Ireland’s official neutrality during the Second World War (1939–45) was a complex thing, partly born of its then-fraught relationship with Great Britain and partly born of its desire to assert independence as a country, among many other reasons. My own grandmother often spoke to me of her experiences during what was called the Emergency, mentioning things like rationing and shortages, and the constant fear of invasion.
Despite Ireland’s neutral position, it did offer unofficial aid to the Allies. Richard Hayes was a prominent Irish code-breaker who worked alongside MI5 during the war, for instance, and back-channel communications were always present between Ireland and Britain. Also, many thousands of Irishmen served with the British army in both world wars, often at great personal cost; coming home from battle sometimes meant being branded a traitor for the rest of your life.
In 1941, Ireland was under the leadership of Taoiseach (Prime Minister) Éamon de Valera and President Douglas Hyde. The president lived in Phoenix Park, close to Thomas’s fictional home, and his official residence (Áras an Uachtaráin) suffered bomb damage on the night described at the end of the book. So, while Ireland didn’t suffer the privations of countries like Britain during this dark time in history, it’s not beyond possibility that children like Thomas did lie awake at night, wondering whether the next bomb to fall would land on their city.
The bombing at the end of the book was a real event, though I have taken some liberties with how it happened for the sake of my story. Early in the morning of May 31, 1941, the Luftwaffe (German air force) dropped four bombs on Dublin city. Three did minimal damage; the fourth landed in the North Strand area, killing twenty-eight people, injuring ninety, and making more than four hundred homeless. It was the worst single attack on Irish soil during the war.
Not mentioned in The Starspun Web are the efforts by the Irish army to shine spotlights on the attacking planes and to shoot them down; these efforts, carried out with badly maintained equipment, proved futile. It’s still not completely clear why the attack was carried out on Dublin—perhaps the planes were lost and needed to drop ballast in order to make it back to German lines; perhaps it was a revenge attack, as Dublin had recently come to Belfast’s aid when that city was hit in the Blitz. It may have been an attempt on Hitler’s part to force neutral Ireland into the war, as Ireland was strategically useful to both sides. Perhaps the reason will never be known.
And in such gaps, stories grow…
This book is, in part, my humble memorial to the men and women of the North Strand, including my husband’s grandmother, who luckily survived the attack. It is my attempt to pay homage to all who lived through the Emergency and the war, and particularly to those who lost their lives fighting the terrible evil of Nazism. Ní bheidh a leithéidí arís ann—“their like will never be seen again.”