Chapter Twenty Nine

The Eleven O'Clock Express

Ballroom Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.

The faint ripple of polite applause, from the adults and children gathered in the doorway of the ballroom, to Mary and Max's impromptu performance of the Charleston, faded away. As it did, Matthew walked across the room to where Mary stood beside one of the windows.

"And, are you?" he asked; the question audible only to her. As for the rest of what he might have said, it went unspoken, Matthew knowing instinctively what Mary must be thinking ... and of whom.

"Not really, no," was her reply to the unspoken question: was she was all right?

"Why am I not surprised?" Matthew paused; he ghosted a smile. "That was quite a display the two of you put on just now," he said, trying to talk of anything that might serve to distract Mary from her disquietude.

She nodded.

"You know very well why. Darling, isn't there anything further that can be done?"

"Not until I hear from Chilston; no. So far, his continuing silence speaks volumes. However, the government in Budapest would be extremely ill advised were it to try and make an example of those caught up in the attempted coup".

"They wouldn't do that surely. Would they?"

Matthew's response was indirect.

"Darling, try not to worry. As it happens, Tibor is far better placed than most to survive all of this".

"How so?"

"Let's just say that while Tom and I were at the embassy in Budapest, mindful of how these things so often turn out, I took the precaution of taking out some insurance".

"Insurance?"

"Darling, trust me. Now, now more". Matthew shook his head.

Mary grimaced; knew that trying to exact information from Matthew when he was not prepared to vouchsafe it was akin to extracting blood out of a stone. At times Matthew could be so maddeningly oblique but, knowing what she did now, she supposed this had to do with his activities on behalf of the Foreign Office. Mary wondered if the others here at Rosenberg had guessed the truth of how things stood vis-à-vis his work for the British Secret Service. She thought it unlikely. After all, in this as in so many other things, Matthew had always been the very soul of discretion.


Erdőtelek Estate, southeast Hungary, several hours before.

Tibor turned; took careful aim with his revolver at the nearest of the closing group of soldiers. Had the grim satisfaction of seeing the man, caught in the shoulder, drop his rifle, and fall to the ground. Back in the '20s, when he was an officer cadet at the renowned Ludovica Military Academy in Budapest, he had a reputation of being a crack shot. Not even in his wildest imaginings had he ever expected to be using his expertise as a marksman on his fellow countrymen.


Ballroom Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.

Turning her head, seeing Max regarding her thoughtfully from the middle of the ballroom, just as he had done earlier out in the gazebo, Mary summoned up a weak smile; at the same time being dismissive, even blasé, of Matthew's praise of their dancing.

"Oh, that!"
"Yes, that!"

Sensing that she had been unduly churlish, Mary now contrived a smile for Matthew as well.

"Darling, it's easy enough, especially when you have a good partner; as I do now. Just as I did in Monte Carlo. But, thank you all the same".

Seeing Max still standing where he was, Mary opened her arms. Sensing that everything was not quite as it should be, Max went willingly to her. Let his aunt hold him close; felt her lips brush the top of his head.


Quite why this haemophiliac boy who, when all was said and done, was Edith's child, meant so much to her, was something Mary had never been able to fathom. Their first meeting, in the salle d'attente of the Gare Maritime in Calais, had hardly been a resounding success. Mary had been wary of Max and he, however much he wanted to become acquainted with his uncles, aunts, and cousins, wary of all of them.

But, especially of her.

Yet, for all there was something, however intangible, which bound them, the one to the other.


Max caught sight of his mother standing in the open doorway; saw an expression on her face which he had never seen before. Had he known the words he would have said it registered a mixture of resentment tinged with resignation. As Edith had said, in some things, Max was old beyond his years. Nonetheless, he summoned up a smile for his mother; saw Mama nod her head.


Friedrich came and stood beside them.

"Bravo! Very well done, my boy!" Of course, Friedrich was very well aware that Edith had taught Max both the waltz and the quickstep; how, subsequently, he had put that knowledge to good effect here, in this very room, in front of a large audience in January 1932.

"Thank you, Papa".

"Yes, well done, indeed". Mary ruffled Max's hair.

"Thank you, Aunt Mary!" Max grinned.

"My pleasure. Well, I don't know about you, young man, but all that dancing's given me quite an appetite". It hadn't but Mary made the lie sound convincing enough. So, a few moments later, save for Simon, Bobby, and young Rebecca who, with Nanny Bridges, had already eaten their suppers upstairs in the nursery, the rest of the family, along with Wyss and Salvatore, trooped into the Dining Room.


Erdőtelek Estate, southeast Hungary, several hours before.

Catching sight of Micky crouching beside the trunk of the acacia tree, Tibor shook his head.

"I thought I told you to go back to the house ..."

Micky, his eyes blinded by tears, could only nod mutely.

"It's me they want," said Tibor calmly, before telling his men to drop their weapons. A moment later, Tibor too threw down his pistol, and raised his hands in the air. Without turning to look at Micky, Tibor spoke crisply and to the point.

"There's something else I want you to do. Promise me now that you will do this. My life may well depend on it".

"I promise," sobbed Micky.


Royal Palace, Budapest, Kingdom of Hungary, earlier that same day.

"... and that being so, Your Serene Highness, His Britannic Majesty's Government would consider any such course most ill advised".

"Is that a warning?" Horthy's eyes glittered.

"No, sir; not at all. Merely respectful counsel, tendered most humbly, by the representative here in Budapest of a friendly foreign power. One that has ever had the interests of the Kingdom of Hungary at heart".

"Indeed? A country that supported that damnable treaty? Very gratifying". Horthy had the satisfaction of seeing Chilston blanch. "Be that as it may, there remains, as yet, no word as to the precise fate of the Granthams, Branson úr or ... Captain Csáky".

"And when there is, may I ask Your Serene Highness, what then?"
"Then, Chilston vikomtja, you have my assurance that I shall reflect most carefully on all that you have just told me. Now ..."

Behind the large desk, resplendent in his full dress uniform, Admiral Horthy rose to his feet, signalling that the audience with the British ambassador was at an end.


Dining Room, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, later that same evening.

Dinner, served here in the splendour of Rosenberg's blue panelled Dining Room, hung with sombre portraits in gilt frames of past members of the Schönborn family, proved to be a convivial, happy meal. However, before it began, to toast the safe return here of Matthew, Mary, and Tom, Friedrich had asked Kleist to go down to the cellar and fetch up a couple of bottles of the Dom Pérignon '29, and to serve everyone, including the youngsters here present with a glass. At that, Kleist had raised a discrete eyebrow. It was his considered opinion that this was a waste of fine champagne. In his view, children should be seen and not heard: preferably both. Certainly not indulged. But then who was he to gainsay the master's wishes?


The four children had never tasted bubbly before but, as Matthew said to Mary, where was the harm in it? Where indeed? But maybe, just maybe, it was that single glass of bubbly which led to some high jinks at the dining table.

For, despite the imposing surroundings, once they were all seated, Danny and Robert began flicking a barrage of bread pellets at Saiorse from the other side of the table and in the process threatening the survival of bone china and lead crystal, each piece of which embellished with the Schönborn arms, in the case of the latter delicately etched on glass.

The first of the bread pellets began its trajectory during the soup course, landing a moment or two later next to Saiorse's napkin ring. The second followed almost immediately, tracing much the same path, before arriving on Saiorse's side of the table. There it ricocheted off her side plate, onto the floor, to be devoured by Fritz who, unseen, had nosed his way into the room in search of Max. The third came within a whisker of Saiorse's right ear, while the fourth passed by on the other side of her head, to land somewhere on the parquet floor where, once again, it was gobbled up by Fritz. Glancing across the table, Saiorse saw Danny and Robert looking as though butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, gazing intently up at the ceiling where something, invisible to everyone else, appeared to have attracted their undivided attention.

A moment later a solitary bread pellet landed with a plop in the middle of Danny's soup.

Who on earth ...

Looking up, Danny saw Da who, over the last few years, at the annual House v Village Cricket Match at Downton, had gained a well deserved reputation for being a fearsome bowler, gazing at him from across the table; whereupon his father raised an admonitory forefinger.

"Stop it, you two!" he said softly.

"Stop what?" Sybil asked.

Seeing Danny and Rob pleading silently for nothing further to be said, Tom grinned; shook his head.

"Nothing; no matter".

After which, Saiorse was safe from any further attack.


As mistress of Rosenberg, Edith had approved the menu for the week ahead several days earlier, but felt something special prepared should be prepared to mark the safe return of Matthew, Mary, and Tom. With this in mind, she had gone post haste down to the kitchen to ask Frau Eder if she would be prepared to change the menu for tonight's dinner. Frau Eder had a very soft spot for the mistress, even more so for Master Max, and given how complimentary Herr Branson had been about her desserts, agreed. Indeed, rose magnificently to the challenge, ransacking her capacious storerooms in order to produce a truly memorable meal. There appeared on the dining table for the first course Speckknödelsuppe - a clear broth soup served with dumplings, followed by Zwiebelrostbraten mit Braterdäpfeln und Gurkerlsenf which Edith explained was a local beef delicacy served with roasted onions, gherkins mustard and potatoes. For dessert, Frau Eder truly excelled herself, creating a delicious Topfenstrudel which, said Tom, even surpassed the cook's excellent Tiramisu.


Drawing Room, Rosenberg, a short while later.

After dinner, coffee was served to the adults in the Drawing Room where both Mary and Max received yet further accolades for their impromptu rendition of the Charleston; Tom suggesting that, undoubtedly, a career on the stage beckoned for the both of them while Danny, Rob, and Saiorse all said they hadn't realised just how talented their cousin Max was; he blushing red with the praise being heaped upon him. Of all the other children, only young Bobby had shown any real aptitude for learning how to dance. At home Bobby was known for his ability to perform an Irish jig. This was something which had only come to light comparatively recently, during a jaunt the Bransons had taken the previous autumn, the five of them crammed into the family motor, heading south from Blackrock, out into the Dublin Mountains.


Kitchen, Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, County Dublin, Ireland, October 1932.

Although it was autumn, the leaves of the trees fast turning to russet and gold, it seemed that the first week of October had borrowed days from September; for, here in County Dublin, the weather was glorious and with no sign of it coming to an end Sybil had proposed that on the morrow, a Saturday, the family take a trip from Blackrock out into the countryside. With this in mind, Tom suggested the Dublin Mountains, with the Great Sugar Loaf - something of a local landmark in neighbouring County Wicklow - as their destination, and that they should take a picnic along with them too.

The following morning, after breakfast, Sybil and Bobby set about preparing a hamper. There was cheese, pickles, eggs, and bread aplenty to be had in the larder, and an apple tart too, along with several bottles of of ginger beer, although Tom said he would have much preferred something stronger. For their part, Danny and Saiorse were duly dispatched down to the local butcher's to buy a large raised pork pie. Mouth watering or not, the food was a far cry from the elaborate fare which would have been offered to house guests attending the game shoots which, during Sybil's childhood would, at this time of the year, have been well underway on the Downton Abbey estate.


A short while later, well satisfied with the resplendent sheen on the paintwork of the Austin, Tom wandered into the kitchen from the workshop at the bottom of the garden, where he saw that preparations for the picnic were now well underway with a plate piled high with cheese sandwiches on the kitchen table and Sybil slicing up a second loaf. Seated on the table beside his mother, looking up and seeing his father, young Bobby grinned.

"Da! I'm helping Ma make sandwiches!" announced the little boy proudly, laboriously buttering yet another thickly cut slice of bread.

"Are ya, Button?"

Bobby nodded.

"For sure, Da!"

"And?" Sybil asked, catching sight of the smile creasing Tom's face.

"Well, I've heard of door steps ..." He gestured towards the tottering pile of thickly cut sandwiches which were threatening to fall off the plate. "The workmen rebuilding O'Connell Street could have made use of them, for sure!"

Sybil glowered. Said in a honeyed tone:

"Tom, darling, it may have escaped your attention, but this bread knife is very sharp".


Kilmacanogue, County Wicklow, Ireland, October 1932.

Not far from the Great Sugar Loaf itself, outside the aptly named Sugar Loaf Hotel Inn in Kilmacanogue, saying that the engine of the Austin was making a noise it shouldn't, promising Sybil that they wouldn't be left stranded, Tom brought the motor to a gentle stand. After he and Danny had climbed out, lifted up the bonnet, and put their heads together beneath it to try and find what the problem was, having clambered out of the motor, Sybil, Saiorse, and Bobby left "the boys" to it, and strolled over to where, outside the front door of the hotel a group of men were making music.

Along with Saiorse, Sybil, she with Bobby seated on her knees, sat down on a low wall, to listen to a succession of lively tunes being played on a variety of instruments: a concertina, a flute, a couple of fiddles, and a bodhrán, a frame drum played with a tipper, a double-ended knuckle bone. Some of the tunes, even if Sybil didn't know their names, she thought she recognised. There was one she felt sure had been played at the ceilidh which had followed her and Tom's wedding in Clontarf in June 1919. Then the door of the hotel opened and a young woman came out carrying a crowded tray of drinks for the musicians. At the same time, attracted by the sound of the music, a gaggle of young men and girls from the village, drifted in their ones and twos, over to the area in front of the grey stone building, and a couple of the men began an impromptu series of lively jigs.

The music was infectious and soon Sybil and the two children were clapping along in time. Then, quite unexpectedly, Bobby slipped off his mother's knees, stood up, and, entirely unselfconsciously, started copying the two men. Like his Austrian cousin, Bobby was an apt pupil and, in no time at all, he was jigging along with the best of them.

Catching sight of Bobby performing his solo routine, one of the men called out, and beckoned him over. Without so much as a backward glance to his family, Sybil and Saiorse now having been joined by Tom and Danny, Bobby ran across to where the two men were putting on a spirited performance to the Jig of Slurs. Sybil had brought along her Box Brownie, the same camera she had with her when the family, Tom, Danny, Saiorse, and herself - Bobby had not yet been born - had travelled down to the far southwest of Ireland to the Beara Peninsula in July 1924. Now on this bright October morning, outside the Sugar Loaf Hotel in Kilmacanogue, Sybil took several photographs of Bobby's spirited performance.


"He be a natural, missus!" laughed one of the men who, with the jig now at an end, had walked with Bobby over to where his family were still seated on the wall.

"Really?" Sybil laughed.

"Here, lad, ya'll be needin' it, for sure!" The young man held out a glass, brimful with lemonade.

"What do you say, Bobby?"

"Thank you, sir!"

As had been the case when he had performed his jig, just as unselfconsciously Bobby held out his hand in a perfect imitation of the gesture he had seen his father make many times before. Whether it was this, natural as it was, or having been addressed as "sir", the young man seemed entirely flummoxed before grasping Bobby's outstretched hand, and giving it the most perfunctory of shakes. Then he stepped back; looked first at Bobby, and then at Sybil.

While Bobby was far too young to understand, Sybil had seen that look before. Although Ireland had gained her independence from Britain in 1922, the settlement was far from perfect and there were many in the Free State who considered the Anglo-Irish Treaty to be a betrayal of those who had fought, and in many cases died, for the cause of an independent Ireland. This being so, in parts of the country, an English accent was as a red rag to a bull.

"Ya not be from round here?"

"No, Dublin".

"Dublin? Is that a fact, now? But I be right in t'inkin' missus ... that ya be from England?"

Sybil nodded.

"Yes, I am; but my husband here, hails from Clontarf".

This revelation served to defuse what might otherwise have proved a difficult situation for it turned out that the young man had a cousin in service in Clontarf.

Then, Tom having said that the Austin was now in perfect working order, once everyone was back in the motor, the Bransons set off for the Great Sugar Loaf and their delayed picnic lunch. Having done justice to Sybil's cold collation, early in the afternoon, the family took a leisurely stroll up to the summit, there to take in glorious views of the countryside of County Wicklow before wending their downwards and thence homeward in the Austin to Blackrock, passing the scene of Bobby's earlier triumph outside the Sugar Loaf Hotel in Kilmacanogue.


Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, County Dublin, later that same day.

Quite where Bobby's affinity with dancing came from, neither Tom nor Sybil could say but, later, when they were back in Blackrock, and the children upstairs in bed, Tom said he thought it might hark back to the dim and distant past, to when, or so the story ran in the Branson family, one of Tom's forbears had married a gypsy girl called Maria.

Sybil was incredulous.

"A gypsy girl?"

"For sure!"

"It's just as well Papa never knew that; you, not only a chauffeur, but also a gypsy! For God's sake, don't tell Mary!" laughed Sybil.

Tom grinned.

"Part gypsy if you please! And I didn't say a direct forbear. Apparently, the girl came from Bohemia or some such place. At least so I heard tell. I always thought it was just a story ..."

"Made up?"
"Yes, but now ... what with Bobby's performance today ... I find myself wondering if there wasn't some truth in it".


Erdőtelek Estate, southeast Hungary, summer 1933.

"And now you, must come with us".

The oddest part of it all, thought Tibor, was that the Regent's soldiers seemed almost apologetic.


Drawing Room, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, much later that same day.

"So, then," said Friedrich briskly but a moment or two after the four children, having changed into their nightclothes and come down to say goodnight, had been shepherded out of the Drawing Room and back upstairs by the redoubtable Nanny Bridges, "what happened down there at Rózsafa and what's become of Manfred and Eva?" He saw Matthew, Mary, and Tom exchange nervous glances. "Ah, as bad as that? I feared as much".

"Was it ... so very ... awful?" Edith asked falteringly; saw again the same exchange of apprehensive glances.

"Worse than you can possibly imagine," said Mary softly.

Tom nodded.

"For sure".

"How could Manfred and Eva have been so foolish to become mixed up in such a madcap scheme?" Friedrich sighed.

"Where to begin, that's the question," observed Matthew. "I warn you now, it's a long story, and some of it not very pleasant".

"Well, I for one am a good listener. As for the rest ..." Friedrich shrugged, settled himself back against the sofa; Edith and Sybil did likewise.

"I suppose all of this began shortly after the Great War, when I was asked ..."


Matthew began by explaining how he had been recruited into the ranks of the British Secret Service - saw Friedrich and Edith exchange knowing glances - of how the Foreign Office had asked that, given the volatility of the political situation both here and in Germany, that while they were in Austria, Matthew should keep his ear to the ground. That if the chance presented itself to ascertain how things stood in the neighbouring Kingdom of Hungary that would be of inestimable benefit, given the rumours that were rife, of a coup to topple the Horthy regime and install Crown Prince Otto on the empty throne.

Then, with many interjections, from Mary and from Tom, Matthew told of Tibor Csáky, how, with his military and social connections, he had been recruited to replace the British agent killed when the Orient Express had plunged off the Biatorbágy Bridge in the autumn of 1931. Told too of how the coup was doomed to fail; that the post war settlement in the Balkans, however unfair the Trianon Treaty had been to Hungary, had to be maintained, at least for the present. Matthew and Tom spoke of those members of the Hungarian aristocracy whom they had met; of their way of life, and of their political views. Of how attempts had been made to enlist both Matthew, a peer of the realm and a highly respected member of the British Establishment, and Tom, the Deputy Editor of a well known Irish newspaper, to the rebels' cause. That although they themselves could not see it, the Hungarian aristocracy was living on borrowed time; a relic of a world that had all but vanished with the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire at the end of the Great War.

Of the covert attempt which had been made to ruin Matthew's reputation and discredit his work for the League of Nations, of the story that he was having a relationship with the comtesse de Roquebrune. Of the attempt made by Unity Mitford to seduce Tom, which Sybil, knowing him as she did, found too funny for words. Of the part suspected to have been played in all of this by Tom's cousin, Fergal, who, as Friedrich had told Edith and Sybil already, was very much alive, and working for the German Foreign Ministry on the Wilhelmstrasse in Berlin. It fell to Mary to tell of what had befallen her out at the old brickworks, with Matthew taking up the tale again when it came to describing the attack on Rózsafa, and their flight from the house. That no-one knew what had become of Manfred and Eva, but that it seemed unlikely anyone left in the kastély could have survived. Matthew spoke modestly of the part he had played in the spirited defence of the bridge, and then of their eventual reunion out at the airstrip, with Wyss and Salvatore explaining how it had been touch and go as to whether they would reach Rózsafa in time and even if they did so, whether they would be able to land. By tacit consent Mary and Tom said little of what had befallen them at the hands of Fergal and his men; there were some things best left unsaid. And finally, Matthew spoke of the sad farewells made to Tibor and young Micky Waldstein.


"Well," said Friedrich, when the others at last fell silent, "if I may say so, that was quite a tale, one of courage and resourcefulness, told with flair and self deprecating modesty". A ringing endorsement with which everyone else present agreed wholeheartedly. Then, from the hall, there came the sound of the telephone. A few moments later, Kleist entered the room to announce that the call was for Friedrich.


When Friedrich came back, everyone looked up expectantly; watched in silence as he resumed his seat next to Edith where he sat gazing down at the floor. This did not bode well; nor the fact that the ensuing silence only lengthened.

"Is there any news?" Edith asked at last.

Friedrich nodded.

"That was Moruzov on the telephone".
"Moruzov?" Matthew had heard the name before but for the life of him, couldn't quite place where.

"Yes. The head of the Roumanian Secret Service. It would seem that you two are in the clear, at least as far as the authorities in Bucharest are concerned". Friedrich nodded at Wyss and Salvatore. "I've been informed that Junkers was on a training flight, which then experienced engine problems, and was forced to make an emergency landing across the border in Hungary. The Roumanian government gives no credence to the story that the Junkers landed on Hungarian soil in order to pick up three individuals presently being sought by the authorities in Budapest. At least that's the official version".

Wyss and Salvatore exchanged glances.

"Official version? What about the damage to the aeroplane?" asked Matthew. "As I said before, it looks like a bloody colander! While Wyss and his chum here may have fixed the problem with the engine, bullet holes don't simply disappear. Indeed, they're only too suggestive of what actually happened".

Friedrich shook his head.

"Let me be plain. Nothing happened but, hypothetically, even if something had, insofar as it, whatever it was, it neither affected nor threatened the integrity of the Kingdom of Roumania. Therefore the government in Bucharest does not propose commenting on ..." Friedrich paused. "What were Moruzov's exact words? In fact, those of the Prime Minister, Vaida-Voievod. A minor, internal matter arising within the Kingdom of Hungary".

"A minor, internal matter?" Tom quirked an eyebrow. "Jaysus! It was a feckin' coup!"

Again Friedrich shook his head.

"Reports of an attempted coup against the regime of Admiral Horthy, with the apparent aim of placing Crown Prince Otto on the vacant throne, are merely that: reports. Since the alleged coup failed, they are entirely without foundation. Indeed, who is to say that a coup ever took place? That is the view of the British government and that is what Viscount Chilston told the Regent of the Kingdom of Hungary earlier today in his audience with Admiral Horthy at the Royal Palace on the Var".

"How the devil do you know that?" asked Matthew, clearly impressed with Friedrich's unexpected store of knowledge.

Friedrich tapped the side of his nose.

"I too have my diplomatic secrets. Do you really believe that the British have a monopoly on intelligence? That they are the only foreign power to have secret agents with their ears to the ground in Budapest?"

Matthew shook his head.

"No, of course not".

Friedrich nodded.

"Well then, to put matters plainly. To admit the existence of a coup, even one that failed, would risk destabilising the fragile post war settlement down there in the Balkans. One which you yourself have said must be maintained. As for the damage to the 'plane which, in the circumstances, is a trivial matter, I am informed it was caused by an ill disciplined, trigger happy rabble of Hungarian militia. Nonetheless, a regrettable occurrence, one for which compensation will be sought by Roumania. The government in Bucharest does not take kindly to having one of its aircraft peppered with holes. That said, in due course, the claim for compensation will, naturally, be quietly dropped. A matter of diplomatic niceties and so forth".

"Naturally". Matthew was only too well aware how diplomacy worked.

"What if my own paper in Dublin was to report that there had been an attempted coup in Hungary?"

It was Friedrich's turn to ghost a smile.

"Forgive me for saying so, Tom, a newspaper which is published in a country situated on the fringes of the Western world and, however much you would wish it otherwise, the Irish Free State possessing neither importance nor international standing. From what I have heard, to attempt to publish such an article would be most ... unfortunate. Indeed, I doubt very much that it would ever find its way into print".

"You're suggesting that I lie?"

"No. Merely that you refrain ... from reporting unnecessary information".


The Lake, Rosenberg, early the following morning.

On the morrow, excited by the prospect of their trip into Vienna to ride on the Riesenrad, having woken early, before anyone else in the family was up, and well before breakfast, Danny, Rob, and Max stole quietly out of the house and made their way down to the small lake in the lower garden for an early morning swim. Unlike the more distant pond, where the three boys had received their soaking and Max had cut his knee, the crystal clear waters of the small lake being deeper, without encircling reeds, and with no hidden pike lurking in their depths, were a far more suitable a place in which to take a dip.

It was something they had done several times already and in which, the boys were invariably, as was the case today, accompanied by Fritz. Not that the irascible little dachshund was especially enamoured of the journey - for him a long one - down those blasted stone steps and thence across a seemingly never-ending stretch of grass which, at this time of the morning, was invariably damp, if not wet, with dew. Chuntering to himself about what he saw as the unfairness of canine life, Fritz scampered after the three boys just as fast as his short legs would permit.


While in the course of their stay at Rosenberg, Danny and Rob had taken to diving off the ornate wooden bridge which led over to the summerhouse on the islet, much to his chagrin, Max was forbidden from doing so, in case he hit his head. This was one stricture placed upon him which he followed to the letter, having to be content with slipping gently into the lake from off the grassy bank. However, being a good swimmer, once in the water, Max saw to it that he had just as much fun as his cousins.


Beside the lake, the three boys changed into their swimming costumes.

Without any sense of embarrassment, Rob and Max stripped stark naked before pulling on their trunks. Danny, too, stripped naked but, acutely aware of the physical changes beginning to manifest themselves on his body, turned away so that his back was to his cousins as he slipped off his undershorts and then quickly put on his tank top bathing suit. Not that either Rob or Max seemed to have noticed him do so; Rob, as soon as he had changed, running swiftly up onto the bridge before diving head first into the sparkling, still waters, while Max swam out across the surface of the lake to meet him.

Given the fact that within the Branson family neither Tom nor Sybil had ever been embarrassed by nakedness, had brought their children up to be of the same disposition, Danny's present shyness was somewhat surprising. As his father said there was a time and a place for everything and being naked was a perfectly normal state, both for men and women, as well as for boys and girls; could not understand why it was that most people were ashamed to be seen so. Added to which, Tom and Sybil had seen to it that Danny and Saiorse had been told the facts of life at a very early age and intended doing the same with young Bobby when he was a little older. While Tom had proved singularly useless in this, Sybil, being a nurse, had approached the whole business, as she always did where matters medical were concerned, in her usual brisk, forthright, no-nonsense fashion. So, by the time Danny and Saiorse were six years old they knew a great deal more than did their peers about what Sybil thought to be the ridiculously named "birds and the bees".


For his part, claws clicking, inquisitive as ever, Fritz pottered up onto the bridge; poked his snout through the wooden railings and looked down disdainfully at his young master and another of the same species splashing about, and, in Fritz's view, making a very great deal of unnecessary noise. Now recalled to mind the time when his young master had introduced him to the nasty wet stuff, lifting and lowering his paws into it, in a vain attempt to teach Fritz how to swim at the remembrance of which the little dog shook his head in disbelief. If, his young master had had one ounce of common sense then he would have realised that, as a dachshund, Fritz was not made for swimming; his legs were far too short to be effective as paddles and what was worse if he stopped paddling, his legs, being the length they were, meant he could not reach the bottom, so he ran the very real risk of ... sinking. The little dachshund shuddered; the experiment at learning how to swim - not that he had had any choice in the matter - was not something he wished either to remember or repeat. So, in an attempt to erase a thoroughly unpleasant memory from his mind, Fritz trotted back along the bridge, to go in search of the nearest rabbit hole.


An hour or so later, after swimming gently around in the lake, along with an equal amount of splashing and gentle horseplay, the three boys clambered out of the water; stretched out on the grass in the warm morning sunshine. While Rob sprawled on his tummy and Danny sat with his arms clasped around his legs, Max lay on his back, gazing up at the sky watching fluffy white clouds chasing each other across the blue of the firmament. He felt that the day could not have begun more perfectly. With Uncle Matthew, Aunt Mary, and Uncle Tom now safely back from Hungary, here he was spending time with the two cousins whom he loved as if they were his own brothers.


Hearing a shout from the terrace, turning their heads, the boys caught sight of Danny's father signalling to them that they should hurry back up to the house for breakfast.

"Well, I suppose we'd better be getting dressed," said Rob.

"For sure," Danny said. He stood up.


"Danny?"

Unthinking, stark naked, Danny turned to face Rob and Max, neither of whom could help but notice the thick bush of dark hair that now surrounded Danny's willy; the patches of dark hair under his arms.

"Dan, what's happened to your ...?" Danny looked down at himself. He blushed. Looked up.

"What I told yous last year, when you start growing up? Remember?"

Two pairs of eyes metaphorically travelled southwards.

"Well, mine doesn't look like that," said Rob.

"Nor mine," said Max.

"Well, they will do one day!"

All the same, notwithstanding what Danny had told the two of them the previous summer when they were in Florence, about the mysterious business of growing up, despite what they had just seen, now looking once again at themselves before they dressed, Rob and Max remained disbelieving.


"Do you ..." Robert paused in buttoning up his shirt.

"Do I what?" replied Danny, his voice muffled by the towel as he dried his hair.

"Do you feel ... Well you know ..."
"No, I don't know. Do I feel what?" Danny asked, slightly exasperated, pulling on his underpants. Slipping the towel around his neck, he stood up; looked directly at both Rob and Max.

"Well, different?" Max asked, buckling the belt of his shorts, before kneeling down and putting on his plimsolls.

"No, for sure, Max. Not different. I'm still me. But all the same, I ..."

However, before Danny could say anything more, Da hailed them again from the terrace, thus precluding, at least for the time being, any further discussion on the vexed, perplexing subject of growing up.


Beside the three boys Fritz sighed. By this time his own breakfast would be awaiting him, in his bowl, down in the kitchen. However, there still remained the business of negotiating all that blasted grass and then there were those damned steps as well. Unless ...

"I think I'd better carry Frittie," Max said, promptly scooping the little dog up into his arms.

Had he been able to smile, Fritz would have done so. Instead, he gave a contented yap and made himself comfortable. On the whole, life wasn't so bad.


Rosenberg, a couple of hours later.

Save for the infants in the care of Nanny Bridges, everyone else in the family had gathered on the gravel at the front of the house to watch Friedrich and the three boys leave in the motor for the station at St. Johann down in the valley. They were expected home later that same day, on the six o'clock train from Vienna.

"Now, son, mind ya behave, for sure," said Tom.

"Yes, Da!"

"And no wandering off," admonished Sybil who, given what had happened in Florence the previous summer, was naturally anxious about Danny, even with Rob and Max in tow, being let loose in a city the size of Vienna, where he didn't speak a word of the language.

"Yes, Ma!"

"Don't worry," said Friedrich. "I'll see all of them come to no harm".

"Robert, darling, please do as Uncle Friedrich tells you," said his mother.

"Yes, Mama".

"And here's some pocket money, for the three of you, for the rides". Matthew stuffed several bank notes into Robert's hand.

"Thank you, father!" Robert grinned; pushed the proffered notes deep inside one of the pockets of his shorts.

"Thanks, Uncle Matthew!" chorused Danny and Max.

"My pleasure. Now, off you go and enjoy yourselves".

"We will. Thanks again, Uncle Matthew".

Catching sight of Friedrich, Matthew smiled.

"Yes, mea culpa. Look, Friedrich, I know what you said earlier, but all the same ..." His brother-in-law nodded. When, after breakfast, Matthew had said he intended giving the boys some spending money for the rides in the Prater, Friedrich had said it wasn't necessary; that this was his treat which in some small measure was also to repay Danny and Rob for being such good friends to Max.


With the boys chattering like magpies about what they were going to do and see in Vienna, if they were to catch the express, the time had now come to leave for the station at St. Johann.

Embraces, handshakes, and kisses between parents and children now followed, with Sybil hugging Danny tightly, Mary openly kissing Robert on the cheek, while Friedrich promised Edith that he would take special care to see that Max came to no harm. For, despite the fact that they had both agreed long since that, as Max grew older, he should not be wrapped in cotton wool, when he was out of her sight, Edith was prone to all sorts of wild imaginings; none of them pleasant.

A moment later and Friedrich and the boys climbed inside and settled themselves down the motor. Then, with Weisman behind the wheel, they were off, the other children running along side the Mercedes as it gathered speed down the drive.


As the motor vanished out of sight, Saiorse turned to her father.

"Why couldn't I go, Da?"
"Because Uncle Friedrich promised to take just Danny, Rob, and Max".

"It's not fair, Da!"

"Darlin', sometimes life isn't, for sure," he said softly.

"Danny's with him all the time".

"With whom?"
"With Robert. I never get the chance to be alone with ..." Realising she had said too much, Saiorse broke off what she was saying; blushed red.

So that was how things stood! Tom sighed. Not only Danny but Saiorse too was growing up. He pulled his daughter to him, held her close, kissed the top of her head; smelt the scent of new mown grass in her hair. Like as not, the next few years would prove ... difficult.


The telephone call, to a shabby flat overlooking the two Baroque palaces of the Belvedere in the Landstraße, the Third District of Vienna, came through but a short while after Friedrich and the boys had left for the capital.

"Westbahnhof: eleven o'clock".


Westbahnhof, Vienna.

Here beneath the broad roof of the Westbahnhof, with the powerful Class 113 locomotive now at a stand, blowing off steam, and drawing admiring glances from the three boys, when Friedrich, Danny, Rob, and Max had climbed down from the carriages of the mid morning express, almost immediately, they found themselves immersed in the hustle and bustle of one of the great capital cities of the world.

While the centuries old, sprawling Austro-Hungarian Empire had, de facto, ceased to exist some fifteen years earlier, its last emperor exiled, eventually, to the distant island of Madeira in 1921 where he had died in 1922, despite that Austria was now a republic, everywhere in Vienna there were yet reminders of the city's long imperial past. For, as Friedrich explained to the three boys, as they walked out of the station, it would take more than a mere fifteen years of republican government to erase the centuries of imperial grandeur in the form of palaces, parks, statues, and monuments, let alone the names of many of the streets and squares, which still graced the city.

As if to reinforce what he had just said, Friedrich pointed up at the façade of the station building, to the statue of the Empress Elisabeth, after whom the railway line they had just used was named. Not that any of this meant anything to Max, let alone to Danny or to Rob. Fully aware that he had brought the boys to Vienna to ride on the Riesenrad and take in the attractions of the Prater rather than receive a lesson in Austrian history, Friedrich changed tack.

"Now, you three, what about something to eat and drink?"

Max grinned.

"At the Central Café? May we, Papa, please?"
"Very well then, yes".


With Friedrich having hailed a taxi, a few moments later both he and the boys were soon on their way into the very heart of the city. In all the excitement, none paid any heed to the cab following close behind their own. After all, why should they? For, as in any city, cabs were two a penny; a common enough sight. But what was different was the fact that the cab behind, kept pace with their own. And when the taxi carrying Friedrich and the boys stopped on the Herrengasse, the taxi that had been following did the same, coming to a stand some distance away down the same street.


Central Café, Herrengasse, Vienna.

On the bustling thoroughfare of the Herrengasse, not far from the enormous complex of the Hofburg palace, on the ground floor of the Central Café, presided over by full length portraits of the late Emperor and Empress, Franz Joseph and his wife Elisabeth, beneath a soaring, vaulted ceiling, and among marble columns, those patronising the café might well have imagined that they were seated in a chapel, a church, or even perhaps a cathedral. And, for Danny and Rob, it was all a very far cry from either Bewleys on Grafton Street in Dublin or the Cathedral Tea Rooms in Ripon.

"Does that taste good?" Friedrich asked.

Rob, his mouth full of ice cream - his second - could only smile and nod his assent.

"What about you, Danny?"

"Grand, for sure, Uncle Friedrich," replied his Irish nephew who was eyeing again the mouth watering display of cakes - pastries - of which he had never seen the like. Danny now set down his hot chocolate on the marble top of the table. Saw Max grinning at him. "What?" he asked.

"You've got chocolate all round your mouth! You look just like a golliwog!" laughed Max.

"Have I?" Danny swabbed hard at his mouth with his linen napkin. "So do ya!"
"Me?" Max sounded disbelieving. Seated beside him, Friedrich nodded his head.

"Danny's right". Max turned to look at his father. "In your case, my lad, cream from your apfelstrudel. Here, let me". Friedrich dabbed at his son's mouth with his own napkin. "There, that's much better. What on earth would Mama say?"

Max grinned. Seeing Danny looking longingly again at the pastries, Friedrich smiled.

"Danny, do you want another?"

"Well, I ..."
His uncle signalled to one of the waiters who appeared promptly at the table; whereupon Friedrich spoke to him in German.

"Now, go with the waiter here ... and choose whichever pastry you like. He will then bring it to the table".

"Well, if you're really sure, Uncle Friedrich ..." Danny sounded rather doubtful.
"Perfectly. While I may not be as a rich as Croesus - an ancient king from Asia Minor renowned for his wealth - I think I can afford to treat my nephew to another pastry! Now, off you go and choose one".

"Thanks, Uncle Friedrich! But please ..."
"Please, what?"
"Please don't tell Ma!"

Friedrich laughed.

"My dear boy, my lips are sealed!"

For his part, Rob was wondering just what his parents would say, were they ever to find out he had enjoyed not one but two ice creams; neither of which resembled remotely the simple cones and single scoops that Simon and he had eaten while walking along the sea front in Scarborough the previous year when the family had been staying at the Grand Hotel. At the time Mama had been thoroughly disapproving; saying that eating in the street was so very middle class. Not that Papa had taken the slightest notice; promptly purchasing a cone for himself. Mama had been horrified, walking briskly on ahead, leaving Papa, Simon and himself to enjoy their ice creams on their own. However, compared to the magnificent creations being served here in the Central Café in Vienna, the ice creams on sale in distant Scarborough paled into insignificance.


Some time later, with the café now very busy, unobserved, the two occupants of the taxi which had followed Friedrich and the boys all the way from the Westbahnhof down into the city, came in. Having ordered coffee, the men sat reading the newspapers until they saw Friedrich and the boys leave. Moments later, discarding the café's papers, both were on their feet and out of the door. So, when the waiter returned with their bill, it was to find the table empty. The young man - the very same waiter who had served Friedrich and the boys - mouthed an expletive. The patron would not be pleased; expected his staff to keep a watchful eye to see that such things did not happen. But, from time to time, they did. All the waiter could hope was that he would not have the price of the two coffees deducted from his already meagre wages.


South Tower, Stephansdom, Vienna, a short while later.

After they left the Central Café, and before they caught the tram out to the Prater and the Riesenrad, Friederich suggested that the boys might like to climb the 650 feet high South Tower of the Stephansdom, Vienna's magnificent Gothic cathedral, for unrivalled views, in all directions, out over the city. Access to the tower was made by means of a narrow, winding, spiral staircase.

"... very like the one out at the Old Tower, but made of stone and in far better condition, so you two should have no difficulty whatsoever in climbing it," laughed Friedrich looking pointedly at both Danny and Robert. This was something Max himself had never done either but said his father if he promised to take the several hundred steps slowly, both up and down, and didn't strain himself, then all should be well.

A short walk through a maze of crowded streets brought Friedrich and the boys to the Stephansdom with its magnificent carved façades, two towers, and soaring spire. Friedrich pointed up at the roof made of brightly coloured tiles and which bore the arms of the Habsburgs. Then, with Max's father having paid the modest entrance fee, they began the long climb up the steps. Not long after they did so, anyone else arriving at the door by which they had entered would have found it shut fast; would doubtless have assumed that for some reason the custodian had not turned up or, perhaps, had taken himself off for an early lunch.

In fact neither explanation was correct.

Author's Note:

Tom's comment about Sybil's thickly cut sandwiches being used by the builders on O'Connell Street refers to the reconstruction of the commercial centre of Dublin which had been destroyed in the Easter Rising in 1916, the rebuilding of which had only been completed in 1927.

While renamed, with its exterior remarkably unchanged, the Sugar Loaf Hotel still stands in Kilmacanogue.

For the Bransons' trip to the Beara Peninsula, see my story "Reunion".

in service i.e. being a servant in a household.

Tank top bathing suit - so called from the fact that during the 1920s swimming pools were known as swimming tanks.

Golliwog: these days considered to be an offensive word. However, at the time of the story it was not thought so, referring to a black rag doll which, up to and beyond WWII was, along with a teddy bear, seen as entirely suitable for a young boy.