minutes.’
‘But Sheila isn’t here yet,’ wailed Irene. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘It’s quite simple.’ For the first time since she entered the Grosvenor Hall, Martha felt in control of herself and, more importantly, her daughters. ‘You three are the Goulding Sisters. It was you they invited to sing here. That’s how it’s meant to be. So, stop arguing, just go out there and perform.’
Pat was furious. There was no questioning her mother’s logic, but that didn’t mean she forgave Peggy for her behaviour. Once again, she had been awkward and stubborn, but still got exactly what she wanted.
Then Derek was in the doorway again, looking bewildered. ‘Another Goulding Sister’s arrived. Are they coming out of the woodwork?’
Sheila stood drenched to the skin, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed. Martha hugged her. ‘Thank God you’re here. What was I thinking about, allowing you to travel away here on your own? You’re soaked. Get that wet coat off you.’
Sheila undid her sodden scarf and revealed her once bouncy curls plastered to her scalp. The elocutionist shyly offered a towel. Sheila stood shivering; her mauve blouse was now purple where the rain had beaten down through her coat.
‘Am I too late?’ she asked as Martha rubbed her hair vigorously.
‘You’re just in time, love,’ said Martha. ‘You’re on in twenty minutes.’
Sheila lifted her head and noticed Peggy. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her tone wasn’t challenging, just curious.
‘I’ve decided to perform. So, don’t worry, you don’t have to go on. Neither does Mammy.’
‘But I’m not too late, am I? I ran and ran to get here.’
‘I know,’ said Peggy, ‘but I’m here now to do it.’
‘But I’ve rehearsed every night. Sure I know all the songs and everything.’ Sheila’s voice was rising steadily. The whole dressing room had stopped to watch the final act of the drama play out. Peggy was about to explain again when Martha put her arm around Sheila’s shoulders.
‘Of course you’re going to sing. There’s going to be four Goulding Sisters on the stage tonight. Isn’t there girls?’ She looked at her other three daughters. Irene clapped her hands in delight. Pat looked at Peggy and said, ‘Of course Sheila’s got to sing.’ Peggy said nothing.
Since Sheila’s arrival, the concert had been going ahead at a cracking pace. Performers came and went while they tried to get Sheila dried and Peggy dressed. The yodeller, who introduced herself as Ethel Crawford, had the idea of putting Sheila’s blouse on the hot water tank she’d seen in the toilets. ‘We won’t put it straight on the tank, or it’ll get marked. We’ll lay it on this underskirt of mine. Sure it’s only an oul thing.’
When Myrtle came off stage, she took one look at Sheila’s hair and said, ‘I know just the thing, a French pleat.’ She swept the wet hair back from Sheila’s face, expertly folded it over and over and secured it tightly, like sealing an envelope, with hairpins. Just enough hair had been left outside the pleat to arrange in a cascade of curls on the top of her head. Martha took off her blouse and gave it to Peggy.
‘The work skirt you’ve on you will do you rightly. You know what you’re playing don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. Sure haven’t I been listening to it for the last fortnight?’
‘Look, you concentrate on the piano and let Sheila do what she’s rehearsed. Here’s the music.’ Martha handed her the brown leather music case with the brass bar fastening.
‘I don’t need the music.’
‘I know you don’t normally, but this isn’t a normal performance.’
Peggy shrugged and took the music with no intention of using it. With two minutes to spare, Sheila’s mauve blouse was rescued from the hot water tank.
‘But, Mammy, it’s all creased down the back,’ she wailed.
‘Ach it’ll do rightly. Sure a blind man would be glad to see it!
*
Harry Ferguson always played his hunches. He’d followed
‘But Sheila isn’t here yet,’ wailed Irene. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘It’s quite simple.’ For the first time since she entered the Grosvenor Hall, Martha felt in control of herself and, more importantly, her daughters. ‘You three are the Goulding Sisters. It was you they invited to sing here. That’s how it’s meant to be. So, stop arguing, just go out there and perform.’
Pat was furious. There was no questioning her mother’s logic, but that didn’t mean she forgave Peggy for her behaviour. Once again, she had been awkward and stubborn, but still got exactly what she wanted.
Then Derek was in the doorway again, looking bewildered. ‘Another Goulding Sister’s arrived. Are they coming out of the woodwork?’
Sheila stood drenched to the skin, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed. Martha hugged her. ‘Thank God you’re here. What was I thinking about, allowing you to travel away here on your own? You’re soaked. Get that wet coat off you.’
Sheila undid her sodden scarf and revealed her once bouncy curls plastered to her scalp. The elocutionist shyly offered a towel. Sheila stood shivering; her mauve blouse was now purple where the rain had beaten down through her coat.
‘Am I too late?’ she asked as Martha rubbed her hair vigorously.
‘You’re just in time, love,’ said Martha. ‘You’re on in twenty minutes.’
Sheila lifted her head and noticed Peggy. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her tone wasn’t challenging, just curious.
‘I’ve decided to perform. So, don’t worry, you don’t have to go on. Neither does Mammy.’
‘But I’m not too late, am I? I ran and ran to get here.’
‘I know,’ said Peggy, ‘but I’m here now to do it.’
‘But I’ve rehearsed every night. Sure I know all the songs and everything.’ Sheila’s voice was rising steadily. The whole dressing room had stopped to watch the final act of the drama play out. Peggy was about to explain again when Martha put her arm around Sheila’s shoulders.
‘Of course you’re going to sing. There’s going to be four Goulding Sisters on the stage tonight. Isn’t there girls?’ She looked at her other three daughters. Irene clapped her hands in delight. Pat looked at Peggy and said, ‘Of course Sheila’s got to sing.’ Peggy said nothing.
Since Sheila’s arrival, the concert had been going ahead at a cracking pace. Performers came and went while they tried to get Sheila dried and Peggy dressed. The yodeller, who introduced herself as Ethel Crawford, had the idea of putting Sheila’s blouse on the hot water tank she’d seen in the toilets. ‘We won’t put it straight on the tank, or it’ll get marked. We’ll lay it on this underskirt of mine. Sure it’s only an oul thing.’
When Myrtle came off stage, she took one look at Sheila’s hair and said, ‘I know just the thing, a French pleat.’ She swept the wet hair back from Sheila’s face, expertly folded it over and over and secured it tightly, like sealing an envelope, with hairpins. Just enough hair had been left outside the pleat to arrange in a cascade of curls on the top of her head. Martha took off her blouse and gave it to Peggy.
‘The work skirt you’ve on you will do you rightly. You know what you’re playing don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. Sure haven’t I been listening to it for the last fortnight?’
‘Look, you concentrate on the piano and let Sheila do what she’s rehearsed. Here’s the music.’ Martha handed her the brown leather music case with the brass bar fastening.
‘I don’t need the music.’
‘I know you don’t normally, but this isn’t a normal performance.’
Peggy shrugged and took the music with no intention of using it. With two minutes to spare, Sheila’s mauve blouse was rescued from the hot water tank.
‘But, Mammy, it’s all creased down the back,’ she wailed.
‘Ach it’ll do rightly. Sure a blind man would be glad to see it!
*
Harry Ferguson always played his hunches. He’d followed
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