A Winter of Spies (2 page)

T
HE YEAR 1920 WAS A BAD TIME FOR IRELAND
. The fight for independence had turned violent again the year before, and the violence had worsened and spread. The reborn Volunteer movement ambushed army and police patrols and assassinated government agents. It was a guerrilla war, the Volunteers striking when least expected and then fading back into their everyday lives among the
people
.

The British government, victorious in the Great War but exhausted by it, didn't know how to deal with this kind of fighting. They struck back blindly and ever more viciously at the Volunteers, while denying to the world that they were striking back at all. They'd lost control of Ireland, though they wouldn't admit it; and as the year passed, they seemed at times to be losing control even of their own forces. Reports of raids, murders and reprisals made people both sad and angry. To Sarah Conway, though, the times seemed more exciting than frightening. She was happy, now, to have played a small part in the struggle.

Sarah lived with her family in Northumberland Road. It took her only a few minutes to get there. At home
everyone
had been up for ages except Sarah's brother Jimmy. Jimmy stayed up late on Saturday nights, reading. He spent a lot of time reading, not just newspapers or
magazines
but actual books. Ma always said it was a pity that he hadn't had more schooling, but Jimmy preferred to work. You learned more out in the world, he said.

Jimmy had been working as a messenger boy for one of the big stores now for over two years. Da was trying to get him a place as a clerical apprentice in Kingsbridge railway station where he and their uncle Mick worked as porters. That was a good steady job, but there was a long waiting list for places. Meanwhile Jimmy was happy enough being a messenger boy. The weather was bad sometimes, and he had to wear a uniform with a peaked cap. But there were, as he said himself, worse uniforms, and he got to ride all over the city on the firm's bicycle
delivering
goods. That in itself displeased Ma.

‘The streets are not safe,' she'd say.

At weekends Jimmy's reading always kept him up late. Ma and Da worried that he might show a light, inviting a raid. At the same time they liked the fact that he was
studious
.

‘None of my family were readers,' Da used to say. ‘They'd no truck with books.'

That wasn't completely true. Da himself had taken to reading a fair bit after he came out of the army, trying – he always said – to understand what the Great War had been about. For him, as for many Irishmen, it had been about getting some wages and feeding his family; but he'd been curious about why everyone else was fighting.

In the end Da gave up trying to understand the war. So far as he could see, he said, it had all to do with secret treaties and family feuds between the kings and queens of Europe – that and what Da called robbery rights.

‘What are robbery rights?' Jimmy asked him one time. Jimmy was seventeen, and wanted to understand
everything
.

‘All the strong countries,' Da explained, ‘fell out about who had the right to rob all the weak countries. So they fought it out for the robbery rights.'

Jimmy said nothing to that, just nodded and looked thoughtful. Jimmy thought a lot. Their aunt Ella, whom they lived with now, teased him sometimes about
thinking
too much.

‘It's not for the likes of us to be thinking,' she'd say. But she was very fond of Jimmy, and didn't mean it in a nasty way.

Da wasn't working today. When Sarah went into the kitchen now he was sitting at the table in his shirtsleeves drinking tea. Ma and Ella were preparing potatoes and
vegetables for the dinner. There was a lovely smell of baking.

‘Here she is!' Da said when he saw her. ‘Where did you get to at this hour, miss?'

‘I took Eileen for a walk up the road,' Sarah said. And met Martin Ford, though she didn't say so. ‘There was a raid on the canal,' she said casually.

The three adults looked at her.

‘Where?' Ella said.

‘Phelans'.'

‘Oh God,' Ma said. ‘Was there shooting?'

‘No. Sure you'd have heard shooting.'

‘Did they arrest anyone?'

‘I saw that fella Simon Hughes, but he wasn't arrested that I know of.'

There was suspicion in the look Da gave her.

‘Where's Josie?' Sarah asked innocently.

‘Mass,' Ma said. ‘Where you should be. And I think I heard Jimmy stirring upstairs.'

Josie didn't normally stay with them anymore. She was in service with a family out in Bray. But the family was spending a month on the Continent, and Josie had
permission
to spend the weekends at home while they were away. It was nice to have her around, really, though Sarah had been getting used to being the only girl in the house. Still, Josie could tell her all about life among the
rich, and Sarah was always interested to hear about their peculiar lives.

‘And still no sign of Mick?' Sarah asked.

‘It probably got too late for him to come. He was
working
till near curfew time last night.'

Sarah heard the worry in Ma's voice. Mick's visits
during
the week were unpredictable, but he always had
Sunday
dinner with them when he wasn't working. He usually came on Saturday evening, but last night there'd been no sign of him. It might be that he'd stayed away
because
of the curfew, though he'd come after curfew
before
. He had a kind of disrespect for official rules that worried Ma.

‘There's such a thing as being stupid,' she'd say, ‘and it's a thing our Mick was always good at. There's no point in getting shot just to show off.'

It wasn't only a case of Ma worrying too much.
Anyone
these days would be alarmed when somebody didn't turn up as expected, especially at night. With the Tans on the loose, arrest was the least of anyone's
worries
when someone went missing. Innocence was no protection.

The Black and Tans had appeared in spring, and their behaviour soon made them both hated and feared. They were mainly ex-soldiers, jobless in the hard times that
followed
the war. They were a rough lot, well-paid,
well-armed
,
badly disciplined and often drunk. Officially they were supposed to be part of the police force, but they seemed answerable to nobody but themselves.

In autumn the Auxiliaries had come, ex-British officers mainly, a tough, ruthless body of men who were more dangerous than the Tans because they were better
disciplined
and more often sober. By and large though, their atrocities were no less.

Dublin had become an armed camp, with curfews, masses of troops and police, and constant patrols. There were tanks, armoured cars and barbed wire in the streets, and roadblocks and searches and raids by day and,
especially
, by night.

Sarah refused to let any of this intimidate her. ‘I'm
going
down to Mrs Breen,' she said.

‘All right,' Ma said. ‘I saw the husband going out, but I think she's there. Tell her thanks for the pot of jam. I didn't see her since she left it up.'

The Breens lived in the basement flat. They owned the house. They'd been friends with Ella during her marriage when she'd lived here with her husband Charlie Fox. That had been a bad marriage. Charlie Fox was a
drunkard
and often beat Ella. He'd been killed by a stray bullet during the 1916 Rising. No-one ever knew which side had fired it. But nobody missed Charlie much. He'd been a brute. He'd even died in the act of hitting Jimmy.

After Charlie died, Ella and the Breens asked the
Conways
to come and share this house. Before that they'd lived in a single big room in the middle of the Dublin slums. The rebel headquarters in the General Post Office had been just a few minutes' walk away from their old home. The Post Office, along with half of Sackville Street, had been destroyed in the Rising. The British army had burned it all down.

The Conways had been very poor then, though not so poor as they'd been before Da joined the army. Sarah couldn't remember much about that time, except that she'd often been hungry. She was still often hungry now, but that was because she was a growing girl. Sometimes when she was in the kitchen eating Da would stare at her in awe.

‘And not a pick of meat on her!' he'd say in mock
astonishment
. ‘Where do it all go?'

‘It goes to make a healthy girl,' Sarah would tell him, her mouth full of bread and jam.

As Sarah left the room she met Jimmy coming down the stairs yawning. He hadn't brushed his hair yet, and hanks of it stuck up stiffly from his head.

‘Lazy lump,' Sarah said. ‘Brush your hair. I don't know what you're like.'

Jimmy grinned at her. He was coming to look more and more like his uncle Mick, and he had the same big
grin that made you want to grin along. As he reached the bottom of the stairs now he aimed a pretend swipe at Sarah's head. Sarah dodged, but reached up and caught his sleeve.

‘Simon Hughes is on the run,' she whispered. ‘There was a raid at Phelans', but he got out. I think he's okay, but there's a search.'

Jimmy's grin vanished. ‘Simon's accent will help if he's stopped,' he said.

‘I think he'll get out the lanes. I saw no Tans or soldiers except on the canal. It was very badly organised.'

‘You're an expert now, are you? What were you doing up that way at this hour anyhow?'

Sarah felt herself flushing. Jimmy was quicker than adults in some ways. He was harder to fool. Now he saw her colour.

‘Did someone get you mixed up in this some way?' he hissed.

Being a girl wouldn't save you from danger these days, and being a child wouldn't save you either. Only the day before a girl had been shot in a gateway in the city. Annie O'Neill was her name. Some passing Black and Tans had fired into a group standing there, killing her. She was eight years old. People trembled for their children as well as themselves. They grew afraid, exactly as the authorities intended; but they also grew angry, and
that wasn't part of the plan.

Sarah Conway wasn't afraid at all. She was afraid of nothing – except her Ma and her Da. Her Ma and Da, though, were afraid. They were afraid for Sarah, and they were afraid of her too. And now, though they didn't yet know it, they had real cause for both kinds of fear.

‘If I was mixed up in anything,' Sarah hissed back, ‘then it was myself got me into it.'

The kitchen door opened. Da looked out. The
suspicion
was back on his face.

‘What are you two at?' he asked them.

They were saved from having to think up a lie by the sound of shots. There were two of them, heavy cracks of pistol fire, and they came from nearby. The heads of the three Conways turned towards the closed front door.

‘Oh sacred heart of Jesus!' said Ella's voice from the kitchen. ‘And on a Sunday morning too!'

A confused volley of rifle fire answered the shots.

‘That's Tans or Tommies,' Jimmy said, stating the
obvious
. The Volunteers didn't carry rifles in the city: they were too hard to conceal.

Ma came to the kitchen door. ‘James,' she said
anxiously
, ‘they'll be coming out of Mass in Haddington Road.'

She was thinking of Josie. Da was looking towards the street. There was a sound of feet running on the
front steps. Ma clutched Da's arm. Jimmy and Sarah looked at each other.

The knocker banged heavily three times.

‘James!' Ma said.

A muffled voice came through the heavy door.

‘Let me in,' it said breathlessly. The accent was English. ‘Please!'

‘It's the soldiers!' Ma said. She sounded terrified. ‘Or the Tans!'

‘Tans don't say please,' Jimmy said. ‘That's Simon Hughes.'

‘Begod,' said Da, ‘you're right.' He hurried to the door and opened it. Simon stumbled in. Da snatched a look outside, then banged the door closed and stood with his back to it.

Simon Hughes nearly fell on the floor. He was pale and gasping.

‘Get to the window,' Da said to Jimmy. ‘Look lively, but don't show yourself.' His voice had taken on the brusque tone of an old soldier. Jimmy did as he was bid.

Simon was breathing hard. He looked up at Da. ‘
Morning
, Mr Conway, sir,' he said. ‘Sorry to bother you at this hour.'

DA GLARED AT SIMON HUGHES
.

‘Tans in the street!' Jimmy said tensely from the kitchen.

‘They didn't see me come in,' Simon said to Da.

‘What was the shooting then?'

‘They were getting close. A couple of the lads tried to distract them. I wouldn't let Tans see me come here – you know that. I just want to cut through the garden.'

Da sighed. ‘You know the way?' he asked.

Simon nodded.

‘Go then,' Da said.

Simon started to say something else, but Da cut him off.

‘Take nothing,' he said. ‘Just go.'

Simon nodded. He turned without another word and went down the hall. They heard the back door open and close. Da looked at Sarah. ‘Into the kitchen,' he said.

They went in. Jimmy was by the window looking out. The curtains hid him from the street. Ella was standing by the sink with her hands covering her mouth.

‘Mind yourself, Jimmy,' she whispered. ‘That's how poor Mrs Carr got shot in the Rising, looking out the
window
upstairs!'

The Carrs had owned the house then. Old Mrs Carr had died of her wounds, and her husband hadn't lived long without her. They'd been related to the Breens and left the house to them.

Jimmy ignored his aunt. ‘What are they at?' Da asked him.

‘I think the shooting mixed them up,' Jimmy said. ‘They're looking every way. There's people coming up from Mass now, and a lorryload of soldiers parked at the corner.'

Sarah couldn't believe that Da had let Simon go out when he was hurt. ‘Da,' she said, ‘we could have kept
Simon
here. Even if there was a search, we could have said he was Mick. They'd never know.'

Da snorted. ‘And how would we explain his accent?' he said.

‘Aye,' Jimmy said. ‘And what if Mick himself walked in? Who would we say he was?'

Sarah felt annoyed at her own foolishness. Da saw it on her face. Oddly, it seemed to relax him a bit.

‘Never mind, girl,' he said. ‘I was never much good as a liar myself till I joined the army. It's one thing that you learn there anyhow.'

‘These times does make liars of us all,' Ma said very
bitterly
.

Jimmy turned from the window. ‘Here's Josie now,' he said. ‘And Mick is with her. And they've company.'

Ma crossed to the window. ‘Who?' she said.

‘Martin Ford,' Jimmy said.

Sarah felt suddenly cold. Mick and Josie would be safe enough if they were stopped, but Martin Ford would have a gun. She didn't doubt that it was he and Byrne who'd fired at the Tans.

Ma was standing beside Jimmy, looking out. ‘They're stopping people!' she said in a hushed voice. ‘Oh James! They're stopping Mick and Josie!'

‘There's Mr Breen,' Ma added. ‘He's stopping too.'

Da went to the window and looked out. The tension in the room was terrible. Sarah wanted to look out too, but she was too frightened of what she might see.

‘What's going on now?' asked Ella in a little voice. Ella got frightened easily. She hated any hint of violence.

The three at the window were all holding their breath. None of them said anything for a little while.

‘They're letting them go,' Ma said finally. She was nearly crying with relief. Sarah ran to the front door. By the time she had it open Da was standing behind her with a hand on her shoulder.

There was a little procession coming in the gate. Mick
was in front, smiling and talking to old Mr Breen. Behind him Martin Ford was chattering to Josie, who was
laughing
at something he'd just said.

‘Will you come in and have a cup of tea, Mr Breen?' Mick said at the bottom of the steps.

Mr Breen rubbed his hands. ‘Thank you, no, Michael,' he said. ‘I'm sure my wife will be wondering about me.'

And with a cheery greeting to Da and Sarah he went down the steps that led to his basement flat. The others tramped up the house steps past Da and Sarah into the hall. Da closed the door behind them and turned angrily to Ford.

‘What the hell are you playing at?' he said.

The gaiety was gone from Martin Ford's face
immediately
. ‘I'm sorry, Mr Conway,' he said, ‘I wanted to make sure Si was all right.'

‘You've a funny way of doing it,' Da said. ‘You might have brought half the British army in on top of us all. Have you a gun itself?'

Martin held his coat open to show his shirt, innocent of ironmongery. ‘Ne'er a one, Mr Conway,' he said. ‘Sure our guns are halfway to Ringsend by now.'

‘And Simon? Did he come to my house with a gun?'

Martin's eyes flicked towards Sarah for a moment. She shook her head warningly at him.

‘Si had no gun,' Martin said to Da. ‘And they never
even saw him come into the street. Honest. They would have, though. They were just going to turn the corner. We had to shoot. You know what would have happened to any young man they saw running.'

Da glared at him, but the look softened. ‘I know Simon wouldn't knock at this door if he thought he was bringing trouble,' he said. ‘And I wouldn't leave a dog out with them animals after it. But I don't like you risking Mick and Josie's necks to prove what a brave fellow you are. The Tans might have arrested the lot of you. Then they'd have come here as well. We're still not out of it, you know.'

But they were. Jimmy came out from the window to say that the Tans had given up and were leaving. ‘There's too many coming from Mass,' he said. ‘They know they'll find nobody now. What happened, anyhow?'

‘We were in Phelans' –' Martin started, but Da stopped him.

‘No,' Da said. ‘Don't even tell us about it.'

Sarah had never felt so annoyed at him. This was a real part of the war, and she'd been involved. Da was much too careful. She knew he was no coward, so why was he always like this?

‘No offence, Martin,' Da said, ‘but I want you out of here as soon as it's safe. Simon's gone out the back. He'll be well away by now.'

Josie, who'd been standing silent, touched his arm. ‘In
the meantime, Da,' she said gently, ‘we could at least
offer
Martin a cup of tea.'

Da made a scornful sound. He still looked cross. Sarah knew he worried about the family's safety, but
sometimes
she felt ashamed of the way he turned his back on the freedom struggle. At least now that the danger seemed past, he'd cool down soon enough. She knew him well.

‘Were you going to nine Mass, Da?' she said. ‘Only you'll be late if you don't go soon.'

Da went into the kitchen to get his jacket, leaving them all standing awkwardly in the hall. When he came back out he stood looking at them for a moment.

‘Oh, go on, then,' he said to Josie. ‘Give the boy some breakfast. But, Martin.'

‘Mr Conway?'

‘You be very careful, do you hear me? And don't risk the safety of this house again.'