Praise for Brian Gallagher’s other books:
Friend or Foe
‘Beautiful writing, great character development.’ Voya Magazine
Stormclouds
‘This accurate depiction of violence … will surprise and educate many. A worthy accomplishment.’ Kirkus Reviews
Secrets and Shadows
‘Deftly weaving historic fact and period detail into a fictional but nevertheless entirely credible story … nail-biting.’ Books Ireland
Taking Sides
‘Gripping right from its first page … Dramatic action and storytelling skill.’ Evening Echo
Across the Divide
‘The atmosphere of a troubled city awash with tension and poverty is excellently captured.’ Irish Examiner
Arrivals
‘[Brian Gallagher is] one of Ireland’s finest authors of historical fiction for any age … a consummate storyteller.’ gobblefunked.com
Pawns
‘… riveting and insightful.’ Sunday Independent
Spies
Ireland’s War of Independence
United friends … divided loyalties
Brian Gallagher
Dedication
To Mark and Kate. Thanks for all the years of friendship.
Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks to Michael O’Brien for supporting the idea of a novel dealing with The War of Independence and Bloody Sunday, to my editor, Helen Carr, for her excellent editing and advice, to publicists Ruth Heneghan and Geraldine Feehily for all their efforts on my behalf, to Emma Byrne for her superb work on cover design, and to the everyone at O’Brien Press, with whom, as ever, it’s a pleasure to work.
I’m grateful to Niamh Meddlar for her support, and to Ella Dermody and Daniel Barrett, young readers who shared with me their views of an early draft of the story.
My sincere thanks go to Fingal Arts Office for their bursary support.
And finally, no amount of thanks could express my gratitude for the constant support and encouragement of my family, Miriam, Orla and Mark, and Peter and Shelby.
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Part One: Secrets
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Part Two: Revelations
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Part Three: Turmoil
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Historical Note
About the Author
Copyright
Prologue
THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 23RD 1920
THE MILL HOTEL, BALBRIGGAN, NORTH COUNTY DUBLIN
Stella’s pulses raced, her dream so vivid that she could almost smell the burning buildings as Balbriggan blazed. She thrashed about in her bed, living the horror again as she ran through the burning streets of the town. It was three days since the events had happened, but despite the terror she had endured, this was her first nightmare about it.
In her dream she sprinted towards the burning band hall, panting for breath as acrid smoke filled her lungs. Drunken Black and Tans – the mercenary police force that the British Government had drafted in to fight the Irish Republican Army – had set the town alight in revenge for the killing of two policemen.
Stella’s father was an officer in the Royal Air Force, and her family was pro-British, but the Black and Tans behaved like thugs, and in her dream Stella feared that a drunken Tan might shoot her as she ran through the chaos. But she had to get to the band hall. It was where she played music each Friday night with her friends, Alice and Johnny, and now Johnny was in danger.
He had gone to the hall to get his precious clarinet, but hadn’t returned. Had he been burnt in the fire? Shot by the Tans? Taken into custody? She had to find out, yet on reaching the back wall of the band hall Stella felt terrified by what she might discover. She forced herself to climb quickly over the wall and dropped down into the yard. Smoke billowed up into the night sky from blown out windows on the upper story of the building, and she felt a wave of heat as she ran towards the rear door. It was slightly ajar, and she quickly tied a handkerchief around her face, then stepped inside.
She was hit by a wave of heat and smoke, but she forced herself not to retreat. The collapsed ceiling had strewn the floor with rubble and heavy beams, and above her she could see that the fire was spreading through the top floor of the building. She picked her way carefully forward, then stopped dead. Through the swirling smoke she saw a body lying on the ground. The smoke thickened again, hiding it from view, but she had seen enough to horrify her. The body was Johnny’s. Screaming in anguish, she ran towards it.
The scream jolted her awake, and Stella sat up in bed. She wasn’t sure if she had just screamed in the nightmare or whether she had actually cried out. Her heart was thumping and her mouth felt dry. It would be embarrassing if she had woken anyone else in the hotel, yet even as she thought it she knew this was a trivial concern. People in Balbriggan had far bigger things to worry about. She had bigger things to worry about.
Johnny had survived the fire, after she revived him, but now he had left Balbriggan and Stella feared again for his safety. Although he was only fourteen, he had lived dangerously by working under cover for the rebels and, despite his brush with death three nights ago, she suspected he might take up the fight again in his new job in Tipperary.
Stella breathed out deeply, trying to still her racing heart. There was nothing further she could do for Johnny, except pray. And she had already prayed for him in her night prayers. Still, she wouldn’t be going back to sleep any time soon. Maybe another couple of prayers would help. Lying in the dark, she blessed herself, joined her hands, and prayed hard that her friend would be safe.
Part One
Secrets
Chapter One
RYAN’S BAR, THURLES, COUNTY TIPPERARY
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 25TH 1920
Johnny Dunne knew he was in trouble. He heard the trucks screeching to a halt in the street below, and his stomach tightened in fear. But he forced himself not to panic. He had seen enough Black and Tan raids to know he couldn’t escape out the back door of the pub – the Tans would have men stationed there too.
The Black and Tans had come to Ireland the previous March to bolster the Royal Irish Constabulary in the war of independence that had raged for the last two years. The Tans had a frightening reputation for brutality, and Johnny didn’t want to fall into their hands. As a fourteen-year-old he had been able to spy for the rebels all the previous year with few people taking notice of him. Until the previous week he had worked in Balbriggan’s Mill Hotel, but he had left the town after the Tans ran riot, burning down dozens of homes, shops, and businesses, and killing two civilians.
Johnny had been ordered to move to a safe house in Thurles, while he awaited his next mission in Dublin. So much for Ryan’s Bar being a safe house, he thought now, as he heard the Tans shouting and screaming as they burst into the pub. Johnny was two floors above them, in his bedroom, and he had a little time before they got to him.
Was there somewhere he could hide? There was no poi
nt hiding under the bed or in a wardrobe, the Tans were likely to look there. Johnny knew that Mr Ryan, the pub owner, was an IRA sympathiser, and that there were arms hidden on his farm outside the town. But if they found weapons here in the pub then anybody present would be interrogated. And Johnny couldn’t allow himself to come to the attention of the Tans.
He thought frantically now as he heard more shouting and the sound of heavy boots pounding on the stairs. There was an attic above the bathroom across the landing, but the trapdoor into it was high above the floor. Maybe if he climbed onto the rim of the bath he could open the trap door, climb into the attic and hide till the Tans left? Unless they searched the attic too – in which case he would be found hiding, which would look extremely suspicious.
Johnny heard the pounding of the boots getting louder, and realised that the raiders had reached the first floor. He needed to make a decision, and quickly. Despite his fear, he tried to think clearly. With Mr Ryan hiding weapons at the farm, the chances were that he wouldn’t risk also hiding arms here in the pub. The Tans, however, weren’t to know that, so they might well search everywhere here, including the attic.
Better not hide at all, better to brazen it out, thought Johnny. He stepped across to the bathroom and flushed the toilet. He left the door open so that the sound of the flushing lavatory would be heard, then he quickly made for the stairs and descended.
He could hear the Tans in the first-floor living room shouting at Mr Ryan, and two of them faced him as Johnny reached the landing. One Tan aimed a rifle at him and the other man, who held a Webley pistol, grabbed Johnny and pulled him into the room.
‘Where the hell were you hiding?’ he demanded.
He was a heavily built man with reddish hair visible under his beret, and, to Johnny’s surprise he had a Dublin accent. Most of the Tans were British, but Johnny had heard that there were Irishmen in their ranks also – men who were drawn by the generous wages the mercenary constables were paid.
‘I was in the toilet,’ answered Johnny, as he heard the sound of bottles being smashed in the bar below. Three more Tans ran up the stairs to the floor that he had just left. Another Tan roughly threw the furniture about the living room, then ran the bayonet of his rifle through the cushions on the sofa.
Although Mr Ryan was a tall, well-built man with a tough demeanour, he stood immobile, not complaining about the damage, and answering the Tans’ questions. His eyes met Johnny’s briefly and he gave the slightest of nods, as if to say things would be all right.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked the Tan with the rifle, and Johnny thought that his accent placed him from the north of England.
‘I work here,’ said Johnny. ‘I help in the bar.’
‘Live here too?’
‘Yes, on the top floor.’
‘Right vipers’ nest of Shinners. You a little shinner too?’
If only you knew, thought Johnny. If only you knew that Michael Collins, the Commander of the rebels, has a mission planned for me in Dublin.
‘I know nothing about politics,’ said Johnny innocently. ‘I’m just doing a job.’
‘How come you’ve a job in Thurles? You’re not from here, that’s a Dublin accent,’ said the red-haired Tan accusingly.
Always keep your lies close to the truth. It was what Johnny was taught when he had started spying for the rebels. ‘Yes, I’m from Dublin. But my da died, and we needed the money, so Ma got me this job through a cousin.’
Johnny could hear the Tans taking the place asunder above his head and he was glad that he hadn’t hidden in the attic. Mr Ryan was still being questioned aggressively, but Johnny tried to block it all out and concentrate on his own situation. One slip here, one wrong word, and the game would be up.
‘Where are you from in Dublin?’ asked Red Hair.
‘We live on the Northside,’ answered Johnny, trying to sound as if he was co-operative, while still striving to be as vague as possible.
‘Where on the Northside?’
‘Phibsboro.’
‘What street?’
Johnny hadn’t expected the Tans to be this painstaking with their questions. His heart was thumping, but he barely hesitated, and came up with a road whose name had stuck in his memory.
‘Monck Place.’
‘House number?’
‘Twenty-two,’ said Johnny, not knowing how many houses there were in the street.
Was that the kind of thing the police checked in the aftermath of raids? He had no idea. But if they found his information was false they would assume that he lied for a reason. Then they would come looking for him.
The Tan wrote down the details that Johnny had given him. Did the man believe him? He seemed to. Then again, he could be playing cat and mouse. Johnny breathed deeply, forcing himself to appear calm. Meanwhile the Tan who had been bayonetting the cushions pulled the drawers out of a press, scattering the contents onto the floor, but without finding anything incriminating. All the time Johnny and Mr Ryan were held at gunpoint, then eventually the other Tans thumped back down the stairs, reporting that the attic and upper floor were clear. Without replacing the furniture or apologising in any way, the raiders prepared to leave. The Tan with the rifle pointed his finger at Mr Ryan.
‘We found nothing this time, Paddy. Next time you mightn’t be so lucky!’
Mr Ryan spoke calmly, but looked the man in the eye. ‘My name isn’t Paddy. And there’s nothing illegal here, so luck doesn’t come into it.’
Johnny saw a flicker of anger in the Tan’s eyes, and for a second he feared that the man might strike Mr Ryan.
‘OK, let’s go,’ said his red-haired companion.
The Tan stared hard at Mr Ryan, then turned away. As noisily as they had arrived, the raiding party took their leave.
Johnny breathed out, then turned to Mr Ryan.
‘What time is the next train to Dublin?’
‘Why?’
‘I need to be on it,’ said Johnny.
‘They’re not expecting you yet. There’s a timetable for these things.’
‘The Tans don’t follow our timetable! They’ll be back to arrest me if they check that address.’
‘They’ll hardly check an address a kid gave them in a raid.’
‘I can’t take that chance.’
‘Look, I know we’re an underground army, Johnny. But we’re still an army. And your orders were to come to Dublin when instructed.’
‘Yeah, and my orders were to stay in a safe house. But this house isn’t safe any more. I’m no coward, Mr Ryan. I’ve taken risks for the cause. But I’m not hanging about to be picked up by the Tans. So, what time is the next train?’
Ryan seemed to consider this, then spoke resignedly. ‘OK. There’s a train at half-three. I’ll tell Dublin you’ll be on it.’
‘Thank you. And Mr Ryan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I make a suggestion?’
Mr Ryan gave a crooked grin. ‘Something tells me you will anyway.’
Johnny gave him a wry smile in return. ‘If the Tans do come back, why don’t you say you caught me with my hand in the till and sacked me? You don’t know where I went, but you think I have relations in…will we say Cork?’
‘Cork is a fine spot.’
‘Cork it is, so. I’ll start packing.’
Johnny turned away and made for the door, still feeling excited. Part of it was from the raid, and having outwitted the Tans. But part of it was thinking about what was to come. He would be working for his hero, Michael Collins, the most wanted man in Ireland. He took the stairs two at a time, eager to be on his way, and to start his new mission.
Chapter Two
THE MILL HOTEL, BALBRIGGAN
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 25TH 1920
‘Why are you being so snobby, Mam?’ Alice Goodman looked at her mother who was sitting at the table in their private quarters. As the owner of the Mill, Mrs Goodman often ate in the hotel dining room. This evening, though, they were having tea in
their quarters, and Alice had decided to challenge her mother’s attitude. Three days previously Alice’s friend, Johnny Dunne, had quit his job as the hotel boots, and ever since, Mam had been running him down.
‘I’m not being snobbish,’ said her mother. ‘I’m simply saying that a boy with Johnny’s background doesn’t understand proper behaviour.’
Alice thought that Mam should be thanking her lucky stars that the Mill Hotel was still standing. Lots of buildings in Balbriggan were burnt-out ruins since the Black and Tans had run riot earlier in the week, yet here was her mother complaining about Johnny moving to a better job.
‘There was nothing wrong with his behaviour, Mam. He always worked hard and was nice to customers.’
‘That’s not the issue. The point I’m making, Alice, is that a properly-reared boy, a boy from a good family, wouldn’t just walk out on his employer.’
Alice kept her impatience in check and spoke calmly. ‘It’s not his fault he was raised in an orphanage, Mam. And the job he was offered in Tipperary had to be filled straight away.’
‘So he gives one day’s notice when he gets a better offer? I don’t call that very loyal.’
‘I don’t mean to sound cheeky, Mam. But how loyal were you to him?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Well, he wasn’t exactly overpaid. And when he wanted to join the library, you didn’t want to sign his guarantee. When he asked for one night off to play with the band in the music festival, you wouldn’t let him go.’
‘I needed him that night, Alice.’
‘So, you put your business before him, and I understand that. But when he puts his business before you, you look down on him, and say he wasn’t brought up properly.’
Spies Page 1