by Ian Lindsey
As the three walked out of the library, a striking red haired woman spied the them and made a direct line towards their path. As she got closer, it became obvious that this was Timothy’s sister Clara. She stood an inch or so taller than her brother, even in the flat shoes she wore. They shared the same fiery red hair, though hers flowed down between her shoulder blades and perfectly matched the warm summer day. Where Timothy may seem stocky, his sister could only be considered slim. She wore a light weight blue and white check dress in a fashionable cut that perfectly offset her green eyes and red hair.
“Hello, there, Tim. I thought you were still in London.” She said by way of greeting her brother.
“I made my way back this morning to show my friends around town. These two Americans are Dylan and Payton. I’ve said it before, but don’t ask me which is which.” He replied.
“You both must be a good influence on him. I never thought I’d see my brother coming out of a library, let alone a university library.” She teased her brother lovingly.
“I don’t know much about that, but he did just show us the Book of Kells, which is indescribable. I’m Dylan, this is my brother Payton and it is a pleasure to meet you.” Dylan answered while simultaneously gesturing at his brother.
“I’m pleased to meet you both as well.” Clara said with a small smile indicating that she really was pleased to meet someone maybe a little different.
“For your information, I’ve been in several libraries in the past. Too many books, though. I like the Brian Boru Harp inside, though, so I showed them that as well.” Timothy laughed. “You got the brains in the family, but I got the good looks!”
Clearly, the brother and sister played off each other well. The smile from Timothy showed his pleasure at seeing his sister, and her body language indicated the same. Dylan and Payton recognized siblings that liked each other immediately because they knew how lucky such a family circumstance helped anyone work their way through the world. No matter the circumstances, the twins knew that they had each other, and now they saw the Timothy and Clara had each other as well.
“What brings two Americans to Dublin?” Clara asked, ignoring her brother easily.
“We started in London, where we met your brother. We’re actually trying to get to France.” Payton said, minimizing the details intentionally.
“Ah, young adventurous Americans then. You certainly look the part. What do you hope to accomplish there?” Clara replied with a slight edge.
“We are hoping to fly airplanes, actually.” Dylan replied matter-of-factly.
“Easy sis, these boys graduated from West Point. They know what they are doing.” Timothy added in a soft tone that he must have used often to settle his sister down.
“We want to help, not just seek out an adventure. Adventurers often end up dead, and that is not our goal.” Payton explained. “We are hoping that we can hitch a ride on your brother’s next boat to France, so we are in town to speak with your father.”
“Forgive me, but I am a little tired of the college boys around here talking a lot but not acting. I’ve no love for the English, but even less for Hitler.” Clara said, echoing the sentiments of her brother. “I’m sure my brother has told you that I don’t hide my emotions.”
“No offense taken. All talk and no action can rile anyone.” Dylan graciously replied.
“Will you be having dinner with us tonight, then?” the boys heard from Clara with what seemed a hint of hope that they actually would say yes. Apparently they hadn’t made too bad of an impression.
“We plan to follow Timothy’s lead. We know no one else in Dublin, so we sit at his mercy.” Dylan dryly noted.
“Absolute power, my favorite kind!” Timothy cracked wise in return.
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Payton quoted the old proverb back to finish the joke.
“I won’t let it go to my head. Clara, I think we planned to eat out on the town tonight, and you are welcome to join us. We’ll meet with Father as soon as he returns tomorrow.” Timothy said to his sister.
“I’m only coming if I choose the spot.” She coyly demanded of her brother.
“As usual, I submit to your tastes. I am but a lowly man humbled to your finer sense of food, decor, and dress. My absolute power has found its bounds.” Timothy melodramatically intoned with a wicked grin.
“Excellent, I’ll meet you at the Horseshoe Bar at the Shelbourne, 7pm sharp. I assume my brother has you there. It is beautiful and overlooks St. Stephen’s Green.” Clara commanded more than asked.
“Yes, that’s correct. We’ll look forward to seeing you this evening.” Payton said as Clara turned to leave.
“I’m off to class, don’t be late this evening.” She said as she was off with the breeze.
“I warned you about my sister.” Timothy mirthfully said.
“She was very pleasant; you needn’t warn anyone off on her.” Dylan said sincerely.
“Just wait for tonight. I have no idea where she’ll take us, but I would bet my hat that we’ll have fun.” Timothy answered.
“You won’t hear us complain about that. We rarely turn down a night of fun.” Payton said with a bright smile.
“Excellent, we’ll send you off to your hotel to relax a little bit before we catch up with Clara then.” Timothy finished.
***
Clara certainly knew what she was talking about with regards to the Shelbourne. Just a short walk south of Trinity and on the other side of St. Stephen’s green, the Shelbourne exceeded every expectation, and the twins streak of fine hotels continued with this majestic landmark hotel. Where the Ritz showed a new world elegance, and the Savoy integrated art deco in to its traditional styles, the Shelbourne represented old world charm and elegance in its finest form. Built in 1824, the beautiful brick building with a Georgian facade and grand marble columned entrance stood out among the best hotels in Europe. The inside exceeded the outside with its high, sculpted ceilings, marble foyer, and continued columns throughout.
“A man could get used to staying in places like these.” Payton noted as they followed the bell hop up to their room.
“There is no doubt to that notion.” Dylan replied. “I thought the Savoy would be our last decent place to stay. I was wrong.”
“That is for sure. Between Colonel Sweeney, the King, and Timothy we have had some extremely generous patrons.” Payton finished his brother’s thought.
Taking Timothy at his word, the boys spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing in their hotel room and generally recovering from the continuous travel they’d endured. Neither spoke much and they mostly avoided any war news on the radio. As the appointed hour drew near they heeded Clara’s advice and readied themselves early enough to make it to the bar on time.
This time, however, Timothy and his sister had already beaten the boys to the bar. There was no formal dining on this evening, so all four were dressed casually with the boys in collared shirts and nice slacks while Clara still wore a knockout blue dress highlighting everything right about her figure. They were, of course, each holding a Manhattan drink.
Without batting an eyelash, Dylan walked up to the bar and said “Since we are drinking to the home of our counterparts, we’ll each have a bushmills.”
“A brilliant idea, my friend!” Timothy exclaimed. “I was just explaining the Manhattan to my sister and how you came to know it from your time at WestPoint.”
“It's a fine drink, but a whiskey neat can’t go wrong. Besides, when in Ireland, drink like the Irish!” Payton said as he raised his glass to the small group. “Cheers!” he exuberantly said to the small group.
“Slainte!” Timothy and Clara responded back. “That’s an Irish toast for good health.” She explained.
“We may need all the wishes of good health we can get, so many thanks.” Payton replied.
“I can’t resist, sis. Where are we going after this?” Timothy asked.
“Why should I tell you?” His sister replied feigning
a tart annoyance. “There’s no need to impress you, so I’m taking the boys someplace for them.” She finished and gestured towards the twins.
“No need to impress us. The Irish reputation for hospitality continues with our fine treatment. We are impressed already.” Dylan said.
“I just need to know if we need a car.” Timothy said, deftly hiding any irritation since he knew his sister just wanted to tease him some.
“We do not need a car.” She said simply to avoid letting on their destination.
“Perfect, I love the Brazen Head.” Timothy said confidently.
“How did you know?” Clara exclaimed, flustered that her brother figured through her subterfuge so easily.
“It’s within walking distance, and I called earlier to check. They said you’d already called ahead for a table.” Timothy said triumphantly. He never failed to mark a win against his sister in their good natured sibling rivalry.
“That’s cheating!” Clara pouted.
“What’s the Brazen Head?” Payton asked.
“The Brazen Head is the oldest pub in Ireland. It was established just before the turn of the century, the 13th century.” Clara explained. “It’s around the corner from Christchurch Cathedral, northwest of here. They play wonderful Irish music there nearly every night. I believe the band tonight even has a bagpiper to go with the fiddle and the whistle. I go there as often as I can for the music. The history is just a nice addition to the atmosphere.”
“Sounds wonderful, so I’m glad you chose it.” Dylan said. “Do we have time for another drink here or should we head over?”
“The table is set for 7:30, so we best head out.” Clara answered.
As the three approached the pub the twins saw why Clara spoke glowingly of the establishment. The low front entrance looked like the ramparts of a castle with a stone facade and open slits along the top mimicking a crown. The stone facade belied the original use of the building as a stable house. Behind the low slung building stood the more recent addition of a three story whitewash building housing the bulk of the pub.
As the quartet walked in to the newer building they heard the happy blaring of the band at least one room over. Dylan and Payton had expected a dark pub with low oak beams overhead, but the Brazen Head seemed more like a fine country house inside with dark wood paneling half way up the walls and interesting pieces of artwork hung on the plaster walls above it. Fortunately, the paintings, signs, and old maps making up the bulk of the artwork were securely fastened to avoid having the music vibrate them off the wall and on to the ground. The Americans happily followed their Irish hosts in to the large central room with the band and sat at a table along the outskirts of the dance floor. The band played traditional Irish dance music, in this case a reel in 4/4 time, and several bonnie lasses stood on the dance floor executing the exquisite footwork with nearly still upper bodies characteristic of the style. The band did have a bagpiper, but in these songs the whistle and fiddle fought back and forth to lead the way with the simple hand drummer keeping everyone on pace. The next song switched to a jig in 6/8 time and several more dancers joined the fray. The syncopated fight between the whistle and fiddle continued unabated and only intensified as the song played on. Payton and Dylan dared not even attempt this folk dancing passed from generation to generation in Ireland since it was much more intricate and required keeping pace with the rest of the dancers, but they certainly enjoyed the show. Dancing in London seemed a breeze compared to the highly stylized and athletic moves required of both the reel and the jig.
As the flagons of ale arrived at their table, the band switched to a slow lament casting all the dancers back to their tables. The bagpipe took the lead and pulled at the crowd with low and long notes.
“Timothy, you certainly know what’s right for you following your sister’s lead around here. This place is fantastic.” Dylan enthusiastically crowed above the band and crowd noise as the four quaffed Guinness imperial pints.
“Thank you, Dylan, I like playing the hostess and taking people to new places. I truly appreciate the compliment.” Clara answered for her brother. “I’d be a terrible hostess if I couldn’t show guests a good time, and the Brazen Head generally fits that bill.”
“It does indeed. Can you dance like that?” Payton asked while nodding to the currently empty dance floor.
“Of course, I'm a good Irish lass. Father wouldn’t have it any other way. Timothy runs the ambiguous parts of the business so Father can dote on me. At least that’s what he’d like to think.” Clara said.
“And you don’t subscribe to that notion?” Dylan asked.
“Not exactly. I’m my own woman now, but I certainly respect my father and try to abide by his wishes.” Clara responded. “Father is by no means a hard man, but he softens up for me, so I must guard against taking advantage of him. To him, I’ll always be his little girl.”
“I’m sure he’s scared off some suitors, then!” Dylan joked.
“Not as many as I have!” Timothy retorted, playing the proud and over protective older brother. “She handles herself, though. Dad and I have no control.” He relented.
“It sounds like your father and mother just care about you, and raised you right. We try to listen to our parents too, while forging our own path. They know why we are here, and they support us.” Payton said. “I very much look forward to meeting with your father.”
“I'm sure he’ll like you as well. He enjoys men of action.” Clara said as encouragement. Between the confidence of her brother and her encouragement the twins both began to breathe easier about getting to France to prove they were in fact men of action.
The food arrived and the band picked back up with livelier music and the two sets of siblings ate well, drank well, and generally enjoyed the company. The twins tried their best to regale Clara with stories of America in general and New York in particular. Dylan especially tried to impress the younger O’Ryan as his brother noticed that he’d taken a keener interest in her than even the fine ladies of London or their first meeting with the friendly Canadians. Of course, Payton enjoyed her company as well, but the twins had long ago established the unspoken ground rules in any situation involving the fairer sex; if one is far more interested he can make the first attempt, but in the end let her choose. The situation worked out well as they had never really fought over a girl in the past.
As the night wore on the twins ended up at the table by themselves as Clara wandered over to speak with a school friend and Timothy heeded the call of nature.
“Clara is certainly wonderful.” Payton said, broaching the subject with his brother.
“That she is.” Dylan answered.
“Best to be careful while we are still trying to win over her father.” Payton cautioned.
“I know what we came for, and in the end we’ll be in France. So, yes, I like her, but it doesn’t matter much beyond tonight. No need to worry.” Dylan assured his brother. While some brothers may have seen Payton’s comments and inflammatory, both twins knew that each had the best interests of the other in mind, so the simple exchange was quietly and quickly executed to the satisfaction of both. They didn’t so much need to say the words as confirm that both felt the same for sure. For a smaller matter, they wouldn’t have even needed the confirmation, but in this case their singular goal might tip out of their favor, so they both knew that a quick chat kept them on track.
The night wound down after one more round of drinks. The night had swung past the point of being young, so Timothy made arrangement to pick up Payton and Dylan in the morning. Timothy then pointed the Americans in the right direction to their hotel and walked his sister back to her school.
Chapter 12
May 25th, 1940
The next morning the twins woke a little later than usual, but still not long after the sun rose. Throughout the trip they had little chance to exercise save for a few double times around the top deck of the ship and some pushups in their hotel rooms. This morning they took adva
ntage of the early sun and renewed their relationship with morning running and calisthenics nurtured over the years at WestPoint. They drew some funny looks as they trotted along the River Liffey, and even a few wry looks from the few early bird students at the library as they went through their basic calisthenics on the lawn out front. After they’d worked up a good sweat, the twins headed back to the hotel to quickly get ready for the day and meeting Mr. O’Ryan.
However, as the twins got ready in their room the radio continued to relay distressing news from France. The Wehrmacht continued to overrun a greater portion of France with what seemed like every passing hour. In the two weeks since the twins had sailed from Canada the Germans completely bypassed the Maginot line by overrunning Holland and Beglium first, and then systematically made their way to the sea. On the 20th of May, the first German forces reached the western coast of France. The German spearhead cut off the French 1st Army, the Belgian Army, and the British Expeditionary Force from the rest of the French forces to the south. The Germans then turned north and threatened to envelope the whole of these forces and prevent them from escaping. The day before, the newsman reported, the Wehrmacht surrounded the forces in the small harbor town of Dunkirk in the north of France, not far from the Belgian border. The report simply said that the soldiers were cut off, but continued to battle valiantly. The twins knew that this was simply a code so as not to hurt the national moral. The Battle of France was going very badly, but the twins needed to find out how badly.