Chapter 16: An Enemy Within 20th September 1939
The war was only a couple of weeks old but the strain on the people was already being felt. Households across Great Britain waved sons off to war, now facing the anxious wait to see if those sons would return or even write a letter home. Britain might have joined the war as an ally to Poland along with France, yet neither was yet to commit too much in terms of military power. The poor Poles were discovering the meaning of their friendship; it was nothing more than a word spoken on the radio or written on a piece of paper. The army, together with the people, were holding Warsaw with everything they had, but how much longer they could hold without help was unknown. The Russians were advancing on their eastern flank too under the pretence that they were protecting the interests of those the Poles abandoned to defend their capital. With two heavyweights swinging hooks on either side, the jaws of the unfortunate Poland would soon be broken.
Whilst the mental strain increased, the physical strain did too. The change was minimal, it wasn't even talked about too much by the girls, but it was most certainly there. The demand for the shirts that they usually produced became much lower with the number of men who'd gone to fight across the country. However, those young men would require plenty of uniforms to see combat in. The differences in making them were minimal and although the quality control element needed to be exemplary, it was not the most unpleasant job. The girls were one member of the team down though, with the factory not wishing to risk anything happening to Orla during the latter stages of her pregnancy. Michelle, Erin and Clare distributed the workload between the three of them the best they could, which meant the days of Michelle slacking were well and truly over.
That morning, they'd all got themselves in early to be able to keep up, arriving at seven o'clock to begin work. Michelle was the most reluctant, with the other two having gone round to the Mallon house to force her out of bed, although they did receive plentiful assistance from her parents. In the forty minutes since starting, they were rifling through their long to do list, with a vision of being back on track by the end of the day not being too unrealistic.
"I hope those fuckers fightin' remember our hard work when they're gettin' shot in these things…". Michelle moaned.
"Aye I'm sure it'll be at the forefront of their minds Michelle". Erin huffed, rolling her eyes.
Clare agreed with the young Quinn when it came to Michelle's comment, but didn't give the dark-haired girl the satisfaction of huffing like Erin did. She was more grateful for the fact that the two were back on good terms after Erin's open-palmed opinion of Michelle's behaviour on the day that James and David left for England. She'd dreaded the following morning at church that day, with the emotions still running high for the two girls. It was unnecessary though as they made up on the spot that morning against the backdrop of the melancholic service. The two young women came to separate conclusions that life, life that would soon be lived in the state of war, was too short to hold grudges against each other. Michelle's apology for her behaviour and admittance that James was indeed the cracker fella that Erin thought he was, went a long way in aiding the reconciliation too. The group had even become inexplicably closer since, to support Erin without having James there to comfort her and Orla too without David and with the baby soon due. If Britain declared war on every country in the world then they would become that tight a group, they would merge into one person.
"I reckon we should start leaving messages in the shirts".
"What!?" Clare panicked at Michelle's suggestion. "We could get into trouble Michelle… serious trouble!"
"Yeah right! What's going to happen, some fuckin' Major's goin' to complain to Neville Chamberlain that his lads are getting distracted by wee Erin Quinn's poetry… catch yourself on Clare!"
The diminutive blonde shook her head in return, sensibly choosing not to reply as her only thoughts were ones that would have inflamed the situation. The other blonde of the group was not so sensible.
"I'd have to tone it down so it's not my best…".
"Erm, to be fair Erin, I was jokin'. Chances of anyone being distracted by what you write are pretty slim…". Michelle pointed out.
"Is that jealousy I hear Michelle?" Erin replied haughtily.
Glaring at her, Michelle conveyed that jealousy certainly wasn't a problem when it came to poetry. Whilst she wasn't adept at it, she was very much aware that her friend wasn't either.
"I mean I'm hardly Keats or Lord Byron so they shouldn't have too much trouble keeping concentrated. I hope it inspires them".
"I suppose they might run into battle quicker in fear of reading any more".
"Thanks Michelle…". Erin replied disdainfully. "… what do you think Clare?"
Clare really didn't want to have to give her opinion on the poetry at all. It was shit, she knew it was shit, Michelle knew it was shit… the rest of Derry knew it was shit. There was only ever James who told her it was good. To her, whether he actually was being honest was a question in itself.
"Soldiers are professional… they won't get distracted by poetry, no matter how good or bad it is".
"Fuckin' hell!" Michelle snorted. "When did ye join the Diplomatic service Clare?".
Erin smiled appreciatively at her for being so diplomatic. It was the best tonic to move forward with their work, which had slowed as they began to dispute the true quality of Erin's poetry. Whilst they might have been getting back on track, even the smallest of delays would have to be cut out to maintain their good start.
The clock soon ticked on for morning break at ten o'clock and with no further delays, the girls progress continued. It was good to have Michelle working hard for once, her mouth staying shut and her hands working like there was no tomorrow. Conversations were few and far between after their talk about Erin's poetry too, which aided their progression immensely.
"I'm off to the loo". Erin announced to them as soon as they stopped.
"Again?" Michelle questioned fiercely. "That's like yer fourth piss this mornin'!"
"Like I said to ye the last time Michelle, when ye drink a lot of water, it happens!" She argued back.
After a rather dramatic wave of her arms, Michelle ceased any further questioning of her friend, allowing Erin to go to the loo in peace. It left her with Clare, who was running her hands through her hair, showing clear signs of tiredness after a few hours of gruelling work.
"Tired?"
"Aye…". Clare sighed. "… why can't they all fight without shirts. We… We go through making all these shirts and half of them will be ripped up anyway…".
"I wouldn't mind a soldier chargin' at me without a shirt…". Michelle winked devilishly. "… or any pants mind…".
Huffing and rolling her eyes for what must have been the umpteenth time at her friend's coarse suggestions, Clare took her hands out of her hair and rested them on the desk. It was only then that she noticed she was shaking a little. Michelle happened to notice too.
"Fuck's up with yer hands?!"
"I… I don't know".
Lies. Total lies. She hadn't had the time to think about it during the relentless work of the early morning, but Clare's nerves were shot after the conversation she'd held with her parents the night before. Quite how they'd gotten onto the subject which she tried so desperately to avoid was lost to her but once the mist descended, she was fully aware of what was being said. Lies were a theme of what her father wanted, though not from him. She was having to lie constantly to him; the truth could never be heard.
"Right…".
"I... I…".
"Seriously Clare, just feckin' say it".
Michelle's patience was beginning to wear thin with the queen of cack attacks. Sometimes they were durable to survive but on others she needed to be told to calm down and speak like a normal human being. She knew it was the latter on this occasion.
"Me da… he's erm… set me up a date on Friday".
"A date? Christ, this is news!" An excited Michelle exclaimed. "I'm buzzin' for ye!"
Whilst her friend's kind, excitable reaction was one she would usually cherish, it wasn't the reaction that Clare was looking for at all.
"Ye well I'm not…". She muttered.
"Why not!?" Michelle rebuked her. "Ye might get a shag out of it if yer lucky… and Christ do ye need one…".
"Michelle!"
"What!? Have you even seen a fella's wee fella?"
Glowing bright red, she looked away in disgust, finding Erin approaching them after her loo break. She was a very welcome distraction.
"What's up with you?" Erin asked her immediately.
Or not.
"Ach she's got a date on Friday but she's all nervous about it".
"A date?" Erin was just as surprised as Michelle was. "Who's the lucky lad then?"
"I… I don't know. Da hasn't told me…".
"A mystery, yer Da's full of surprises". Michelle snorted. "Don't get yerself so nervous anyway, me and Erin will help ye".
Their help wasn't what she wanted. What she wanted was a world where her wishes were allowed to be enacted and she could show her affections freely. The world they were living in, war or no war, was not one that allowed for such freedom. It would be torture to have to spend time with another man in close proximity, a silent torture where the laws of society muffled the screams of her displeasure. Her friends could do absolutely nothing to help her in the situation. Nobody could do anything to help her unless they wanted to be dragged down into the vicious cycle of sinning she found herself in on a daily basis. A brave face was an expression she was getting used to having to put up to mask the upset.
"Th… Thank ye girls".
"Aye don't mention it Clare…". Erin put a hand on her shoulder. "… we'll see ye set with a nice fella, won't we Michelle?"
"Ha! No way, we're gettin' her laid first!"
The two blondes rolled their eyes in unison at Michelle, who laughed off their criticism and in doing so steered their chatter away from Clare's date, an act she was grateful for. Steering them back towards her idea about putting messages into the shirts earlier on, she showed that unlike Erin or Clare, she'd clearly been thinking about it the whole time.
"How about this…".
"Is it goin' to be rude Michelle?" Clare queried with a huff.
"Brilliant is what it is Clare… feckin' brilliant!".
Neither Clare nor Erin were too hopeful that it would be. They knew Michelle too well to fall victim to believing it would be anything other than something rude and no doubt sexually explicit.
My name is Michelle Mallon
Here's your shirt and good luck
Come to Derry when the war is over
And maybe we'll buck?
"Cracker isn't it?"
"Cracker!?" Clare almost shrieked. "It's disgustin' Michelle!"
"Aye I don't think ye can really put that in the shirt Michelle, it's not exactly appropriate…".
Erin tried to play the diplomatic approach that Clare had earlier. Appeasement didn't work with Chamberlain and Hitler and it certainly wasn't going to work with Devlin and Mallon either. Not at all.
"Feck's sake…". Michelle cursed. "…what about this…".
This shirt was made by a Derry Girl
Who hopes your ship doesn't sink
Hurry up and win the war
So we can go for a drink!
"That… is actually quite nice Michelle". Erin chuckled.
"I can do nice ye know!" She complained in return.
They knew she could, even if she didn't show it that often. Clare was about to make that very point, but Mary and Sarah were rushing over to them, with faces that betrayed that some form of gossip was about to be shared.
"Alright girls?" Mary asked as she reached them.
"We're fine Mammy…". Erin replied to her mother. "… you's?"
"Aye we're grand… have ye heard?"
"Heard what?" Michelle furrowed her brows.
"The Joyce's, they've been detained".
Detained…
One of the most powerful families, in terms of influence and finance, detained. Their mouths hung open at the news, the exact same reaction that Mary and Sarah had moments before them. They were just as shocked as the girls, having known the Professor for many years. A person of such privilege like the Professor being unable to avoid law and order showed them the position that the country was in.
"What for?"
"Ye won't believe this Erin…". Her Aunt Sarah started. "… but that… ach what's her name again, Jenny's wee friend?"
"Aisling?" Clare suggested.
"Aye Aisling. Well she was sayin' that the Professor knew some German fella and might have been a spy like…".
Professor Joyce… a German spy. Erin's heart jumped right out. Her James had spent a lot of time with the Professor and was now off to fight the Germans, her irritational thoughts turning to the idea that he might have passed on James' identity so that the Germans could find him easier. After all, it could have been revenge because James didn't want to be with Jenny. Jenny herself might have done it…
"What a prick…".
"Aye Michelle. All three of them have been taken away…". Mary continued the explanation. "… you just don't expect it here, the Joyce's colluding with the Germans".
"But…we…we know them". Clare began to fret.
"Here we go…". Michelle mumbled, Erin snorting lightly at it.
"The… w-w… we might be suspected. Oh god, they might throw us in prison… what are we gunna do!?"
Multiple eye rolls were exchanged between all of the others at the traditional Clare outburst, that made no logical sense to them. Meyler's presence put an end to them reprimanding her stupidity though, Mary and Sarah returning to their section to continue working. Everyone in the factory was under pressure to get their orders fulfilled and these ones had to be done on time as they were for the soldiers.
"Back to it then, Girls…". Michelle announced to them. "… at lunch we can discuss how we get ye ready for this date then Clare".
"Michelle…". She tried to warn.
"I know, yer not interested and ye don't want our help…".
"Really… I don't!"
"No, ye really do, isn't that right Erin?"
The question went unanswered, irritating Michelle. Erin was daydreaming in her own little world when Michelle asked it, thinking of the company of someone else instead of her friends. Her English fella who was off being a brave lad somewhere in the world, doing his bit to ensure their life together in the future would be a joyful and prosperous one. James and his lovely smile, his beautiful eyebrows and muscular chest…
"Erin!?"
"W-what?"
Snapped out of her state of mind, she blushed, her face turning into a deep pink colour.
"Clare really does want our help, doesn't she?"
"Y…". She tried to even remember what they were talking about. "… yeah… yes. Ye do Clare, me and Michelle have experience with fellas so we can help ye make it special".
"And get ye some…". Michelle added.
"It doesn't have to go that far…". Erin cut in before Clare could protest. "… but at least a nice night for ye. As nice as a night can be when yer at war…".
A date in war time was at least something Erin didn't need to worry about. She couldn't go out on a nice night out even if she tried, not without James to be there by her side. To dance with and to be held by.
At least he would be home by Christmas…
Officer training was one of the dullest experiences of James Maguire's life.
And he worked in a bank.
Whilst it was necessary given his sudden promotion to a more senior rank, it was all textbook and nothing practical. He wanted to be out on the front, engaging German Pilots in vicious dogfights over the skies of mainland Europe. Instead, he was sat in a small office on the outskirts of London, reading up on the correct behaviour for an officer to maintain at a senior staff meeting which he would probably never attend. Expectations and reality were despairingly far apart. Some of the textbook was useful to him given his inexperience as a leader of men in a militaristic sense, yet most he knew could have been learnt through basic judgement and common sense. Two very underrated skills in his book.
There were a few comforts to be had though. Despite his rank and status, he was effectively second in command of the whole airfield should anything happen to Bentley, he was still quartered with David. That allowed the two of them to talk every day without fail before bed and when they got up in the morning. During the day, they were mostly separated. David spent most of the time up in the sky getting used to flying, one of the other pilots and Sergeant Smith running through the bulk of his training. As well as the basic training for an observer, they were also giving him time on the machine gun too. The Swordfish was a fairly lightly armoured aircraft, but there was both a forward firing gun and a mounted machine gun, which was situated in the rear cockpit. With no experiences at firing weapons back home, it was quite the eye-opener for him, which tickled James when the story was retold. James did have some experience with guns, so on the rare occasions he would conduct flight practice, he was comfortable in using the forward firing ones.
The Flight Lieutenant was proving to be a good teacher though, despite the boredom that James encountered from completing the training. He was clearly keen to pass on the knowledge that he'd gained in the years that he'd been an officer, recognising the young Lieutenant Maguire to be keen to learn and contribute himself. With his skills as an aviator undoubted, the Flight Lieutenant was mostly focused on preparing him for the mental aspects of the role. James would be in a role where he would have to make decisions in a split second, which could have consequences that stretched far beyond his crew or even his squadron. There was a toll that it could take on a man; the ability to cope with such pressure was invaluable. Bentley himself hadn't served during a major conflict but knew enough from fellow officers that had when it came to the strain it placed upon a man's shoulders. An even larger one on the shoulders of a man as young as James.
"Did anyone make it?"
They were sat in Bentley's office when James asked the question, tilting his head towards the newspaper reporting the sinking of one of the fleet's carriers. The HMS Courageous was the first British warship to fall victim to the Germans, surprised by a U-boat off the coast of Ireland. Most of the crew were reported to have been tragically lost in the action, sinking into the icy depths of the Atlantic in the dark.
"There were a few survivors…". Bentley confirmed. "… some of the Swordfish crews made it but all of the stringbags ended up on the ocean floor".
"I think that's probably the worst way to go".
"It is not a fate I would wish to endure".
The two men ruminated on the loss of their colleagues for a few moments. Whilst it was upsetting for Bentley to read of their deaths, the starker warning went to James. It could have been him on that carrier in a different alignment of fate, sinking with the aircraft that he would have normally flown into battle. The sinking of a carrier that he was stationed on would always have to be a consideration in the back of his mind, to sit next to the adequate training to be able to deal with the situation, should it present itself.
"Another carrier less for the fleet too". Bentley commented.
"My wait for a place goes on longer…". James sighed in reply.
"I would not concern yourself Lieutenant Maguire. There is a carrier being fitted out at the docks in Barrow I'm told, perhaps you will find your opportunity there".
"You will ask for me?"
Bentley put the newspaper down, smiling at the young officer sat in front of him. The textbooks were out at James' end of the desk, open on a page regarding conduct towards fellow officer's taken as prisoners of war. Oddly to James, it was perhaps the most detailed section of the textbook, though there was an honour amongst officers that he'd come to understand, even those on the opposing side.
"If the need arises. You are a fantastic pilot James, I'm sure a squadron who are to embark upon the ship would welcome you".
"And David?"
"Strings can be pulled Lieutenant".
The two men shared appreciative looks. Bentley knew how much the friendship between the two was important to the young Lieutenant despite drilling into him that amongst the men, David could not be favoured. But that was all that he knew about the young man, the two never having spoken about his background before. Bentley chose that moment to enquire.
"How do you know each other?" He asked, brows furrowed. "With your accent, you cannot tell me that you have spent your entire life in Derry?"
"I haven't". James chuckled. "I moved over to Derry earlier this year. My mother…".
He stopped. Regrettably, with the rush of the life he'd lived since leaving Ireland at the beginning of the month, his mind very rarely settled on his mother. Lady Aregger, as she was now known. Finding a quizzical Bentley, he decided to explain.
"She moved to Switzerland without me. Our house in London had to be sold and she wanted me to be safe… close to the family I suppose you could say. Her sister, my Aunt Deirdre, still lives in Derry you see…".
"You miss her?"
"I… w-".
"I am not going to belittle you for showing emotions Lieutenant. You can be honest with me". Bentley's voice came with a reassuring tone.
"Dearly sir… I miss her dearly". He admitted honestly. "She has married now, found herself a wealthy husband and a relaxing life".
"Do you wish you had gone with her?"
He stopped himself from responding to the question immediately. A part of him, the boy who'd depended on his mother for so long, said yes, but the adult within him said no. It told him that there was a young woman back in Derry who was worth just as much to him as his mother was and without Kathy's decision to go, he would never have met Erin Quinn.
"No. I am quite glad that I was able to move to Derry".
"An Englishman that has enjoyed moving to Ireland…". Bentley almost giggled, whilst he sat playing with ends of his moustache. "… now there is a story of hope for us all".
"It isn't as bad as you might think. Some of the locals have been quite accepting of me".
Bentley's smile went from ear to ear, James frowning at the man's amusement. Getting to know the Flight Lieutenant, James knew that behind closed doors, he was not the posh authority figure that first assumptions would tout him as. There was a man who enjoyed a good laugh underneath the exterior of the model officer, especially when it came to giving a bit of a banter to a teenager of equal rank to him.
"Someone in particular?"
The partially raised eyebrow only added to the humorous outlook written across Bentley's face. James felt his cheeks burn, chastising himself for reacting so awkwardly in front of the older man.
"Yes".
"Does she have a name?"
"Erin".
"Erin…". Bentley said her name aloud. "… a very beautiful name. No doubt she is as beautiful as her name is?"
James reached into the pocket of his uniform, retrieving an item of immensely precious value to him. He only had one picture of them together, taken by Gerry after the wooden spoon attack by Michelle when they'd revealed that they were a couple. A fortuitous day, as Gerry happened to be borrowing the camera from a work colleague that weekend, which allowed them to have the photo taken. Erin was leaning back into him as the photo was taken, his head bowed so that it was level with hers, arms around her waist.
"Congratulations…". Flight Lieutenant Bentley nodded upon seeing them together. "… you are not married?"
"There was no time…". He concluded sadly.
"Don't worry Lieutenant. She is your reminder of what you are fighting for".
Bentley handed him the photograph back, James slipping it back into the inner pocket of his uniform, alongside an old wooden friend. The spoon would stay in its place though.
"You met David through her then?" Bentley's questions continued.
"I suppose you could say so…". James replied to him, scratching the back of his neck. "… her cousin, Orla, is David's wife. We have a close-knit little group of friends back in Derry, my cousin, another couple of friends and the rest of the family".
"That includes David's brothers?"
James frowned again, unsure of why Bentley had brought up Peter and Lorcan. David rarely talked about the two, from the lack of need to, the question coming as a surprise to him given he hadn't realised the Flight Lieutenant knew about them.
"I should explain". Bentley stated, realising the confusion. "On his sign-up form he listed them as relatives. Those strings I spoke of earlier… I pulled a few. It seems his brothers were inspired by his example".
"They have signed up too?"
"Yes. They're being transferred over to the Leicestershire Regiment. They will probably be kept in reserve until trained properly but no doubt will see action at some point".
He quickly realised why he was being told. A silent understanding was being passed between the men. Bentley was asking James to deliver the news to David. The task was a sensitive one. David was close with his brothers and had already expressed to James one night that he hoped they wouldn't follow him into service. His parents couldn't lose all of their sons to the war effort… it would break them.
"I'll tell him tonight".
"Thank you Lieutenant Maguire".
They shook hands, a literal transfer of responsibility from the more experienced of the two equally ranked men.
"Do another twenty minutes or so reading. I will test you and then all being well, we'll get up into the clouds and practice some evasive manoeuvres later on".
"That sounds perfect sir".
That afternoon was indeed spent in the air. Passing Bentley's small test with flying colours, impressing him whilst doing so, their afternoon in the clouds commenced after lunch. Flying over the green fields of England on another day would be a mesmerizing sight, but when one was trying to evade a pursuing fighter, it was not quite so pleasing. Even if it was a training exercise, in the heat of the moment it still felt very realistic to James. The Swordfish wasn't suited to taking on the lightning quick fighters of the Luftwaffe, though some training was still implemented, as it wasn't impossible to defeat one in combat. The odds weren't particularly favourable; avoiding a dogfight with a faster aircraft was always the optimal choice.
By the time evening came around, James finished his evening meal with Flight Lieutenant Bentley and headed off to his shared quarters with David. David himself had spent the day on the ground for once, doing fitness tests instead of any further training with the aircraft. James spotted him on a couple of occasions, running around the empty airfield, sweating buckets. Their fitness was still key even though they weren't regular soldiers deployed on the ground. If they found themselves forced to land behind enemy lines, then they would need to be fit to stay alive whether they were captured or not. Luckily for them, they both looked after their bodies fairly well and the lack of beer to be consumed at the base made it even simpler.
Having not spoken since they'd made their way to breakfast that morning, they both looked forward to seeing each other, although James was nervous about discussing the news of David's brothers. They were his friends too and he was concerned for them, but David's concerns would be even greater given the familial ties.
"Good evening David". James addressed his friend, who was already sat on his bed.
"Ach, alright James".
Informality was very much observed once they were in their shared room. There were no ranks in the room, just two friends living a joint experience of serving their countries in wartime.
"Not too bad. I saw you running…". James said with a strain, trying to take his boot off at the same time. "… I suspect you are on the tired side".
"Knackered mate… knackered". David replied, yawning afterwards.
"I would have swapped my morning for yours. The textbooks can become very… bleak after a while. I need some actual men at my command to practice these techniques on".
"Swapped!? Christ, must have been right head-meltin' then…".
"It was".
The conversation reached a natural end point, with James finishing up in getting changed for bed whilst David sat quietly reading the newspaper in the corner. The sudden hush gave James the perfect chance to deliver the imperfect news.
"David, I need to tell you something…".
The tone of James' voice set nerves to a frayed state inside David. His mind went straight to Orla and their unborn child, desperately searching the expressions on his friend's face to see if the news concerned them. Deliberately, James did not show the upset he would if it was about them, knowing that David would of course think of them immediately.
"Peter and Lorcan have signed up".
David let out a sigh of relief that Orla and the baby were fine, but the nerves still bubbled within about his brothers joining the war effort. They would both enjoy the life of a soldier, he thought to himself quickly, though his parents would not enjoy them taking up that life. All three of the Donnelly boys were off to war; the Donnelly house's wains had all flown the nest.
"Shit…". David could only utter the single word.
"Flight Lieutenant Bentley called in a few favours and found out. I thought it best to let you know…".
"Aye. Thanks mate".
The evident dejection in David's voice did not sit well with James. He hadn't come to upset his friend, merely impart the knowledge of his brothers' decision to follow their example. Allowing his best friend to fall into a melancholic state, he would not.
"They're training first, as reserves with the Leicestershire Regiment…". James continued, placing a hand on his shoulder. "…they will be safe".
"Safe?" David snorted. "Safe until they go into battle… come on James, ye don't need to treat me like a baby".
"It was not the intention".
"Aye… I know. I… I just…".
Pausing, David looked away, closing his eyes. There were other reasons, more selfish ones, that were causing his distress. The feelings had been locked away once they'd signed up, but suddenly were opened upon hearing of his brothers' choice to fight too.
"I hoped that they'd look after Orls… ye know… because I'm not there to…".
"Orla still has the rest of the family". James fairly pointed out.
"I know… I should stop worryin' about it, but… I just want Orls and our baby to be safe".
The textbook didn't cover the action James conducted within the next couple of seconds. Recognising the needs of his friend, he sat down on David's bed and pulled him in for an embrace, feeling a couple of tears drop onto his uniform from where they'd escaped the corners of his friend's eyes.
"Christ, I am a big baby now…". David laughed as they pulled away.
"Nonsense. I fear for Erin everyday too… I know it's not the same, but I often wish I had a brother who could look after her. Then again, they both have Joe".
"Ha! Too right".
Breaking out into guffaws, a sense of calm returned to their shared room that evening. The worries about their loved ones would never go away, nor should they, but their minds were at ease from a sensible reflection about their family. Peter and Lorcan might not have been there to help, but the rest of the family would close ranks even tighter to help Orla.
The best family they could have asked for.
Life was getting rather stale for Orla Donnelly.
There were only around six or seven weeks left before she was due to give birth, the time having ran down rather quickly since war was declared. No longer going to work on work's orders, her days were spent with Granda Joe, when he wasn't out and about, and Napoleon the dog. She'd been banned from doing anything strenuous in the house too which didn't help her cause to remain entertained. She understood the need to take things steadier but putting a virtual stop on life was something she didn't like at all.
That evening, Granda Joe excused himself to go out into the city, facing the usual questions about whether his direction of travel would be taking him to Pump Street. In the usual manner he deflected the inquisition, heading out without saying too much about where he was going at all. He always came back so it didn't concern them and knowing that he had friends who lived right in the centre of the city, his destination was quite obvious when the accusations were put to one side.
"There ye are love…".
Sarah handed her daughter a cup of tea, a final one before they headed on up to bed.
"Thanks Mammy". She replied.
Nothing was said between them for the next couple of minutes as they took their opening sips of tea. It would often be like that at their house, not quite the hive of activity as the house next door, with long silences being the norm a lot of the time. Napoleon was fast asleep in the corner too, barking not being an issue for them on that evening, which it occasionally was if something distressed the Labrador.
"The girls are missin' ye at work". Sarah eventually broke the silence. "They're right busy without ye".
"I know Mammy, I wish I could go and help…".
"No Orla love, ye have to think of yer wain now. Ye don't want to hurt yerself or yer wain, do ye?"
"Ach no I don't Mammy, but I don't like the girls suffering without me either".
Having so much time to herself, when her mind wasn't on David or the baby, Orla often thought of how hard the girls were having to work to cover her absence. Michelle especially would have to put in a lot more effort, effort which she knew would come at a verbal cost to the rest of them too. The logic of her staying away did make sense, though it didn't make it any easier for her emotionally when she thought of her friends. Wiping a tear from her eye, she looked to her mother, who quickly realised that a change of topic was required as the current one was upsetting her daughter.
"I'm not enjoyin' this war, so I'm not".
"Aye".
"I asked Maureen, ye know me hairdresser, if I could have a cut at the weekend…". Sarah explained her point. "… and do ye know what she said?"
"No Mammy". Orla responded, smiling.
"She said she couldn't do it because she was too upset. Her husbands signed up ye see but he's only joined the local regiment, so he has. He's only stationed down the road from where they live like".
"Maybe he's not comin' back".
"I don't know love. He's only got to walk half a mile and he's back with her, sure enough she could probably see him from their bedroom window".
The emotions of the hairdresser perplexed both mother and daughter as they sat in the living room watching the evening tick by. Some people really did confuse the two of them. Sarah was quietly raging inside about the matter, as she could have done with a cut that weekend but would instead have to wait until Maureen wasn't upset anymore. The war was only a few weeks old and was messing with her schedule; the boys would have to get it won sooner rather than later or she would go and win it herself.
"Ow". Orla mumbled all of a sudden.
"What is it love?" Sarah shot up from her seat.
"Ach nothin' Mammy, baby's kickin' again that's all. My little wain's a right kicker".
Walking over to her daughter, Sarah perched next to her on their sofa. Both had their hands on Orla's stomach a second later, feeling the bumps where the baby continued to kick. Orla certainly wasn't getting away lightly when it came to the kicking, the unborn wain really sticking the boot into its Mammy.
"More like marchin' than kickin' love". Sarah commented.
"Aye I know Mammy, my wee wain loves doin' this to me". She laughed. "Was I this bad?"
"Ach no, ye only kicked a few times actually. Mary had a terrible time with Erin though, so she did. I remember Erin bein' a right kicker at night as well, she kept Mary up all night with her kickin'".
Erin kicking off didn't exactly surprise Orla. After all, it was merely an act of foreshadowing for when she graced the earth with her presence, frequently having strops as a younger child and still managing the odd one or two as a young adult.
"She still does like a good kick mind…". Sarah said, vocalising Orla's thoughts.
"Aye too right".
Remaining in place, Sarah took her hands off of her daughter's belly, instead wrapping them around her to give her a big cuddle. The kicking eventually subsided, Orla's wain deciding Mammy had taken enough punishment that evening, although the following day would see a resumption in the relentless pounding.
"What would you like love, boy or girl?"
Sarah's question didn't surprise her, but Orla still couldn't fathom an immediate response. She'd not allowed the matter to reside at the front of her mind for some time, not since David had left to fight, and her mammy's enquiry suddenly jolted it forward. The truth was that she wasn't that bothered at all, although the benefits of having a girl appealed to her more at that moment in time. If there were to be more wars in the future, then a boy might have to go off to fight in them. Losing a son to war was a pain she did not wish to discover. A pain many other women were about to…
"I'm not really fussed Mammy…". Orla answered honestly. "… but a girl would be nice".
"A girl would be aye. We've got a lot of girls in the family".
"That we have. Maybe we can only have girls ye know".
"That's not how it works love". Sarah remarked.
Curious, Orla wished to know how it did work. Then she might be able to plan a little more effectively for the baby's first days.
"God ye know, he has this big hat so he does and when ye get pregnant, he puts his hand into the hat and chooses either boy or girl".
"Must be a big hat". Orla pondered quizzically.
"Nobody knows but aye I reckon it would be love".
Sarah's… intriguing… explanation of the process of determining gender was one which Orla could understand and support, even if it wasn't exactly the scientific truth. Not that she knew what that was or would even understand it if she did.
"Maybe it's one of Aunt Mary's hats Mammy?" Orla put the suggestion to her mother.
"That might be right love… I've never thought of that…" Sarah considered it, scratching her head.
"That would explain why it's so awful like…".
Smithers arrived at headquarters early on the morning of the twenty first day of September. Early starts were not a problem for him, though having to pick his way through the maze of London's streets whilst still half asleep was an annoyance to say the least. It was vastly important that he arrived, and on time, for the meeting he was going into was one of incredible significance. Being in charge of what was becoming a growing network of spies in Berlin, led by Lyla Walsh, brought with it stress, but was the vital job within Section V of British Intelligence. Decisions made by him and his superior were ones which could change the balance of power in Europe on a whim, whether it be greater power to Britain and France or handing Nazi Germany even greater sway.
His superior, Lieutenant Colonel Menzies, was an experienced intelligence officer who'd seen his fair share of combat too. Seriously injured by the despicable gas attacks of the Great War, he'd moved into intelligence after being honourably discharged. Since then, he'd played roles in several monumental intelligence investigations, keeping the country safe in a tumultuous time in the world of espionage. Having been deputy of the Intelligence Service for many years, he'd risen to be in command on the death of the previous incumbent to the role. Smithers rarely dealt with him directly, however with the circumstances of war hanging over their heads, that changed. They correspond regularly now, for the need to do so outweighed every other branch of intelligence they held.
The two met in Menzies office, the secretary providing them both with a breakfast and a cup of tea. She was the only other person in the building at such a time, a building which was very cold in the wispy chill of the September day. He'd brought with him all the notes he'd taken from his last correspondence with Lyla a couple of days before. The risks in remaining in contact were high yet losing communication with her could prove fatal too. If the Germans ever cracked their code then she would be a sitting duck, but without her reports, German intentions would be a mistier prospect to try to untangle. Doctor Van Der Heijden's standing with Hitler was a line which she needed to keep open for them and they needed open more than the Suez Canal.
"Shall we Smithers?" Menzies prompted.
"Yes sir". He replied.
The men gathered their paperwork before Smithers got up to stand, heading over to a board where some names were pinned up.
"Emerald Two has successfully seen to the apprehension of the three persons of interest within Derry…". Smithers began, using a small cane to point to the three.
"The Joyce Family?"
"Yes sir. Professor Michael Joyce is our main interest. His wife and daughter's role remain unknown to us, although Emerald Two is discreetly attempting to find out more".
"Good". Menzies stated stoutly. "Make sure that this continues Captain".
"I will sir".
Taking a step to his left, Smithers picked up the report he'd placed down on the table to the side. The report was carefully collated, using reports from his top two agents.
"Emerald One's findings, which we discussed previously, indicated that Professor Joyce kept secret contact with Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden for many years and has provided assistance in Van Der Heijden's latest project…".
The very same project that Emerald One had been told not investigate any further, the one which enraged her beyond belief…
"Joyce appears to have a central role in defining the process of extermination that Emerald One believes will be tested upon the Jewish population". Smithers explained the horrific information.
"Her orders specifically stated that she was not to investigate that matter".
"I have reminded her of this sir, but she felt that given the ramifications should these extermination processes be tested, that he would need to receive the appropriate punishment".
"I agree Smithers, but you know the matters are out of my hands". Menzies concluded grimly.
"Yes sir. Should I brief our team who are to interview Joyce again?"
"No, we keep this between us. I cannot have it known that we may be investigating these… exterminations. My orders are from the highest authority".
The red tape frustrated both men. Neither distrusted Lyla's information, she was very trustworthy in their eyes, and being fully aware that thousands, if not more, could be being sent to their deaths disgusted them. Disgusting them to the same degree was the higher authority not wishing to pursue an active investigation into the reports. Preservation of life was being wholly ignored by their superiors whilst their motivations were driven by it.
"Carry on Smithers".
"Sir. Emerald Two also reported upon Professor Joyce's financial dealings".
Smithers' voice was shaky, immediately noticed and seized upon by his superior. When a handler became nervous with him, he knew it could only mean serious trouble.
"Spit it out Captain Smithers, the whole truth".
"Professor Joyce's finances were clean, handled perfectly in fact. He might have been supplying information to Van Der Heijden, but it wasn't coming at any cost. Everything was above board Sir".
"But why are you concerned?"
"It is where it was handled… and by who. The Ulster Bank sir…".
Menzies nearly fell off his chair. The Ulster Bank meant one thing and one thing only, a scenario he prayed he would never have come across.
"You mean?"
"Yes sir. The boy".
The boy… that boy… him…
"That was until war was declared sir…". Smithers elaborated. "… the accounts fell back under the care of the Bank Manager after he left".
The superior officer put his head in his hands for a second. The involvement of James Maguire with the Joyce's could never be allowed to reach ears beyond the room that they were in. He had to be kept away from it… whatever the cost.
"Where is he now?"
"Training at Hendon Sir, under the care of a Flight Lieutenant Bentley. We gave him an advanced promotion".
"Bentley? Didn't that name come up in Emerald One's original report?" Menzies questioned hastily.
"I looked into it Sir, as I thought the same…". Smithers smiled. "… it was a different Bentley. That Bentley is now a surgeon in Newcastle sir".
"Good work Captain".
On another day he might have grinned an appreciation back to his superior officer, but it was not the time for such a pleasantry. He understood the atmosphere that his news created. The fallout that could be catastrophic should it be discovered.
"Emerald Two also reported that the Joyce's daughter, Jenny, held great affection for the boy".
"Held? We must be sure of that Captain…". Menzies instructed.
"She was warned off by our boy's current partner from what Emerald Two could gather. I can ask Emerald Two to be sure of it?"
"Do it". Menzies commanded. "I don't want him being involved with this Jenny in any way. If she still proves to have designs on him, we will have to take more… drastic measures".
Smithers knew what drastic measures meant. He'd seen drastic measures been taken in the past; the recipient of them didn't often return alive.
"Does Emerald One know all of this?"
"No Sir". Smithers replied.
"Let's keep it that way. She does not need to become involved in this. Have Emerald Two follow up on what we have discussed, but the other details of this meeting do not pass your lips, understood?"
"Yes Sir. I shall see to it once we have finished".
That was the correct answer, Menzies dipping his head to approve of the Captain's planned actions. Emerald Two was proving to be most useful. Not useful enough to have the secrets of their early morning meeting imparted upon them though. It was for the best that they were not though, as both Smithers and Menzies knew that the less people involved with it, then the better and more successful it would be. Their broth boiled brightly with just the two of them in charge of it; no more cooks were needed to spoil it.
"What about Emerald One sir?"
"Quite…". Menzies pondered for a second before answering. "… tell her to continue keeping tabs on Van Der Heijden's activities for now. The more information we can bleed from him, the better".
"She's reported an increase in his meetings".
"That could mean anything though Smithers. Just make sure she keeps a close eye".
"Yes Sir".
Menzies rose from the desk, walking across to Smithers to join him by the board. The file of James Maguire stood apart from the rest at the end of the board, a lengthy one which bore the mark that many files of theirs did.
Top Secret.
"We need to get the boy a commission on a carrier quickly Captain Smithers". He stated, looking the Captain in the eye.
"After the Courageous' sinking, that is more difficult Sir".
"Those blasted U-Boats!" Menzies seethed. "I hate the damn machines".
"There is one possibility sir, Flight Lieutenant Bentley made the suggestion to his superior. The carrier in question is not yet ready but would perhaps suit our boy's… requirements".
The ray of hope that Smithers shone lit Menzies' face right up. They needed all the luck they could get when it came to James. Indicating with a flick of his hand, Menzies wished for the Captain to continue with the pleasing news.
"The Illustrious sir. It should be set for sail in the spring of next year".
"Spring of next year… that will do us Captain. We will still be fighting then, I have no doubt".
"How should I proceed? I suspect he will not be the only man hoping for a Swordfish commission aboard…".
"I don't care who wants a commission aboard. I will go the PM if I have to, that is how far this can be pushed Smithers, do you understand?"
Menzies raised his voice slightly, the only time that he'd done so throughout the meeting. Smithers recognised the signs of stress, sympathising with his superior officer instead of being offended by him. The stress from having to keep a watchful eye on spy networks throughout the continent, within the home front and a certain young man who now found himself at Hendon, was a terrible burden on the best of men. To Smithers, Menzies was one of those men.
"We have to be careful with young James Maguire, Smithers. If we get this wrong at any point, we may as well take ourselves to the Tower to await execution".
"Yes…". Smithers cleared his throat. "… Sir".
"That boy's importance could kill us all…".