Spitfire Ringers

by Ian Lindsey

  Timothy arrived promptly to gather the twins at 9am for a breakfast meeting with his father. Despite his position as a relatively powerful businessman in the community with influence over much of the local liquor dependent business in Dublin and other pockets of Ireland, Mr. O’Ryan preferred to do business from the back of a small restaurant owned by one of his childhood friends. A solid dark green awning covered the glass and mostly dark wood front of a small restaurant tucked on the ground floor between tall brick buildings. The twins followed Timothy in the front door of the rudimentary establishment. Several booths sat against one wall, a couple of tables in the middle, and a long bar with a brass rail sat on the opposite wall. In the back corner sat an impeccably dressed man in a corner booth. Mr. O’Ryan wore a dark pinstripe three piece suit with just the hint of a pocket watch chain hanging out of the front of his vest. None of his suit looked out of place or as if it came from a pretentious aura. He dressed smartly and it fit him. When he stood to graciously greet the twins they saw he was bigger than his son, but not by much. He looked exactly like his son, but thirty years older. His face betrayed a life of smiles and laughter based on the creases around his eyes and smiling mouth. He’d enjoyed life and his family, and his demeanor showed it.

  “Gentlemen, I’m Mr. O’Ryan, and it is a pleasure to meet you. I am sorry that I was away yesterday and that you had to wait.” The older Irishman said by way of greeting.

  “Thank you sir, it was no problem to wait. Your son and daughter showed us a wonderful time around town yesterday and last night. They are fine hosts for sure.” Payton answered.

  “I absolutely agree with my brother. I’m more than happy that we got to see some of Dublin yesterday. I never thought that I’d get to see such a fine place on our little adventure.” Dylan added.

  “Yes, my son filled me in on your plans.” Mr. O’Ryan said. His demeanor changed in just the slightest way with the news he had to deliver. “I applaud your effort. Our governments seem to have the same philosophy in this war at the moment, but yours can make a difference.”

  “Thank you, sir. Based on what we know of our military and president I would venture that the United States will get in to the war one way or another.” Payton said.

  “I’m pleased to hear that. Unfortunately, it seems that our business in France is about to dry up. My travel yesterday was to go meet one of my main suppliers out of France who has simply fled the country. The news reports, while not totally false, are somewhat misleading. The Allies are in full retreat. There is no hope for staving off the Germans.” The elder Irishman stated stoically.

  “Is it really that bad, Da?” Timothy asked.

  “Yes, it is. The Allies are surrounded in Dunkirk and barely holding out. The Germans halted their advance yesterday, and only Hitler knows why. They could roll over the whole force in the next couple of days. The hasty retreat had men running for the hills and beaches. They left behind all their heavy equipment to try and escape. There are hundreds of thousands of men waiting on the beaches in Dunkirk. There is no war for you boys to go help out with.” Mr. O’Ryan finished.

  “A day late, then, for us to help out in France.” Dylan said slightly dejectedly.

  “I’m sorry for your business. What will happen to all the men in France?” Payton offered.

  “We’ll be all right. We have other sources and plenty of reserves. We won’t be going to France anytime soon. I’m not sure about the men. The Royal Navy will need to launch some sort of rescue operation, but I’m not sure what they’ll do since I’m not sure they could hold that many men if they used every ship in the fleet.” Mr. O’Ryan said.

  “You said you brought your friend back, maybe you could use your fleet to pick up some soldiers as well.” Payton said. “I know the Irish and the English don't get along, but if Hitler can launch an invasion of the UK from a base in France Ireland will surely fall.”

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing, my young friend. Hitler is bad for business, which at the moment outweighs usual British issues. My problem is that I have three ships and only two crew at the moment, and that is counting Timothy as my captain.” The Irishman said.

  “How many hands does it take to run one of your ships?” Dylan asked.

  “A skeleton crew of just one can do it. A captain only and no first mate. Usually we have more, but they just load the holds with liquor cases.” Timothy answered for his father. “With only one on the ship we’d have more room for passengers.”

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm, you three young ones, but there is also the very real possibility that our ships would be attacked in such an effort. Best to let the Royal Navy handle it.” Timothy’s father said with an air of finality.

  “Thank you for your consideration, and for the information, sir.” Dylan said politely while hiding his disappointment.

  “I’m sorry to end your adventure early. Please, have dinner at our house this evening, though.” Mr. O’Ryan said. “I’d love to hear some of London from the two of you and from Timothy. Mrs. O’Ryan would love to meet you as well.” He finished by way of ending the conversation.

  “Of course, how very kind of you.” Payton said as the three boys rose from the table to leave. “Thank you again for your time.”

  ***

  The day came and went with the twins left to their own devices as Timothy attended to business with his father. They wandered the city a little bit, and mostly talked about what they might do next. They discussed heading back to London but dismissed that for at least another day. They discussed heading back to America, but dismissed that outright. They’d come far enough that turning back was not an option. They needed to find more options, but they didn’t find any that afternoon. They thought about playing catch again, but didn’t have the time or space. They stopped outside a fenced in field to watch as a team of school age boys practiced hurling. They ran across the field, in to each other, and batted the ball at the goal. The sport looked fun and the twins vowed to give it a shot if they stayed in Dublin much longer.

  After drifting through the afternoon they readied themselves at the hotel to meet Timothy. As usual, he picked them up exactly on time out front of the hotel and drove them southeast. His parent’s home sat in a prestigious residential area known as Ballsbridge, so named for the bridge originally owned by Mr. Ball that spanned the small River Liffey tributary named the River Dodder. The three probably could have walked from the hotel, so the drive took almost no time at all. The fine neighborhood consisted of mostly elegant Georgian homes with their two story box style and symmetrical window layouts. The elaborate front doors with crowns and pillars in varying styles set in the middle of the brick or stone houses dated back a century or more. Most of the houses also sported chimney’s on either side of the house, almost like antlers of a young deer sprouting above the roofline. A few also had dormers growing out of the roofline, which the twins correctly guessed used to house the servants in these stately houses. Further burnishing the reputation of the neighborhood, many foreign embassies sat within the boundaries of Ballsbridge including the US Embassy and the British Embassy. The proximity to the central parts of Dublin south of the River Liffey yet without the bustle of the city center made the part of town very appealing to the upper class.

  The O’Ryan’s house fit in nicely with the rest of the not quite mansions on the street.

  The house claimed neither the largest nor smallest titles from the neighbors, but it obviously housed a family financially comfortable to say the least. It looked as if the house could comfortably sit on a large country estate in either the United Kingdom or the United States but instead it sat just on the outskirts of central Dublin.

  “This house is splendid.” Dylan said as Timothy pulled the car as close as he could to a neighborhood designed well before the automobile. They parked next to what clearly looked like a carriage house. “Did you grow up here?” he asked of Timothy.

  “Yes, this house has been in my father’s family for seve
ral generations. I believe my great, great grandfather built the house.” Timothy answered.

  “Did he run the same kind of business as your father?” Payton asked.

  “No, my grandfather started the liquor distributing. Before that my ancestors traded in a variety of things, but the ties to France built the necessary connections to do what we do today. Here we are then” Timothy said as the reached the front door. With a single rap butler swept open the door and escorted the boys in to a drawing room that looked more like a library. The twelve foot high bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling and had the rolling ladder to prove it. The shelves ran over nearly every inch of available wall space save for the windows and two exquisite paintings of Dublin harbor on opposite walls. Every shelf held a neat row of leather bound books and each shelf held the maximum number of volumes possible. Were it not for the perfectly crafted oak construction the shelves surely would sag in the middle from the weight. If the room was meant to impress visitors as they entered, then it succeeded with Dylan and Payton. The three boys took seats in some wingback chairs across a small table and continued chatting amiably for a few more minutes before Clara swept in to the room in a stunning dress. She wore a crimson red full length gown that not only reached the floor but trailed slightly behind her in a small pool of silken elegance. Her upswept hair perfectly offset the dress that peaked at the point of her shoulders and gracefully dipped in a shallow v shape in the middle and then the rest of the dress fell straight to the ground. The dress relied on its bright color and shape to stun since it held no other adornment except for a few pleats where necessary around the bust line. Dylan especially perked at her entrance.

  “I’m glad you boys could join us tonight.” Clara smiled.

  “We are certainly pleased to be here.” Dylan said.

  “Father and Mother are in the dining room, please follow me.” She said and turned to lead the group again. They walked down the central hallway lined with photographs of family members in oval frames behind beveled glass and more beautiful paintings of countryside unknown to the twins. They turned a corner and walked through a grand set of double doors in to an impressive dining room, but not quite a dining hall.

  “Gentlemen, it is good to see you again. This is my wife, the mother of my two wonderful children.” Mr. O’Ryan greeted the boys while standing next to his chair at the head of the table.

  “Ma’am, I must agree with your husband. Your son and daughter have been perfect hosts to us with only Irish hospitality as a reason to treat us so.” Payton said graciously.

  “You are too kind, dear.” Mrs. O’Ryan said and gestured for the group to sit. The six dinner guests only filled half the table in the room with Mrs. O’Ryan sitting on the left side of the table with Timothy and the twins sitting on the right side with Clara in between them. The butler and a maid served the dinner party from silver platters with a soup as the first course.

  “I’m hopeful that you had a good day despite our conversation this morning.” Mr. O’Ryan offered.

  “Thank you sir, we did. We walked around some more of Dublin and even saw some of your lads practicing Hurling.” Dylan answered.

  “Excellent, Timothy told me that you’d met around sport and discussed hurling and baseball. I used to run up and down the pitch as a lad, but didn’t amount to much.” Mr. O’Ryan said.

  “Hurling looks fun, but tough.” Dylan returned. “We’ve played baseball all our lives and played at WestPoint during our schooling there. In fact, the last month or so may count as the longest since I’ve swung a bat that I can remember.”

  “We finished our last game more than a month ago and haven’t picked up a bat since then. I guess you are right.” Payton finished the thought for his brother.

  “Yes, Timothy also told me about your time at WestPoint, something he hadn’t mentioned earlier.” Mr. O’Ryan continued and something in his tone showed that the fact seemed important to him.

  “Sorry Da, lots of other stuff going on.” Timothy apologized.

  “Not to worry, it didn’t really matter this morning, but it helps tip the balance a little bit this evening.” The elder Irishman said.

  “How so?” Timothy asked.

  “I spoke with my man in London this afternoon. He’s close to some Admiral or another and said that they are on the verge of a complete disaster. As we discussed this morning the whole of the armies in France are in full retreat, but the admiralty is only planning on getting out maybe one tenth of the men in Dunkirk. There are 450,000 men over there, and the admiralty is hoping to get 45,000 of men off the beaches before the Germans overrun them. This is the whole of their plan called Operation Dynamo.” Mr. O’Ryan said with no effort to hide his displeasure at such a dim effort.

  “That sounds horrible.” Clara said. “They plan to abandon those men?”

  “Not exactly. They’ll keep sending ships as long as they can, but they don’t hold out much hope for having enough time.” Mr. O’Ryan continued. “They just don't have enough ships, so they are quietly appealing to anyone with a boat big enough to make the crossing to help.”

  “So you are reconsidering our plan from this morning?” Payton boldly asked.

  “In fact, I am.” Mr. O’Ryan flatly stated. “As long as the Germans are halted we must do everything possible to bring those troops home. They might be the only thing keeping Hitler out of Dublin, so I’d rather have them fighting in England as a buffer to Ireland than sitting in some prison in France.” He finished with a sigh.

  “We’d still be happy to help.” Dylan offered.

  “I’m counting on it.” Mr. O’Ryan countered. “Tonight we’ll eat as family, and tomorrow we’ll head up to our house in Howth to show you the ships and how to run them. Then, we sail for France. Timothy will run lead in his ship, and each of you will have a ship. Our house is equipped with its own dock and radio, for our usual purposes, and I’ll run the radio and keep you informed as best I can from there.” He finished.

  “While the ladies just sit here and wait?” Clara interjected with an air of annoyance.

  “Actually, no, my impatient daughter, you will have a role as well. We must sail around the south of Great Britain, and then back up to Dunkirk. We’ve no choice to start, but I’m sure the Brits would rather we drop them in London than in Dublin. I’ll have you go meet some of your brothers contacts in London and arrange drop off points and resupply along the coast at Dover.” Mr. O’Ryan said as his daughter beamed at the thought of being included in the mission.

  “Re-supply shouldn’t be a problem. Dunkirk is farther north than we usually run, but we’ll have plenty of diesel to get us there, drop the soldiers off, and back to Dublin.” Timothy noted.

  “We may need to make more than one trip back to France.” Payton quietly pointed out.

  “Exactly.” Mr. O’Ryan sighed. “There are almost half a million men over there. It’s only a shade over forty five miles from Dover to Dunkirk, so with our ships pushing 20 knots that makes each way of the trip at about two hours. I don’t know about the seas, or the onslaught you’ll face, but you should be able to manage more than one run a day.”

  “You’re offering up a lot, sir, but we appreciate your confidence.” Dylan said to their host. “You risk your family and your business for a noble cause.”

  “You risk your life, as well.” Mr. O’Ryan quickly retorted.

  “I find no fault in your plan. The only thing left is getting to your boats.” Payton said as the dinner finished.

  “Yes, as you say that I was thinking an early start tomorrow might work best. If you’d like, please stay here tonight and we can leave first thing in the morning for Howth.” Mr. O’Ryan offered.

  “We’d be delighted to have you.” Mrs. O’Ryan added.

  “Yes, of course, please do stay.” Clara said as she turned to Dylan and put her hand on his arm.

  “Your hospitality is greatly appreciated. We would be honored to stay with you tonight. I’ll leave Dylan here
as collateral and go gather up our things at the hotel if Timothy would be kind enough to take me back.” Payton said after exchanging a knowing glance of confirmation with his brother.

  “It’s settled then. We’ll depart first thing in the morning.” Mr. O’Ryan cried with enthusiasm. “Our two adventures will merge as one and we will let the Almighty decide our fates.” He finished with a fist thump on the table.

  ***

  As Payton and Timothy pulled out of the drive on their way to the hotel, Dylan and Clara found themselves alone in the drawing room. Dylan walked along the rows of books and noted some works of the famous Irish authors including Bram Stokers classic Dracula, Victorian plays such as Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Ernest and Nobel Prize winner George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, and native Dubliner James Joyce’s famous novel Ulysses as well as his recently released Finnegan’s Wake.

  “Your father has quite the library.” Dylan lightly said to Clara.

  “He loves to read. Something he passed down. That’s why I took up history. I wanted to read some of the great stories of the past because most of the time the true historical accounts are more fantastic than some of the fiction.” She revealed back to Dylan. “Take the Arthurian legends, for instance. Most people think he was just a feudal king centuries ago, but he may actually have been a Roman centurion simply trying to bring justice to the brutal island of Briton.”