Chapter 24: Testing Times 8th May 1940
Rude awakenings were a staple of life when at war. Throughout training, David was used to being woken at half past four in the morning for an inspection or to go out to run. It would test the men's ability to adapt, having to be prepared at a moment's notice to face a kit inspection which could at another time be an enemy attack. He wasn't a particular fan of it, but it was strictly necessary and always he complied regardless. James seemed to quite enjoy waking all of the crewmen up, with their Sergeant providing assistance with his bellow. Looking back, David could appreciate it too though, as it was the perfect training for the new noise that woke him in the middle of the night.
His little Marie.
He'd only been back for a few days and there was yet to be a night where she slept the whole way through. Whilst the little girl was as good as gold during the day, she was a demon at night. Orla warned David of it the day he returned, when he commented to her on needing a good sleep. With Marie's crying, that good night's sleep did not come. It did not bother him in the slightest though. He was getting to spend time with his wife and daughter, an honour he'd longed for whilst covered up in the corner of the room he shared with some of the other men at Worthy Down. An interrupted sleep would not grate on him too much if it meant he could hold Marie in his arms and sing her gently back to sleep.
In the quiet, dark of the early hours of the morning when he would rock Marie, his thoughts often turned to the one brother he left behind. James might have been an officer and therefore had responsibilities to keep him busy, but David knew he would be far more miserable without him. Their conversations during patrol were the cornerstone of the morale they shared, the joint want to serve the country. With one half of the foundations removed, the other was left to carry the motivational burden on their shoulders. James might not have disliked any of the men particularly and they in turn might not have disliked him, but nobody could match the hole David left as his observer and gunner… or as his best friend. Above anything, David wished that James could have flown him home too, knowing how much his best friend wanted to see Erin. From being back at home, he could see first-hand the extent of the mutual feelings that resided within her too, making him feel more guilt-ridden as he could have Orla and Marie. James had nothing.
Marie eventually fell back to sleep in his arms that morning, after around ten minutes of gently rocking her back into slumber. Placing her back down in the little cot next to their bed, he looked across at Orla, who was turned to face them, though fast asleep. Every so often he would find himself looking at her and thanking god for how lucky he'd been to have her. She might have been a bit crazy at times, but it was the lovely kind of crazy. The innocent and free-spirited kind rather than the bitter and hurtful. She was so beautiful to him too, even when snoring her head off. Her hair was wildly spread across the pillow, arms reaching out to hold the space where he would usually be. Sliding back into bed, he filled the space where her arms craved contact, feeling them wrap around him, a feeling that comforted him too. Soon there was another set of snores to join hers.
A couple of hours later, once the sun finally rose, albeit soon falling back behind a heavy line of clouds, David awoke to find he was cuddling thin air. Much like his wife in the night, he was craving for contact that was not there. Unlike him though, she did not slide back into the bed upon noticing the arms out clutching nothing. Rubbing at his eyes, he rolled over, finding Orla stood above the little cot tickling Marie gently, pulling laughter from their baby. The two locked eyes once she realised he was awake, exchanging loving smiles at her actions. Husband and wife loved to smile at each other, reminding themselves just how much they cared for each other as they did.
"Daddy's awake Marie…". Orla whispered. "… say hello to Daddy".
She couldn't speak yet, but Marie was getting more and more familiar with those around her. Her little hand moved up in what was almost a wave to him, David's heart melting at her doing so. Their little daughter made him soften up instantly whenever she would do any little wave or point to acknowledge her understanding. To him, not only was she beautiful, but she was clever too. A smart little baby who he wanted to grow up and be incredibly successful as he wanted her to be.
"Daddy looks very sleepy…".
"Daddy is very sleepy". He confirmed with a quiet snort.
Hauling himself out of bed, David stumbled the first few steps over towards Orla, who giggled at his cumbersome movements. He really wasn't very awake at all.
"Are ye laughin' at me?"
"Aye… yer right funny when yer tired".
Shaking his head, he laughed with her too, pulling her in for a kiss a second later once he'd reached her. The two stayed with their lips locked for some time, his hands on her waist whilst hers found a home on his shoulders. For too long Orla had been denied the pleasure of him being there to kiss her on a regular basis, quickly falling accustomed to it only a few days after his return.
"That was nice…". She mumbled.
"Well I am a good kisser, so I am". He replied confidently.
"Says who?"
"Says the beautiful woman that I'm married too".
"Who might that be?"
In some cases, Orla would ask a question that would be perceived as a joke and she would actually be serious, but it was not one of those times. She was joking around as much as he was, fully agreeing with his confident statement in his ability as a kisser. She'd not kissed many other lads other than him, but out of all of them, David was far superior. Supposing that it was because he loved her more than any of the others, every kiss with David was a brilliant opportunity for Orla to feel more contented. One of the happiest women in the world, her husband and their healthy baby with her, life couldn't get that much better.
"David, can I ask ye a question?"
The list of fears that David held was not a particularly long one, but her question about asking him another one was near the top of it. He'd heard the words before, usually the start of a tangent that she would drift off on that would be inexplicably random. Yet he could never bring himself to ever deny her whenever she asked, actually quite willing to journey along the path she would throw them down.
"Go on…".
"Did James get really bossy? Like ye know, bein' an officer… like I guess he would be givin' out orders?"
Partly relieved that the topic was not as odd as he thought it would be, the other immediate thought in his mind was the reasoning behind it. Despite the often ridiculous nature of her rambling, there was very rarely a time that there wasn't a good reason behind why. A method to the madness in a way. Stroking her arms gently as they came to hold each other, he began his measured answer.
"He could get bossy if he wanted to, but James was always…". He paused, trying to think of the right word. "… he was always laid back around the boys. I guess it was his way of gettin' their respect".
"Couldn't he just shout at you's?" She fairly asked.
"If he wanted the lads to get annoyed with him… aye".
"Interestin'…".
Her intrigue in their life in service began to intrigue him to, as it became clear she was piecing something together in her mind. Einstein was a genius who'd changed the scientific landscape forever but working out the equation that made Orla's brain tick was a bridge too far for even the smartest of people like him. Nobody would ever understand her thought processes and barely any would even try to understand them. It was easier to just hop along for the ride and enjoy the amusingly bizarre thoughts that came out of her head.
Pulling her closer to him, David planted a kiss on top of his wife's head, grinning as he felt her hands around his back and her head resting on his shoulder.
"What's goin' on in that head of yer's then?" He whispered.
"I… I had a dream".
"A dream?
"Aye it was a dream. Must have been a couple of month's back like". She explained. "I was there with you two in yer squadron".
Behind her back, his eyes widened at the thought of her being there with them all the time. She would have driven the other lads crazy with her stories and rambles, and although he'd have found it cute and adorable, they'd all quickly stop talking to the pair of them. Except James. James would never be so callous and would even go as far as to join in with the laughter, he assumed to himself.
"Anyway, the two of us and the other men were playin' a prank on the officers…".
"Ach I think I can see where this is goin…". He mumbled.
"Wait!" She insisted. "Me and you were goin' to steal all the Commander's clothes when he was asleep".
Unable to contain his joyous laughter, David erupted into a fit of giggles. He quickly pictured Lieutenant Commander Borrett having his clothes stolen by the men, with the likely aftermath being chaotic. There would be punishments handed out like bibles at Sunday mass, every man receiving a harsh sentence for partaking in the theft. If it were the calmer Lieutenant Bentley from back in his days at Hendon, then there would probably still be punishments, but they would be more amusing ones. The difference between the two, except from the obvious in the rank, was as wide as the Foyle's mouth.
"We got caught…". She continued. "… by James".
The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to make sense. David finally understood his wife's curiosity. She wanted to know if James' reaction in her dream would match the reaction he would have in reality, which he could confirm accurately.
"Damn English!" He cried in an exaggerated tone.
"He was proper ragin' like in me dream David. He was tellin' us that we were bringing shame upon the squadron, so he was".
"Was he? Christ, he must have been pissed off…".
"He was. We were both put in prison, so we were!"
The point where the true dreamland started and the reality was then left firmly behind, kicked in. It certainly wouldn't be an offence that saw them spend a night in the cells. That would almost be too good a fate for soldiers who decided to steal their commanding officer's clothes. The more likely punishment would have been consecutive watches without sleep or being forced to clean the toilets for weeks.
"Our James wouldn't go that far, Orls. If anything, he'd probably hide the clothes for us!"
"Really!?" She enquired excitedly.
"He likes a good joke does James". David nodded. "Ye know, he played a brilliant one on one of the lads one day".
"Tell me!"
When Orla wanted to know something, it took a very special kind of stubborn to be able to not give into her. David didn't mind at all though, as he'd never shared the story to anyone else since the day it happened and wanted to for some time.
"Right, so, one of the lads was on leave in the local area and he was late in gettin' back. James, being James, figured out he was seeing some girl who lived down the road from the base. He got the fella who delivered the mail to pretend to be her Da and sat him on the lad's bed…".
David stopped to burst out into laughter, remembering the scene too well. Orla was laughing along with him as the memories flooded his brain.
"So… so the lad comes back and he sees James and expects a right bollockin' from him".
"But?"
"But James says nothin' and lets him off without any punishment. Except of course, the postman who's sat on the fella's bed. Well I shared the room with the fella and we were stood out there waitin' for him and only I knew that it was the postman. The lad shat himself, so he did, when the postman began to pretend to get angry with him".
"I bet he was sweatin'!" Orla nearly shouted.
"He was! Whenever us lads have been allowed out into the area around us since, he's stayed put and helped James with whatever he wants".
"No one's told him yet?" The shocked Orla asked.
"Absolutely not. Well… I suppose they could have now since I've left".
Silence should have followed; it often did whenever he mentioned no longer being by James' side. Instead, they continued to chuckle away. Orla couldn't comprehend how funny James was in playing the trick he'd done on the poor unsuspecting soldier, with a punishment that summed the young Englishman up. He would always do what was right and what was required but would do so in the most gentlemanly way possible. Placing the man onto a charge and therefore bringing him to the attention of Lieutenant Commander Borrett was the way to do it by the book but the man would then forever face the short fuse of the commanding officer. By humiliating him in front of the lads, the man might have lost a bit of credibility with them, but he would be able to continue on without Borrett ever knowing about it and with a valuable lesson learnt. Shagging did not take priority over his duty.
As the married couple held each other and shared wonderful memories, they did not realise that through the unguarded window, a pair of jealous eyes watched them from the house next door. Erin witnessed the happy scene of their little family in their room together, her blood boiling out of pure jealousy. She couldn't have that in her life, yet a horrendously beautiful example would always be present just a few metres and a couple of walls away. She didn't want to hold those feelings towards her cousin, who she was absolutely delighted for in reality, but it could not be helped. James couldn't return home to her when David returned home to be with his family, finding out through the latter that it wasn't from a lack of trying. Fate seemed to enjoy keeping them apart as another opportunity presented itself and was yet thrown away within an instant. As the lives of those around them moved on to better things, they were stuck miles apart with only their infrequent letters to communicate through. With a burning heart, she had to turn away from watching them through the window before the tears rose to condemn her to another bout of sobs. There would be no doubting how moody she would be at work that morning.
David and Orla would never find out about her jealousy though as neither noticed her staring at them from next door. They were quickly distracted by something within the house too.
Raised voices.
"We best get down there…". David breathed lightly to his wife.
"Aye… get yerself dressed and I'll get Marie ready".
Husband and wife worked in unison as the raised voices became louder and louder from what they presumed was the kitchen downstairs. David continued to wake himself up as he got dressed, finding the task of picking out a decent shirt and pair of trousers for the day a lot harder when he wasn't thinking at his full capacity. Getting Marie ready for the day could be quite difficult in itself, but between the two of them, they got her dressed. Having already fed her before David woke, Orla didn't need to do so again for a while, so they didn't have to wait long before heading downstairs to find out what the shouting was about. Though living in a house with Joe, it was shouting that was sadly inevitable due to his very authoritative demeanour.
"Ye were up Pump Street AGAIN yesterday, Da. I saw ye!" Sarah shouted at him.
"Aye, I was!" Joe bellowed back.
"Seeing that old tart again?!" She continued to probe angrily. "I told Mary I was right about ye. That ye can't be trusted!"
"Maeve is not an old tart!"
One subject that could set the family off arguing for weeks was Pump Street and the notable resident Maeve who lived there. Some years after Marie died, Joe began to strike up a budding friendship with her, which he kept a closely guarded secret from the family for as long as he could. The charade came to an end one afternoon however, when a friend of Mary's noticed him in the wee bakery, buying more treats than he could have possibly consumed on his own. A small bit of detective work on Mary's part allowed them to find out which house he was visiting, covertly witnessing one of his visits a couple of weeks later. When challenged on what he was doing when he went to her house, he was furious and for weeks there were quarrels throughout the family. As he often had to, Gerry never received the credit he deserved for pulling the strings between them to reconcile the family, the only one with the ability to. Revisiting old ground such as that always called for a bad morning.
"What was it Da, cream finger or cream horn!?"
Sarah continued to argue her point, barely noticing the arrival of Orla, David and Marie as they shuffled into the living room. Joe just about did, nodding to David, but was quickly back to arguing his point to his daughter.
"Cream finger, so it was!" He grumbled.
"Lyin' again!I know what I saw, you walkin' out of the bakery with a smug smile on yer face and a cream horn in yer hand!"
"Maybe it was a carrot cake".
David was very rapidly reminded that cheerfully interjecting into an argument about Joe's visits up Pump Street was a terrible idea, glared at by both the older man and Sarah. Turning his attention, and consequently his back to them, he focused on fussing around Marie. She was holding her hand out for her Daddy to hold, David doing just that a second later.
"Look, I went to the bakery for myself. I had to go up Pump Street to come home. That's all".
"Ye could have walked around it!". Sarah noted. "But why would ye, when that old hag that yer tryin' to replace Mammy with lives up there! Ye know, Mammy is barely cold in the ground and yer out there…"
"Yer mother's been dead for more than twenty years, Sarah".
Suddenly appearing like a ghost in the doorway, Gerry delivered a comment that made David's carrot cake quip fade into distant memory. Too busy thinking about her poor Mammy, Sarah didn't pay too much notice to it, but the same could not be said for Joe. Absolutely Jack the Ripping about the audacity of the southerner to, firstly, turn up unannounced and secondly, speak in the way in which he'd spoken, infuriated him. Before he'd made the comment, Gerry knew the risk and when Joe turned to him with a face full of thunder a couple of seconds later, became very much aware of the consequences.
"Who the hell said you could speak!"
"Well Joe…".
"No. That's right. Nobody…". Joe toned down to a mere mumble. "… you slack southern shite".
The usual acceptance of the term came from Gerry, who did not contest it. He'd been taught Joe's phrasebook for years, too long to still become hurt by what the man would say to him on a regular basis. After the acceptance, Joe would often move away from him, mumbling in disgust about just how much he despised him. However, having interrupted his argument with Sarah so rudely a few moments prior, the patriarch decided that he wasn't done with him as Gerry first assumed.
"What even are you!" The rant continued. "Ye know, I do wonder sometimes whether God has sent you to remind me of my sins".
"Gerry was around before ye visited Pump Street, Da". Sarah snarled.
"Stay out of it you!" He bit back.
Walking towards Gerry with a menacing look in his eyes, the younger man began to become worried. They'd never came to blows during the years Gerry had been married to Mary, although Joe was held back from hitting him on more than one occasion by his daughter. Suddenly he was starting to think that was going to change.
"Ye know, when God was after those Egyptians fellas, he got proper angry, so he did, and sent a plague of locusts…".
Ranting continuing with no hint of an end, Joe's march towards Gerry was complete, with the two of them nearly touching noses they were that close. Getting right into his son in-law's face, Joe was determined to ensure that his point not only went across but was taken in too.
"… And what do I get?". He jabbed his finger into Gerry's chest. "A plague of Eejit".
Finding her Granda's comments highly entertaining, Orla began to giggle as quietly as she could from inside the living room. David found it amusing too, though after one run in with Joe already that morning, he wasn't keen to add a second one. Facing a more creative form of abuse than normal from Joe, Gerry remained stunned for half a second, before sobering up to remember their roles. Joe got to say what he wanted to. Gerry just absorbed the blows.
"Thank ye for that lovely biblical interlude there Joe…". He diplomatically talked his way out of the conversation, turning his head towards the family in the living room. "… I've come to see if ye need me to look after Marie for a bit".
"Why would they need you?" Joe huffed.
"I was wonderin' whether Orla and David might want a wee bit of time to themselves for a walk actually Joe. And as I'm working the night shift tonight, I have a bit of time this mornin'".
Gerry was not looking forward to the night shift at all. With the growing demand for various materials that were shipped out of the docks, the only way that they could keep up was by adding a night shift at the dockyard's railway. Operating it on a rotational basis, Gerry would be working the next two nights in a row before the weekend, but they could be very lonely nights for the train crews. Knowing that most of the city around them were sleeping soundly in their beds, it could become quite demotivating being soaked in sweat on the train in the near pitch black.
"That would be cracker if ye could Uncle Gerry!" Orla exclaimed.
Moving past Joe, who mumbled another insult into his ear as he walked by, Gerry went over to see little Marie and her parents, ready to look after the little one.
When he walked out of the house ten minutes later, another insult found its way into his ears courtesy of Joe...
Certain things would never change.
Sean Devlin was many things.
A man who took his job seriously.
A man who took his role as a father even more seriously.
And as a man of extreme faith, one who devoted his life to God's teachings even more seriously.
One thing he struggled to be, and often asked for forgiveness for, was a patient man. In his job and at home, he would never accept laziness or procrastination, believing them to be some of the worst sins. If there were jobs to be done or opportunities to be taken, then they should always be acted upon immediately in his mind.
His Clare's lack of motivation to go out and find a fella was one of those acts of procrastination that he could not stand. Having raised her so diligently since birth, ensuring that she was always well fed and looked after, he'd worked tirelessly to get her to the point where she needed to go out into the world to find someone. Someone who she could settle down with to begin a family, a new generation of Devlin's to grace Derry's streets. She was the apple of his eye, believing her to be so beautiful that it wouldn't take long for his Clare to find herself someone. It was why he let the constant cack attacks slide, knowing that despite her nervousness, it would all be put to one side when a good man entered the scene.
A good man was yet to grace the Devlin home though. He'd put hours into trying to find her a date to chivvy here along in the pursuit of a fella, utilising his friendship with many other men to see if their sons would go on a date with his Clare. It wasn't easy, with a mix of them either being away to fight in the war or in relationships of their own. After Michelle's untimely intervention with one of the dates the year before, he'd struggled to pin down any lads for Clare to go with. Association with the young Mallon girl appeared to be a sticking point with many of the lads. Angered by her reputation preventing his Clare from finding someone to love, he consulted God on the matters at hand, finding the Lord to be praising of his work and encouraging him to continue. It would not be an easy task at all, but with the guidance of the Lord God himself, Sean was determined to be successful.
"Sean, are ye sure ye want to bring this up again?" Geraldine asked her husband.
"Aye, of course I'm sure! It needs saying!"
Geraldine, like her husband, wanted her Clare to find herself a fella to settle down with too, but she was not as inpatient as he was. Finding the right man was not something which could be forced to work, because it took time and effort to discover the right one. Though Sean only had their daughter's best interests at heart, his attempts to find someone to date her were all disastrous in her eyes. Failing to factor in Michelle Mallon and her ride anything policy, it came as no surprise to Geraldine when Clare revealed her friend was already sleeping with Micky McConnell. She'd never been convinced about the lad's suitability to their Clare anyway, finding it comforting to know that she wouldn't have to sit through the ordeal of a date with the lad. His relationship with Michelle proved that there was only one thing he was after, starting a family not being high on the priority list.
"She's been workin' hard though love…". Geraldine continued. "… maybe wait for another night".
"No love. This can't wait". He quickly replied.
"It can wait. We don't have to have this conversation tonight".
"Yes we do. I'm not procrastinating over this when we've lost so much time already".
The married couple were sat in their living room waiting for Clare to return home. Sean admired his daughter for putting in so much effort when it came to work and helping the lads who'd gone off to fight in the war, even if he'd originally been against her working in the factory. Believing his daughter to be too smart to stay locked down with menial manual work forever, he'd hoped she would wait and find a better job. There wasn't a wealth of opportunities available to young women outside of jobs like hers, but every now and again one would come along, an opportunity he wished she would grasp firmly. The only advantage of working in the factory to him, was that she was able to be with her friends, with whom she worked well with in a team. Other than that, he did not wholly approve of it.
"Mary's been sayin' they've been worked really hard recently…".
"Geraldine!" He cut her off, almost shouting. "I'm not goin' to say it again. We're having this conversation tonight. End of".
"Fine".
The more lenient of the two, Geraldine sadly gave in and accepted defeat. Poor Clare was going to be ambushed the moment that she walked in from work and there was nothing she could do about it. Whenever Sean got an idea into his head, he would always run with it, making it very difficult to persuade him to back off.
They didn't have to wait long for Clare to get home, only another five or ten minutes after he'd cut her off. In some of her scruffier clothes for work, the sweat-ridden Clare trundled through the front door, smiling merrily. Though the days might have been difficult at work, she would never come home in a particularly bad mood unless something had happened with her friends. The work might have tired their daughter, but Sean and Geraldine both noted how it never seemed to darken her moods. Aware of how moody Erin could be, like most of the rest of Derry, they were pleased they didn't have the same problem with Clare.
"Evening love". Sean greeted his daughter first.
"Evening Daddy!" She called back.
After putting her bag in its place in the hallway, she walked through to the living room to join her parents. Her mood remained unchanged as she met their eyes, not registering that her father was about to launch one of his dramatic monologues about her finding a fella for herself. Clare ducked down to pull her mother into a hug, Geraldine wrapping her arms around her daughter for a few moments longer than normal. Sean received the same hug immediately afterwards, though he simply patted her back instead of holding her tightly. He wasn't a man who particularly enjoyed a hug.
"How was work?" Geraldine questioned her.
"It was hard today Mammy…". Clare began, yawning to emphasise the point. "… Erin was in a really bad mood all mornin' and wouldn't talk to us. We had so much to do though so I suppose it didn't matter".
"What was wrong with her, do ye know?"
"No Mammy. I… I must admit, I thought she was gettin' over all these moods but since David's came back then they've really started up again".
Clare was not privy to the knowledge of what her friend saw that morning, the loving family scene between the married couple bringing out the feelings of deep-rooted jealousy within. She didn't take it out on her friends with her snappiness for once, but Erin instead opted to say very little to anyone, only when it was absolutely necessary. She certainly couldn't tell anyone how she felt, as it was embarrassing to her that she could become jealous so quickly, especially when her own family was involved. They'd weathered the storm at work that morning, mostly thanks to Charlene ensuring that Michelle wouldn't make any comments that could rile the young Quinn. Like Erin herself, Clare was beginning to become glad that Charlene was there to help them, even if playing peacemaker wasn't in her job description.
"Are ye worried for her love?" The questions from mother to daughter continued.
"Worried?" Clare's brows furrowed as she replied. "There's never a real reason to be worried about Erin. She always makes everything so overly dramatic".
"Come on love, that's yer friend yer talking about there". Sean interjected.
"Sorry Daddy… but I'm not sayin' it out of spite. Ye both know what she's like, ye've been around her before".
They couldn't argue with their daughter there. Except from Gerry, and Anna, the Quinn and McCool family could all be quite the dramatists when they wanted to be. Some of the stories Erin told Clare that were then passed on were unbelievable in their eyes. In particular, Joe's treatment of Gerry always confused them. Gerry was a good man who Mary was lucky to have and why her father couldn't see that was beyond them. Though he might not have been devoted to the Lord to the same extent, Sean held a lot of respect for Gerry. He too wasn't a procrastinator, tackling problems quickly rather than leaving them to fester. At a push, he would even consider himself jealous of Gerry in a way. With Erin having found someone and Anna far too young for it to apply to, he wasn't having to find lads to go on dates with his daughter's.
"She just misses James I think". Clare reasoned.
"That's understandable". Geraldine agreed with her. "I guess with David back, she's reminded of what she hasn't got".
"At least she has a fella to worry over".
Sean's comment did not disguise his displeasure. Within an instant, the atmosphere in the room changed. Geraldine scowled at her husband for bringing the conversation around to what he wanted to talk about in such a rude manner. Rarely a rude man, it was most unusual to find him speaking so nastily.
Immediately, Clare began to fret. She'd done fairly well to avoid the subject at home since the fateful day in September. Sean backed off for a while after the fiasco of Michelle swooping in to steal her date, choosing to comfort his daughter from what he presumed was her upset. Though he knew it would never change their friendship too much, as the girls would always reconcile no matter what happened between them, he had hoped that Michelle would get the message and be more careful about where she chose to show her affections. For Clare, it was all an elaborate act of misdirection, steering her father away from the dark secret that smothered her. The secret that he would hate her for, should it ever become common knowledge.
"Daddy…".
"Listen Clare, I have been more than fair with ye about this, have I not?"
In his mind he had been, and to an outsider looking in on them then he most certainly had been, but he was not armed with her secret. He did not know how unfair trying to force a fella upon his daughter really was.
"Y-Yes… Daddy". She replied to him, wringing her hands from the nerves.
"I know ye were very shook up about what happened with Micky and Michelle, but ye need to get out there again to find a fella".
Looking to her mother for support, Clare detected the anguish on her face. Her loyalties divided, Geraldine needed to make a decision. She frustratingly understood and supported both sides of the argument, sat on the fence as she was perched upon their sofa. Sean was correct; Clare did need a fella. How quickly she required one though was up for debate and in his constant attempts to find her one so far, success was limited. For success to be achieved, it needed to be taken at Clare's pace. Although she might not have been as serious as her husband when it came to procrastination, she wasn't one for dragging her feet either. He would get her backing.
"Yer Da's right Clare, ye need to find someone".
"But Mammy I…".
"No buts Clare!" Sean yelled, beginning to lose his cool at the stalling. "You need to find someone before people start askin' questions!"
The hint of dismay in his voice was picked up by both his wife and daughter. He'd hidden behind his usual wall of being a man of action, but his latest comment appeared to suggest another motive for why he was pushing so hard for his daughter to find herself a fella. With the two of them staring at him, he knew he would have to explain himself.
"Ye know the O'Keefe's?" He started, a more agitated tone to his voice.
"Aye". They replied in unison.
"Their daughter, ye know the one with the mole on her right cheek…".
"Moira?" Geraldine suggested.
"No, not Moira, she's the weird one. The other one".
"Molly?"
"Aye that's the one, Molly". Sean confirmed his daughter's suggestion. "I was talkin' to Father Peter earlier and ye know what he told me?"
Fears were beginning to be realised for Clare. The older O'Keefe sister was a young woman she only knew vaguely, knowing more about Moira who was her age. That hadn't stopped her suspicions existing from the little information she had of her, that Molly was like her too. Rumours were spread two years prior that she'd tried to kiss another girl her age, but they were quickly dismissed by everyone involved, avoiding a scandal. Put to bed as just rumours then, it would appear that the reality was outed, especially if Father Peter knew about it.
She shook her head, whilst Geraldine gestured for her husband to continue.
"She told me that Molly admitted that she was one of those disgusting dykes! A supposedly good Catholic girl turning out to be one of those types, it's shocking, so it is!"
Clare could have screamed. Everything that she stood for was being denounced brutally by her father, who could not abide by a love that he believed to be unnatural. Poor Molly O'Keefe's name would be dragged through the mud thanks to Father Peter's inability to keep his mouth shut or perhaps his perceived duty to out the girl. Homosexuality was a sin no matter which sex was involved, and the Catholic Church would not stand by if sins were being committed within the parish.
"God… that's terrible". Geraldine responded to him first.
"A-Aye".
Turning traitor on herself, Clare's wish to scream turned into an urge to boke. She was agreeing that a woman loving another woman was wrong, the opposite of the very same belief she held in her own mind. A terrible thought ran across her mind as she fought to stay in control of her emotions. If she was found out by her father now, she would not only have committed a sin in loving another woman but also in hypocrisy. Another sin that he found intolerable, Sean always taught his daughter to be honest and truthful, never to commit any acts of hypocrisy that would undermine their good nature. Under the Devlin roof, she was committing every sin in the book without anyone but her and the good Lord himself to know about it. Guilt ripped away at her heart like a pack of wolves tearing into their unsuspecting prey.
"When that gets out, people will start askin' questions about anyone yer age that hasn't found themselves a fella yet, Clare". Sean finally reasoned his haste. "I don't want our family name being mentioned when it comes to wee dykes".
Knees faltering, Clare desperately required some form of distraction. Sean was beginning to eye her suspiciously, noticing the distress from the tears that were forming in the corners of her eyes.
"I know it's disturbing news, Clare, but yer safer now. Ye can stay away from that girl so she won't try any of her funny business on ye".
She wasn't attracted to Molly O'Keefe at all, but rather than stay away from her, Clare's head told her to go to her in order to comfort the poor young woman. Alone, and probably without the help of her family, she was left to the slaughterous comments of the people in the city. More guilt crept up on her from the realisation that the roles could have been reversed, and she could have been the one outed. Judging from the reaction of her father and the church, she knew her secret would have to remain so forever.
"But Daddy, Michelle hasn't got a fella either… I don't think Martin and Deirdre will push her into finding one because of this".
Geraldine nodded, accepting the point of her daughter and turning her head towards her husband. Clare was hoping to have caught him off guard with her answer, but ever the proactive man, he already knew what he would say to it in return.
"Michelle… Michelle is a whore, Clare".
Her mouth fell open in disgust at his comment. Her own battles were put to one side for a moment due to the seething anger that bubbled over inside her. Michelle was many things, some good and some bad, but she was not what Sean cruelly described her as.
"Sean!" Geraldine berated him immediately.
"Take that back Daddy!" Clare shrieked at him.
Under a dual attack, Sean cleared his throat, but he would not be silenced so easily. Martin and Deirdre were far too lenient on their daughter in his opinion. If it were Clare sleeping around with lots of different lads like that, she'd be getting the back of his hand.
"The truth's hard to hear but that is what she is Clare". He justified his comment.
"She is not Daddy! She's one of my best friends and how she conducts herself is none of yer business! Who are you to judge her!?"
Clare stormed out of the living room, ignoring her rumbling stomach and the kitchen where food waited for her, charging off up the stairs to her bedroom. The door slammed behind her, her father growling like a wounded lion upon hearing it.
"That went well…". Geraldine commented.
It was a comment that she shouldn't have made. Her already raging husband glared at her with a burning fire in his eyes, the rage overcoming him. The only sin he asked for forgiveness for more than his lack of patience, was his temper. Carrying a fuse that could be exceptionally short when the right circumstances presented themselves, he did not appreciate his wife's sarcasm around a topic that mattered to him dearly. With Molly O'Keefe outed and shamed, rightly so in his mind, the god-fearing parishioners would complete a tight audit of all those within their flock. Clare's lack of a fella left her incredibly susceptible to their ire, giving him the task of ensuring that their family name was kept to being mentioned in only a positive light. He wanted the best for his family above anything else.
"What did ye just say…".
Sunday morning confession would be another week where he needed to ask for forgiveness about his temper. Rising from where he was sat, he shuffled over so that he towered over his wife, who began to cower in fear. His veins were almost all showing, the anger coursing through them, illuminating them to her in the dim light of their living room.
"Sean…".
Smack
His open right palm crashed onto her left cheek. It was years since Sean last hit his wife, and he never took pleasure from doing so. She needed to be kept in line though. One sarcastic comment when he was already enraged, turned him towards the harshest punishment of all to make sure she didn't overstep the mark again.
He soon made his own exit, walking out into the back garden to have a walk around in order to let his anger disperse. It wasn't over when it came to Clare finding a fella, there would be another day where the subject would be raised again. She couldn't outrun him forever, though he knew she wasn't going to, being a good Catholic girl. Time was what she needed to get herself the right fella, and a small part of him understood that, but Clare clearly could not accept that time was of the essence.
Inside the house, the two women that lived there were both in tears. Geraldine clutched her cheek, sniffling from a pain inflicted on her by her husband, one which he'd not done for some time. She was foolish to believe her comment would go down well though and chastised herself for being the perpetrator of her own fate.
In her bedroom, Clare's tears were for another reason. The lie she was living was getting closer and closer to home. Molly O'Keefe's life was about to become hell and she would have to hear of the accounts, guiltily clutching to the secret of her own sexuality.
Hiding it was going to become a lot harder…
The war was starting to become very frustrating for Lieutenant James Maguire.
Without any real actions of note yet, other than having to save his and David's lives when their engine failed, his duty was becoming incredibly boring. Days were monotonous, a constant mix of paperwork and giving orders, along with the usual convoy escort or patrol. There was absolutely nothing to excite his life and without David to talk to anymore, he began to feel even more isolated from the world.
He'd retained a small slither of hope that David might return after comforting his grieving parents, ready to join his best friend again. When it became clear he would not be returning, melancholy began to grow upon his heart. Without either his best friend or the young woman that he loved so dearly, his only companion in the world was Mary's wooden spoon, which he safeguarded diligently. Sadly for him, the spoon was not a sentient being, unable to hold a conversation with the wooden object to take the negative thoughts off of his mind. Jealousy also resided within his chest, jealousy born of out the frustration that he'd been held back from going home where David could now spend as long as he wanted to with those he loved. Not that he would hold it against his best friend. David, Orla and Marie deserved a peaceful life together.
The most frustrating detail of all was the assignment that Lieutenant Commander Borrett held him back for. A pilot of the highest ability was required to test some modifications to one of the RAF's fighter planes and between themselves and the Fleet Air Arm, the commanders identified the second in command of 815 squadron to be the perfect man for job. When Borrett first explained it to him, as David was packing up his belongings, James was flattered that they chose him, more than happy to forego a trip home to potentially see Erin, despite how much he loved her. He'd always wanted the chance to fly in a one seat fighter, where dogfights in the sky would come down to the pure ability between pilots rather than the combined efforts of a full crew. The fighter was set to be delivered to Worthy Down at ten o'clock that morning, ready for him to conduct tests in the afternoon.
It never arrived.
Due to unforeseen transportation complications, the aircraft was delayed for another couple of weeks, but by the time that the delay was confirmed, David had already left. Bitterly disappointed at missing a chance to see Erin, the jealousy kicked in and from then on, he became very depressed. He schooled it well to maintain his respect amongst the crewmen and not raise any suspicions from his commanding officer. Whenever he was alone in his room though, the darker thoughts would consume him, the rage and resentment mixing with the jealousy to create a destructive mood that only sleep could contain. He'd never experienced feelings of such nature for so long before and though on the outside he was still the same James, inside he was fighting battles across ground he'd never crossed before. The sheltered life that he'd lived was slowly peeling away to expose the reality of the world to him in such raw fashion.
The session of testing was rescheduled for the ninth day of May, the commanders still requiring the young pilot to perform it. There were plenty of other pilots who were most likely more qualified to fly the fighter, and definitely there were others with more experience, but they still insisted that he conduct the tests. The only saving grace for the Lieutenant came from the tests breaking up his usually boring schedule to give him something more entertaining to do. The fighter plane he would be piloting was far quicker than the old stringbag that he would normally be at the controls of, with a ceiling of thirty-six and a half thousand feet as opposed to the recommended ten thousand in the Swordfish.
The aircraft in question was the Supermarine Spitfire.
Spoken about positively by anyone who got the chance to pilot it, the Spitfire's status within aviation circles forever rose. The Hurricane was the more widely produced fighter and was a very capable one in its own right, but there was something special about the Spitfire. With little experience in combat yet, there was nothing special to be found in its operational history but all of the regular Spitfire pilots believed it to be something else in flight. A demon in the air, one which the Germans would have to have something incredible to fight back with in their eyes, they believed it to be the best aircraft in the country. It wasn't without its flaws though. The machine guns in use on the Spitfire were not as heavy calibre as those in use on the Hurricane, the Spitfire's wings being thinner and unable to carry the heavier guns. The German's finest fighter, the Messerschmitt ME 109, could easily outgun its competitor too, which would make for quite the conundrum in dogfights when it came to tactics that could be deployed.
The modifications that they'd made to the aircraft were not disclosed to James ahead of the test. He was given guidelines as to what information they wanted instead, the majority of it centred around the handling of the aircraft. When the aircraft arrived on the morning of the ninth, for the first time in weeks James became happy. He'd seen images of the aircraft before, but up close and personal, he instantly recognised why the pilots all fawned over it. It was a specimen of engineering beauty, a magnificent feat of technological knowhow and aesthetic elegance. Compared to the old wooden hulk that he would fly on patrol during cold, dark nights over the English Channel, the roofed Spitfire was an alien. Modern and sophisticated, it very much looked the part as the fighter that the RAF were coming to rely upon.
Departing from Worthy Down that morning, he was able to spend a short time getting used to the controls before the tests began, flying over to the base at Bircham Newton in Norfolk. The tests would be conducted high above the skies in the North Sea, into a relatively safe zone according to the commanders who ordered the tests to be completed. The Germans could launch bombers and fighters into the area if they so wished, the area just about being in range for them, but without doing so in a concerted effort, it made little sense to. It allowed the RAF to conduct tests over water without the threat of prototypes being attacked and in the worst case, shot down. Refuelling at the base nearer to the coast before and after the tests, Bircham Newton would be his new home for a night, before flying back to Worthy Down the following morning.
Testing lasted for an hour or so over the North Sea. Once he'd started the more difficult manoeuvres that he would need to do, he fully confirmed his respect for the fighter plane. It was magnificent when it came to turning, with such a short turning circle that would frustrate any enemy fighter trying to shoot a Spitfire down. Remaining in consistent contact with the base commander at Bircham Newton, he ticked off every test as it was read out to him, following the agreed course that was set with the same man and an engineer from the Spitfire production factory before take-off. It took him quite close to the Dutch coast towards the end of the testing. Looking down he could make out the outlines of the West Frisian Islands as he turned for home, radioing back to the base that the tests were complete.
As the job was done and he only needed to get the aircraft back to Bircham Newton safely, he allowed himself the chance to look upon his photograph of Erin. The two of them standing together at the Quinn's was so long ago. He wanted another chance to be able to have her in his arms again, safely cocooned within his grasp where they could snuggle up to each other. After months travelling around with him in his inside pocket alongside Mary's wooden spoon, the photograph had faded, but Erin's beauty had not. She still blinded him like the most concentrated ray of sunshine, reminding him of how lucky his life was, even if he couldn't see her. She was his when he did get to return home, a fact he'd forgotten about when the jealousy took over after David's departure.
"So beautiful my Erin… so beautiful…".
It was then when he first noticed. But he continued talking to himself anyway.
"I will be coming home soon, and I have a question to ask you".
He stopped, taking notice again. He would have to do something about it soon, but he'd be damned if he was going to let anything ruin his moments of reflection.
"I hope you say yes".
Marriage was what he wanted with her. As it did with hers, absence made his heart grow fonder, the decision to put the question across to her becoming one he knew he must when he could eventually have leave. They may have only been together for a short while before he'd departed to serve the country, but it was time enough for him to know that she was the one. There was not going to be anyone else for him. Only her.
Yet if he wanted to see her, he was going to have to deal with a rather large and menacing problem that he noticed for the third time. Three was the magic number.
"Red One to control, Red One to Control, over!" He called down the radio.
"Received Red One…". The base commander radioed back to him. "Status report, over!"
"Status unchanged Control, but I have a question, over!"
The base commander looked across at two of his senior pilots who were listening to the radio contact in the same room. There shouldn't have been another radio call from the young test pilot… so what was the problem?
"Proceed, over?"
"Thank you Control. Am I carrying live ammunition, over?"
The tests didn't include the firing of the guns, which meant the modifications were certainly not ones made on a weaponry basis. Consulting his senior pilots, the base commander was shocked to discover that the Spitfire was in fact carrying some live ammunition, which it shouldn't have been at all.
"You have about a quarter capacity, over!"
"A quarter! Well that will have to do, over!"
"Explain yourself Red One, over!"
The base commander was becoming more and more agitated by James' responses. The Lieutenant knew he needed to explain himself, especially as his next move realistically required authorisation to pull off. The greatest fear of any test pilot and indeed the commanders on the ground, was about to be realised, more than thirty thousand feet above the North Sea.
"I have three 109's tracking me in the clouds above, Sir, requesting permission to engage and turn this into a true test, over!".
The ghostly outlines of the Messerschmitt's were what he'd spotted whilst monologuing to himself about Erin. Each time he'd glanced and noticed, another one appeared. Three was the magic number, the number of enemy fighters that were preparing to send him to an early grave. He hadn't done anything drastic, not wanting to alert them to the fact he knew they were there. Requiring permission to engage them anyway, he was forced to radio in out of necessity, as if they'd attacked and he hadn't asked about the ammunition and didn't have any, it would have been the end for him. With only a quarter capacity though, he would have to make every shot count.
Amazingly, the base commander agreed. It went against all orders of the tests from those higher up and the now frantically panicking Spitfire engineer, who'd arrived in the room alongside the pilots. The prototype James was flying was the only one they had of its kind. They couldn't lose it.
"Permission received Red One, engage, over!"
"Received, over!"
No sooner than the permission was received, the 109 pilots began to descend behind him, trying to match his altitude. Calmly continuing on as if nothing were happening, James gave them no indication that he knew that they were there, simply continuing on his flight path home without giving them a scrap to work with. On their own radios, the three Luftwaffe men were debating about which one of them should get the honour of the kill. Frustrated by their lack of action in the same way that the British pilots were, a lone Spitfire miles from home was an easy target for the hungry pilots. They could outrun and outgun the opposing fighter, each aircraft being fully loaded with ammunition as well as having the advantage in numbers. However, the three aircraft lacked one thing which the Spitfire did have.
Lieutenant James Maguire.
As the lead fighter behind moved forward, the men deciding their squadron leader should be the one to bring the Spitfire down, James made his move. The German pilots were so busy radioing and making singles to each other, they missed the initial turn of the Englishman. When the German squadron leader finally regained his concentration, he was faced with the Spitfire coming straight at him. The small turning circle of the British Fighter allowed James to turn one hundred and eighty degrees rapidly, locking onto his target and closing the gap whilst the squadron leader's eyes began to get wider. He never got to say a word as James pressed down on the trigger, sending a hail of bullets straight through the glass window in front of the enemy pilot. Every single one found its mark, killing the man instantly. His two fellow pilots watched on in horror as they were suddenly facing a tiger in their hen house above the sea.
The two remaining German pilots did have time to react to James' next move, but for one of them, it was not time enough. Having to turn around to face them again, he effectively copied the same manoeuvre, turning one hundred and eighty degrees again to re-position himself behind the two fighters. The fighter at ten o'clock to his left was able to dive out of his way, but the one over at two o'clock on the right was not so lucky. Believing himself to have enough time to dive out of the range of James' guns, he was sadly mistaken. If he'd began to dive just a second earlier then he would have gotten a chance to get away from the rampaging Englishman. The bullets smashed through the glass behind him, piercing his skull to leave him slumped over his controls, pitching straight down towards his watery resting place. Within a matter of seconds, James made it one on one.
He wouldn't be able to keep up with the diving Messerschmitt, so he made no effort to, looking around at all times to see where his enemy would appear from. Expecting to have the fighter come out behind him, the remaining fighter in fact appeared again in front of him, but not facing him. Giving James another chance to finish him off, the pilot was caught in the awkward position of flying towards England with an English fighter on his tail. He did have more time to prepare for James though, and as the Englishman fired upon him, he skilfully avoided the bullets, wheeling away to coax James into a chase to the North, rather than continuing on course for the coast of England. He'd only fired a couple of short bursts to disable the other two fighters but remembering that his guns were only armed up to a quarter capacity, the Lieutenant was having to be careful. Quick calculations in his head indicated to him that he could fire two more bursts before having to call off the engagement and head for home. The German pilot wouldn't follow him to the coast, in danger of being shot to pieces by anti-aircraft fire as James descended. The dogfight was becoming very mathematical.
Out of his depth when it came to ability and tactics, the German pilot desperately tried to shake the persistent James from behind him. A full-on dive would accomplish the task, but he was a young pilot who'd been so scared from doing the first dive, he dreaded having to make a second. Trying to line the 109 up in his sights again, James fired, only to find that the bullets that struck the opposing fighter did very little damage at all. The Messerschmitt's bulkier armour could take far more damage from the lighter calibre machine guns of the Spitfire than the British fighter could in return. The German pilot needed to find his chance to get into a firing position to take his British opponent out of the sky, but James' far superior ability decided their encounter.
Unwilling to risk any more than one final burst of the guns, James unleashed a devasting rake of fire that penetrated the enemy aircraft and immediately set the ME 109 ablaze. The poor young pilot could do nothing too, as the final stray bullets caught the back of his head, killing him instantly whilst his aircraft began to fall from the sky.
"Red One to Control, over…". A weary James radioed in.
"Control received. Go ahead Red One, over!"
"Three shot down confirmed, Sir, returning to base, over".
He paid little attention to the message that he received in return. The reality of the couple of minutes before he made the radio call, fell upon him. The war that he'd signed up for, finally was taking shape. He'd trained to meet the enemy in combat, albeit in a biplane rather than a fighter, and his training saw him in good stead. Deciding to test out a theory as thoughts began to flood his mind, he pressed down on the trigger again.
Nothing.
He'd used his last bullets to take the final Messerschmitt down. He only had the wooden spoon left to fight with. The young Lieutenant was a very lucky man. He could not bring himself to celebrate what he'd done though. The three men he'd shot down and killed were all just like him, men who were serving their country in a time of war. Whether they wanted war or not, he would never know, but they were unlikely to be radical Nazi's like their High Command were. If not for the decisions of those in higher offices than they were, they'd probably all be friends in another life, the tags of German and British replaced by ones of friendship and acceptance. James would not dwell on it though. It was his duty to kill those men and it was three less men that were a threat to the safety of Erin and their family and friends too.
What the three fighters were doing out off the Dutch coastline, he did not know at the time, but it all started to become very clear that evening. Orders were relayed to German divisions across the Western Front. The days of the phoney war were over.
The Invasion of France and the Low Countries was underway.
The real war for Britain, and for the fate of Europe, was about to begin.
Smithers wasn't allowed into the meeting that was taking place behind the closed white doors at the end of the corridor where he sat, and he didn't even know who was in it. Lieutenant-Colonel Menzies had asked him to wait there for when the meeting was completed, so that the two could discuss a matter of urgency. Assuming that it related to the young Lieutenant that they were keeping a close eye on, he never questioned the order, though he wished he had due to the boredom that ensued whilst he waited patiently on a chair. There were guards all over the building, including two stood just a few feet away, fully armed and stood to attention.
When Menzies eventually appeared, he looked exhausted. Spotting the Captain down the hallway, he rushed over as quickly as he could, tilting his head to a door across the hallway. Smithers joined him in the side room a second later, intrigued to find out what was going on so late at night. The clock struck midnight as the door shut behind them.
"Sir". Smithers addressed the Lieutenant-Colonel.
"The German's have begun pushing the Western Front…".
The day had come. The day that Hitler's war machine properly showed its hand in the theatre of war closest to Britain.
"There is going to be a change at the top too".
He knew what that meant. The debate about the disastrous Norwegian campaign all but sealed Neville Chamberlain's fate as Prime Minister. He was not the right man to be leading the nation at a time where Europe faced such great peril again. Smithers knew exactly who the right man was and didn't need to ask his commanding officer who was going to be the new PM. He knew.
"I've discussed our business with the new PM".
"Miss Quinn?"
Smithers scrunched his nose and furrowed his brows, confused as to why the new PM would have to be consulted about Miss Erin Quinn's relationship with Lieutenant James Maguire, when France was being invaded.
"Yes. We've come to a decision".
"I see, Sir".
"You need to get hold of Miss Kavanagh immediately".