at their desks. A woman approached her.

  ‘Are you Patricia Goulding?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Please follow me.’

  Another corridor, carpeted this time, and another door. The woman knocked and when a voice called ‘Come in’ she ushered Pat inside. A tall, rather distinguished-looking man with a moustache was standing in front of an elegant plaster fireplace, on either side of which was a high-backed brocade armchair. He came towards her and shook her hand. ‘How do you do, Miss Goulding? Basil Brooke.’ He indicated the chair. ‘Please sit,’ he said, and sat down opposite her. His piercing eyes examined her and she wondered if she was expected to say something. It wasn’t every day she found herself in the office of a cabinet minister. After what seemed an age he said, ‘So you’re the young woman who set the cat among the pigeons.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You’ve given the Education Committee and Belfast Corporation a bit of a pasting, not to mention our own Ministry of Education.’

  Pat was determined to defend herself. ‘Sir, I’m sorry but I didn’t mean to cause trouble, I was just trying to—’

  ‘I know what you were trying to do. I read the papers and as far as I’m concerned Belfast Corporation deserves to be made to look incompetent. They should have done something about the missing pupils months ago.’

  Pat hadn’t expected that response. ‘So why am I being dismissed?’

  The minister laughed. ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘Why else am I here?’

  He went to his desk and came back with a newspaper and handed it to her. There was a large picture of the children marching into school and in the corner was a small insert of Pat shaking hands with Captain Walters. She blushed at the sight of it.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, sir,’ she said, ‘but why am I here exactly?’

  He smiled. ‘Fair question,’ he said, and nodded at the newspaper. ‘Miss Goulding, far from dismissing you I’d like to offer you a new position in my ministry.’

  ‘But—’

  Sir Basil held up his hand. ‘Let me explain. I think you’re the person I need to ensure the success of an important project I’m working on. You’ve shown excellent organisational skills as demonstrated in the setting up of the American Red Cross Services Club and the drive to get children back to school. But equally important are your contacts and sensitivity when dealing with the Americans.’

  Pat felt relieved and flattered in equal measure, but slightly worried too as she had only just got going with the plans to help people in bombed areas. ‘What exactly does this project involve?’ she asked.

  Sir Basil leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘There is to be an event to mark the first anniversary of the arrival of American Forces in Britain, right here in the city where they first came ashore. I want you to join the small team already working on the proposals. Your brief will be to liaise with the Americans. I want them to be impresse
d by the organisation of the event and you will report directly to me. We have less than a month to stage a celebration of which Belfast can be proud.’

  Pat was not averse to working with the Americans, but still had a nagging doubt about leaving unfinished business. ‘At the end of the month, what’ll happen to me?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we?’

  Chapter 11

  Martha knew it was a mother’s lot to see one child contented only to find another had become the opposite. So it was with her daughters. Irene had written a lovely letter saying that she had found a place to stay near Castle Archdale with a family. She was feeling well and the food was good and plentiful. Sheila too seemed much happier and had stopped complaining about her work at the Academy. She had even volunteered to do some overtime. Pat had been living on her nerves with the project to get the children back to school. Thankfully her efforts had paid off, and she had since moved on to some big project with the Americans. But then there was Peggy, who had become even more snappy and agitated as the day of the Golden Sisters audition approached.

  ‘Now don’t forget, Mammy, we won’t be home till quite late,’ she reminded her mother before she went to work on the morning of the auditions. ‘They won’t start until after the shop is closed and goodness only knows how many people will show up. We could be inundated.’

  ‘And Pat’s meeting you at the shop, so there’s only me and Sheila for tea?’

  ‘Yes, Pat and I will have to agree on the right person.’

  Martha raised an eyebrow. ‘Agree, eh? Well, that’ll be a first.’

  Business had been slow in the shop and the time seemed to drag. Goldstein had spent most of the day in his office, only leaving it to spend a couple of hours at his club. But Peggy and Esther whiled away the time talking about the sort of person who would make a good Golden Sister.

  ‘We need someone with a sense of style,’ said Peggy. ‘A bit of class, you know?’

  ‘That would be good,’ said Esther, ‘but she must have a great voice too, yes?’