Chapter Four
Farewell To Erin
Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Irish Free State, January 1937.
Here in Blackrock down on the coast the fog was much worse than it was up in Dublin. It had a salty tang to it too, for a thick mist – or fret as Sybil called it – had rolled in from off the cold waters of the Irish Sea and mixed with the landbound murk of the fog. Having flung wide the front door, while she could hear the waves breaking on the foreshore on the other side of the road below the railway line, Sybil found she could see absolutely nothing, confronted as she was by an all but impenetrable veil of swirling mist.
Standing motionless on the doorstep of the house, peering through the gloom, down the steps and towards the front gate, although Sybil was certain she had heard the latch, no-one came up the path. So, perhaps it had been no more than wishful thinking on her part, and she had been mistaken; perfectly understandable in the circumstances and which she put down to her frayed nerves. The haar thickened, swirling about her, the air chill and damp. Then a moment later, she heard footsteps whereupon Sybil felt the hairs on the nape of her neck begin to rise as, through the murk, she glimpsed a cloth capped, muffled figure, wearing a donkey jacket, corduroy trousers, and with an old, worn leather satchel slung casually from his left shoulder.
"Danny! Oh, thank God!" Sybil mouthed a silent prayer of heartfelt thanks, but her relief was to be short-lived.
"No, it's me, Ma!" Young Bobby, who had been at his weekly piano lesson with old Mrs. Dunne - she lived a few doors down the street from the Bransons - now emerged from out of the foggy gloom, his cap set at a jauntily rakish angle, and sporting beneath it, an impish grin.
"Oh, it's you!" exclaimed his mother dully.
"Yes, Ma, it' only me!" Bobby sang out cheerfully, ignoring the fact that Ma had not asked him, at least not yet, as customarily she did, how his piano lesson had gone. While just like his father, whom he so much resembled, young Bobby certainly had his moments, by disposition, he was generally very good natured and always disposed to see the best in people. Presumably, Ma had something else on her mind. No matter. He would tell her how pleased Mrs. Dunne had been with his scales later, when whatever it was that was presently concerning her was no longer the case.
"I thought you were your brother," Sybil said, tonelessly, scarcely able to hide her obvious disappointment that it was not Danny standing here before her.
Bobby shook his head.
"No, sorry! I nearly tripped and fell, Ma".
"Tripped and fell?" echoed Sybil, absent mindedly. If only Danny would come home ...
"My bootlace came undone. Back there on the path, Ma ... down by the gate". Bobby jabbed a thumb behind him. "So I stopped to tie it up …" His voice trailed away. There was something here which he did not understand. At least not yet. He pushed his cap further back on his head and grinned.
"There, now! See, Ma? It's really me, for sure!" Bobby beamed, going on tiptoe to give his mother a quick peck on the cheek and then, as he squeezed past her into the lamplit hallway, also a questioning look. Even at nine years old, young Bobby was undoubtedly the most perceptive of all of Sybil's four children.
On seeing Saiorse, standing at the foot of the stairs, Bobby smiled, pulled off his cap, slipped the strap of his satchel off his shoulder, and began unbuttoning his jacket. Behind him, he heard his mother closing the front door.
"We-he-ell, how ya, sis?" he piped brightly.
Saiorse gave her young brother a more than usually expressive shrug of her shoulders.
"Ah, sure".
There it was again, thought Bobby. An undefinable something.
"What?" Bobby asked as he hung up his cap and jacket and having pulled off his gloves, proceeded to unwind the scarf from about his neck.
"It's Danny …" Saiorse replied.
"What?" repeated Bobby. "What about Danny?" Saiorse shook her head. When she said nothing further by way of explanation, now thoroughly alarmed and understandably worried, Bobby swung hard about on his heel, seeking some form of enlightenment from his mother.
"Ma?"
But, surprisingly, she didn't answer him. Instead he watched as she walked in silence to the foot of the stairs where she sat down heavily on the bottom step and covered her face in her hands.
Bobby loved his older brother very much indeed; thought the world of Danny.
"He's not ... dead, is he?" Bobby's voice had fallen almost to a whisper.
Saiorse shook her head emphatically.
"No, of course not, ya eejit!"
"Eejit yarself! What's the craic?"
"Danny's gone to Spain," said Saiorse softly.
"Oh, has he now," Bobby said flatly and with a young boy's unconcern, now that it had been established beyond doubt that Danny was unquestionably still very much in the land of the living. All Bobby knew of Spain was what he had seen of it on the large map of Europe and which hung on on the back wall of the Big Classroom in school. "All the same, I wish he'd told me he was going, for sure".
His mother looked up at him from where she was still sitting at the foot of the stairs.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because then I could have asked him to bring me back some stamps, Ma," replied Bobby, now kneeling down on the floor of the hallway in front of his mother and casually retying both of his bootlaces.
"Is that all you can say, when your brother might never come ..."
Realising that Bobby had meant no harm by what he had just said, Sybil bit her tongue. Left what she had been going to say unsaid. In any case it would have been tempting Providence to have done so. Oh, what it was to be young!
Between Artuf and Battir, Jaffa to Jerusalem railway, British Mandated Palestine, January 1937.
"I think the last time we saw each other, it was in the lobby of Pera Palace Hotel, in Istanbul. As I recall, at the time you'd suffered some kind of mishap down in the Grand Bazaar?" Eccles ghosted a smile. He had always had a rather soft spot for Miss Astley, something which was well known in certain quarters of the military, as a result of which on occasion he had found himself ribbed quite mercilessly, albeit good naturedly, by some of his fellow officers. At one time he had even dared to hope that Miss Astley and he ...
But it was not to be.
Harriet laughed.
"You have a most excellent memory, captain. Yes, a mishap of sorts. The Grand Bazaar is well known to you, I think, is it not?"
Eccles nodded.
"Indeed. All those narrow streets and stalls. A right rabbit warren of a place".
"Quite. What happened to me, took place not far from the Kuyumcular Kapısı. I was in an alley and, stepping back in order to let someone pass, with the lighting poor, and the paving uneven, I tripped and fell over a rolled up carpet".
"Turkish?"
"Persian, I think. Does that signify?"
"No, not at all".
They both laughed.
"Turkish, Persian, whichever it was, the whole thing was entirely my own fault. I ended up with a very badly sprained left ankle. It was strapped up for several weeks and what with having to then rest in bed, it rather cramped my style!"
Eccles nodded. Given what he knew of Miss Astley's intrepid, lengthy, and largely unescorted travels in the Near East, some of which had almost passed into legend, to have so come to grief, by the simple act of falling over a rolled up carpet in a Turkish bazaar in the heart of Istanbul, did sound faintly ridiculous.
"From where you were rescued and brought back to the Pera by a young Hungarian, who carried you into the lobby of the hotel in his arms".
Harriet grimaced.
"Lord! What a sight the two of us must have made!"
Eccles laughed.
"At the time you made your never-to-be-forgotten, and rather spectacular, entrance into the hotel there were several British officers, among them myself, standing in the lobby, all of us waiting to be driven down to the quay to catch the steamer across the Bosphorus to the railway station at Sirkeci".
Harriet laughed again.
"You must believe me, when I tell you, that save for the fall itself, none of it was of my doing, nor indeed necessary. However, the young man in question was most insistent that he should accompany me all the way back to the Pera in a taxi, so as to ensure, he said, that I came to no further harm. However, carrying me into the lobby, in the way he did, well, that was pure theatre! At the time I remember thinking he'd put himself out by coming back with me to the hotel, even if it was his own suggestion that he did, only to find out a short while later that he was staying at the Pera himself!"
Eccles smiled.
"So, what is it that brings you here to Palestine?"
Harriet looked up at the rapidly darkening, lowering sky. She quirked a brow and grinned.
"Would you believe, the weather?"
"Hardly. You'll have to do better than that!" Eccles chuckled. Now saw that the second Arab had left the two camels by the pool and was striding briskly towards them across the sand.
Harriet nodded in the other's direction.
"The young Hungarian you mentioned, the one who came to my rescue in the Grand Bazaar".
"Indeed?"
"And who is now not only a little older ... but also my husband," she said softly. "As to what brings the two of us out here, I think we can find somewhere rather more convivial than this to discuss all of that. Shall we say, tonight, at nine o'clock, in the lobby of the King David Hotel?"
Eccles nodded.
"That's where I'm billeted. But then, I suspect, you knew that already".
"Indeed".
"You're staying there too?"
"Of course. Where else does one stay, when one is in Jerusalem? The beds are divine and the menu excellent! A far cry from some of the places I've slept in out here in the Near East, where the staple fare is often bread, dates, and goat meat!"
Eccles laughed.
"Then, later tonight, as you suggest. All the same, if you will, at least humour me a little and tell me something of what this is about? After all, to come thus far ..."
"Not that far, as it happens. We were in Transjordan anyway, visiting with the emir, and then for a meeting with Peake Pasha".
"The emir Abdullah and Peake Pasha. The both of them? I'm very much impressed. My, but you do move in high circles".
"No higher than do you. So, in order to arrange a meeting with you, it meant but a minor diversion, west of the River Jordan. As to the why and the wherefore, for the time being, let's just say that what I ... what we have to discuss, concerns your imminent return to England on leave. You sail from Alexandria in a few weeks' time, I believe".
"Yes, indeed. If I may say so, you're very well informed. Not that I would have expected any the less of you".
Harriet accepted Eccles' accolade with the briefest of smiles.
"And the matter also touches the earl of Grantham".
"Does it, indeed? Well, I never!" Eccles gave a low whistle of surprise.
Harriet nodded.
"I thought the mention of his name might strike a chord with you".
"It does. I first got to know Crawley when his late father-in-law was still the earl, from my time spent at the embassy in Geneva, as Assistant Military Attaché, when Sir Claud Russell was our Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the Swiss Confederation. Crawley had just begun his work for the League and also for ... Well, I expect you know the rest".
Harriet nodded.
"Indeed. A most enlightened man".
"Crawley? Yes, I admire him greatly".
"Of course, but I was, in fact, speaking of Sir Claud".
"If you say so". Eccles harrumphed his obvious disapproval.
"I most certainly do, especially now, given his erstwhile observations to the Shuster Committee Review in 1934, regarding the appointment of women to posts in the Diplomatic Service. How did he put it? Ah, yes. We live in a changing world, and no-one can say how mankind will regard anything in 1959. Who would have foreseen in 1894 that in twenty-five years women would be made eligible for the House of Commons?"
"Yes, well ..." Again Eccles cleared his throat noisily. Clearly he did not approve of the stance taken by Sir Claud Russell on the vexed matter of the admission of women to the Diplomatic Service. "Of course, as a mere captain, in normal circumstances, I would have been far too junior in rank to hold the post as Assistant Military Attaché in Geneva but my father, Sir Horatio ..." Eccles smiled; spread his hands expansively. "And having a certain flair for languages at school, French, German, which I put to good use during the Great War, helped tremendously. To which, I may say without any trace of conceit, I have now added some Arabic, and a smattering of Hebrew. It helps keep one abreast of the buggers out here, don't you know!"
"I'm sure it does". Harriet likewise smiled, as Tibor now joined them.
"Let me introduce you. My husband, Captain Csáky, of the Regent's Escort in Budapest. And this is Captain Eccles, presently serving with the North Lancashires, as is, I suspect, well known. But that he is seconded to British Military Intelligence, is not".
Eccles nodded his assent.
Csáky smiled.
"My wife has already told me something of you. I'm very glad to make your acquaintance".
Eccles made to hold out his hand but Csáky shook his head.
"That, I fear would be unwise. After all, someone may be watching".
"As you wish. Budapest? I've never been there myself. I'm told it's very beautiful".
"You should. And, yes, it is".
"You live there?"
"When we are in Hungary, yes. In Buda, up on the Var, that's the citadel, close to the Royal Palace, where I still have the honour to serve in the Escort to His Serene Highness Admiral Miklós Horthy, Regent of the Kingdom of Hungary".
Eccles noted that Csáky spoke perfect English with no discernible accent, which was as expected, having an English wife, so much so that, save for how Csáky was presently attired the Hungarian officer could pass easily for an Englishman.
"May I at least enquire if you are here in that particular capacity, or perhaps some other?"
Tibor glanced at Harriet. Saw her faintly shake her head. With a broad grin, and a sweep of his hands, Tibor indicated his tatterdemalion Bedouin garb.
"Hardly suitable, I fear, for a ride down Andrássy út. That's one of the principal streets in Pest. The other part of the capital. Down on the plain, across the Danube".
"I was unaware the city was divided".
"Divided, no, but there are two distinct parts to it. Buda, which as I just explained is the older and Pest, which is much newer, and lies on the other side of the river".
"I see".
Tibor smiled. This desultory conversation was verging on the bizarre. A discussion taking place here, out in the wilds of Palestine, about the capital of Hungary.
"However, dressed as I am, I think I would cut a sorry figure at the head of the Regent's Escort. My present attire is rather more suited to The Sheik of Araby! But, as to why we ..." Tibor shook his head. "All that, I fear, must keep".
"As you wish". Eccles nodded toward Harriet. "If you will permit a personal observation?"
"Which is?"
"That I envy you your good fortune. You're a very lucky man".
"And I'm a lucky woman!" Harriet slid her arm through Tibor's.
Eccles inclined his head.
"Once again, my congratulations to you both".
"Thank you!"
"Have you explained that we need to ..." Tibor began.
Harriet nodded.
"Yes, and to that end, I've suggested that we all meet up this evening, at nine o'clock, in the lobby of the King David Hotel. Now, I think it would be for the best if we do not linger. Out here, one never knows who may be watching. Nor should we be seen leaving this place together. But before we go our separate ways, one thing more. Through your father, I believe you are well acquainted with the German ambassador to the Court of St. James?"
"Von Ribbentrop? An unfortunate association but one that is, I regret to say, nevertheless all too true. But what has that to do with ..."
Again, Harriet shook her head.
"As my husband said a moment ago, that must keep. Now, may I suggest that you are seen to be giving us directions, orders, or even perhaps a dressing down. Maybe all three rolled into one. But, whatever you choose to do, try and make it look convincing".
"You think we are being watched?"
"Undoubtedly. I think the two of us were followed here and, in such matters, I am rarely ever wrong".
"Very well then".
Eccles smiled and began directly of making an elaborate show of jabbing his right forefinger first at Tibor, and then at Harriet, gesticulating wildly, first this way and that, before finally shaking his fist at the pair of "Bedouins".
"Oh, excellent!" Harriet clapped her hands delightedly. "That, I think, will do nicely. A career on the London stage no doubt beckons! So, until later, then".
"Indeed".
Eccles nodded; now stood and watched as Harriet and her husband hurriedly retraced their steps, remounted their camels, and without so much as a backward glance in his direction, rode off into the Judean hills. A moment later and Eccles had returned to his consideration of the derailed train and which, as he had observed only a short while earlier, was indeed a right bloody mess.
Dower House, Downton, Yorkshire, England, January 1937.
"I see. So, has Matthew given you any idea at all as to what it is that's troubling him?"
"No, Mama. He hasn't. But something is. I felt I had to tell you, which is why, despite this awful weather, I walked all the way down here. And that's another thing, Matthew's been on at me again, to learn how to drive. Said he'd be happy to teach me. That there was nothing to it. Do you know, Mama, he managed to make me feel quite inadequate".
"No, dear. How so?"
"By making great play of the fact that Edith learned how to drive during the war, that since then she has learned how to fly ..."
"Yes, well, the least said about that the better!" Cora had never quite come to terms with Edith qualifying as a pilot, even if, given her chosen profession of an archaeologist, the ability of being able to fly an aeroplane was possessed of certain advantages. "So, what did you say in reply?"
"I told Matthew that given half a chance, I thought Edith would have no hesitation in learning how to drive the Hindenburg!"
Cora laughed.
"No doubt. And what did Matthew say to that?"
"He told me the Hindenburg was an airship. Not a motor. Apparently, one doesn't drive an airship. One steers it! I told Matthew not to split hairs. Then, when I said that darling Sybil doesn't know how to do drive either, that when Tom tried to teach her it all ended in tears, Matthew said that was not the point. That living where she does in Dublin, she doesn't need to drive; that she can hop on a 'bus or a tram, catch a train, whereas I ..."
"And are you so against the whole idea? It would allow you a much greater degree of independence".
"Yes, well there is that to it, but I have more than a sneaking suspicion that Matthew is looking to make further economies where our domestic staff are concerned. That if I learned how to drive I suspect he would then dispense with Chapman's services as chauffeur altogether. After all, as things stand, he is only retained part time and works mostly down at the new garage in the village. The whole situation is most unsatisfactory. I mean, could you ever see darling Tom swapping his livery to go down and work in the local garage?"
"As it happens, knowing Tom's affinity with motors, yes I could!" Cora smiled. "And speaking of Tom, is there any further news about Danny?"
"Not that I've heard. I know Tom and Sybil are worried sick with all this talk of him going out to Spain".
"Understandably so. But I'm sure that's all it is. Just talk".
"Maybe".
"And what about this business of Robert?"
"You know about that?" Mary sounded surprised.
"Well, as it happens, yes. Is it a secret?"
"Not in the way you mean, Mama, no it isn't. But how did you find out about it?"
"Robert telephoned me this morning, very excited, and told me his news. So, he's joining Friedrich and Max in Italy? Trieste, was it?"
Mary nodded.
"Like Danny and his talk of Spain, this also came quite out of the blue. Apparently, Friedrich is sailing out to Palestine to close down a dig there, and young Max is going with him".
"Is that really very wise, do you think, given his health?"
Mary shook her head.
"No, but then it's not up to me. And both Edith and Friedrich have agreed not to wrap darling Max up in cotton wool, and to let him try and lead as near normal a life as is possible. Nonetheless, I know Edith's very worried, as to what could happen. So, in part to help mollify her fears, Friedrich suggested that Robert might like to come along and keep Max company. Act as a sort of keeper for him, much as Danny and Robert both did when we were all in Austria back in '33. Not that Max knows that's why he's been asked. Anyway, Robert's chuffed to bits about it".
"And you?"
"Chuffed is hardly the word I'd use to describe how I feel about it, Mama. But Matthew's all for it. Even though it's only for a few weeks. He sees it as character-building or some such tommyrot. Said that when he was the age Robert is now, he'd bicycled with a friend down through France to see the châteaux in the Loire. Said he may even have seen the outside of the one that belongs to Friedrich and Edith".
"Really? I never knew Matthew had done that. Well, I never".
"Neither did I, until now. However, bicycling through France is one thing. Travelling out to the Near East is something else entirely".
"So what is it that you are not telling me - about Robert's trip?"
"I think privately that Robert feels that if Danny does indeed go out to Spain, that he ought to be doing something similar. Not that the situations are at all comparable. After all, there's fighting in Spain".
"What about Robert's schooling?"
"Matthew's had a word with his headmaster. And, as I said, it's only for a few weeks. Apparently, Robert's well ahead in his studies. Unlike Simon. But then that's another story". Mary sighed.
Cora nodded. She was only too well aware that if Mary could be said to have a favourite amongst her brood, then it was Robert. But whether this was because of anything more than that he was her firstborn and so, barring anything dreadful happening, thus represented the future of Downton, who would be here to take up the reins of running the estate in the 1950s and on into a distant future, the shape of which none of them could either foretell or indeed would ever know, was a matter of supposition.
"Would you like some more tea? If so, I really think I should ring for ..."
Mary glanced briefly out of the window. The fog seemed worse than ever, swirling, eddying back and forth, so much so that the row of cottages which stood directly opposite the Dower House could no longer be seen.
"No, thank you Mama. I believe I ought to start walking back". Mary rose to her feet. Her mother followed suit.
"Would you like me to have Clarke telephone up to the abbey for the motor?"
Mary shook her head. She would never hear the end of it from Matthew if Chapman was summoned down here in the Rolls to collect her. Besides which, if she remembered it right, today he would be working down at the garage in the village. Perhaps learning to drive might be a good idea after all.
"No, Mama. It's not that far, really. And as for you, you should stay put in here by the fire and keep warm".
Cora shook her head vehemently.
"Mary, darling, I'm not an old woman. So, I'd be most appreciative if you don't treat me like one!"
"Very well, Mama".
Together, arm in arm, mother and daughter walked slowly out into the hall.
"And how does Robert feel about travelling out on his own to Trieste?"
"Oh, he won't be going on his own. As it happens someone Matthew knows, some official or other at the League, Hugh Cavendish, a relative of the Cavendishes of Badsworth House, is travelling out to Venice from London. Matthew and Robert are going up to town next week and meeting him at Victoria station, from where he and Robert will travel out to Italy. Apparently, it's then only a short journey by train to Trieste, where Friedrich and Max will be on the platform to meet Robert".
"And coming back?"
"Matthew's making the arrangements for that too. Quite what, I'm not entirely sure, involving an army officer, although he's proving somewhat elusive to pin down. I think Eccles was the name Matthew mentioned".
Cora nodded. The name meant nothing to her but then why should it? Having slipped on her gloves, Mary now opened the front door.
"Thank you for tea, Mama".
"My pleasure. It was lovely to see you. And in this awful weather, so unexpected too. Now, you'll let me know, if Matthew tells you what it is that's ..."
The two women kissed and embraced.
"Yes, Mama, of course I will. Now, please, go back inside the house".
Cora nodded again, but remained standing resolutely just where she was in the open doorway.
Mary set off purposefully down the flagged path, only a moment later to disappear completely out of Cora's sight, swallowed up by the all pervading murk of the fog.
North Wall Quay, Dublin, Irish Free State, January 1937.
Here on North Wall Quay the fog hung air reeked of wet mud, rotten eggs, and stale fish, with smoke from the funnel of the Pieter continuing to drift slowly down, covering all hereabouts in a damp, salt tinged gossamer-like pall of soot.
When they had arrived here, down on the quay, Tom and Danny had been met at the end of the steamer's gangway by Jimmy and Liam who said that they had almost given up on Danny; thought they would be sailing to Spain without him. Now, while the three lads stood and chatted, Tom cast a critical eye over the Pieter, a grimy, rusty tramp steamer which hailed out of Rotterdam, presently bound for Bilbao, ostensibly carrying, with food beginning to run short in the Basque held area of Northern Spain, nothing more than a cargo of potatoes, swedes, and turnips in her hold.
With memories of the time he himself had sailed on a similar vessel all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, over to the fishing banks off Newfoundland, Tom thought there was more chance of the Pieter's single engine breaking down long before she reached the mouth of the Liffey, let alone the open sea. Or for that matter the north coast of Spain. As to what would happen, should the Pieter encounter gunboats belonging to the Nationalists, there could only be one outcome; one upon which it did not do to dwell. All the same, Tom nodded towards the steamer; did his best to lighten the sombre mood by putting his thoughts into words.
"I hope all of yous know how to swim, for sure!"
Danny and his two pals laughed, as indeed did several others of the Volunteers who were in earshot, standing close by, lining the ship's rail.
"Now, what about your parents? Have yous told them? Either of yous?"
Jimmy shrugged, as did Liam.
"So, do yous want me to let them know?" Tom asked softly. Quite why he made the offer, he knew not, well aware that he would have enough trouble trying to explain to Sybil why he had not forcibly stopped Danny from doing what he had done. However, short of physically frogmarching Danny across the O'Connell Bridge as far as the station at Westland Row, and forcibly putting him on the train back to Blackrock, that had never been an option. Tom trusted that, if not to begin with, Sybil would, eventually, come to see that in this Danny had to have been allowed to do as he felt was right.
"Thanks, for sure, Mr. Branson". Jimmy and Liam both nodded their assent.
"Very well then, I will. And good luck to the two of yous".
Again both boys nodded. Then, sensing that Danny might want a few moments alone with his Da, they turned and made their way up the narrow gangway, and, as it happened, not a moment too soon for there came the sound of raised voices, speaking in a guttural language which Tom did not understand, and which he assumed must be Dutch, followed by a single mournful blast on the ship's hooter. At the same time, and with a noisy clank and rattle of heavy chain the anchor was weighed in, before first at the bow, and then at the stern, the mooring ropes were cast off.
The moment of parting had now come.
"Da, I ..."
Both Tom and Danny shook hands before, instinctively, Tom pulled his son to him in one final, heartfelt, earnest embrace.
"Tell Ma, I love her".
"I will, for sure".
"And Saiorse and darling Bobby too. Dermot's too young to understand".
Tom nodded.
"Now, take the very greatest care, for sure".
"I will Da, I will, if only to avoid having Ma as my nurse!"
"I hope ya won't be needing a nurse at all!"
"No, for sure!"
And, although the two of them both laughed, the laughter, it rang hollow.
Now, as Tom released his hold on Danny, from up on the deck of the Pieter Liam called down to the both of them that the steamer was starting to move. With no time to spare, Danny turned and ran lightly up the gangway, to stand beside his friends and wave farewell. A moment later, the gangway had been hove in and stowed on board.
"Look out for each other. And make sure ya write now. All of yous, for sure!"
"Of course, Da!" called Danny. Beside him Jimmy and Liam likewise nodded their assents.
With the boys still waving their goodbyes, the Pieter continued pulling away from her erstwhile mooring, the gap between the side of the vessel and the quay growing ever wider as the tramp steamer nosed her way slowly out into the cold, fogbound waters of the Liffey.
Then the mist swirled again, nubilous and opaque, before closing like a shroud over the Pieter, so that in an instant she had vanished out of sight, with only the dwindling, pulsating throb of her engine, together with the rapidly diminishing, frothing waters of her wake to show that she had ever been berthed along North Wall Quay.
After the Pieter had disappeared into the mist, for what seemed to be an eternity, Tom remained standing resolutely where he was, while drops of moisture beaded his hat and overcoat. Whatever Sybil might say, Tom knew that however much he had wanted to, and he had, he could not have denied Danny doing what he had done. And for one very simple reason: that being that both he and Sybil had brought all of their children up to think for themselves. If, as Danny had said, he viewed the civil war in Spain as a turning point in the modern history of Europe, then he had to go and fight for what he believed in, even if, like Tom, he had never seen the madness of war.
Nonetheless, whether or not Danny himself realised it, as the eldest of the Branson children, he had a large part to play in helping to keep the family together, a role which would become even more important when Tom and Sybil were themselves no longer here. In doing what he had done, in going off to fight in a foreign war, in a far distant country, one to which he held no true allegiance, should Danny never return from Spain, but instead find some corner of a foreign field, his absence risked creating a void, one which would never be filled, and which would, undoubtedly, in the end, tear the Bransons apart.
The darkness deepened and, as the cold of the winter's night drew down, unbidden, there now formed in Tom's mind a succession of images of Danny, some clear, others less so, first as the little boy he had been, and afterward of the young man he had become. It was as the last of these slowly faded away that a sudden chill brushed Tom's skin. A moment later and the jet in the nearest of the three gas lamps bordering the quay fizzed, spluttered, and went out.
Only now, and with a very heavy heart, did Tom finally turn away from the silent quayside, and begin slowly to retrace his steps along the wet stone setts, in the direction of the railway station at Westland Row.
Author's Note:
The Pera Palace Hotel in Constantinople (as it then was) opened in 1892 and provided accommodation for passengers on the fabled Orient Express.
The King David Hotel in Jerusalem had opened in 1931. During the period of the Mandate the southern wing of the hotel was used by the British as an administrative and military headquarters.
Emir Abdullah (1882-1951) ruler of Transjordan and its successor state Jordan from 1921 until his assassination in 1951.
Peake Pasha - Major General Frederick Gerard Peake (1886-1970) was a British Army and police officer who established the Arab Legion - the British trained regular army of both Transjordan and Jordan in the early part of the twentieth century.
Sir Claud Russell (1871-1959) served as minister to Ethiopia in the early 1920s, to Switzerland (1928-31) and later in the 1930s as ambassador to Portugal. He was one of a handful of British diplomats during this period who considered women should be admitted to the British Diplomatic Service.
All ambassadors and high commissioners to the United Kingdom are formally accredited to the Court of St. James.
Ulrich Friedrich Wilhelm Joachim von Ribbentrop (1893-1945) was appointed by Hitler as German ambassador to the United Kingdom in August 1936. During the eighteen months Ribbentrop was in post he managed to anger, annoy, and upset virtually everyone he met. His social gaffes were notorious, for which he was nicknamed Herr Brickendrop. From 1938 he served as Foreign Minister of Nazi Germany. At the end of the war Ribbentrop was tried at Nuremberg, convicted, and hanged as a war criminal - for the part he had played in starting WWII and so thus enabling the Holocaust.
some corner of a foreign field a line from The Soldier, one of the poems written by the First World War poet, Rupert Brooke (1887-1915).Chapter Five
