Spies

by Brian Gallagher

  Kevin Barry had been sentenced to be hanged, and if the killing went ahead it would be the first execution of a rebel prisoner since the 1916 Rising. To make matters worse, Terence MacSwiney’s hunger strike had ended with his death three days previously, and public feeling was running high.

  She could see that the other club members were awaiting her answer to Padraig’s question, and this time Alice couldn’t rescue her. So far, most people that Stella encountered didn’t hold it against her that her father was a British officer. But that could easily change, and now she chose her words carefully.

  ‘I hope the death sentence isn’t carried out,’ she said.

  ‘So you’re for the rebels now, are you?’ said Padraig.

  ‘No. But I’m against the idea of hanging prisoners.’

  ‘I hope so. Hanging a lad who’s only eighteen – it’s barbaric!’

  Stella sensed that this was something that Padraig had heard others saying. She was actually more sympathetic to the rebels than she admitted to Padraig, but she wouldn’t be publicly disloyal to her father. She hesitated, knowing that it might be wise not to argue further. Yet part of her felt that if she didn’t say what she thought it would be cowardly.

  She looked at Padraig, and his aggressive expression made her mind up. ‘I’m sorry to see anyone of eighteen dying, Padraig. But either nobody of that age should die, or eighteen is old enough to be a soldier. It can’t only be barbaric when someone Irish dies.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Kevin Barry is eighteen, right?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And how old was Harold Washington, the soldier killed by Kevin Barry and his comrades?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He was nineteen. He was just a lad too.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘How is it different?’

  ‘The English are occupying Ireland, and he’s part of their army.’

  ‘And the Irish are fighting them, and Kevin Barry’s part of that army. Why is Kevin Barry’s life more precious than Harold Washington’s?’

  ‘Because he’s fighting for freedom.’

  ‘They’re both fighting for what they believe in. They’re both in their teens. And I don’t think you can say Barry is only a lad and it’s barbaric to kill him – but then sing dumb about Washington’s age. I mean, are you really saying it’s wrong to kill a young man if he’s Irish, but if he’s English, that’s OK, you can kill him?’

  Stella could see the other club members looking to Padraig for a response, and she hoped that he might at least partially see her point.

  He looked her in the eye then shook his head. ‘You’re just playing with words, Stella. Hanging Kevin Barry would be murder, and that’s all there is to it.’

  Before Stella could respond Mr Rooney arrived, ending the argument by unlocking the door and allowing the members to enter the chess club. Alice slipped her arm thought Stella’s as they went in, and Stella was grateful for her friend’s show of solidarity. She hoped that she had swayed some of the others with her arguments, but found it depressing that Padraig was blind to any viewpoint but his own. In reality, she thought there were probably equally unbending people on both sides, and perhaps that was the most disturbing thing of all. Dispirited by the notion, she made for the chess boards, hoping that for a few hours she could forget the troubles that raged all around them.

  * * *

  The trees in the Phoenix Park were a riot of colour, their leaves of gold, orange and red lit by the mellow sunshine of early November. It was ten o’clock on Sunday morning and the park wasn’t busy yet, as Johnny sat at an outside table in the Victorian tea rooms. On the table before him were an iced bun and a cup of cocoa, but he had barely touched either item. ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t either,’ said his mother, with a nervous smile.

  His mother. The very phrase gave him goosebumps, and he looked at her now, fascinated by the resemblance between them. She too was slim, with blue eyes and brown hair, and the line of her nose and the tilt of her chin were startlingly similar to what Johnny saw when he looked in the mirror. She was younger than he had expected, probably only in her early thirties, and they had had no difficulty recognising each other when she stepped off the train for their arranged meeting at Kingsbridge station.

  Johnny hadn’t been sure how to greet her, and had offered his hand. She had smiled and shaken hands warmly, and in a voice that sounded shaky with emotion had told him how delighted she was to meet him. The short walk to the nearby Phoenix Park had been strange and slightly awkward, as though each of them was nervous of saying or doing the wrong thing.

  She had told him that she lived in Athlone above the family’s chemist shop, but that after the death of her mother earlier in the year the business had been sold. Her father had died three years previously, but she had a brother and four nieces and nephews.

  Johnny found it bizarre to think that he had four cousins that he knew nothing of, as well as two deceased grandparents and an uncle.

  Suddenly his mother put aside her cup of tea and looked at Johnny, her expression nervous. ‘There’s something I want to say, but…I don’t know how to begin.’

  ‘Well…take your time. There’s no rush.’

  ‘I know. But…we could go around in circles here, avoiding what really matters.’ She paused, then reached out and touched Johnny’s hand. ‘I want to say I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Johnny, that I gave you up.’

  Johnny could see that tears had formed in her eyes and he kept his voice gentle as he asked that question that he had waited years to pose. ‘Why did you give me up?’

  ‘I’d no choice. I was only nineteen. A single woman with no means to support you. I would have done anything to keep you, but it just wasn’t possible.’

  ‘And what about my father? Where was he? And who was he?’

  ‘He was…he was a wonderful man. I really loved him and we were going to elope and get married.’

  ‘Elope?’

  ‘He was a musician. My father didn’t think that was a steady job, and didn’t approve of him, so we planned to elope.’

  ‘And why didn’t you?’

  ‘Josef was killed in a motor accident. A tram hit him, and he banged his head off the pavement. He died that same night from a brain haemorrhage. This was about seven months before you were born. Despite the fact that he had never met him, Johnny felt shocked to hear that his father was dead. ‘God…that’s terrible.’

  ‘It was. His family was Hungarian, and he’d come to Dublin with an English orchestra. He liked Ireland and stayed on. I was a keen amateur musician, and that’s how we met.’

  ‘What do you play?’

  ‘The piano. Josef played the violin. He was very good.’

  ‘I play the clarinet,’ said Johnny.

  His mother gave a sad smile. ‘So something of him lives on in you. I’m really glad.’

  ‘I am too. And after he died, you never married anyone else?’

  His mother shook her head. ‘I was never going to meet someone that wonderful again. So I went back to Athlone and worked in the family business. My mother had poor health, and I ended up looking after her more and more.’

  ‘That sounds hard.’

  ‘I didn’t mind. I had my music, and a job, and a roof over my head. And she was a good woman – I loved her. If it had been up to her, maybe something could have been worked out. But my father said keeping a baby would be a scandal, and I had to give you up. He said it would be best for the family, and for me, and even for you, to be put up for adoption.’

  ‘But I wasn’t adopted. I was just kept in an orphanage.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Johnny. They told me you’d get a good home, and I believed them. They said that I had to sever all ties, that I wouldn’t be told where you went. They said it was better for everyone that way.’ She paused, and when she spoke again there was a catch in her voice. ‘But it wasn’t
better, was it?’

  ‘No. Not for me.’

  ‘Oh, Johnny,’ she said. ‘Can you…can ever forgive me?’

  Johnny thought of his years in St Mary’s. He thought of the beatings, and the cold, and the awful food. None of it need have happened if the Dunne family had taken him in, and he felt a flash of anger. He looked at his mother. A tear was rolling down her cheek, and he didn’t know what to say as conflicting emotions swirled in his head.

  ‘I understand if you’re angry, Johnny. You’ve every right to be. I’d be angry if I was in your shoes. But I swear to you. If there was any way I could have kept you, I would have. I insisted they call you Dunne rather than Lazlo, so I’d always have some tiny link with you.’

  Johnny looked her in the eye and he knew she was telling the truth. He felt his anger dissolving. She had been young, and penniless, and probably scared out of her wits.

  ‘I’m not angry at you,’ he said.

  ‘No?’

  ‘I wish I’d never known St Mary’s. But it wasn’t your fault.’ He paused, touched by his mother’s anguish. ‘So…so everything’s OK between us.’

  She reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘You’ve no idea what that means. Thank you so much.’

  Johnny squeezed her hand in return, amazed at the idea that he was holding his mother’s hand for the first time in fourteen years.

  ‘So tell me all about your life now,’ she said, brightening, and dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

  ‘Gosh…where do I start?’

  ‘Tell me about your job, and your friends, and playing the clarinet – I want to hear everything!’

  Johnny considered for a moment, then told her about working in the Mill Hotel, and playing in Mr Tardelli’s band, and becoming friends with Alice and Stella. He told her about the Tans burning Balbriggan, and how Stella had saved his life when she rescued him from the burning band hall. He would have loved to tell her the whole truth, but instead he kept secret his role in spying for the rebels, and explained that he had left Balbriggan to take up his current position, working as a telegraph boy.

  ‘There’s so much we have to catch up on,’ his mother said.

  ‘Well, we have all day.’

  ‘I want to see you after today. I never want to lose contact again. If that’s all right with you?’

  ‘That’s fine with me. But…there’s just one thing…’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What should…what should I call you?’

  His mother looked taken aback, as though she hadn’t thought of this. ‘Well…I always called my mother “Mam”. Would that suit?’

  Johnny nodded. ‘Yes. Mam sounds…Mam sounds great.’

  His mother looked at him, then rose and opened her arms. ‘Come here and give me a hug.’

  Johnny rose and crossed to her, and she took him in her arms. He caught the scent of her perfume as she embraced him.

  ‘It’s so good to see you, Johnny,’ she said softly.

  ‘It’s so good to see you, Mam,’ answered Johnny. Saying the word seemed to unleash something inside him, and the tears rolled down his face as he held his mother tightly.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Alice felt guilty as she listlessly chewed her steak in the dining room of the Mill Hotel. She knew that there were children in Balbriggan whose families could rarely afford meat – much less fillet steak – but she couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for her food tonight. She was attending a dinner to welcome Stella’s mother home from Canada, and seated with her at the table were her own mother, Stella, and Captain and Mrs Radcliffe.

  The dining room of the Mill was busy with Saturday night customers, and her group was at the best table and receiving attentive service from the staff. It was a chilly November evening, but in here the atmosphere was cosy and warm. Alice looked around her, taking in the soft candlelight, crisp linen table cloths, gleaming cutlery and sparkling glasses, and she realised that the diners in the Mill were living in a bubble.

  Outside the war was raging, and in the aftermath of Monday’s execution of Kevin Barry there had been fighting in Longford, Galway, Waterford and Kerry, with civilians, police officers and British soldiers killed. How could so many of the customers here act as though nothing was happening, she wondered.

  She toyed with her food, only half listening as Mrs Radcliffe described her sea voyage back from Canada. She was a smart, engaging woman with dark hair and sparkling eyes, and Alice liked her. But her fear was that Mrs Radcliffe would want Stella to move out of the Mill. It had been bad enough losing one friend when Johnny had left, but Alice hated the idea of also losing Stella, her closest friend and confidante, and she had worried about it for days.

  ‘What’s this I hear about Balbriggan being “adopted” by Philadelphia?’ asked Mrs Radcliffe now.

  ‘It’s a way of showing support, Mom,’ said Stella, ‘because of all the buildings that were burned down.’

  ‘I think it’s more political than that,’ said Commander Radcliffe. ‘I daresay they want to help rehouse people, but I suspect it’s also an anti-British move by Irish elements in America.’

  ‘What does it matter, Dad, if it helps get Balbriggan rebuilt?’ asked Stella.

  ‘Politics always matters, dear, there’s no getting away from it.’

  ‘Well, maybe we can get away from it just for tonight,’ suggested Mrs Radcliffe.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Alice’s mother. ‘Time enough for all the other problems. This is your homecoming night.’

  ‘Fine. No politics tonight,’ said Stella’s father with a smile as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

  The mood at the table was relaxed, and Alice sensed that this was the moment to pose the question that had been in her thoughts since the start of the meal.

  ‘Can I ask a question, Mrs Radcliffe?’ she said.

  ‘Of course, Alice. What’s on your mind?’

  Alice hesitated, seeking to find the right words. ‘I know it’s your family, and I hope you won’t think I’m intruding, but…’

  ‘Yes?’ said Mrs Radcliffe encouragingly.

  ‘Will Stella be leaving now you’re back? Or can she stay in the Mill for the rest of the school year? Please say she can stay, I’d really hate to lose her!’

  Stella’s mother looked a little surprised by the question and glanced at her husband. ‘Well, we hadn’t decided anything yet, Alice.’

  ‘But I had asked Dad to let me stay in the Mill during term time,’ said Stella.

  ‘That was when I was away,’ said Mrs Radcliffe.

  ‘I know, Mom. And it’s brilliant that you’re back, and it’ll be great spending weekends and holidays with you and Dad. But can I stay here during school term? I’d miss Alice as much as she’d miss me.’

  Alice held her breath as she watched her friend’s mother closely, hoping for a clue to her thinking. Once again Mrs Radcliffe glanced at her husband, who gave a little shrug that Alice hoped indicated acceptance. Stella’s mother paused, and although it was only for a moment, to Alice it felt as she would never deliver her answer.

  ‘All right, then. Maybe it would be best to see the school year out. After that we’ll review things. Assuming that’s acceptable to you, Mrs Goodman?’

  ‘More than acceptable. Stella is welcome to stay as long as she likes.’

  ‘OK, Stella?’

  ‘Yes, that’s great, Mom. Thanks.’

  Mrs Radcliffe turned to Alice, a smile playing about her lips. ‘Happy now, Alice?’

  ‘Happy as Larry!’ said Alice, playfully raising her glass of lemonade in a toast. ‘Happy as Larry!’

  * * *

  Johnny walked along the edge of the cliff on Howth Head, the salt air bracing as he looked down at the glistening sea breaking on the rocks below him.

  ‘I never tire of this view,’ said his mother, indicating the sweep of Dublin Bay. ‘No matter what season it is, any time I get to Dublin, I try to come out here.’

  ‘Yes,
it’s great,’ said Johnny. The heather-clad hillside before them looked beautiful in the autumn sunshine, while across the shimmering waters of bay could he could see the Wicklow mountains, their peaks etched against a clear blue sky.

  Today was his second meeting with his mother, and with other day trippers they had gone on the train from Dublin to Sutton, and then taken the Hill of Howth tram to the summit of Howth Head. All week long Johnny had been looking forward to Sunday, and now he was savouring again the rapport they had established the previous week in the tea rooms.

  There was so much for both of them to catch up on, and they had chatted non-stop on the train and tram. Johnny had discovered that his mother’s favourite composer was Chopin, that her favourite food was apple tart, and that she was bad at sports, but good at swimming. He had revealed that he was good at soccer, but not so good at swimming, that his favourite food was rice pudding, and that his favourite piece of music was ‘Alexander’s Ragtime Band’ by Irving Berlin.

  He had learnt that his father was gentle, but had a strong sense of humour. He had learnt also that Josef Lazlo was good at chess, and the fact that Johnny too was a skilful player made him feel bonded to the father that he had never met.

  Standing on the cliff path, Johnny and his mother savoured the view across the bay for a moment more, then continued in the direction of the Baily Lighthouse.

  ‘Tell me more about my uncle and my cousins,’ said Johnny.

  ‘You’ve four cousins, two boys and two girls. Michael is nine, Peg is seven, Sean is five and baby Cora is two.’

  ‘Will I get to meet them?’

  ‘Of course. My brother John isn’t like my father was. When I wrote to John that we’d met again, he was really pleased.’

  ‘And they’re all in Athlone?’