19
The St John’s céilís were renowned in West Belfast, attracting people from throughout Catholic West Belfast and further afield. Most locals walked there, but there were quite a few bicycles and even some motor cars outside the parish hall as Maisie and Peggy arrived.
Peggy’s friend Kathleen came up to greet them, a girl called Therese by her side. Kathleen was an apprentice handywoman and had worked alongside Peggy in that role before Peggy had gone to train as a certified midwife.
Having bagsied some seats on the girls’ side of the hall by the simple expedient of placing their coats on them – Maisie still absurdly proud of the fact she now had a coat rather than a milly’s shawl – they bought minerals and chatted idly.
Therese wandered off when the three childbirth experts began talking ‘shop’, and so they got stuck in even more, Kathleen quizzing the qualified midwives on what would happen to pregnant women if Nazi planes did decide to attack Belfast.
‘God, it doesn’t bear thinking about!’ said Peggy, shuddering. ‘But we would just do what we always do, as midwives and handywomen. Support the women.’
‘Aye, I suppose. I’m thinking about air raid shelters and stuff.’
Maisie was picturing the same. ‘There’d be no privacy in the public shelters. I saw them building one down in Royal Avenue. It’s only a big concrete hut, so it is.’
‘Aye.’ Peggy nodded, her expression thoughtful. ‘Early labour would probably stop in one of them huts. Women in labour don’t like being looked at.’
‘Or being afraid!’ Kathleen added. ‘You’re right, if she was only starting it would probably all pause for a while. I’d be more worried about a woman being taken there when she’s well on.’
‘If she was pushing or near pushing the baby would come regardless.’ Maisie nodded slowly. ‘The district midwives would all have their kit bags, so they’d be all right if they were asked to help with a birth in an unusual spot.’
‘Handywomen have their bags for home births too. It would be the hospital midwives who might be the least prepared.’ Peggy grimaced. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? We rely on the equipment stores in the hospital, which means we’re less prepared for real-life situations.’
‘What about the flying squad?’ Maisie was thinking out loud. ‘When they get called to an emergency at a home birth, there are grab bags for both the midwives and the doctors.’
‘Aye. Dan says the obstetricians are planning to have a bigger stock, in case there’s trouble and women who need the hospital can’t get there.’
‘What’s a flying squad?’ Kathleen asked curiously, and Peggy explained.
‘It’s an emergency team of a midwife and a doctor. They go to a woman’s house if there’s an emergency and she can’t be moved easily – like a bleed or if she has fits.’
‘Good to know,’ said Kathleen, nodding firmly before sending Peggy a glance filled with mischief. ‘Is Dan here?’ She was looking around.
‘Aye. He’s with Alex, over there.’ She indicated the far side of the hall, where Dan was indeed deep in conversation with Alex.
Kathleen’s eyes widened. ‘Wow, who’s that Alex fella? Haven’t seen him before!’
‘He’s a doctor at the Royal. Not married, but – but,’ Peggy emphasised, ‘I reckon he has his eye on our Maisie!’ She winked, and Maisie could feel a flush travelling up her neck and face. God, it was so frustrating having fair skin!
Kathleen was laughing. ‘Aye, well you may nab him quick, Maisie, for a tall, good-looking, unmarried doctor won’t last too long around here!’
‘He’s Protestant,’ Maisie said bluntly, and Kathleen’s smile faded.
‘Ah, right.’
‘I have to say though,’ Peggy’s expression was pensive, ‘there were quite a few mixed couples at the Rotunda in Dublin. It’s like them things are less important in the Free State – at least among that sort of people.’
‘Like, fancy people?’ Kathleen’s eyes were round. ‘They always do what suits them. The likes of us have to stick to the rules, don’t we?’
There was a lump in Maisie’s throat, preventing her from saying anything. The likes of us.
‘Aye, and it’s still a bit more fraught here in the north, because politics gets mixed up with religion.’ Peggy shook her head. ‘So frustrating.’
All heads turned towards the stage then, for the dance was beginning. As he often did, the fear an tí – the host – began with ‘The Walls of Limerick’ – a simple dance which began with two facing two.
Kathleen’s friend Therese came back to claim her, even as Alex and Dan approached to claim Maisie and Peggy.
‘Well!’ Alex looked a wee bit nervous, but his smile was as devastating as ever.
‘All ready for this?’ She grinned at him and he grimaced.
‘Ready as I’ll ever be!’
‘Maisie will keep you right,’ Peggy said reassuringly.
‘She’d better,’ he said softly, ‘for I don’t wanna make an eejit of myself!’
‘You’ll be grand,’ Maisie said with what she hoped was a reassuring air. ‘Now, we need to line up with the other couples. You face Peggy and I face Dan.’
‘And we hold hands?’ He took her left hand, and she sent him a mischievous glance.
‘Aye, you’re not a bit slow, are you, Alex Lowe?’
He leaned towards her to murmur in her hear, ‘Not where you’re concerned, no.’
Thankfully, she was saved from having to answer, for the music had begun.
‘Five-six-seven-eight,’ she counted aloud, then stepped forward, propelling him with her.
‘Now back. And again.’ They repeated the advance-retire twice, then she dropped his hand.
‘Stay there.’ She swapped places with Peggy, then Alex swapped with Dan – spotting the pattern.
Peggy then took him out to the side for eight bars, and Maisie and Dan did the same. Then the final part – the swing.
‘Put your other hand on my elbow,’ she prompted, clasping his right hand and leading him slowly in a tight circle. All around them, couples were swinging at high speed, but she ignored them.
‘And that’s it!’ she declared, as they advanced to meet the next couple. ‘Now we do it all again.’
By the time the dance ended, they had repeated the sequence a dozen times, and Alex was swinging her with speed and a fair degree of expertise. ‘You’re a quick learner!’ she declared breathlessly.
‘I can do the swing, but I’ve no clue about the fancy footwork.’
‘Ah never worry about that. Sure half the men don’t bother with it anyway. And the dance still works if you just walk it.’
‘Well. Did you enjoy that, Alex?’ Peggy had found them, Dan in her wake.
‘Aye, that was good craic!’
Something was glowing inside Maisie at the notion of sharing Irish music and dance with Alex.
See how wonderful it is? she wanted to say.
She kept her mouth shut, of course – because not only was it already obvious he was enjoying himself, but she didn’t want to suggest any disrespect to Protestant dances.
As at the Orpheus, the four of them stuck together all evening, dancing as couples and enjoying minerals and craic in between sets.
The difference was that here, everyone knew her, and it seemed everyone wanted to be introduced to Alex.
Thank God my ma and da aren’t here tonight!
Even Father MacLaverty – a warm and affable man, nothing like Father Wallis up the road – wanted an introduction, and didn’t bat an eyelid at the realisation that there was a Protestant in their midst.
Father Mac knew, of course. They all did.
Alex Lowe. A Protestant-sounding name – plus there was the fact that, despite having a local accent, he clearly wasn’t familiar with céilí dances.
Aye, everybody knew the craic – and the word would doubtless go straight back to Maisie’s parents that she had been dancing all night with a Prod.
Maureen was here, and her friend áine, and they had wangled an introduction earlier.
While Maureen wouldn’t deliberately get Maisie in trouble, she wouldn’t tell a direct lie to Mammy either.
That, though, was a problem for another day. Tonight, the music was playing, and she and Alex were dancing, and all was well.
All too soon it was over, and Maureen and áine came to find her for the walk home.
áine lived in Hawthorn Street, near Dunlewey Street, so the three of them always walked home from the céilís together.
Which meant that, sadly, there would be no kisses for Maisie tonight.
A pity, since Alex’s kisses were currently the high point of her life.
Since their conversation about a ‘light’ relationship a few weeks ago, she and Alex had kissed regularly.
While competing shifts and working patterns meant they didn’t see each other every day, they made the most of the opportunities that did arise.
Winter was coming, and the dark afternoons meant they were usually able to find a secluded corner in the grounds of the Royal before walking together to the corner of Maisie’s street.
They had even risked a quick kiss there a couple of times, since the blackout rules meant there were no streetlights now.
Now, they all congregated together as a group outside the hall, reluctant for the night to end.
Dan and Peggy, Maisie and Alex, along with Maureen and áine.
As they walked up the road together the conversation was easy, with Alex declaring ‘The Waves of Tory’ to be his favourite dance of the evening, and everyone agreeing with him that it was the most craic.
They said their goodbyes to Peggy and Dan at the Rock Streets, where Peggy lived.
After leaving Peggy home, Dan would walk to his own parents’ house in Derryvolgie near the university.
The night was clear and cold, and a million stars lit the sky – providing enough light for them to avoid tripping over obstacles or stepping in horse dung.
On they went, continuing along the Falls Road past Beechmount. Alex was chatting lightly with Maureen and áine, with Maisie silently enjoying the temporary harmony between her different worlds. If only . . .
‘Help! Help!’ A man’s voice, and the tone of it struck fear into Maisie’s heart. They had reached the corner of Broadway, and a man was running up the hill in the darkness, dimly outlined via the hooded lamp in his hand.
‘What do you need?’ Alex called.
‘Somebody’s in the water. I can’t get her out! I can’t swim!’
Fear and shock rippled through Maisie, mingled with confusion. What in God’s name was happening?