The Weather Girls (eBook)

Saturday 14th June, 1941

‘One day I’ll be up there.’ Sibby points at the red velvet curtains in front of us. We’re sitting beside each other in the picture house at Claremorris. ‘A matinee star, like Maureen O’Hara. She’s Irish, you know.’

I put on my best radio presenter voice, all deep and dramatic, and say, ‘Maureen was whisked away to Hollywood at eighteen to star in The Hunchback of Notre Dame and has never looked back.’

Sibby stares at me. ‘How do you know all that?’

‘You’ve only told me her story a hundred times,’ I reply. ‘You’re obsessed with Maureen O’Hara.’

Sibby grins. ‘She deserves attention. She’s so glamorous. Like me.’ She frames her head with her hands and pouts.

I laugh. ‘Just like you.’

There’s a mechanical click and the curtains start to open for the Pathé news – a black-and-white newsreel that comes on before the main picture.

‘Girls, are you ready?’ Mamó says. ‘The reel’s starting.’ Her eyes are glued to the big screen. Mamó seems just as excited to be at the pictures as I am.

Mamó is Sibby’s grandmother. She drove us to Claremorris today to see the film Dumbo as a special treat. Sibby loves the picture house, and she’s been loads of times. It’s only my second time after seeing Pinocchio last year – again with Sibby and Mamó – so it’s pretty special for me.

‘I’ll be on all the newsreels one day,’ Sibby says. ‘Grace, say something like “Mayo actress takes over the world” in your funny accent.’

I deepen my voice again. ‘Miss Elizabeth Lavelle, Mayo’s answer to Maureen O’Hara, takes the silver screen by storm.’ Elizabeth is Sibby’s real name. No-one calls her that, but she says it’s going to be her ‘stage name’ one day.

Sibby beams with delight. ‘Ha! “Mayo’s answer to Maureen O’Hara”! I love it!’

Someone behind us tut-tuts. Sibby grins and rolls her eyes. ‘One day grown-ups will appreciate our tremendous talent and outstanding wit,’ she says as the screen crackles into life and the newsreel comes on. Everyone in the picture house starts to clap and whistle.

‘They will,’ I say over the noise. ‘But maybe not today.’

Sibby nudges me with her shoulder. ‘Happy birthday, Grace. Hope you like your picture house trip.’

‘Best present ever,’ I say. ‘Thanks, kindred spirit.’

This is what my favourite book character, Anne of Green Gables, calls her best friend. I loved the book so much I made Sibby read it too. She liked it, but she didn’t love it. Not enough drama, apparently. Which is nonsense – it’s full of drama!

Sibby laughs. ‘You’re welcome,’ she says.

A posh male voice booms out through the speakers. ‘This is the Pathé Newsreel for June 1941. Belfast is still in shock from the recent bombings which killed over a thousand innocent civilians.’

The screen is filled with German planes flying over Belfast and dropping bombs. There are loud explosions and then burning buildings, blown up bridges, children running away from the blasts, screaming. The images are so vivid I can almost taste smoke and dust in my mouth. My heart squeezes. It’s horrible!

Beside me I can hear Mamó say, ‘Poor souls.’

The newsreel continues. ‘On Burke Street, all twenty houses were wiped off the map. Here we see Dublin firemen fighting the blaze. De Valera himself sent thirteen Irish fire tenders to help deal with the fires that raged all over the great city.’

As we watch, fireman struggle with thick hoses, trying to drench the towering flames.

‘Who’s De Valera again?’ Sibby asks me.

‘Sibby!’ I say. ‘He’s our Taoiseach.’

‘Oh yes, I remember now,’ she says. ‘But why is he sending fire engines to Belfast? I thought we were supposed to be neutral?’

Someone behind us coughs loudly, and another person gives a loud ‘shush’.

‘Girls, you’re disturbing people,’ Mamó says. ‘Hush now. Watch the newsreel.’

My cheeks flare up, but it’s dark so no one can see them. ‘Sorry, Mamó,’ I whisper.

Beside me, Sibby chuckles behind her hand. She’s not as bothered about what other people think as I am. Sometimes I wish I could be more like her.

As I continue to stare at the burning buildings on the screen, the tops of my hands tingle and I start to feel a bit sick. Hitler bombed Dublin in January too. What if he bombs Blacksod next? I know it’s unlikely – so far, it’s mainly been cities, and why would he attack our small Mayo village? – but I can’t stop thinking about it. I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. Hitler is not interested in Blacksod, Grace, I tell myself. Get a grip!

The newsreel comes to an end, and jaunty circus music plays as the credits for Dumbo start to roll. Da-da, diddly, da-da, daaa-da.

‘Dumbo!’ Sibby jumps up and down in her seat. ‘And look, a circus tent!’

The woman behind us sighs loudly. ‘Here, are you going to gasp and talk the whole way through the picture?’ she asks Sibby.

Sibby swings around, bold as anything. ‘I’m sorry, I’m a very emotional person,’ she says. ‘I just can’t help myself. I might gasp, but it won’t be on purpose. But I do promise not to talk.’

Luckily the woman finds this funny. She chuckles. ‘Ah, sure, I’m a bit of a chatterbox myself. Do your best, love.’

‘I will,’ Sibby says. ‘I promise.’

And I do my best to concentrate on Dumbo and to forget about the blazing buildings I’ve just seen. Cute cartoon baby animals are being flown through the sky to their mothers, carefully held in the mouths of storks. Forget about Belfast, I tell myself. Think about the circus and the baby animals!

* * *

In the car on the way home, Sibby is still teary. ‘It was so tragic,’ she says, giving a dramatic sigh. ‘Poor little Dumbo. But at least it had a happy ending. Did you like it, Grace?’

I nod. ‘I loved it. Apart from the newsreel. I didn’t know that many people had died in Belfast.’

‘I hope it didn’t upset you too much, Grace,’ Mamó says. ‘I don’t know why they show those reels before children’s pictures. It’s one thing reading about a bombing in the newspapers but another seeing it on the big screen like that. Awful business.’

This reminds me of Sibby’s question earlier. ‘Mamó, Sibby was asking why Mr de Valera sent the fire engines when we’re supposed to be neutral.’

‘We are neutral, all right,’ Mamó says, ‘but most people are on the side of the Allies these days, and that includes Mr de Valera and the government. I think the Belfast bombing turned a lot more people in the south of Ireland against the Germans, to be honest. Sure, aren’t we all on the same island after all? That’s what Mr de Valera himself said when he was asked about the fire engines. And some people are even helping the Allies a wee bit, any way they can.’

‘War, blooming war!’ Sibby says. ‘How much longer will it go on, Mamó? It’s been two years now. Two whole years!’ She groans and throws her hands in the air. ‘I’m sick of the stupid war. It’s all the grown-ups talk about.’

‘Not too much longer,’ Mamó says. ‘You all right now, Grace?’

Mamó’s kind eyes meet mine in the rear-view mirror. I nod and then look away.

‘Try not to be worrying about the war, girls,’ Mamó says. ‘We’re safe. Most of the fighting is far away in Europe and Russia. Sure nothing ever happens in Blacksod.’

‘True,’ says Sibby. ‘Which is why I’ll be leaving for Hollywood the minute I turn eighteen.’

Mamó laughs. ‘Will you now?’

‘I will,’ Sibby says firmly. Then she looks at me and grins.

‘Like Maureen O’Hara,’ we both say together. It sets us off laughing so hard that Mamó can’t help but laugh too. Sibby always makes me feel better when I’m worrying about things. She can be a lot, but I love her all the same.

* * *

Mamó insists on dropping me the whole way home. As she pulls up beside the lighthouse, she opens her driver’s door.