Alice could see that her mother didn’t have a ready answer, and she decided to quit while she was ahead.
‘Anyway, he’s gone, so it’s water under the bridge.’
‘I suppose so,’ conceded her mother.
‘But what’s going to happen to Balbriggan now?’ asked Alice, deliberately changing the subject.
Her mother shook her head. ‘I don’t know. There’s talk of a government enquiry into what the Tans did. And compensation for people who were burnt out. But no one knows how things will work out.’
Including me, thought Alice. Because in spite of defending her friend she too was concerned about how Johnny had left Balbriggan. She knew he had been spying for the rebels, and she feared that his sudden departure might be linked to that, despite the job in Tipperary.
She had never told her mother about Johnny’s secret role. It was information that could spell disaster, as Alice feared her mother might feel obliged to tell the police that Johnny was working for the rebels. Only her best friend, Stella, knew of Johnny’s secret life. But Stella hadn’t been reassuring, and was as worried for Johnny’s safety as Alice was.
‘More tea, love?’ said Mam now, breaking her reverie.
‘Yes, please.’
Alice added some sugar, held out her china cup and smiled at her mother. Inside, though, she was still unsettled. Johnny had promised to write, but so far she had heard nothing. Was he really starting a job in Tipperary? Or was he resuming his role with the rebels? Or both? And if he was involved again, what would happen to him? She realised that there were more questions than answers, and she lifted her cup, sipped the hot, sweet tea, and tried to put Johnny from her mind.
Chapter Three
NORTH BEACH, BALBRIGGAN
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 25th 1920
The evening sun was dipping, its golden rays making the sea sparkle, but Stella Radcliffe barely noticed. Normally she would have relished a walk with her father along the shoreline, but tonight her mind was elsewhere.
Coming to Ireland from her native Canada a year and a half previously had seemed like an adventure, but the war of independence had changed things, and now Stella had conflicting emotions. She loved her father and felt a sense of loyalty to him. But Dad was a Wing Commander in the Royal Air Force, and Stella’s support for the British forces had been changed by her friendship with Johnny Dunne. She had also grown to like the many Irish people she had met in school, and the chess club, and the town band, and she hated the way they had been treated by the Black and Tans.
‘You’re very quiet, Stella. Everything all right?’ asked her father.
‘I was…I was thinking about what happened.’ Stella indicated the ruined buildings in the distance.
Her father shook his head. ‘A bad business.’
‘A bad business? They killed two men and destroyed half the town!’
‘Sorry, poor choice of words.’
‘They’re not going to get away with it, are they, Dad? I mean, they will be punished, right?’
Her father paused, as though choosing his words carefully.
‘There’ll be an enquiry, Stella, I promise you that. And questions have already been asked. But as for the outcome…’
Stella stopped and looked at him. ‘What are you saying, Dad?’
‘It’s…it’s not cut and dried. There was chaos that night. It might be hard to pin down who did what.’
‘They bayonetted two men! And burned buildings left, right and centre!’
‘I know, darling, it’s appalling. But civilised behaviour, law and order, all those things go out the window when you let slip the dogs of war.’
‘The dogs of war?’
‘It’s a line from Shakespeare. It means unleashing the madness that war brings.’
‘Right…’
‘I saw it in France in the Great War, Stella. Some people will be noble and brave, but war brings out the animal in others.’
‘But we’re not at war, Dad.’
‘I’m afraid we are, darling. Not like in the Great War, army to army. But there’s still a war being fought here.’
‘Against the people of Balbriggan?’
‘I’m not justifying what happened, Stella. It makes me ashamed of my uniform when drunken thugs break the law. But I’d be misleading you if I promised that the men who ran amok will stand trial.’
Stella resumed walking, shocked by her father’s words. No wonder the people of Ireland were increasingly supporting the rebels, she thought. She wished that Johnny was here so that they could discuss it. But Johnny was gone, and she didn’t know when she would see him next. She hoped it would be soon. But even if she never saw him again he had been a great friend, and her proudest moment had been when she saved him from a blazing building.
‘I know it’s messy and difficult, Stella,’ said her father. ‘But whatever happens, we’ve got to get through this time as best we can. So any time you’re worried, don’t fret in silence. Come and talk to me, all right?
‘All right, Dad.’ She squeezed his arm and tried for a reassuring smile. Yet if she revealed her worries about Johnny that would, in effect, be betraying him. She wished life could be simpler. She knew, however, that wishing was pointless, and so she linked her father and walked on wordlessly through the warm September evening.
* * *
Johnny realised he was in a city at war, as soon as he stepped out of Kingsbridge railway station. Two lorries full of heavily armed Black and Tans drove past the station entrance heading at speed in the direction of the Guinness brewery. On instinct Johnny averted his face and walked away, his head lowered as though his suitcase were weighing him down. The chances of the Tans looking for him in a follow-up to the raid in Thurles were remote. But in the lethal business of spying he knew that constant alertness was the difference between survival and disaster.
He crossed Kingsbridge, the sparkling waters of the River Liffey reflecting the glow of the setting sun, and the air heavy with brewing smells from the nearby Guinness plant. He looked downriver towards the centre of Dublin. The city was bathed in golden light, but the balmy atmosphere couldn’t disguise the signs of conflict, and to his left Johnny could see the fortified entrance to the British army’s Royal Barracks, overlooking the north quays. It was a large, imposing complex, and like the other barracks strategically situated around the city it bustled with activity in the escalating war of independence.
As he walked along the quays Johnny saw armoured cars, lorries full of British soldiers, and Auxies noisily raiding a pub at Chancery Street. The Auxies were a mercenary police force like the Tans, but were drawn from the ranks of former army officers, most of whom had been battle hardened in the Great War. Their reputation for brutality was as bad as the Tans, and Johnny gave them a wide berth as the made his way towards O’Connell Bridge and the city centre.
Although alert to danger, Johnny wasn’t intimidated by the enemy. The British government had at its disposal the Royal Irish Constabulary, the British army, the Royal Air Force, and the Tans and Auxies, and yet the Irish Republican Army was successfully taking them on. And now he was going to play his part again in the fight for independence. It was thrilling to think that he would be working for Michael Collins, the most wanted man in Ireland. Though if he were honest, it was a bit daunting too, and as Johnny turned into Sackville Street, the city’s main thoroughfare, he felt in equal parts nervous and excited at what lay ahead.
No use fretting about it, he told himself, the trick was to take it a day at a time. He passed the site of the General Post office, that had been ruined in the Easter Rising four years previously. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he took out two postcards. He had promised his friends Alice and Stella that he would write to them when he settled into the job that he had claimed to have down the country. Not wanting to give an address on a letter, he had instead bought two picture postcards of Tipperary beauty spots and written friendly messages on the cards while travelling to Dublin on the train.
One postcard showed the Rock of Cashel and the other the Glen of Aherlow, and he slipped them into a pillar box, then continued up the street.
Much of the damage from the Rising had been repaired, and Johnny was impressed by the grandeur of the capital’s widest thoroughfare. He crossed the street, leaving behind the imposing column that was Nelson’s Pillar, which people claimed was the exact centre of Dublin. He made his way to the northern end of the street and continued into Cavendish Row. Before leaving Thurles, he had carefully studied a map of central Dublin, and Mr Ryan had pointed out exactly where he was to go. For security reasons nothing had been written down, but Johnny had memorised the address of the boarding house in Gardiner Place for which he was headed. He turned into Denmark Street and passed Belvedere College as the twilight began to deepen. Almost there, he thought, then up ahead he saw a row of tall Georgian houses and realised that had reached Gardiner Place. There were three adjoining houses with the name ‘Hanlon’ over the door of the central house, and Johnny mounted a short flight of steps.
He rang the bell, and a moment later the door was opened by a well-dressed woman of about fifty. She was slimly built, and had brown wavy hair that was flecked with grey. She looked at Johnny with clear blue eyes, and he sensed that this was a woman that you wouldn’t want to cross. When she spoke, however, her tone was pleasant.
‘Johnny Dunne, I presume?’
‘Yes. Are you Mrs Hanlon?’
‘I am indeed. Come in and take the weight off your feet.’
‘Thanks.’
Johnny stepped inside and was ushered into a parlour and invited to sit in an armchair. The room was softly lit by a couple of lamps, and Johnny guessed that the rest of the boarding house would also be comfortable and clean, but not luxurious.
‘Have you had anything to eat?’ asked Mrs Hanlon, sitting opposite Johnny in another armchair.
‘I had my dinner before leaving Thurles.’
‘From what I’ve heard of growing boys, you’ll be ready to eat again. When we’re finished Bridget will get you a bun and a glass of milk.’
‘Thank you. Who’s Bridget?’
‘She’s in charge of the cooking here.’
‘Right.’
‘So, Johnny,’ said Mrs Hanlon, ‘you’re an orphan.’
Johnny was taken by surprise. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Anyone who comes within an ass’s roar of the Boss has to be checked out.’
‘The Boss? You’re…you’re talking about Michael––’
‘Don’t mention names. Or even nicknames,’ said Mrs Hanlon, cutting him short. ‘I don’t mean to sound rude, but we can’t be too cautious. The Boss could refer to anyone, so that’s what you’ll call him.’
‘All right.’ Johnny looked at her appraisingly. ‘So…you’re not just a landlady?’
‘I am to the public. Never give the slightest hint otherwise when we’re outside this room, all right?’
‘OK.’
‘Good lad.’
‘So what else have they told you about me?’ asked Johnny.
‘That you’re brave. Cool under pressure. That you’ve provided good intelligence in the past. That you’re from Dublin – though I would have known that.’
‘From my accent?’
‘And the way you carry yourself. Country people have a different way about them. You can learn a lot about people if you watch for the little clues.’
‘I know,’ said Johnny. ‘I do that already.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘So what can you tell about me after two minutes?’
She said it with a hint of playfulness, but Johnny knew he was being tested. He thought for a moment, then spoke slowly. ‘Because Mr Ryan told me, I know you’re a widow,’ he said, ‘but I think you’re a widow with no children. And I think you’re from Kerry, but you’ve been living in Dublin a long time. And when you were in school, you were always one of the top pupils in your class.’ Johnny sat back in his chair and looked at her enquiringly. ‘How did I do?’
Mrs Hanlon nodded. ‘You did well. Tell me your reasoning.’
‘You said earlier “from what I’ve heard of growing boys, they’re always ready to eat”. But so are growing girls, and if you’d had either you’d know that. And we had a Christian Brother in the orphanage who was from Kerry, so I know the accent really well. Yours is the same as his, but less strong, so I guessed you’ve been living away from Kerry a long time. And because you own property here, I reckoned Dublin is where you’ve been living.’
‘And the school?’
‘For a woman to be working with…with the Boss…well, you’d have to be pretty smart. And someone that smart would have done well at school.’
Mrs Hanlon raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m impressed, Johnny. You’re sharp.’
‘Thanks. I spent a year spying in the Mill Hotel – I had to be sharp.’
‘What part of Kerry was the brother in the orphanage from?’
‘I don’t know. He wasn’t…’
‘Wasn’t what?’
‘He wasn’t the kind of person you could ask. He…’
Johnny paused, and Mrs Hanlon leaned forward.
‘He what, Johnny?’
‘He had everyone terrified,’ he answered reluctantly. ‘He’d beat you around the place for the least thing.’
Mrs Hanlon looked pained. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘He wasn’t even the worst.’
‘Really?’
Johnny hesitated, then looked her in the eye. ‘You might as well know. It was an awful place, a nightmare. They beat us, they fed us swill, we froze in winter. The reason I’m fighting for the cause is to make a different kind of Ireland.’
Mrs Hanlon nodded sympathetically. ‘I understand that. I don’t know why they’d want to treat children like that, but I understand your reaction. And for what it’s worth, Johnny, I want a better Ireland too. Maybe together we can help bring that about.’
‘I hope so. Can I…can I ask a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘What’s happening about Mr O?’
Mrs Hanlon didn’t answer at once, but Johnny sat forward in his chair, eager for an explanation. Over a year previously he had been recruited by Oliver O’Shea, a commercial traveller who visited the Mill Hotel, but who was secretly an intelligence officer for the IRA. O’Shea had recently been arrested at the hotel by the Tans, which was partly why Johnny had been ordered to leave Balbriggan.
‘He’s still in custody, Johnny.’
‘When I was told to leave Balbriggan they said there were plans to free him.’
‘You’ll appreciate that I can’t give details about that.’
‘But he is going to be helped? Please, I need to know.’
‘All right, Johnny. Yes, plans are afoot.’
‘If there’s any way I can help with that – any way at all – I’d like to.’
Mrs Hanlon looked thoughtful, then nodded her head. ‘Good. We’ll bear that in mind.’
‘Thank you. And the job I’m in Dublin to do, can you tell me what it is?’
‘Not tonight. Tomorrow is Sunday. Take the day off and relax. And then on Monday you’ll be briefed.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means if you agree to what the Boss wants, your mission starts. Is that all right?”
Johnny felt his pulses starting to race but he tried to look calm. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, that’s fine.’
Chapter Four
‘Why are pirates great singers?’ asked Mr Tardelli.
Alice turned in her school desk and looked at her friend Stella, who raised an eyebrow in surprise. Both girls really liked the Italian music teacher. With his flowing black hair and slightly Bohemian manner, he brought a touch of colour to their school, Loreto Convent Balbriggan. Mr Tardelli was also the musical director of the town band, of which the girls were enthusiastic members. It was part of the tradition of Friday-night band rehear
sals that Mr Tardelli told jokes, but it was unusual for him to do so in the school setting, which explained Stella’s surprise.
Alice, however, thought she understood his motive. Since the Black and Tans had run amok the previous week the town had been in shock. Life had to go on, though, and Alice reckoned that the Italian was doing his best to cheer up his pupils.
‘Why are pirates great singers, Mr Tardelli?’ she asked, deciding to show him some support.
‘Because, Alice, they can hit the high Cs!’
The teacher was rewarded with a laugh from the girls, then he set them some work to practise before the next lesson, and the class broke up. The pupils quickly gathered their instruments and sheet music and made for the door. Before Alice could join the rush, Stella touched her on the arm.
‘Can you wait for a second? We need to talk.’
‘Of course.’ Alice was intrigued and she sat back in her desk and waited until Mr Tardelli and the other girls left the classroom. They had just finished the final lesson of the day, and Alice wondered why Stella didn’t simply chat to her as they walked home from school.
For the past six months Stella had had a room in the Mill Hotel that was owned by Alice’s mother. Stella’s own mother was nursing Granddad, who was sick in Canada, and her father was stationed with the RAF at Baldonnel Aerodrome. Between living under the same roof, going to the same school, and being members of the chess club and the town band, they had become best friends, and Alice hoped that everything was all right now.
‘So what’s up?’ she asked when they finally had the classroom to themselves.
‘Did you look closely at your postcard from Johnny?’
‘Yes, it’s a picture of the Glen of Aherlow.’
‘Mine shows the Rock of Cashel,’ said Stella. ‘But it’s not the picture that counts, it’s the postmark.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Why would I get a postcard from Tipperary, with a Dublin postmark?’
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