Page 79 of Sisters Under The Rising Sun

October 1943–October 1944

‘We’ll meet twice a week to rehearse,’ Norah explains to her voice orchestra. ‘I’m going to divide you into three sections, based on the pitch and quality of your individual voices.’

‘Can you explain?’ asks Margarethe.

‘Of course. I’m sorry, I forget not everyone is familiar with musical terms. Those of you with soprano and alto voices will be the string instruments, the voices a bit lower will be woodwind and those of you with the deepest voices will be the brass section. All clear?’

The women nod and the rehearsals begin.

It is a couple of weeks later when Norah is conducting the melodic voices that she waves a hand to stop the rehearsal.

‘Audrey, what’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, nothing at all.’

‘You’re crying?’

‘No, she’s not upset, dear sister,’ Ena says. ‘She’s moved. And we all feel the same. I can’t believe we are producing such beautiful sounds.’

Norah looks at the sniffling Audrey. ‘Is that it?’

‘Yes! Oh, my God, you all sound so wonderful, so powerful. I know I’m singing with you, but you’re taking me to another place.’

Norah looks at her orchestra, all nodding, all sniffing. ‘Do you want to take a break?’

They shake their heads.

‘Oh, my God,’ Ena exclaims, pointing to the window. It is not just the women present who openly weep at this moving interpretation of Dvorák’s symphony, but anyone who is passing by the hut, pausing to listen, feels their eyes welling with tears.

‘Shall we start again, then? From the beginning?’ Norah is smiling, proud that the orchestra is already doing its job of entertaining the internees.

The brass section begins with deep humming, the woodwinds wait for their cue and imperceptibly thread their voices into the music. Norah signals for the strings to merge and the entire orchestra now vibrates. The lump in Norah’s throat expands until she too is crying.

‘Norah? Norah, are you all right?’ Ena says, pulling her sister towards her for a hug.

‘I heard what you heard,’ she mumbles into Ena’s shoulder.

For a moment, the women cry freely, turning to one another for comfort.

‘Do we need to start from the beginning again?’ Audrey says, finally.

‘I need to compose myself before I can conduct the rest of you,’ Norah replies with a grin.

When she calls ‘time’ on the rehearsal, she asks the women if they would be prepared to learn another piece.

‘Wouldn’t it be nice to perform an actual concert, not just one piece?’

With trepidation, they all agree.

The next day, Norah visits Margaret, who is recovering well.

‘I need some advice,’ she says, perching at the corner of Margaret’s sleeping mat. ‘We’ve decided to expand our repertoire. I was thinking of Mendelssohn’s Songs Without Words, one ofBrahms’s waltzes and the “Londonderry Air”.’

‘Perfect,’ exclaims Margaret. ‘Absolutely perfect.’

‘I’ll need to adapt them for the female voice, though.’

‘Well, if anyone can do it, my dear, it’s you.’