“That’s crazy,” I said. “And that’s what these men are called? Tan Yanks?”
The sergeant shook his head. “And we were so looking forward to London. This is our only day here. We’re shipping out in the morning.”
“Where to?” I asked.
“I’m not supposed to say but they gave us these little books.” He handed me a small pamphlet. “A Guide to Northern Ireland for US Soldiers, Sailors, and Marines.” I laughed.
“Well, gentlemen, I wouldn’t be surprised if you meet Mrs. Roosevelt after all,” I said.
4
NOVEMBER 9, 1942
Well before first light. We were waiting on the runway while the planes returning from the night’s bombing raid landed. We had boarded at 6:00 a.m. and both Eleanor Roosevelt and Tommy were asleep, but I stood in the cockpit. There were emergency vehicles, fire engines, ambulances lining the brightly lit runway.
“Look at that one,” Denis said as a plane bumped down not far from us. I could see that a section of one wing was gone and that there were holes in the tail.
“How did he ever make it back?” I said.
“Good flying,” Jerry said.
“And luck,” Denis said.
We could hear the exchange between the air tower and the pilot. “Did you have a visual on Billy?” the tower asked.
“He got hit near Cherbourg. I saw him going down, but I didn’t see the crash,” an approaching pilot answered.
“His ’chute open?” the tower said.
“Not sure.”
“In the last war they didn’t even equip planes with parachutes. Said the pilots would be more likely to jump. Insane,” I said.
“But then we don’t have parachutes on this flight and neither do you,” Denis said.
“That’s right,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Aunt Nonie, we won’t be flying through ack-ack or facing Nazi fighters. Ireland was chosen as a good place for training because it’s far enough from German bases in France and the weather’s right. Plenty of rain.”
“Well,” I said, “Andy Finucane told me the Nazis did pull off three bombing raids on Belfast last year before we got into the war. Would have burned the whole city down except fire brigades from Ireland crossed the border and were on the scene in hours. He told me de Valera made a speech in which he said that the people of Belfast were our people. Then de Valera gave the Germans hell. Andy said it had made Hitler back off.”
“Hitler was afraid of de Valera?” Mike said. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“According to Andy, Hitler thought Dev would convince Irish-America to push the US into the war.”
“Hitler should have known we never would have sat this one out,” Mike said.
Better not to remind him how many people, including Joseph Kennedy when he was ambassador here, wanted to keep the US neutral. Denis spoke up.
“If not for Pearl Harbor who knows if we’d be here right now.”
If, I thought. If. And suddenly I was back in Miami that night. Move closer. Move closer. A few inches and Roosevelt would never have been our president. It didn’t bear thinking about.
“Listen,” Mike said. “Hear that?” The engine sounded much louder than those of the other planes. “It’s a B-52, one of ours. We met the crews last night. There was a navigator from Chicago called Dick Garvey.”
“What parish?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask him? Why, we probably know some of his people. He could be Garvey the lawyer’s son…”
“Yanks, you’re cleared for takeoff,” the tower said.
“Get into your seat, Aunt Nonie,” but as I turned I heard another voice with an American accent saying, “Apache 105 and Cherokee 6 were shot down.”
“Damn,” I heard Denis say, but Mike had the propellers turning and there was no time for any more talk.
He pulled us up above the clouds into a light blue sky, but after about ninety minutes we made our descent into Belfast through rain that blurred the landscape before us. We disembarked into a downpour.
Once again the British Army took Tommy Thompson and Eleanor Roosevelt away. “We have our own photographer thank you very much,” I was told.
We would wait for them here at the airport, which was about thirty miles from the city. They would spend six hours in Belfast visiting another Red Cross Club and a hospital. This time I protested.
“I’m not just a photographer,” I said. “I’m here as her guide,” I told the British officer, another colonel who could have been a double to the London fellow. “I’ve traveled in Ireland before and I’m Irish myself.”
“You’re American, madam,” he said. “You should thank God every day your ancestors left here on that boat. Winston Churchill was right about the dreary steeples of Fermanagh and Tyrone. The whole place is a kip.” With that he got in a car and the official party drove away.
But this time we found an American canteen and a group of soldiers.
“The British don’t seem too pleased with us being in Northern Ireland,” I said to one.
“Oh, they’re not,” the fellow said. “They say we’re overpaid, oversexed, and over here, but we tell them that they’re underpaid, undersexed, and under Eisenhower.”
* * *
Something miraculous about the way the sun suddenly took over the horizon as our plane followed the Foyle River to a small airport just west of the city of Derry. Then two rainbows appeared. No pale arcs either but wide swathes of vibrant colors. Still shining above us as we got off the plane.
“I suppose there’s a leprechaun with a pot of gold at the end of those,” Mike said. Jerry and Denis laughed.
“I wouldn’t joke about leprechauns,” I said.
“You don’t really believe in fairies do you, Nora?” Jerry said.
“I don’t, but they’re here.”
The welcome committee was an all-American team this time—a Naval officer and a Marine. For the first time I heard Eleanor Roosevelt’s code name—Rover.
“I’m Commander James Logan,” said the Navy man who was the older of the two, a stocky build with white hair. “And this is Major Jim Duggan of the US Marine Corps.” This fellow was well over six feet, with red hair and a big smile. Irish through and through.
“Welcome, Rover. We all admire the sense of adventure embodied in that name. Excellent timing,” Duggan said. “Our Marine Corps Birthday Ball is tomorrow and here you are, Mrs. Roosevelt, the mother of a Marine, so a perfect guest of honor delivered right to us with two other beautiful ladies along with you.” He took Eleanor Roosevelt’s hand, and while he didn’t really click his heels, there was something gallant about him. “Wasn’t that a swell rainbow,” he said. “And just wait. We’re about to have a spectacular sunset. No matter how bad the weather is here at the end of the day this place serves up a sunset.” The rainbows seemed to color the clouds red and orange and purple streaked the sky. “Of course the Druids believed Paradise was out there in the west,” he said pointing at the horizon.
Who is this fellow? I wondered as he escorted the First Lady, Tommy, and me toward one of the big Buicks waiting for us. He got in the front seat and the three of us in the back. Mike and Jerry and Denis rode with Commander Logan in the second car.
“There are five hundred of us Marines stationed here,” Duggan said as the car drove out of the airport onto a country road. “Most bunk in Quonset huts on the grounds of an estate called Beech Hill. There’s a wonderful old house on the property and that’s where the officers live.”
“About your ball. I didn’t anticipate the need for evening clothes,” Eleanor Roosevelt said. “Although the king and queen did dress for dinner and I suppose I could wear that garment. But I doubt if Miss Kelly or Lieutenant Thompson brought anything suitable.”
Oh no, I thought, was Eleanor Roosevelt going to turn Tommy and me into Cinderellas and keep us away from the ball?
“You’re fine just the way you are, ladies,” he
said. “The men will be so happy to meet anyone from home they won’t worry about what you’re wearing. We need some cheering up now. Three of our Marines died in the North African landings.”
“Ah,” Eleanor Roosevelt said, and Tommy and I just shook our heads. Nowhere to escape this war. Not even in this green place that seemed so far from violence and death.
Mike and the boys were staying at the bachelor officers’ quarters in the Navy section of the base, Duggan told us.
“The pilot is my nephew,” I said. “I hope we’ll have some time together. I’ve been here before but it’s his first time in Ireland.”
“Of course technically we’re in the United Kingdom,” Eleanor Roosevelt said.
Duggan laughed. “Yes, ma’am. But Miss Kelly is right too.” He turned in his seat and pointed to a patch sewn onto his uniform. Under the eagle, globe, and anchor—the symbol of the Marine Corps—was a shamrock.
“I had these made up for all of our men. Great for morale. The rest of the Corps calls us the ‘Irish Marines.’”
“That’s very unconventional,” Eleanor Roosevelt said. He smiled.
“Corporal,” Duggan said to the driver, “take a left here.”
We left the main highway and turned onto a country road that twisted past low stone walls. The other car slowed. The driver honked his horn. Duggan leaned out of the window and waved him to follow. We reached a humpbacked bridge where there was a hut at the side of the road. A Marine stepped out. Our car stopped. He saluted Duggan and we drove on with Logan’s car behind. At the bottom of the bridge we stopped.
“Do you want to stretch your legs, ladies?” Duggan asked.
“I don’t feel it’s necessary,” Eleanor Roosevelt began, but Duggan was out of the car holding the back door open. I stepped out, followed by Tommy Thompson and a reluctant Eleanor Roosevelt. The Navy car had stopped behind us and now Commander Logan joined us.
“What’s going on, Duggan?” he said, not pleased.
“A bit of sightseeing before we lose the light,” he said. A lingering brightness was still in the sky. Mike and the boys came up beside us.
“May I escort you?” Duggan said to Eleanor Roosevelt and offered her his arm. She hesitated but did place her hand on his arm. Then Mike came over to me and did the same. And Jerry said “May I?” to Tommy.
So there we were, lined up as if going into a dinner party. Duggan took a few steps forward and we followed with Denis coming up behind.
“There,” Duggan said, “you are in the county of Donegal, in the Irish Free State.”
“Donegal,” I said, “the pride of all.”
“Peaceful,” Denis said.
“Quiet,” Mike agreed. The only sound came from the wind in the trees.
“Yes,” Duggan said. “No war here.”
“So close,” Denis said.
“And you’re allowed to just go here?” I asked.
“No,” Duggan said, “we’re bending the rules. We’re all deserters right now, but we have a good relationship with the people here, especially the Gardaí—the police—and we turn a blind eye if some of our men cross the border now and then. The beer is cheaper over here and they have real butter. Nothing like a hot loaf of brown bread slathered with butter.”
“That’s not an official policy,” Logan said. “I wouldn’t like the commander-in-chief to get the wrong idea.”
We all looked at Eleanor Roosevelt. Dear God, I thought, she’ll turn the lot of them in. But she laughed.
“Sneaking across the border to get beer and butter is just the kind of adventure Franklin would enjoy,” she said.
Duggan turned around and led Eleanor Roosevelt back toward the car with the rest of us coming up behind, but Denis didn’t move. A place without war. I wondered if he was remembering those burning planes crashing into the deck of an aircraft carrier. For one second I thought he might just start running toward the Donegal hills but then I heard a bell ringing.
“The Angelus,” Duggan said. And that big tall Marine with his movie-star looks made the sign of the cross and, standing right there next to the car, said, “The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary.”
I answered him. “And she was conceived of the Holy Ghost.” We said the whole prayer with Mike and Jerry, and to my surprise, Tommy Thompson joining in. Just as we finished, Denis turned and walked toward us.
“Those are the monastery bells,” Duggan said as we got back in the cars and began to drive back toward Derry. “The monks told me they dedicate their evening office to us as a prayer for our safety. I say the Angelus to kind of join them.”
“You went to the monastery?” I said as we turned back onto the highway.
“I visit them often. A beautiful place built right next to the ruins of a two-thousand-year-old fort called the Grianán of Aileach. A spectacular view from up there.”
Donegal—Father Kevin’s home place. I wondered if I could go to the monastery, maybe arrange for a mass to be said for Peter’s soul.
Full dark now as we turned in the drive toward Beech Hill House. There were lights in the windows of the house, which was Victorian, Duggan said, though there were bits dating back to the seventeenth century when the Skipton family drove out the O’Kanes, the chieftains of the area, and took their property. A stone arch that had to be centuries old stood on one side of the driveway as we approached the house.
“I always think the house looks like a mother hen and all these are her chicks,” Duggan said. He pointed. “There are rows of quonset huts lined up across the property. You’ll see them in the morning.”
“I’m Mrs. Nicholson and you are most welcome.” The woman who stood in the entrance hall looked to be at least eighty. Her white hair was in a bun. She said, “It’s too cold to stand here. Come into the Morning Room. It’s the warmest place in the house.”
She took us into a small room. Easy chairs were arranged in front of a tall stone fireplace where three logs burned. Unusual that, turf was the standard fuel for the hearths in Irish houses, I’d learned when I traveled around the country with the Quakers. Only the big houses where the landlords owned the surrounding woods could burn logs. The flames jumped up cracking the wood, giving off a smell I recognized. I was back at Ed’s Eagle River house where we warmed ourselves against the chilly Wisconsin nights around fires like this.
Mrs. Nicholson pointed us toward the chairs. “Sit,” she said. We did. Eleanor Roosevelt and Tommy on one side, me on the other, while Duggan stood beside the fireplace. “Now that you’re all nice and cozy,” Mrs. Nicholson said, “I can welcome you, Mrs. Roosevelt. You do our house a great honor.” She sat down next to me.
I felt the heat splash over my feet and I realized how cold I had been. So excited by our arrival I hadn’t felt the chill but now … I pulled my chair just a bit closer to the fire. Mrs. Nicholson noticed.
“Bitter out there,” she said. “We’re very far north you know. Same latitude as Newfoundland, my husband the judge always said. I insisted on us having what he called robust fires, and beech wood burns so slowly. Logs like this will last through the whole evening. Won’t they, James?” she said to Duggan.
“Yes indeed,” Duggan said. “And may I tell you a few things about our hostess—” But Mrs. Nicholson cut him off.
She leaned past me and looked over at Eleanor Roosevelt. “I admire you very much, Mrs. Roosevelt. Not easy to be married to a powerful man, but you have refused to merely stand in his shadow. The judge was a good husband but his ideas about a woman’s place were very traditional. I don’t know what he would make of his wife becoming a kind of landlady to the American forces.”
“You’re much more than that, Mrs. Nicholson,” Duggan said. He turned to us. “Mrs. Nicholson kindly turned over this estate to the US Marine Corps and those of us who live in the house are especially grateful. The evenings we spend here with her in this room are most delightful.”
“Now, James,” she said, “tell these women the truth.” She turned to us. “He
and his young fellows indulge me and share an after-dinner port in this room while we listen to the news on the wireless, which they very kindly brought to this house.”
She pointed to a Philco radio that stood on a table in the corner. “Sometimes we play a rubber or two of bridge but then I retire and I know the men travel into the town. But I do insist that they return by eleven o’clock. Sleep is so important don’t you think, Mrs. Roosevelt? Essential to health as the judge always said.”
“Quite right, though I don’t believe I’ve had a really good night’s sleep in months,” Eleanor Roosevelt said.
“I suppose you get up early like they do at the camp,” Mrs. Nicholson said to her. “The bugle sounds well before dawn.” Eleanor Roosevelt didn’t respond. Her head rested against the back of the chair and her eyes were closed. Tommy was nodding too. I looked at Mrs. Nicholson. She smiled. “Food and bed I think,” she said.
Eleanor Roosevelt stirred. “I believe I am to visit the hospital tonight. Am I correct, Major?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Reschedule,” Mrs. Nicholson said. “How can Mrs. Roosevelt be expected to cheer up the patients if she’s exhausted herself. Now,” she stood up, “don’t you move. Gunny Butler has made an excellent soup and I’ve taught him how to prepare wheaten bread. You’ll have your supper on a tray right here. Your rooms are ready and there are hot water bottles in the beds.”
That was our first evening in Derry. The soup was delicious. Potato and leek. Very thick and hot with chunks of ham. Then warm wheaten bread with plenty of smuggled butter. As we followed Mrs. Nicholson up the stairs, I said to Major Duggan, “Where are the other officers that are staying here?”
“I allowed them to go into town early tonight,” he said.
Mrs. Nicholson showed Eleanor Roosevelt into what she called the star chamber, which had been the judge’s room. From the landing I could see a four-poster bed.
“You’ll have your own bath, Mrs. Roosevelt, and the heater has been on the whole day so the water should be nice and hot.”
Eleanor Roosevelt took her hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Nicholson,” she said, and I thought I heard tears in the First Lady’s voice. “I’m not accustomed to being mothered,” she said. “You are very kind.”
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