Chapter Twelve
The Ambassador And The Rabbit
Rosenberg, Lower Austria, March 1937.
At Rosenberg, the telephone began to ring. Here in the Entrance Hall, Kleist picked up the receiver and, having ascertained the identity of the caller, went, at his usual sedate pace, in search of the mistress, whom he found upstairs in Master Kurt's bedroom, down on her knees playing a game with her young son. Kleist cleared his throat.
"Madam..."
"Yes, Kleist, what is it?"
"Madam, I have Baroness Rothschild for you, on the telephone".
Kitty was her usual chatty, effusive self.
"Edith, dear, I have someone here who wishes to speak with you..."
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, March 1937.
That the visit by Joachim von Ribbentrop, the German Ambassador to the Court of St. James, to Downton Abbey, fraught as it was expected to be, did not begin auspiciously, was, in no small measure, due to Peter Rabbit.
For someone as prickly and pompous as Ribbentrop undoubtedly was, to be, as he saw it, upstaged, in his view deliberately, by the antics of a peasant, was unacceptable; which was why when the line of immaculate black limousines belonging to the German embassy in London swept into view of those awaiting their arrival here at the abbey, Ribbentrop was already in a foul temper.
What happened to put the irascible ambassador into such an exceedingly vile mood had its origins in something which had occurred earlier in the day, down in the village. To be precise as to location, this had been in the yard at the rear of the Grantham Arms, where six year old Willy Bairstow had been cleaning out the hutch of his pet rabbits, both named after two of Beatrice Potter's literary creations: Benjamin Bunny and Peter Rabbit. That it had been Market Day here in Downton only contrived to make matters a great deal worse.
Now, whether it was carelessness on Willy's part, a faulty latch, or indeed perhaps both, the result was the same. With the door improperly secured, seeing it to be so, being the more adventurous of the two rabbits, Peter, decided to see what lay beyond the confines of his hutch. Not until sometime later, when Willy returned to the yard, and discovered to his horror the hutch door to be open, while Benjamin Bunny was still inside, of Peter Rabbit there being no immediate sign, the alarm was duly raised.
A friend of young Alfie Bates, Willy and his chums began a desperate search to find Peter Rabbit and, some time later, it was Alfie who saw the black and white rabbit, sitting contentedly in the gutter on the other side of the High Street munching on a cabbage leaf, more or less at the same time that Peter was spotted by two gypsy boys.
Matthew and Mary's Bedroom, Downton Abbey, two nights later.
"Where to begin?" Mary sighed. "I suppose with the telephone call from Edith Vane-Tempest-Stewart; Lady Londonderry. Mind you, it didn't help matters, however well intentioned on her part. For one thing, when Barrow answered the telephone, there was interference on the line and he thought the caller said she was Lady Edith. So, I fully understand why he thought it was our Edith telephoning, and, knowing her, I then half expected to be asked by the operator to agree to pay for the call!"
Matthew stifled a laugh.
"I don't think darling Edith would ever resort to doing such a..."
"Don't you believe it! A reverse charge call put through by the operator in Baghdad or some equally godforsaken place where she happened to be down on her hands and knees in the dirt scrabbling about for broken pieces of china!"
"Pottery, darling. Not china. And they're called sherds".
"What are?"
"Broken pieces of pottery".
"Matthew, don't be tiresome!"
"I didn't intend to be but I do think you're rather exaggerating!" He did his best to suppress another chuckle.
"Laugh all you like! Anyway, do you want to listen to what I have to say or not?"
"Of course I do..."
Downton, two days earlier.
The two old men were sitting side by side on a bench outside the Grantham Arms, passing the time of day, watching as the last of the market stalls were dismantled for another week, in the wake of which two gypsy boys down from the camp up on West Fell Scar could be seen wandering up and down the High Street, gathering from the gutters any vegetables which had fallen from the stalls. It was while doing this that the boys saw the rabbit, which since it was tame, was indifferent to their presence, and, unconcerned, continued chewing on a cabbage leaf. The two gypsy boys could not believe their good luck; a loaf, a haul of several potatoes, carrots, and a couple of turnips. And now, a rabbit for the pot.
"Loike I say," said Bert Holdsworth, "too many gyppos 'ereabouts! Squire, he ort to do somethin', 'im being a magistrate an' all".
Stan Earnshaw nodded his agreement; continued with the task of filling the bowl of his pipe with baccy from his leather tobacco pouch.
"Aye. Market Day always brings 'em in. From what oi 'eard in the Arms, they be camped owt Enderby way, close to Mason's farm".
Matthew and Mary's Bedroom, Downton Abbey, two nights later.
"Well, don't interrupt me, then. Now, where was I?"
"Lady Londonderry..."
"Yes, well, Lady Londonderry must have realised that I was in some difficulty because she repeated her name: in full. I'm sure I don't even know her. In fact, I'm absolutely certain we've never met, although she insisted we had. Mind you, with the size of the house parties she throws, I'm surprised she remembers anyone. Anyway, when I asked, where it was we'd met, she became rather vague as to the details. So maybe it was Mama she had in mind. That would make far more sense. Anyway, Lady Londonderry went on to say that it was at Mount Stewart, over in Ireland. But, unless, to coin a phrase of Tom's, I'm losing my marbles, we've never been there. Have we?"
Matthew shook his head.
"No, we haven't".
"Well, that's a relief. Anyway, when I said, that save for Dublin, I'd never set foot in Ireland, she said it must have been at their place in County Durham. I forget the name. But, to be perfectly frank, darling, I don't think we've been there either".
"Wynyard Park".
"As always, you're remarkably well informed. How so?" Mary lofted a brow.
"Let's just say that my knowledge on that particular subject comes from my other activities".
"Does it now?"
Matthew nodded.
"Our unwelcome... house guest... stayed at Wynyard Park last year, as a guest of the Marquess and Marchioness of Londonderry, having already enjoyed their hospitality over in Ireland, at the place you mentioned a moment ago; Mount Stewart".
Matthew smiled.
"What is it?"
"I was just remembering the utter ass Ribbentrop made of himself in Durham Cathedral last November when he attended Divine Service there to mark Londonderry's installation as mayor".
"Oh?"
"Yes, when the cathedral organist began playing the introduction to the hymn Glorious Things Of Thee Are Spoken, Ribbentrop thought it was the German national anthem, leapt to his feet, and tried to give the Nazi salute. He was only restrained from doing so by the Marquess himself. The man is a complete buffoon".
"And Ribbentrop?" Mary smiled.
Matthew laughed.
"Touché! As for Londonderry, I regret to say it, but he is little better". Matthew shook his head despondently.
"You've met him?"
"Yes, several times in the House..." Matthew nodded.
"Lady Londonderry said so". Mary paused.
"And?"
"Well, that was something else".
"What was?"
"When she mentioned you, her voice took on an entirely different intonation..."
"Did it, now?" Matthew looked enquiringly at his wife.
"Let's just say, her tone was hardly what I'd call, flattering".
Downton, two days earlier.
At the same time that young Willy and his pals, including Alfie Bates, saw Peter Rabbit, the two gypsy boys made their move and at that very moment, something else happened: von Ribbentrop and his entourage swept into town. Swept being the operative word; the cavalcade being driven as if it was on one of the Reichsautobahns on which there were no speed limits, instead of passing at a sedate pace through an English country village in the heart of rural Yorkshire.
With Peter having been rescued from the clutches of the two gypsy boys, walking back across the High Street, a very happy Willy Bairstow was concerned only for his pet rabbit now nestled safely in his arms. But, while Willy didn't see the oncoming motors, Alfie Bates most certainly did; at the very last minute pushing Willy forward, and thus out of harm's way.
The foremost car hit Alfie, throwing him into the air.
Here in the High Street, the column of motors from the German Embassy came to an abrupt stop. A large group of men in black uniforms wearing red armbands disgorged from the vehicles and hurried to the front of the cavalcade where, just ahead of the first vehicle, Alfie Bates lay a few yards away, unmoving, face down in the road. As horrified villagers began to gather front of the Grantham Arms, with rather more presence of mind, young Joe Chadwick went at a lick for the doctor and Jack Padgett ran to tell Alfie's parents what had happened.
Downton Abbey, a short while later.
The motors from the German embassy duly hove into sight.
"Courage!" Matthew exclaimed, deliberately giving the word its French pronunciation. Covertly, he squeezed Mary's hand, he hoped reassuringly. A moment later, the line of limousines came to a stand and, with the door of the ambassador's car having been opened for him by Barrow, Herr Joachim von Ribbentrop, German Ambassador to the Court of St. James, stepped out onto the immaculately raked gravel of the forecourt in front of the abbey.
For a moment, Ribbentrop stood stock still, seemingly taking in the grandeur of the great house. Then, catching sight of Matthew and Mary, he marched swiftly over to where they stood, and came to a stand in front of Matthew. Mindful of what he had heard tell had happened when the ambassador had attended Buckingham Palace to present his credentials to His Majesty The King, almost imperceptibly, Matthew took a step backwards. It was as well that he did, as having done so, he thus adroitly avoided being hit in the face by the exuberance of the Nazi salute that Ribbentrop now gave.
"Heil Hitler!"
Matthew remained silent; only when the German ambassador had lowered his arm, did he then move forward, holding out his right hand.
"Herr von Ribbentrop".
"Lord Grantham".
The two men shook hands.
"Welcome to Downton Abbey".
"Thank you".
"May I introduce my wife, Lady Grantham".
Ribbentrop gave a veiled smile, clicked his heels, and executed a perfect baisse main.
"Lady Grantham, I am so very delighted to make your acquaintance. With what I have read recently, I feel I know you already. Permit me..." Ribbentrop nodded to one of his men. "A small appreciation of my regard for you".
"Why, thank you..."
Ribbentrop handed Mary a beautifully wrapped circular box.
"I believe you have a singular fondness for it".
"Do I?"
"So I have been led to believe".
"Really? How mysterious! Let me echo what my husband just said. Welcome to Downton Abbey".
"Again, thank you".
"Did you have a pleasant journey?"
"Tolerable, save for a slight inconvenience down there in the village".
"What was that?" Mary asked.
"Some peasant had the impertinence to run in front of my car. Fortunately, there was no damage to the motor".
"Oh!"
"And the person involved?"
"Some boy..."
"Was he hurt?"
"Hurt? I've really no idea. Why should I? Your local doctor attended him.
"So he was injured then?"
"Badly injured?" Matthew asked, now interjecting.
"I couldn't say. In Germany such a thing would not be tolerated".
"No, I'm sure that in today's Germany it would not". Matthew's eyes narrowed. He swung on his heel. "Barrow, would you be so good as to make urgent enquiries down in the village, and ascertain exactly what has happened. Let me know immediately you have word".
"Certainly, Your Lordship".
Ribbentrop now turned his steely gaze on Barrow.
"Can this be the famous Mr. Barrow of whom I have heard tell?"
"Sir?"
"I believe we have a mutual acquaintance?"
"Do we, sir? I'm sure I couldn't possibly say".
"But of course we do. Herr Gregory, who lives on the Rue d'Anjou, in Paris".
As a result of Barrow's enquiries, the news that it was Alfie Bates who had been knocked down in the High Street reached the abbey a short while later, casting a pall of gloom over the already fraught proceedings attending Ribbentrop's visit. Understandably, Mary had insisted on going down immediately to the Cottage Hospital where she found both Anna and Bates who told her that young Alfie had sustained a severe concussion, a broken wrist, and fracture to his right leg. He would mend, but it would take time.
On learning, on Mary's return from the hospital, that the injured boy's mother had once been in service here at the abbey, Ribbentrop was dismissive. Why all the fuss concerning the child of a menial? On hearing this, Mary had to leave the Drawing Room to compose herself.
Later, long after tea was over, with the ambassador and Matthew discussing matters in the study, Mary went upstairs to change for dinner. It was now, in the privacy of her bedroom, that she opened the box given her by Ribbentrop upon his arrival; only to find it contained Turkish Delight.
Matthew and Mary's Bedroom, Downton Abbey, two nights later.
Matthew smiled.
"Like Tom, I've broad shoulders! Not that I'm not surprised. In my view, and that of others too, the Marquess is too close to the Führer and the thugs around him - Hess, Göring, Himmler, and von Papen to name but several. According to Londonderry, Herr Hitler is a kindly man who is both forthcoming and agreeable. Not words that I would use to describe the jumped up little corporal in Berlin! Doubtless my personal disdain for Londonderry is likewise well known to the man himself. Added to which, the Marquess's undoubted fondness for practising his own brand of private diplomacy is something which my colleagues at the FO tell me we could well do without. That, of course, is why he extended his invitations to Ribbentrop to visit first Mount Stewart and then Wynyard Park last year. How high Londonderry stands in the Führer's estimation is evidenced by the fact that Hitler told Londonderry - and this must go no further - that he has what I will term designs on both Czechoslovakia and Poland".
"Matthew, I know you and darling Tom understand the implications of such matters far better than do I, but from what you've just said, surely, that would provoke another war?"
"It very well might".
"Only might?"
Matthew grimaced.
"I've no doubt that were such designs to be acted upon that is precisely what would happen. All the same, it doesn't take into account the fact that ..." Matthew paused.
"What?"
"That here in Britain, we are completely unprepared for another war".
"But, from what I've read in the papers, I thought that we..."
Matthew shook his head.
"Whatever you may have read, while it's true that during the last few years there have been repeated calls, at least from some quarters, for us to rearm, to expand the Royal Air Force and the Royal Navy, to re-equip the British Army, what has actually been done in that regard has been pitiful. God knows, after the last show, I don't want another war, but only last month, the Chiefs of Staff reported that by May of this year, the Luftwaffe, the German air force, will have 800 bombers, compared to the RAF's 48".
"Heavens!"
"Quite. But Baldwin insists on maintaining that he has no mandate to re-arm, and so is proceeding, cautiously. That said, if he goes any slower in all of this, he'll come to a complete stop. As for Attlee and the Labour Party, they are opposed on principle to rearmament of any kind".
"Then for Ribbentrop, to have said what he did over dinner, that he was looking for a place in the country! That he rather liked Downton! Why, the cheek of the man!"
"Darling, as I told you, he's a tactless bore. I suspect a very great deal of what he says is simply for effect; to try and provoke a reaction, as he did with your unlooked for token of his esteem. By the way, what have you done with it?"
"I made a present of it to Mrs. Hughes, on my way back from the hospital".
"That was very kind of you".
"Kind, no. I can't stand the stuff. It's far too sweet for my liking!"
"Really?"
"Yes".
"How was she?"
"Away with the fairies. Today I was Merle Oberon".
"And, young Archie?"
"Awake, but feeling very sore. Bates told me that these last couple of days Anna has hardly left his bedside".
"That's only to be expected. But he will make a full recovery?"
"So Anna says. At least, that's what they've been told. But it's early days. He'll be in the Cottage Hospital for a good while yet".
"Of course".
"So what else did our esteemed visitor have to say?"
Matthew sighed.
"He is nothing if not repetitious. That being so, he brought up again the question of returning Germany her colonies which were seized, chiefly by ourselves and the French, during the early days of the Great War. Halifax has already told him that will not happen. But he is like a dog with a bone, even going so far as to suggest that if Germany's former colonies are not returned, she will take them back by force. I countenanced against such a move; said it would be extremely unwise. Mind you, he was just as tenacious about Great Britain joining the Anti-Comitern Pact against Soviet Russia".
"Well, I'm with him there..."
Matthew laughed.
"He believes, mistakenly of course, that, somehow, from behind the scenes it is His Majesty The King and the British aristocracy - for which read the likes of me - who rule this country and the British Empire. I did my very best to disabuse him of his fanciful notion but to little effect. He simply wouldn't listen. I understand that even Göring has told Hitler that Ribbentrop is a stupid ass".
"Oh, really? Assuming that you know the answer, just what did Herr Hitler say to that?"
"Apparently he said that our unwelcome house guest knew many important people in England. Göring retorted that while that might be true, the problem was that those self-same people knew von Ribbentrop!"
Mary laughed.
"Really? Well, good for Göring!"
Matthew smiled.
"As for Ribbentrop's comment about Downton, pay it no heed. He's said much the same about St. Michael's Mount down in Cornwall!"
"He has?"
"Yes. I have it on very good authority that he told the Lord Lieutenant of the county that he wanted to live in St Ives; that should the Nazis ever occupy this country, Hitler had agreed to give him Cornwall. Apparently, he'd chosen Tregenna Castle as his residence but, after he had been taken to see St Michael's Mount, he decided only that would do!"
"Well I never!"
Railway Station, Tulkarem, Northern District, British Mandated Palestine, March 1937.
Notwithstanding what had befallen the express from the south, it transpired that the train to Nablus was not running. The service had been reduced to operating on but one day a week and while today was the day on which the train was supposed to run, a locomotive had broken down. Informed of this by the stationmaster at Tulkarem, realising that the boys and he might be stranded here for sometime, Friedrich asked if there was a telephone he might use. But then, quite unexpectedly, a battered lorry driven by none other than Otto Horst pulled into the yard behind the station building.
Jumping down from the cab, beaming from ear to ear, Horst and his employer were swiftly reunited, Horst explaining that rumours regarding the unreliability of the railway service on the Nablus line were common knowledge hereabouts. This being so, he had taken, what seemed to him, the sensible precaution of driving over from the dig in time to meet the train from Haifa.
"What if the railway service to Nablus had been running?" Friedrich asked a few moments later when, with their luggage loaded and introductions having been made, he and the boys were seated beside Horst in the lorry.
Horst smiled, then laughed.
"Do you know, sir, I hadn't given it a single thought!"
His smile was infectious; the two boys grinned as well.
A moment later, the lorry set off, wending its way along a narrow, twisting, road, bound for the excavation at Samaria some twenty five miles distant.
On Board HMS Hood, Bay of Biscay, February 1937.
Here on board the massive British battlecruiser, now out of their filthy-dirty, soaking-wet clothes, after the luxury of a hot shower, Danny, Liam, Develin, and Pim were given the once over by the ship's surgeon and pronounced fit and well, surprisingly so, given what they had all been through. A short while later, looking rather more presentable, in civvy kit given them by several naval ratings, here below decks, seated in the seamen's mess, the three young Irishmen and the Dutchman found themselves tucking into a hot meal of sausages, mashed potatoes, and carrots, followed by spotted dick and custard, all washed down with lashings of scalding hot tea. With the stoker who had been saved with them, his injuries cleaned and dressed, recovering in the sick bay, when Danny had asked the sailor who brought them their meal if anyone else had been rescued from the Pieter, to be told that, as far as the seaman knew, that only the four of them, along with the injured stoker, had been saved. Certainly no-one else had been brought on board the Hood. It was at this point that a young midshipman appeared in the doorway and said that if they were finished eating, their presence was requested forthwith by one of the ship's officers.
Nineteen year old Liam shook his head.
His maternal grandfather had been killed by the Black and Tans in the aftermath of the burning of Knockcroghery back in '21. Ever since he had been old enough to understand what happened all those years ago on an isolated farmstead in Roscommon, Liam had harboured a deep and abiding hatred of the British military. This apart, the continuing use of the Treaty Ports by warships of the Royal Navy was a festering sore for many of those in the Free State, even though a clause in the Anglo-Irish Treaty made provision for it. So, notwithstanding the fact that it had been sailors serving on board a British battlecruiser who had saved Liam's life, or perhaps because of it, there was no way he was going to be told what to do by an officer of the Royal Navy.
"Will I, yea!"
"Bollox if ya t'ink I'm doing that!" Develin exclaimed, also clearly suspicious.
Ever the peacemaker, Danny quickly tried a different tack.
"What's the craic?" he asked, realising as soon as the words were out of his mouth that the young sailor wouldn't understand what he meant. Hurriedly, Danny put his question into intelligible English. "What for?" he asked.
The midshipman shrugged; either he genuinely didn't know or, what Danny recognised from something Da had once said when speaking of Uncle Matthew, he was merely being diplomatic. Either way, the midshipman would brook no refusal.
"If you'd all follow me, please".
Liam was on the point of mouthing off again but, before he had the chance to do so, Danny swiftly cut him off.
"For feck's sake, Liam, houl yer whish! It's not this bloke's fault. Anyways, aren't ya forgettin' somethin'?"
"What?"
"Like it or not, the British have just saved our feckin' lives!"
"Grand, Danny! As if I was needin' to be reminded of t'at!"
With their meal over, Danny and the three others followed the young midshipman along a veritable maze of passageways and up several companionways, aware from the pulsating throb of the huge warship's enormous engines that the vessel was now under way, as indeed had been the case for some time now; the question being, where was she bound?
A short while later, in the company of the young midshipman, the four survivors from the Pieter arrived at the cabin of the officer who had requested to see them: a lieutenant, smart in his crisp naval uniform, the sight of whom was enough to cause Liam's hackles to rise. However, mindful of what Danny had said, for the time being at least, he kept his ready temper in check. The midshipman saluted his superior and promptly fled the scene, no doubt glad to be gone.
While keeping the four of the young men standing, all rather self conscious in their ill-fitting, borrowed clothes, seated comfortably behind his desk, the officer now proceeded to question them closely, the Irishmen at some length, as to why they had been on board the Pieter in the first place. Informed them that with the Canarias wisely having withdrawn from the scene, the Hood was now bound for Bilbao, providing an escort to the two British merchantmen, and that when that was done, she would once more put out to sea.
As far as the lieutenant was concerned, Pim, together with the injured stoker, were Dutch nationals and in due course arrangements would be made to have them repatriated to the Netherlands. Pim voiced his thanks.
"Dank je," he said quietly.
The lieutenant nodded; asked that Pim wait outside in the passageway.
"Now, as to the three of you..."
From a drawer in his desk, the lieutenant pulled out an oilskin pouch which Danny recognised immediately as belonging to himself, and which he had been wearing when he went into the water. In fact, he had had it with him ever since, along with Jimmy, the three of them had boarded the Pieter in Dublin. From the pouch the lieutenant extracted four passports with green covers, each embossed in the centre with a harp, and which, while undoubtedly water stained, were all still more or less legible.
"Yours?" he asked.
Danny nodded.
"For sure. Ours".
One by one, the lieutenant picked up the passports; studied the contents of each in turn, especially the photographs, looking up from them at the faces of the three Irishmen standing before him.
"Somewhat blurred and not very good likenesses... but then that's often the way of it".
Danny's heart skipped a beat.
The passports had been obtained by the Volunteers, the photographs taken hurriedly in a shabby photographer's studio off O'Connell Street and then pasted just as quickly into the passports. Quite where the blank documents had come from it hadn't done to enquire because, while the passports were genuine enough, the details contained within them ...
"How old are you?" snapped the lieutenant suddenly. Danny had not expected the question but he saw at once the trap it posed. His answer was prompt.
"Twenty one," he replied, remembering that on the passport his date of birth was given as 1916.
"And you?"
As swift with his reply as Danny had been, Liam gave his age as twenty two, again matching the date of birth as it appeared on his passport.
"Both of you born the same year as the Rising?"
Danny and Liam nodded.
"You're Develin Shaughnessy?"
Develin nodded.
"Born where, exactly, if you please?"
That was easy enough; at least the places of their birth as written in the passports were correct.
"Athenry, in County Galway".
Satisfied, the lieutenant nodded; pushed the three passports across the desk.
"Which leaves this just this one. Whose is it?"
"That belongs... belonged to Jimmy... Jimmy Mcloughlin".
"Jimmy Mcloughlin?" echoed the lieutenant. "So, where's he?"
Danny shook his head; looked down all unseeing at the floor.
"Ah, I see..."
"Do ya, for sure?"
The lieutenant nodded.
"I'm sorry..."
"Turned out the feckin' eejit couldn't bleedin' well swim," explained Liam dismissively. He shrugged.
"How singularly unwise of him then... to have embarked on such a perilous voyage".
"If ya say so".
"I do say so! Here, take it!" The lieutenant skimmed Jimmy's passport across the polished surface of the desk. Danny picked it up and stuffed it, along with the others, back inside the oilskin pouch which the officer now also returned.
He went on to say that even if the young Irishmen considered themselves citizens of the Irish Free State, Danny and his two pals were, nonetheless, subjects of His Britannic Majesty, King George VI, and as such, British nationals. On hearing this blunt pronouncement of the legalities of their situation, Liam began loudly to voice his detestation of both the British and their king. At which point, the lieutenant held up his hand for silence; said that if that was how the three of them felt, then in double quick time they would find themselves slammed in the brig, taken over to England, and from there sent packing back to the Free State. Of course there was an alternative...
Danny's ears pricked up.
"Liam, for feck's sake... let him speak!"
"Well, it seems at least one of you not only has some sense but also the wit to use it. Now, as I was about to say before I was interrupted, the matters I have touched upon are merely technicalities".
Then a most surprising thing happened.
The young lieutenant lapsed suddenly into an Irish brogue to match that of Danny. Explained that his mother hailed from... Clontarf, County Dublin. Coming from the Irish capital, did Danny know it? Danny grinned; explained that his Da came from the very same village. That the officer himself had never visited Clontarf made Danny's task a great deal easier when it came to describing the place - which Danny himself had only visited half a dozen or so times. If his memory played him false, the lieutenant was hardly in a position to contradict him. Not that it really mattered, as the officer explained that if the three of them kept their mouths shut, they would be allowed to proceed and disembark in Bilbao. For while a British warship might properly intervene on the high seas to protect British merchantmen, it would not do to be seen to be taking sides in a civil war by landing on Spanish soil men intent on joining one of the two opposing factions. After that, they were on their own. What became of them, was not the concern of the Royal Navy. Nonetheless, the lieutenant wished them well, or as he put it, May the Road Rise Up To Meet You, the traditional Irish blessing given to someone setting out on a journey.
Bilbao, Northern Coast of Spain, late February 1937.
Sometime later, with HMS Hood having dropped anchor in the wide waters of the Bilbao estuary, a jolly boat was dispatched from the SS. Whitethorn, one of the two British merchant ships which had set sail with the Pieter from St. Jean de Luz, to collect the three young Irishman.
On board the Hood, having exchanged addresses, Danny said a sad farewell to Pim, with each promising to look the other up if they ever chanced to be in either Dublin or else Rotterdam. Then the three Irishmen were taken up on deck where they said goodbye to the lieutenant who had interrogated them and had come to see them leave, from where they went down the companionway and climbed into the boat which would take them the short distance to the waiting British merchantman.
Standing side by side on the deck of the Whitethorn, Danny, Liam, and Develin watched in silence as the the Hood weighed anchor and put out to sea, sailing westwards, bound, eventually, for the Mediterranean.
"Well," said Danny, "I never thought I'd ever say it, but the British aren't all bad. Just like Da says, some are good men".
Liam pinched the bridge of his nose and scowled.
"To hell with good men!"
He turned away from the rail and, followed by Dev, went back down inside the ship while Danny remained standing exactly where he was, watching the departing British battlecruiser, until, at last, it disappeared over the distant horizon. Whereupon Danny silently sketched the semblance of a military salute and went in search of Liam and Dev.
Thereafter, a republican gunboat arrived on the scene, escorted the two British ships safely through yet another Nationalist laid minefield, thence up the River Nervión, and so into the city of Bilbao.
With the sirens still wailing dolefully and palls of thick black smoke drifting across the urban sprawl of the city only adding to the grey fug rising from the numerous factory chimneys, it seemed that when, at length, the two British ships arrived in Bilbao they had done so in the immediate aftermath of an air raid.
Given that the Republicans had very few aircraft, the Nationalist air force was able to bomb and strafe its selected targets in and around the city more at less at will, save that was for the desultory protection afforded the civilian population by intermittent anti-aircraft fire, much of which, although making a great deal of noise, had proven to be of very little effect.
So, when once again the sirens had sounded, most of the population had run for the air raid shelters. While some of these had been properly constructed and were fit for their intended purpose, there were not nearly enough of them and, down here by the river, whenever the sirens began their mournful wail, some of Bilbao's citizens had taken to hiding beneath the huge slag heaps of the smelting works.
Nonetheless, wherever it was they had taken shelter, everyone came out into the open to give an ecstatic welcome to the arrival of the two British ships which had tied up beneath two huge dockside cranes, amongst the barges, lighters, and all the other shipping moored here on the river.
Out here, on the deck of the Whitethorn, the stench from off the river was all pervading; an ever present, nauseating, olfactory legacy of the numerous factories, foundries, shipyards, and other heavy industry which lined its banks, from the mouth of the estuary up into the very heart of the city, and from which all manner of waste poured down into the water, along with sewage, and every other kind of noisomness.
The sickening smell made Danny retch, so much so that he hawked and spat heavily over the side of the ship; followed with his eyes the snaking flight of the succession of heavy mooring ropes as they were cast down. It was now, as the most forward of these landed on the quayside, there to be made fast round a heavy metal bollard by a stevedore, that Danny gasped in amazement.
"Look!" He pointed excitedly, before gagging once again on the mephitis rising from the river.
"Where?" Liam asked. He choked. "Jaysus! What a feckin' stench!"
"Over there, down on the quay". Danny spat once more over the side of the ship.
"It can't be!"
"It feckin' well is!"
For there, among the crowd that had gathered on the quayside to welcome the safe arrival of the two British ships, his left arm in a sling, wearing clothes that were obviously not his own, staring up at them, was Jimmy, his other arm around the waist of a pretty young woman with short auburn hair, dressed in a light blue blouse, and dark grey trousers held up by braces.
A short while later, with the gangway having been run down onto the quay, a very happy reunion ensued between Jimmy and his three pals; he having believed that they were dead, just as they had thought him to be. Jimmy now explained that, like the rest of them, having been thrown into the sea when the Pieter began to go down, and letting go of Danny's hand in the process, he went under the water, a terrifying experience for someone who couldn't swim a single stroke. When a few minutes later Jimmy resurfaced, gasping for breath, arms flailing, by sheer good fortune he saw that there was a piece of wreckage floating nearby which he reached in a welter of frantic splashing, taking in great gulps of seawater, and then clung onto it for dear life.
For what seemed like hours Jimmy he floated there alone, drifting on the surface of the sea. Finally, beginning to hallucinate, seeing visions of his parents, his brother, and his sister, feeling his strength ebbing away, Jimmy had been rescued in the nick of time by the crew of a Spanish trawler out of San Sebastián, and brought here to Bilbao.
"So, what happened to the arm? Did ya break it when ya went into the sea?" Develin asked.
Jimmy grinned, shamefaced.
"For sure, no! I slipped on some feckin' cobbles here in Bilbao. It's only fractured. This, by the way, is Isabella. She works for the government and speaks very good English". On hearing the young woman's name, Danny smiled. For one brief moment, he found himself thinking back to something which had happened less than a year ago, on the Isle of Man, where Da had been racing in the TT.
Snaefell, Isle of Man, 17th June 1936.
"So, are you going to tell us what the surprise is, father?" Rob asked.
"All in good time," Matthew replied with a smile.
"When we get back to the hotel," Tom said with a wink.
"Da!" exclaimed Danny.
"Wait and see! Now, unless all of us want to end up walking down the mountain, I think we'd best be getting back to the tram".
A short while later, seated in the single saloon, with brakes squealing their protest, the tramcar was in motion, and, along with everyone else, mainly day trippers who, like themselves, had made the journey to the summit, the Bransons and the Crawleys found themselves grinding their way back down the side of the mountain to distant Laxey.
At The Bungalow, the tram crossed over a country road forming part of the course of the TT along which, the following day, Tom himself would be racing. Once down at the little village of Laxey, they climbed down from off the tram and, after a bite to eat in the nearby inn, walked the short distance, half a mile or so, no more, to the abandoned mine workings, passing on their way a row of miners' cottages.
"And here she is," Danny said shortly thereafter. "Gentlemen, may I present The Lady Isabella, built in 1854, aged eighty two, and the largest water wheel in the world!"
Bilbao, North Coast of Spain, late February 1937.
"You and your friends have come to help us in our fight against the Fascists, is that not so?" Isabella asked in almost perfect, if heavily accented, English, serving to jolt Danny back to the harshness of reality.
"Si," he replied, and smiled; it being one of the several words of Spanish that during the voyage from Dublin Pim had taught him and which he remembered; at this point, there seemed little else to be said.
"What took yous so long?" Jimmy grinned. Almost immediately, he became serious, realising that save for Danny, Liam, and Develin, no-one else had followed them down the gangway here onto the quayside. Jimmy glanced back up at the ship just to make certain. "What about the rest of..."
With sombre eyes, for a moment Danny hesitated before slowly shaking his head.
An awful comprehension dawning, Jimmy was stunned and it showed.
"What nobody? None at all?" he asked, slowly coming to grips with the shocking truth of how things actually stood.
Again shaking his head, Danny went on to explain that, along with two members of the Pieter's crew, they had been picked up by a British warship, and while the two Dutchman, one of whom had been injured in the sinking, were being returned home to the Netherlands, of the two dozen or so Volunteers who had set out so bravely from Dublin several weeks ago, with such high hopes of helping to rid Spain of fascism, the four of them were all that now remained of their small band of brothers.
While they had been talking, the foremost of a line of decidedly battered lorries had rapidly been laden with supplies being off-loaded from the two British vessels, there being no shortage of willing hands to assist with the task which had been accomplished far more quickly than might have been thought was humanly possible. If only the Pieter had made it through unscathed, there would have been a great deal more to unload; much more. Food here in Bilbao was in very short supply; the population of the city swollen with refugees, more of whom arrived each day, fleeing from the advancing forces of General Francisco Franco.
Then, with Isabella seated beside the driver in the cab, the four young Irishmen standing on the running boards, the bed of the lorry piled dangerously high with sacks and barrels containing all manner of foodstuffs, the vehicle set off in a cloud of exhaust fumes, moving at a sedate pace, bound for the Hotel Carlton on the Plaza Elíptica, situated in the very heart of of Bilbao, and presently the headquarters of the republican government in the city.
Accompanied by a deafening cacophony of exploding petardos, the passage of the lumbering lorry, and those following on behind it, had turned into something resembling a Roman triumph with cheering crowds thronging its way, and, on either hand, a stream of boys and girls running laughing and shouting through the streets. On a corner, just off the Muelle de Uribitarte, a group of smiling, dark-haired young women had gathered together on a first floor balcony from where one of them threw down a scarf gaily embroidered with the tricolor, the red, yellow, and murrey flag of the Republic. This, Danny deftly caught, then waved aloft, prompting yet more cheers. Grinning broadly, he knotted it jauntily around his throat, the scarf fluttering out behind him in the stiff breeze.
The cheering had reached almost to fever pitch and for a few moments the press of people became so great that, until a group of republican soldiers good naturedly cleared a path for it to proceed, for safety's sake the lorry was forced to come to a stand. At which point an unshaven man, sporting a trilby, wearing a creased dark grey jacket, and with a camera slung round his neck detached himself from the welcoming throng. Kneeling down on the ground beside the now stationary lorry, having taken a swig from a hip flask, he pointed his camera directly up at Danny and, without further ado, took his picture.
The man rose, slightly unsteadily it must be said, to his feet.
"Howdy" he said, his slow, easy drawl marking him out immediately as hailing from one of the Southern states of America. "What ya just did back there... with that scarf, was real neat. Welcome, guys, to the Republic of Spain".
Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Irish Free State, late March 1937.
When Tom burst through the front door of the house, excitedly brandishing aloft a copy of a newspaper, there in the hall, waiting for Saiorse and Bobby to join her, was Sybil looking at her reflection in the mirror, adjusting her hat, about to go out to catch the midday train into Dublin.
"Darlin', will ya take a look at this!"
Ever since the news of the loss of a merchant vessel off Bilbao had reached Dublin, there being, as yet, still no word of what had become of the Pieter nor the fate of those on board, relations between Tom and Sybil had become increasingly strained. This being so, Sybil was in no mood to be reading another of Tom's incisive editorials and was about to say as much, make some pithy remark to that effect, when she caught sight of the name emblazoned across the top of the paper.
It was not, as Sybil had presumed it to be: The Irish Independent, but was, instead, a copy of The New York Times. On the front page was a photograph, in the background of which could be seen a large, heavily sandbagged building. According to the caption printed beneath the photograph it was the Hotel Carlton in Bilbao, in front of which was a large crowd of people and in their midst, standing on the running board of a lorry, with a scarf tied jauntily around his neck, was a smiling young man...
At that very moment, the telephone began to ring.
Instinctively, without thinking, Sybil reached for the receiver.
"Hello..." The line crackled. "Is that Mrs..."
"Yes, it is. Mrs Branson speaking. Who is this, please?"
"Ma, is that ya?"
"Danny!"
From the other end there now came a deep, muffled roar.
The line went dead.
Author's Note:
Reverse charge call - whereby a caller obtains the agreement of the recipient of a telephone call to bear the cost of it.
Gyppos - colloquial - these days considered derogatory - term for gypsies.
Edith Helen Vane-Tempest-Stewart, Marchioness of Londonderry, DBE (1878-1959) - a well known and influential society hostess in England between the two world wars.
Charles Vane-Tempest-Stewart, 7th Marquess of Londonderry KG, MVO, PC, PC (Ire) (1878-1949). As to the details related regarding his involvement with Hitler and his inner circle, these are not disputed; his motives are. In political circles in 1930's Britain his nickname was Londonderry Herr, so, it is obvious what most thought about him at the time.
That von Ribbentrop tried to give the Nazi salute at some point during the Mayoral Service in Durham Cathedral - held on 9th November 1936 - seems incontrovertible. Whether this was when the organist played the British and German national anthems, or when Ribbentrop mistook the opening of the hymn mentioned for the latter - the openings are identical - at this point in time who knows! That he almost knocked George VI over during his first audience at Buckingham Palace by giving a Nazi salute is also true although, again, reports of the incident vary in detail.
FO - the Foreign Office.
Stanley Baldwin (1867-1947) Conservative politician; served as British Prime Minister June 1935 - May 1937. The situation regarding rearmament was as Matthew tells Mary.
Edward Frederick Lindley Wood, 1st Earl of Halifax, KG, OM, GCSI, GCMG, GCIE, TD, PC (1881-1959) a senior British Conservative politician and diplomat during the 1930s. At this time he was Lordy Privy Seal and Leader of the House of Lords.
Merle Oberon (1911-1979) a British actress who began her career starring as Anne Boleyn in The Private Life of Henry VIII (1933) and then as Lady Blakeney in The Scarlet Pimpernel (1934). Thereafter she moved to the United States and made films for Sam Goldwyn.
The Anti-Comitern Pact - an agreement, signed in November 1936, between Nazi Germany and the Empire of Japan against the Communist International.
Having visited England many times in his youth and later (owing to his involvement in the wine trade) von Ribbentrop's love affair with Cornwall began long before the Nazis' rise to power in Germany and his appointment as ambassador to Great Britain. That he had designs on St. Michael's Mount is perfectly true. Quite what the St. Aubyn family - then the owners of the Mount - thought of Ribbentrop's plans...
Knockcroghery - a village in County Roscommon, Ireland - burned by the Black and Tans in June 1921, in retaliation for the murder of a British general by the Westmeath Volunteers.
Treaty Ports: Berehaven, Queenstown (as it then was) and Lough Swilly, retained by the Great Britain in accordance with the terms of the Anglo-Irish Treaty of 1921 for use by the Royal Navy. The ports were transferred to the Irish Free State in 1938.
Irish passports were first issued by the Free State in 1924, a unilateral act which, like the wording on the passports, had not been agreed by the British government, leading to all manner of problems. From 1930 the bearer of an Irish passport was described as "one of His Majesty's subjects of the Irish Free State". Only in 1939, when all reference to the king was finally dropped and the bearer of such a passport described as a "citizen of Ireland", was the matter of the wording on Irish passports finally resolved.
Brig - name for a prison on board a ship.
For what happened on the Isle of Man and what the surprise was that is mentioned, see my story Rain, Steam, And Speed.
Band of brothers - the phrase predates the television series of that name and comes from Shakespeare's King Henry V, Act 4, Scene 3.
Begun in the 1980s, a massive clean-up operation of the river and an enormous urban regeneration programme, both now completed, have transformed Bilbao from how it was in the 1930s.
The Hotel Carlton opened in 1926, the first hotel in Spain to have en suite bathrooms. It still stands on the Plaza Elíptica which today is called the Plaza de Don Federico Moyúa.
Petardos - firecrackers.
