Chapter 23: Clan Donnelly 22nd April 1940
Just north of Lillehammer, Norway
Chaos.
Chaos and pure lunacy.
The whole operation was a total farce, and the consequences were revealing themselves very quickly. It wasn't even a full force that was expected to put up a fight against the German advance, an advance they were powerless to stop. Combined with inferior weaponry too, for the Germans, it was a turkey shoot. That was where Peter and Lorcan Donnelly found themselves.
It might not have been a full-on conflict, especially with how one-sided it was turning out to be, but the campaign in Norway appeared to be one of the first true bloodings of the British Army against their German counterparts. The terms of the fight were not a fair one though, given the differences in numbers and weaponry, as well as what appeared to be superior training on the German side. Throughout Central and Southern Norway, the German military was crushing anyone who stood in their way, destroying the British and Norwegians, who could only dig in bravely and hope for the best. The best was a safe retreat without capture. There was no hope of any longstanding victory in the area against their opponents. With any step forward, there were always two or three more steps back to accompany it.
The 148th Infantry Brigade were being asked to almost perform a miracle in even confronting the Germans. Within it, the Leicestershire Regiment's 1/5th Battalion, where Peter and Lorcan served, were part of the force that had landed at Åndalsnes. The original intention was to push north, to link up with other units driving down from Namsos in order to drive the Germans out of Trondheim. The joint landings were supposed to have been planned to perfection, but the execution proved to be completely awful. The Åndalsnes landings, though not completely unopposed, went fairly well but the Namsos landings did not have such luck. Half of the equipment that the soldiers were supposed to be carrying was left on the ships when the Luftwaffe appeared overhead, leaving them incredibly unprepared to face the camped in Germans. Norwegian units tried to provide assistance, but Norway held one of the weakest armies in Europe, pacifist policies of years earlier coming back to haunt them as the Germans violated their borders.
With such disarray ensuing, there was a general confusion as to what they were supposed to do. The commanders in charge of both landings were not in contact, and therefore were unaware of exactly what the other was doing. The 148th Brigade began to proceed regardless, albeit in a less than orderly fashion, which did not amuse their commanding officer. The orders then changed from higher up. The pincer movement on Trondheim was no longer deemed feasible, due to the Germans capturing Oslo. The Norwegian Capital under their control, the Germans were suddenly a massive threat on their exposed southern flank. With the correct equipment to deal with the snow, as well as the superiority in numbers, they had to be challenged. Even if the action was only a delaying one, it bought the northern force time to try to capture Trondheim, with the help of just a few Norwegian units as opposed to the southern force. Little did they know that the northern force were being outflanked themselves, placing them in a very perilous position along their line of retreat.
On meeting the German forces for the first time the day before, it became apparent after only a few minutes that the only way was backwards, not forwards. Having little heavy artillery themselves, the Germans wasted no time showing theirs, bombarding their positions upon the first sighted contact. Holding out for a few hours, the retreat began overnight but that ended up as a complete catastrophe too. The commander of the Norwegian forces ordered them to break and run but did so in such a disorderly fashion, that many men were left without transports for the retreat. Any who didn't get out as quickly as they could, were faced with either being killed or captured as the German Infantry advanced. Peter and Lorcan were among the lucky few, not that they considered themselves to be lucky. Stuck in the snowy countryside with substandard weaponry and a dangerous journey back home, it did not appear lucky at all.
They'd finally halted, with some distance between themselves and the Germans, in the village of Fåberg, just north of Lillehammer. Their commanding officer was no longer with them, caught in his headquarters at the latter location when attempting to withdraw.
The losses were incredible for the Leicestershire Regiment. Many families with sons in the Regiment would never see them again.
A cluster of men, the only ones who remained, gathered around the sole surviving officer, Lieutenant Cole. Peter and Lorcan were the only two left from their platoon. Thoughts of their friends still clung to them as they listened in to the Lieutenant.
"The situation is bleak…". The young man did not beat about the bush. "… we can't go forward but we can't get everyone back quick enough either".
Stopping, he rubbed at his eyes. Only ever assuming command of a small platoon or patrol, the Lieutenant of no more than twenty-one years was thrust into a position he did not expect. He was left to make the decisions for the rest of them, the burden quickly feeling like a weight that he could not carry. Unfortunately, it was one he had to carry, having no other choice.
"There are thirty of us by my quick count, as well as myself and Sergeant Scanlon. We've been asked to form a perimeter as a regiment, but I must return to meet with the other officers…".
The men nodded, taking in the information. Normally, the officers would never give too much away but the young officer needed all the help he could get. Speaking to the men honestly and truthfully, guaranteed him once piece of help he could get, even if it wasn't the right thing to do in his position.
"Corporal Poole, you'll take half of the men and assume a position on the West bank".
"Sir". The Corporal replied, nodding.
"Sergeant Scanlon, take the rest of the men up on the East bank. Have a couple of men posted right at the top of that hill. We need advanced warning of enemy positions".
"Sir!" The Sergeant saluted emphatically to the order. "Right come on you lot".
Peter and Lorcan were within his detachment and they were on the heels of their Sergeant as he began to order men into position. Scanlon was an Irishman too, hailing from Dungannon. Despite being fellow countrymen, they didn't particularly get along with him due to his overly officious nature. It also seemed like he didn't want the rest of the men to think he favoured them because they were Irish too, being quite abusive at times to avoid painting the picture.
On reaching their positions, Sergeant Scanlon sent a couple of men forward to scale the hill a few hundred metres in front of them, as per the Lieutenant's orders. The Donnelly's were surprised that they weren't given the task, although they were the next two men after, holding a position on the right-hand side of the road, with a clear view of the West bank detachment on the other side.
"This isn't what I hoped for". Peter whispered to Lorcan.
"Ach, me neither. Feckin' Germans!" Lorcan seethed his own whisper in reply.
If they weren't soldiers, whose Sergeant stood just a few feet away, then they would have laughed loudly at their exchange. It was the sort of conversation they'd had for many years, being close as brothers rather than distant. Along with David, they made quite the formidable trio.
"I never thought I'd complain about the cold…". Lorcan continued. "… but by Christ am I freezin' my balls off out here!"
"Even the worst days in Derry aren't as bad as this". Peter agreed with him.
"Aye. And at least back home we could go to the pub to warm up. The things I'd do for a pint right now…".
"Don't start Lorc… I'm dying for one".
With neither man touching a drop of alcohol since September of the previous year, it was fair to say that their lips were dry. They would never consider themselves as heavy drinkers, but the Donnelly brothers could both appreciate a pint. After long weeks at work, being able to settle down over the weekend to get a few down the hatch was almost perfection. An almost perfection that was so far away from the reality of the harsh, snow-covered Norwegian countryside.
"Look at Scanlon…".
Lorcan directed Peter's attention to the Sergeant. They'd rarely seen him become riled, only when dealing with insubordination from within the ranks, so they couldn't take their eyes off of him when he continued to pace back and forth. His eyes carried bags underneath them, telling the story that was the same for the bulk of the men. Sleep was a commodity that was hard to come by, becoming a luxury over the past few days with such constant, dramatic changes in both operations and direction. The successes they'd all spoken of on the journey over damaged the morale immensely when thought of again. That was no doubt playing on the Sergeant's mind too. How could he motivate the men he gave orders to when he knew their spirit was broken? Lieutenant Cole didn't have to spend so much time with the men, an understanding of their grievances not there in the same way as the Sergeant. Being older too made him all the more important, closer to forty in stark contrast to the Lieutenant who was closer to twenty.
"A penny for his thoughts". Peter snorted quietly.
"Maybe thinkin' of who he has back home. He's married ye know".
"Aye and we ain't".
"Well…". Lorcan laughed. "… when we get home, we'll have to look at rectifying that".
Unlike their brother, who'd gotten himself married, Peter and Lorcan didn't have partners of their own. The former's long-term relationship broke down over a year earlier and the latter was more prone to sleeping around than finding a special someone.
"If anyone will have us…".
"Ach Pete, yer so glum sometimes…". Lorcan huffed. "… besides, it doesn't have to be the right one the first time when we get back. Michelle will ride anyone, you could see her".
"Christ no!" An exasperated Peter replied. "James would kill me anyway".
"I doubt that. Too busy with Erin, so he is".
The brothers couldn't help but chuckle. They were very fond of James, who despite being English, was a pretty good laugh. His love for Erin was one they quietly cottoned onto not long after David had, reinforced by their brother's belief too when they learnt of it. Making quite a decent couple, they were glad that someone had managed to keep Erin happy, knowing that it took quite the effort to do so.
"I tell ye Pete, if there's one thing I'm glad of, it's that out here we don't have to listen to any of Erin's shite poetry".
"Too right Lorc. Ye know, I always thought David was exaggeratin' when he said how bad it was, but by Christ that evening when she read some of it out…".
Remembering the night well, there were shudders from them both at the memory. It was a few weeks before James arrived in Derry, and the two of them accompanied David to go and see Orla. In a change to the usual schedule, Erin appearing next door rather than the usual congregational area which was the Quinn living room, came armed with her latest writings. Even going as far as to encourage her to read them out, they quickly knew it was a mistake. Hearing her poetry was akin to listening to a nail being slowly scraped along a wooden desk. The sound of the Luftwaffe overhead ready to destroy them would in fact be preferable. Erin's poetry was simply awful.
"I wonder what the lads are up to". Peter mused.
"Livin' a feckin' easy life I tell ye. Up there in their planes…".
Lorcan pointed to the empty sky, nothing but clouds and the occasional bird flying past. James and David being present in support would have been a beautiful sight, but they knew they weren't coming. Air support would have at least brought them time to retreat in good order, with the bombing halting the German offensive. Without a single plane to help them though, it was left to the poorly equipped men of the Leicestershire Regiment to slow their advance.
"What fuckin' chance do we have with these".
Lorcan gestured to their weapons, which were ones that belonged to a different era of warfare. The Martini-Henry rifle was used to fight off the Zulu's over seventy years earlier, out of place on the battlefield of 1940. Whilst it had seen some usage in the Great War, it was long surpassed by its replacements, and not officially used in the British Army. Gathering together all they could however, the Leicestershire Regiment didn't have a lot of choice. Schmeisser carrying Germans would be ready to greet them. They could fire five hundred rounds a minute. Lorcan and Peter could only match them with twelve in reply.
"They worked at Rorke's Drift…" Peter reminded his brother.
"We're not at Rorke's feckin' Drift are we!" Lorcan moaned. "We're facing a hell of a lot more than a few tribesmen with sticks!"
Lorcan's voice was raised, earning a glare from Sergeant Scanlon. Unwilling to risk running the wrath of his stern fellow countryman, he nodded an apology, the Sergeant turning away again to keep his eyes forward. A lucky escape, Peter rolled his eyes at his brother's antics.
"The tribesmen were probably better lookin' though". Lorcan added in a snigger.
"Ye might have a point there. Anyway, I rec-".
BOOM…
BOOM…
BOOM…
"HEADS DOWN!"
Sergeant Scanlon shouted the order as the sudden mortar bombardment began. His men threw themselves under what little cover they had, desperately praying that they wouldn't be hit. Peter and Lorcan were relatively well covered already in their position, the furthest out on the right flank overlooking the Lågen and the Western bank. However, when they took a look over to the Western bank, a scene of terror awaited them.
The men on the other bank of the river did not have the cover afforded to their comrades, and the mortars were mostly primed in their direction. The men the furthest forward were ripped to shreds, caught out in almost the open before they could retreat to the relative safety of the trees behind them. Three men were killed instantly, another two wounded so severely that even from a distance it was clear that they would not see the new light of day. With their small force decimated in seconds, Corporal Poole ordered a full retreat, with the aim of crossing the bridge behind them to join the rest of the forces gathered in Fåberg. The mortar fire was unwavering though and soon another man was killed, leaving them down to nearly half of their number.
"Shit!" Peter shouted, watching on in horror.
"They'll never fuckin' make it!" Lorcan commented.
The boys were so preoccupied with watching the scenes of destruction on the other bank, that they were barely paying attention to their own position. A mortar shell crashed into the ground just in front of their cover, sending turf flying into the air around them as the two ducked and braced. Luckily, neither were hurt, but it was the rude awakening that they required. As they were busy nearly getting themselves killed, one of the men at the top of the hill shouted down between bombardments about a concentration of German troops heading up the road on their side. Sergeant Scanlon took the information in, before quickly opting to send a runner back down to the village in order to communicate the advance to Lieutenant Cole.
BOOM…
BOOM…
BOOM…
Then nothing.
Nothing at all.
The Germans suddenly ceased their mortar bombardment. The sound of crashing shells was replaced in a split second by the still emptiness of the Norwegian countryside. No man spoke a word to the other, still reeling from the impact of the opening salvos from their enemy. The men on the Eastern Bank were shaken but unhurt; the same could not be said for their colleagues on the other side. Corporal Poole's retreat only saw five men return, himself not among them. The final shells of the bombardment caught many of them before they reached the bridge, the Corporal included, killing most of them instantly. There were no cries or screams that could be heard. Until…
"PANZER!"
Shouting from the top of the hill, one of the two men posted up there by the Sergeant reported the oncoming tank, only to be ripped to shreds a second later as the mortar bombardment began again. With no tanks of their own, or even any anti-tank weapons, their position was untenable. Yet the order to retreat would never come. As the first shells of the second wave hammered their position, Sergeant Scanlon was caught, having dipped out of his cover to attempt to assess the scene. What was left of him came to rest a few feet away from Peter, who's sudden urge to vomit nearly overwhelmed him. He might not have been fond of the Sergeant, but no one deserved a death so grim as he had. The only mercy came from how quick it was.
"Christ!" Lorcan shouted. "Now we're in trouble!".
With the rest of the men unsure of what to do and seeing no other alternatives, Lorcan stood up to be counted, attempting to gain control of the men left.
"FALL BACK!" He ordered.
None of the other men were subservient to him, yet not one of them questioned him when he sounded the retreat. The mortars couldn't reach too much further behind them, and with the cover of some trees on their inner left side, they could fall back relatively unmolested. If they didn't run now, they risked having to face the steel beast that rumbled on the road ahead and not one of them stood a chance against it. They needed to get back to the village and from there, get away as far as they possibly could. Nothing could stop the Germans when they had a tank.
"GET BACK!" He continued to shout.
Peter stayed by his side loyally, pointing his ancient weapon forward to the brow of the hill. The remaining man left at the top wasn't hanging around, sprinting down the reverse slope towards the brothers.
"Are you not coming!?" The soldier shouted at them.
"No. We'll delay them. Get back to Lieutenant Cole, tell him to abandon the village!"
"What!? You ain't an officer mate!"
The man's thick Brummie accent pierced Lorcan's ears more than the mortars that rained down around them. He didn't like the man's tone, but he couldn't argue with him. He wasn't an officer. He was simply the only man left alive with any capability to lead his comrades.
"JUST DO IT!"
"You pair of fucking boneheaded paddies! You'll get killed you stupid pricks!"
"JUST GO!"
Losing his cool, Lorcan was ready to punch the man square in the face. Picking the worst time for an internal argument, the man was testing his patience and Peter's too. If one brother didn't hit the man, then the other was certainly ready to step in and take their place. Outnumbered and realising it, the man ran off after delivering one last scowl to the brothers.
All that stood between the advancing German Army and the village of Fåberg were Peter and Lorcan Donnelly.
The shells stopped again but instead of silence, a consistent noise was drummed into them. It was the sound of tracks, the tracks of an approaching tank. The tank that they knew was on the other side of the hill.
"Lorc, what the hell are we goin' to do!" Peter fretted.
"Well ye can calm down for a start Pete!" His brother shouted at him. "I'm not havin' you go all Clare Devlin on me when there's a feckin' tank up there!"
"We need to fall back with the others!"
"No Pete, we're forming a rear-guard. If we can slow that big bastard down, then it gives the rest of them a chance to get out!".
"With what? We've got a couple of old rifles and knives!"
Curving his lips up into a smug smile, Lorcan revealed what he believed to be his ace. From his pocket, he retrieved a couple of grenades, intending to use them on the tank. His brother, wiser to the durability of the tank's armour, was not convinced by it at all, but those thoughts were superseded by his first thought. Where had the grenades come from?
"Lorc what the f…".
"I got them from the ship". Lorcan explained. "No one else was using them".
Shaking his head at his brother's audacity, Peter could-
BOOM…
A cardinal sin was committed. So distracted on discussing their plans to take on the Panzer, the two failed to realise that it had already crested the hill, its main gun trained on the two immediate targets that the crew could see in front of them. The Donnelly brothers.
The round struck the ground by their feet, throwing them back down the hill, past the corpse of Sergeant Scanlon. From the moment that it struck the ground, neither Peter nor Lorcan stood any chance of living. Their shrapnel pierced bodies came to rest next to each other, blood gushing out of their many wounds. Peter's legs were gone, ripped away cleanly by the round fired from the tank. A face unrecognisable, Lorcan's right cheek was a bloody mess of what was left of his teeth sticking out of the crimson coated flaps of skin that remained with them. His right leg was hanging by a thread, his right arm long gone alongside his brother's legs. The left hands of both brothers came to rest together, staying brothers until the end.
When the tank rolled through a minute later, their bodies were just another blot on the landscape and even the accompanying infantry didn't stop for them. It was only later that a small handful of Germans with good hearts buried them properly in a grave by the roadside, assisted by some of the captured villagers who'd stayed put. A final resting place alongside their Sergeant, after his body was buried next to theirs by the same group of people. A local priest that remained even said a few words after the graves were dug.
Three Irishman forever entombed in the Norwegian countryside.
Two members of the Donnelly clan never coming home.
Saturday afternoons since James left were very different for Erin. They were the time of the week where she felt at her most lonely, the memories of warmer afternoons in better company haunting her throughout the winter. Into the spring she fared only a little better, still longing to be in his arms again at their cottage, creating happy memories that could last a lifetime. The war was what it was though, and with her fella still on active service, unable to come home, Saturday afternoons did not look to be drastically improving anytime soon.
They'd exchanged letters twice since the new year, with a new photograph coming her way from him. As requested previously, he sent the letter with it on to the cottage, though it was picked up by the McLaughlin's at the bank. Luckily, it was her day to go to check for his mail, retrieving it and taking it to their humble abode to be able to open it. Revelling in his handsomeness in privacy, his beautifully kept appearance only deepened her love for him, something which she conveyed to him in her return letter. Sadly, she could not arrange for a photograph to go back to him to remind him of her, but she knew he would understand and appreciate that she'd gone to some effort to try to. Avoiding the subject that she wanted to speak to him about in her letters, on both occasions she enquired whether he would have leave anytime soon but was let down. He could not request any leave, his love for her not being a good enough reason for his commanding officer, forcing him to wait until the whole squadron could have leave, a date he could not confirm.
To her, the wait seemed like it would be forever.
The rest of the family and her friends clearly recognised her melancholic outlook and through various means, attempted to cheer her up. The first to try was Clare, who suggested that they find a new hobby that they could enjoy outside of work together. Making various suggestions, ranging from picking fruit out in the fields to becoming Air Raid Wardens, the diminutive blonde's approach was at least one that her friend could commend. Picking fruit or taking responsibility during bombing raids were not entirely unappealing options to Erin, but neither truly interested her. She didn't want to be doing more work than she already was, breaking her back to help in the war effort, and ultimately to help James. She was only a workaholic within the confines of the factory; she wouldn't continue to be outside of it.
Michelle's attempts were predictably less than adequate. At first, the young Mallon monologued to her best friend about how much she thought she and James were perfect for each other, only to suggest that Erin should start seeing another fella to… satisfy her needs. Satisfaction was something she knew she would only find with her wee English Prince and his cousin suggesting she should be unfaithful to him was most unwelcome. Unwilling to back down, Michelle continued to argue that for her sake and the rest of theirs, finding some to just have sex with would at least help her moods. Not that Michelle knew why she was so moody, nor was Erin willing to tell her. If she even truly understood her own moods herself…
Within the family sphere, there were no individualistic efforts. Banding together as a unit, the family tried to find her a new hobby like Clare, only without the responsibility of a proper job to go with it. Sarah suggested that she try to start singing like Vera Lynn, and they all thought she was quite a good singer. She was certainly better than Jenny Joyce was, although that was not the greatest benchmark to follow given how poor Jenny's singing truly was… and the fact she was buried in a location that none of them knew about after her throat was slit to ensure not a single word, sung or not, ever passed her lips again…
However, Erin did not share the same enthusiasm. Whilst she didn't think she was too bad a singer herself, after a couple of weekends of singing in the house she'd had enough. It was a lovely distraction whilst it lasted, but the overwhelming want to have James back at her side would always overrule it. She seemed to be condemned to a cycle of longing from which there was no escape, unless he returned home to her. A return to home which continued to look distant. Ever since then, they'd stopped trying, apart from Anna who tried to tempt Erin into joining her in playing cards. The four year old's aptitude for poker after lessons from Joe was apparent though, her older sister wising up and refusing to play every time the question was asked. Not that it stopped the persistent Anna from asking.
Visitors were an unusual commodity as well now on a Saturday, unless it was from the family next door, though that particular Saturday things changed. A knock on the door jolted her up from where she lay on her bed upstairs, having been staring at the ceiling thinking about a brave young English pilot rescuing his dashing princess. Her dream.
Opening the door, she was surprised by the guest that appeared there.
"Charlene?" She questioned.
"Ach afternoon Erin". The girl smiled. "It's a lovely afternoon and I fancied a walk and wondered if ye'd like to join me?"
Charlene Kavanagh was a girl that Erin always found herself in awe of. Coming from a privileged background, being able to share the same classroom with her at school felt like the highest of honours. She was the standard of beauty that Erin desired to match, always worried that she was trailing far behind when it came to good looks. Michelle and Clare never went along with her belief, stupidly in her eyes, but she would always measure herself against the young Kavanagh girl. Her father was some sort of war hero, at least that's what her Granda told her when she asked him about the family once. With such a massive gap in social status between their families, any time that Charlene even so much as looked at her she would get goose bumps. Even though the same could be said for Jenny when it came to wealth, she was nowhere near as good looking or inspiring as Charlene was.
Yet for all of her wealth, a strange turn of events took place at the start of the year. Charlene suddenly found herself in need of employment and with the factory wishing to be able to continue at full speed, at least a temporary replacement was needed for Orla. Busy looking after little Marie so expertly well, she would not be returning to work for some time, supported financially through Joe for the time being. During the Autumn, there were rumours that her father was secretly in league with Professor Joyce and for some time no one heard from the man who was well liked at all levels of local society. The rumours appeared to go away though, with the old Colonel seen more regularly along with the rest of the family. It appeared whatever had happened cost him financially though, as Charlene made clear when she first began work. She couldn't tell them what happened, but let on enough for them to work out her father bought the family out of the predicament they were in. Whether it truly answered the question of his allegiances or not, if it meant that their team was back up to full strength then no more questions would be asked. Charlene proved to be no slouch at the job either, dumbfounding Michelle who expected her to be out on her ear in a week due to her lavish upbringing. The former could hold her own though which was even prompting the latter to begin to have feelings of respect for her. Privately, of course. On the exterior, Michelle still let the others believe she thought Charlene to be a stuck-up prick.
"Aye… alright ye".
Erin responded with slight hesitation. She'd have rather been left to her own devices in her room to ponder over better times but ultimately, she decided that a walk wouldn't do her any harm. The Erin Quinn of a year before would have fainted if Charlene Kavanagh wanted to go for a walk with her, albeit that Erin was still a girl compared to the young woman of a year later.
Like Charlene confirmed, the weather was actually quite pleasant for a change. Without the need for a coat, Erin left with her immediately, though they were not alone on the path up to the Quinn house.
"And who's this?"
Granda Joe eyed Charlene with suspicion. Erin assumed he'd know, given that he knew about her father's status as a war hero, but judging by his reaction, he did not.
"Granda, this is Charlene who I work with… ye know, Colonel Kavanagh's daughter".
A flash of recognition ran across the old man's face, though he still looked displeased at her being there. Whilst Erin would accept that she could be moody on occasions, it infuriated her when no one called out Granda Joe on his moods. He could be particularly foul on a bad day and it appeared as if he was enduring one of those bad days.
"What the hell is she doin' here!" He continued with his questioning.
"Granda!" Erin seethed. "She's come to see me and we're goin' on a walk. Would ye not show her a bit more respect!?"
"I beg yer pardon, young lady. I will address her however I see fit!"
About to reply with words that would have no doubt caused a divisive rift between her and her Granda, Erin found a hand on her shoulder courtesy of Charlene. Squeezing it reassuringly, her colleague made sure she would not say anything she would later regret.
"It's lovely to meet you, Mr?"
"McCool". Joe grumbled a response.
"Mr McCool. As I said, lovely to meet ye".
Stunned, Erin couldn't muster another word for a minute. She watched as Granda Joe marched past them into the house, hearing his immediate rounding on Gerry as they began to walk down the path. Poor Gerry hadn't even got a word in before Joe reminded him of how much he despised him for marrying his Mary, with the younger man simply standing and absorbing every verbal shot. Fighting back was pointless whenever Joe was in a mood as there was only ever one victor, no matter how hard the new challenger tried. Joe.
Charlene and Erin walked off with no set destination in mind and soon found themselves deep in conversation about work. For Erin, being able to discuss work with someone of a similar mind set was rewarding. Michelle would only ever talk about it in disparaging terms whereas Clare would always be worried that someone from work might hear them and spread rumours about what they were saying. She feared for her job so much that not talking about it seemed to be the only thing logical to the constantly cacking Clare. Like Erin, Charlene would always turn up well in advance of when she had to start and would insist upon almost a near silence if the workload was tight. The job and the war effort were far too important to be put to one side in favour of idle gossip and chit chat.
The conversation was that good, it wasn't until much later on that she realised they were heading straight for the cottage. Charlene wouldn't know where it was of course, as she'd barely even interacted with James, other than the odd greeting in the street but it was a coincidence of mixed feelings for Erin. She enjoyed being able to get away to the cottage, a breather from being couped up in the Quinn house all the time. The countryside air was always more palatable in her opinion, as well as being more joyful, listening to the birds singing high up in the trees where they were at peace. Everything had a downside though, and the one downside to being at their cottage on a Saturday afternoon was the reminder of what the place and time used to signify. Their time together. The long afternoon of love making sessions and the vociferous laughter they would share between them when in each other's company. Afternoons long gone…
"That's a lovely little cottage". Charlene commented as it came into view.
Erin wanted to burst out laughing. Charlene was truly oblivious to where they were, something which Erin found to be weirdly adorable. She really hadn't interacted with James at all and in a city where everyone seemed to know each other's business, it was surprising though not completely unexpected.
"Aye I know". Erin chuckled.
"What do ye mean?"
Looking at her as if she were stupid, Erin couldn't help but contain further laughter as Charlene's brows were furrowed in the most serious manner possible. Looking quite unflattering to how she usually looked, Charlene didn't realise just how hilarious it was when she stared directly at someone. Especially Erin.
"That's James' cottage".
Soon giggling at herself, Charlene seemed to fully understand why Erin found it so hilarious. She would have no doubt visited the place on many occasions and would know it like the back of her hand, whereas it was alien to the young Kavanagh.
"Ach right… he must have a bit of money then".
"Aye". Erin replied, wringing her hands together. "His… his Ma is quite rich I think".
"Right". Charlene nodded.
The two continued to walk towards it, the familiar sight for Erin of the Morgan on the driveway, albeit with its owner across the other side of the Sea. She wished she could drive so that she could give the car a run out, the vehicle having sat there almost untouched since the day he left. Just after Christmas, on a cold morning, Gerry went up to the cottage alone with the intention of getting it started and managed to, but on his first go at driving it, he nearly sent it straight into the fields. Somehow getting it back into place on the drive, he hadn't touched it again since. Charlene at least knew about the car, as everyone in Derry was aware of the fashionable young Englishman and his fancy vehicle.
"Have ye got the keys?" An enthusiastic Charlene enquired, head tilting towards the front door.
Erin shook her head sadly.
"I haven't I'm afraid… but we can go through to the garden if ye like?"
"Aye alright, that'd be grand".
Understanding the awe and pull of the cottage on the heartstrings, even though Charlene's family mansion was far grander, Erin smiled at her friend. There was a beautifully quaint appeal to the place even without James in it, the calm surroundings offering them a literal paradise to relax in. Walking through to the back garden, there were still a couple of wooden chairs left out for them to sit on, the two taking their seats after dusting them down. The garden was overgrown, having been left unattended since Martin last put shears to it in the autumn, though it still retained much of its natural appeal. Erin made a note to ask him to get it back into shape when she saw him the following morning at church.
"It's lovely". Charlene mused.
"It's even better when James is here…".
Allowing herself to daydream for a moment, she pretended that it was he who was sat with her and not Charlene. In her mind he was sat there next to her, the two of them holding hands whilst they watched the world go by, without a care between them. The distant humming of the sweet birds and the faint trickle of the stream that was concealed at the bottom of the garden, ringing away to form a harmonious backdrop. She would spend every warm afternoon of her life like that if she could.
"Ye really love him, don't ye?"
Asking the obvious, Charlene watched Erin's cheeks redden regardless. There was no doubt to anyone who knew them well, an honour which Charlene could not say she held, that the two were deeply in love with each other. They were perfect for each other, balancing out each other's personalities exceptionally well. For every crazy belief and high brow opinion of Erin's, there was the measured and gentlemanly James. Their love was one which was not broken by the miles apart or the lack of physical contact between each other. Theirs was true love which was only furthered by the distance between them. Absence making their hearts grow even fonder for each other.
"I… I do". She finally choked out a reply.
"He's handsome, I have to admit that". Charlene smirked. "To be honest with ye, I'm slightly jealous that ye got to him first".
Charlene's comment shot an angry pain through Erin's chest. The girl she looked up to the most at school, probably the most glamourous and elegant in all of Derry, was jealous of her. Deep down, no matter how hard she tried, she knew she would never be able to compete with the likes of her on pure aesthetics alone. She wouldn't blame James at all if he were to ditch her for Charlene, who ticked more of the boxes when it came to her background. She was almost the perfect match on paper for him… as beautiful as he was and certainly in a similar league of wealth. James might have once told her that she was levels above Charlene, but suddenly Erin began to question his words. She was panicking.
"Don't ye worry yerself Erin…". Charlene patted her hand. "… I won't be stealin' him off ye".
Sighs of relief flushed through her, though Erin tactfully opted not to show just how relieved she truly was to Charlene. For a brief second, she was terrified that the other girl was about to announce her own pursuit of the English Fella. A pursuit which she would no doubt have been successful in, breaking Erin's heart in the process. The reassurance from Charlene comforted her greatly.
"T-Thank you".
With Michelle and Clare, any conversation about James would have probably turned into an argument about how moody Erin could get but with Charlene, it did not. She'd seen the moods around the time she took up her new role working in the factory during the bitterly frozen early mornings of January, when Erin would be unapproachable at best. Although in recent weeks the behaviour of the young Quinn was showing signs of improvement. There were far less of the outbursts than there had been before Christmas and with no more wee illnesses to make the mood worse, she appeared to be coping a little better. Even if James wasn't there by her side like she really wanted him to be, she was at least being accepting of the fact everyone else could be there with her.
"And…". Erin spoke up again. "… thank ye for everything with work Charlene. I… I don't think any of us have properly said it yet".
Charlene grinned merrily at Erin's offer of thanks. Never in her life had she wished for such horrendously menial work but to keep a closer eye on Erin, being with her for a larger portion of the week was always going to be necessary. She would accept any praise wholeheartedly, as it made the experience just a little more bearable if she knew it was appreciated. Even if the appreciation was coming from the very person she was keeping close tabs on.
"Not a problem Erin, sure I'm happy to help". She replied, lying effortlessly.
"It makes such a difference ye know because without Orla and with all this extra work…".
"You would have managed fine without me". Charlene chuckled.
"No really Charlene, I'm not sure we would. There's no way Michelle would have kept working without causing trouble for much longer, ye know what she's like!"
Everyone in Derry knew what Michelle Mallon was like. It was hard not to. There were plenty, Charlene included most of the time, who would avoid her whenever she was near. It was the only tactic to that worked in evading having to listen to her fabricated stories about mythical affairs and clandestine relationships.
"Aye that is true".
Michelle would kill Erin if she knew she was laughing about her with Charlene behind her back, but somehow Erin couldn't care less. The one other young woman she put on a pedestal above everyone else along with herself, was spending time with her. If that meant Michelle was to be mocked, then it meant Michelle would be getting mocked. Being able to count Charlene as a friend was an honour above anything in her life except being able to be with James, especially when the feelings of friendship were reciprocated. Even though, unbeknownst to her, they were dishonest. The reality that Charlene spent every single minute in her company wishing that she was somewhere else was not a fact parted on her.
"We should get going soon". Erin said after a while. "Before Mammy sends Napoleon out looking for me".
Smiling, Charlene nodded in agreement, relieved to finally be rid of Erin for the afternoon. Whilst Erin's evening would be spent eulogising to the rest of the family about how good her friendship with Charlene was, the latter would be meeting with a friend of a different nature. Her friend whose job working for the crown extended to monitoring her. It would be a difficult meeting when it came to detailing further information she'd gleamed from Erin, the most she'd done in months of surveillance on her. However, it was the wealth of information that London would need for decisions to be made… decisions that neither her nor her friend of a different nature knew about. Quite why Erin, and to whatever extent James, were important, nobody knew.
Decisions that could change their lives forever…
Another empty night of air patrol passed by. In months of escorting convoys and patrolling the English Channel, Lieutenant James Maguire and Airman David Donnelly were yet to come across any enemy activity. They knew there were submarines out there, the sinking's of various vessels in the Royal Navy proving that the danger was an ever present one, but in the Channel, they were not present at all. The waters were mined, which no doubt played a part for the relative lack of enemy activity within them, as well as their shallow nature. No chances could be taken though, and the 815 were regularly given the task of patrolling the water at night for any hint of a submarine that may have snuck through the minefields. David's training in spotting them was yet to be used as the only thing he would often see at night in the Channel were their own ships moving between ports.
The advantage of the boring night duty up in the air was the chatter that went on between the two of them. Whilst James usually commanded all of the aircraft on patrol at night, there was very little to say to the other crews other than to stay alert. It allowed for him to converse with David about whatever he wished most of the time, only having to pause if anyone reported in or when they were ready to head home to refuel or to finish their operation. German fighters were mostly unable and usually unwilling to make sorties into the Channel, so they didn't even have anyone in the air to fight either. It all made for pleasant conversation.
That night, into the early hours of the morning, their patrol was over, and the boys landed safely back at Worthy Down. Having a small meet with the other crews around the aircraft, the usual reports of no activity were received from the rest of them, allowing James to dismiss them to the showers so they could wash before returning to their rooms to sleep. Whilst he was out on patrol, Lieutenant Commander Borrett took the officer on duty role for once in his absence, with Allen and Barnes fast asleep before resuming their duties once it became light. He would have to give a report to his commander once he returned, but not before being able to spend some time with his best friend beforehand. The Lieutenant Commander would no doubt dismiss him within a minute anyway if there was nothing found, making the timing of his visit to him almost irrelevant.
"I don't see how this is fair…" David moaned. "… ye have a clear advantage over me!"
"What do you mean 'a clear advantage'... I know as much as you!". James laughed back whilst emphasising his point.
"Catch yourself on! Yer the officer!"
Their latest game was to guess where they would be posted to first. Rumours were beginning to spread, though James was quick to remind his men that they were just that, that the Germans would soon commit to invading France and the Low Countries. Defences across Northern France, Belgium and the Netherlands were being strengthened all of the time, which was no secret to anyone. James would know before David if they were to be moved there too, but having not heard anything as of yet, he could engage in the light-hearted guess work. His friend's insistence that he already knew might have been founded upon logic, but it was quashed by accuracy. James had no idea at all.
"David, I am being honest with you, I know nothing".
Considering whether James was telling the truth or not, David eventually grumbled an acceptance that his friend was indeed being truthful. It was rare of James to lie, only usually when the situation absolutely necessitated the need for the mistruth, did he resort to doing so.
"Fine… fine… my guess is we'll be on a carrier and sent out into the North Sea".
"I hope not". James snorted. "It'll be bloody cold flying our stringbag out there!"
Being sent out into the North Sea would no doubt include more convoy escort duty, albeit in far closer quarters than the final leg into the Channel which they provided from Worthy Down. It would also mean a chance to encounter German battleships, testing out the Swordfish's capability against the toughest of opponents. There was no doubt in James' mind that the German battleship crews would be confused, and most likely amused, by a handful of men flying the obsolete biplanes directly at them. That same level of confusion was what he hoped for though, allowing them an initial element of surprise that could be fatal if he could line their torpedoes up correctly. A few hits into a battleship with torpedoes would leave the Airmen with the last laugh.
"Lieutenant Maguire doesn't like the cold… ach it would be a shame if that were to spread through the ranks". David teased.
"And wouldn't it be a great shame if the men were to find out that Airman Donnelly was once drunk under the table by his wife…". James countered smugly.
"You promised…".
"Détente, would you agree?"
Having told James in confidence about the drinking incident that occurred well before the Englishman arrived in Derry, David panicked momentarily about James' sincerity. If he did decide to tell the rest of the men that he was a lightweight who couldn't even keep up with his wife, his reputation would be ruined. Arguably one of the most liked crewmen, especially as he could tell stories about one of their officer's, he enjoyed the perks that came with it. No one would argue with him, even if he was in the wrong and they all looked to him for inspiration on dark nights with little activity in order to lighten the mood. He didn't want that to change.
"Yeah…". He begrudgingly accepted, though James knew there was no lasting resentment hidden within the answer and simply smiled in return.
"Good. As for my prediction… I think we will probably be sent to the Med".
"Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee Donkey!" David mumbled into an exasperated exclamation. "That's too feckin' hot!"
"It will not be that hot!". James argued. "We are hardly going to be in the desert are we…".
The Mediterranean was potentially a theatre for humiliation if not handled correctly. The Italians, though perhaps waveringly at times it seemed, were allies of the Germans and they had their own fleet to throw into the equation should they wish. The French held a fleet at Toulon on the allied side, along with various others along the North African coastline but those ships could easily be relocated to the Channel should the German fleet bring their guns to bare. The Royal Navy were possibly the most feared Navy of all in Europe, with a distinguished record throughout the years but they weren't invincible. To be able to protect assets in the Middle East, they would have to designate Naval resources into the area, with a particular need for the Suez Canal to remain open for vital shipping, as well as easy access to other resources India and the rest of Asia.
"It'll be hotter than Derry!"
"That is not that hard to be fair David".
Breaking out into hearty laughter, he could not disagree. The two found themselves walking towards the officer's block, where David would have to depart without a good reason for being there. He too needed to shower like the rest of the men, with a lovely long sleep ahead of him before returning to duty later in the afternoon. For James however, it would not be so pleasant. He would only get the chance for a couple of hours sleep before he needed to wake again, designated as the officer on duty for the morning before flying patrols again with David in the afternoon. Staying awake would be difficult but the chance for a good night's sleep the night after remained the distant light at the end of the exhausting tunnel, a light which he could cling to.
"I was thinking…". James began.
"Christ, that's dangerous". David interrupted.
"Hear me out!". The Englishman protested. "I was thinking that it's probably time that we wrote home to the girls again".
"Yer probably right there".
"I usually am".
"Oh really?" David raised an eyebrow. "I seem to recall ye were wrong about Erin not fancyin' ye".
"Point taken… but I did make up for it!"
"Don't we know it. But as long as Erin doesn't send any of her poetry in the next letter then I will stop my complaints".
"I tell you what, just for that, I will make sure she sends a new poem with every letter going forward. I enjoy them anyway".
David rolled his eyes. Quite how anyone could enjoy Erin's poetry was beyond him. It was a good job he wasn't allowed to keep a fork in his room; he'd have poked his eyes out with it instead of reading her work.
However, the opportunities to contact the girls were few and far between. The punishing schedule of their duty left them little time to themselves, with only a couple of occasions proving to be ideal for letter writing. The joy from the girl's replies always made it worthwhile though. Orla was on hand to provide David with updates on how their beautiful little daughter was progressing, extremely well according to her. Marie was going to be strong and healthy like her father, retaining the beauty of her mother alongside her wellbeing. It brought a smile to James' face to see David so gleefully happy too. Seeing how happy a child made his friend, it implanted a distant dream in his own mind of his future life with Erin and the children they might have. But it was all a distant dream.
And with dreams came nightmares.
Nightmares which would creep up on the unexpecting victims, ripping away at the foundations of their life whilst they begged for mercy.
In the early hours of an April morning, they did not expect anything.
Lieutenant Commander Borrett's sudden appearance at the doors of the officer's block was the indication that there was a problem. Before he'd even opened his mouth, James quickly studied his commanding officer, noting the slightly haunted look on his face. It was the look of a man who needed to say something which he never wished he would ever have to, strained from the emotion behind it. James was not easily panicked though, and he waited for the Lieutenant Commander to speak before jumping to any conclusions.
"Sir!" They stood to attention.
"My office now Gentlemen".
The raw emotion that appeared evident on Borrett's face did not manifest itself in his words. He was direct and decisive, exactly how an officer should be, ordering the two to his office without giving away any further detail. Knowing they would have to follow or risk charges for insubordination, the two men quickly joined their commanding officer in walking to his office. David was more easily panicked than his friend, immediately fearing for Orla and Marie as they traversed the corridors. If anything happened to them, he would be absolutely devastated. He knew, even with James' strength by his side, that he would never survive his service knowing they were gone. The motivation to fight the Germans being taken along with his family.
When they arrived a couple of seconds behind the Lieutenant Commander, they stood to attention in front of his desk. It was an immaculately kept office considering the consistent usage it received and there was a hint of elegance within the four walls that was available in preciously small quantities elsewhere. Pictures of the man's family were on the desk along with enough pens to arm the whole squadron, and a telephone. It was one of the only telephones at the base that was used for anything other than official business, with the Lieutenant Commander often making calls back home when he could. He didn't think the men knew he did it, and the majority of them did not, but the two stood to attention in front of him knew very well that he did.
"At ease". Borrett commanded. "Take a seat Gentlemen".
Obeying the order, James and David took up their seats in front of the wide desk, the pair of them searching the Lieutenant Commander for a clue to what he wanted to say to them. Sighing, Borrett decided not to delay the inevitable.
"Whilst you were out on patrol, I received a telephone call from headquarters".
Headquarters. Whenever HQ would ring the Lieutenant Commander, something serious was going on. James was present one afternoon when Borrett received a phone call from them, advising him that all leave was cancelled until further notice. He remembered the disappointment, after being advised only a couple of days previously that they would be allowed leave a couple of weeks later. Morale dwindled once they'd told the men too, although it eventually subsided after the initial grumbles and moans. For once, HQ were making a call of a different nature. A call which was far worse than any cancellation of leave.
"Airman Donnelly, a few days ago your brothers' regiment was involved in a skirmish with German forces in Norway. I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but both Peter and Lorcan have been reported as being killed in action".
Orla and Marie might have been safe, but David's heart still collapsed. He'd always held fears of them being killed after learning that they'd followed his footsteps in signing up and those fears were now true. He would never see the calm and outgoing Peter or the wise cracking, fearless Lorcan ever again. James was his only brother left, though not through ties of blood. A scintillating shot of pure agony ran through his brain as the water began to rise beneath the lids of eyes, dams that would soon be full to the brim with his grief. Closing his eyes in a wince, James moved his hand up onto David's shoulder in order to comfort him, an action that the Lieutenant Commander did not question. There was a reason why he'd asked them both to accompany him, and the two officers shared a look of knowing and respect once James reopened his eyes.
"Given the situation, I will grant you immediate leave to return home to your family as soon as we can arrange transport…". Borrett spoke up again. "… of course, having lost two family members, it would not be dishonourable for you not to return to us, should you wish to stay with your family".
"I could fly him home, Sir".
James' suggestion was well founded but he would have been lying if he said it wasn't partly selfish too. Flying back to Derry would allow him to see Erin, even if only for a few minutes, but it would be a few more minutes more than he had done in months. One kiss and one question would be all that he needed the time for. There was no reason why he couldn't be spared for the day, as he would simply do a double watch to cover for whichever of the officers that would have to cover him. David was his main priority though and he squeezed his friend's shoulder again to make sure that he knew he was there for him.
"Whilst I appreciate the offer Lieutenant Maguire, I am afraid I require you for something else. One of our neighbours will most likely be able to provide a flight back to Derry for Airman Donnelly instead".
His hopes crushed, James had to ignore his saddened heart, to attempt to aid David's grieving one. The dam broke for David, tears beginning to stream down his face as the news of Peter and Lorcan's deaths properly sank in. He did not weep but instead cried silently, trying to retain control in front of his commanding officer, not wanting to show weakness. Understanding of his upset though, Lieutenant Commander Borrett rose from his seat behind the desk to address him.
"I am going to do the rounds of the base. Take as long as you need here".
Offering them his office was an incredibly gracious and totally unexpected action. David found himself unable to respond, the grief fully taking over but James stayed resolute in order to pay his thanks to the Lieutenant Commander.
"Thank you, Sir".
Dipping his head, Lieutenant Commander Borrett quietly exited his office in the direction of the door to the courtyard outside. Turning his attention back to David, now that they were alone, James wrapped his friend in the tightest embrace that he possibly could. Reciprocating without another thought, David lay his head on James' shoulder and finally surrendered to the overwhelming emotions. He cried in anguish, without filter. He'd began to think of how his parents would take the news, the devastation from losing not one, but two sons. Their creations struck from the world by the German war machine that kept on rolling.
"J… J…".
"It's alright mate". James whispered into his ear. "Just let it out".
The Lieutenant was not ordering his best friend to do so, but David complied regardless. A few errant tears ran down James' face too, his own memories of afternoons watching football and evenings at the pub with Peter and Lorcan thrust into his head. They were good, honest men who'd given their lives to try to stop the destructive path of Nazism and push the world back to the peaceful place it should be. Lives that shouldn't have needed to have been given but were sadly necessary as fate decided that war was the only option. When they did get home, visits to the pub would be a lot different without the two of them.
"I… I need to be with Ma and Da". David spoke into his shoulder.
"I know… I know you do".
"James… I'm sorry".
Rubbing his friend's back as he continued to sob after speaking, James accepted the apology. The apology that David uttered was one he fully understood the reason behind. It was not an apology for causing a damp patch on the shoulder of his uniform or for returning home without him. The apology was because he wasn't coming back. The decision was instantaneous for David… the Donnelly's couldn't lose anymore sons to the war.
James would be alone in England, without anyone to confide in. Facing the war with no friend at his side, without a way out until the fighting was over. Without a way back into Erin's arms.
"I know…. I know…".