20

The ferry to Sherkin Island was a fifteen-minute hop from the fishing village of Baltimore in west Cork. It was pleasant and windy on board, just on the right side of comfortable. Noelie had been to Sherkin a few times before, once on a weekend-long camping trip, another time just for the walk. He recalled that the island had some great beaches.

‘Black Gary – that his real name?’

‘That’s the name I was given.’

‘Didn’t your mother ever warn you about meeting people through the internet?’

Hannah put a hand on Noelie’s wrist. ‘I’ll mind you. But just to reassure you, he’s not actually from the internet. We got his name from someone on the internet but apparently he’s not online himself. He doesn’t even own a mobile phone, if that’s any consolation. He’s an amateur historian who knows quite a bit about Cork’s industrial schools. The bonus for us is that he attended Danesfort.’

Noelie remained sceptical. ‘If we’re murdered and chopped into pieces, I’m blaming you.’

They reached the island and disembarked on to an empty pier. ‘He knows we’re coming, does he?’

‘I left a message at the Jolly Roger pub. Apparently that’s the way to make contact.’

‘Got an address then?’

‘Black Gary, Sherkin Island, County Cork.’

‘For fuck’s sake.’

‘City boy.’

They waited a while but no one showed. Noelie approached a man coming in on a small punt. He knew Black Gary.

‘A mile along, white bungalow. You can’t miss it.’

The fisherman was right. Black Gary’s place stood out on a low hill. The small cottage looked south-east towards the harbour mouth and the sea. The front door was open and, despite it being summertime, a turf fire smouldered.

‘You found me. Thought you would.’

Noelie figured that Black Gary was in his sixties. He wore a flannel shirt, jeans and a fisherman’s cap, which he removed as he greeted them. He still had all his hair though his face was deeply lined. They sat around the table over tea. Gary was in Danesfort during its final two years, from 1964 to 1966. After that he was in Clonmel for another four years. He was separated from his brother and sister when he went to Danesfort. In 2001, he finally managed to reconnect with his brother who had moved to the United States in the mid-seventies after a short stint in Dublin. He showed them a picture of the two of them on Golden Gate Bridge; they were both beaming. They had also traced their missing sister using the Salvation Army but that didn’t end well. She was in London but turned down the opportunity to meet them. They couldn’t understand why but she wasn’t for turning.

Hannah produced the Danesfort photo. ‘We’re trying to identify everyone in this. It’s dated 1963, so shortly before your time.’

Putting on his glasses Black Gary immediately pointed at the man standing beside the bishop, the head Rosminian. ‘Father Tony Donnelly.’

Hannah winked at Noelie.

‘Strict man, proper like.’ Black Gary laughed. ‘Very holy. He’d stop you in the hall or out on the yard and say, “Recite the Our Father with me.” He was that sort of way. Eccentric.’

‘Anything more?’ asked Hannah.

‘He had favourites, they all did. You could fool him but if he worked out what you were up to he’d half murder you. He wasn’t disliked. He was okay really. His brother was a different matter.’

Noelie recalled the newspaper report of the car crash that killed Sugrue. ‘The one in the gardaí?’

Black Gary shook his head, ‘No, this brother wasn’t a cop. I’m talking about Albert Donnelly, the youngest brother. Didn’t look much like Tony in fact. People often said it. I kept well away from him. Sometimes he looked after the farm at Danesfort. The Donnellys themselves were farmers so I suppose they knew what they were doing.’

Black Gary nodded. ‘Not far off slavery. Hard work, often used as punishment too. Anyway this Albert Donnelly was sometimes at the Danesfort farm.’ He paused, remembering. ‘There would be these crows out in the fields, lots of them, pecking and scavenging. Albert used to say that the crows worked for God as well. He was a harsh taskmaster.’

Hannah drew Black Gary’s attention back to the photo. ‘Any of the boys in the line look familiar?’

Black Gary peered. ‘It’s not a good photo, is it?’

‘Not the original, that’s for sure. A copy of a newspaper cut-out, we’re reckoning.’

He shook his head. Noelie pointed to the novitiate. Black Gary looked dejected.

‘Actually I thought it was more the history of Danesfort that you were interested in. I didn’t mean to drag you all the ways down here for little result.’

Hannah reassured Black Gary. Confirming Father Donnelly’s identity was worth it alone. Noelie asked if the name Jim Dalton meant anything to Black Gary. It didn’t.

‘Michael Egan?’

Black Gary shook his head again. Pointing at the bishop of Cork, he added, ‘I wrote to Lucey, you know. He was often out at Danesfort, walking around blessing people. You’d think there was a blight on the place, the amount of holy water he flung about. Never even replied to me.’

Hannah smiled but Noelie looked disappointed. Black Gary noticed. ‘Tell you what, I’ll ask around. I’m in contact with a lot of people. Not on the internet – I just go and meet people. Let me write down the names you’re interested in and I’ll make some enquiries.’

Black Gary made some notes. He asked if he could get a copy of the photo. Hannah said she’d send him on one.

They were done then but Black Gary suggested a walk. Noelie felt unsure but Hannah seemed keen. Out on the boreen it was pleasant. He had never married, Black Gary volunteered. Just didn’t happen for him. Broke a heart or two though. He asked Hannah and Noelie if they were an item.

‘She’s spoken for,’ Noelie parried. ‘Has a fellow that works in Qatar. Perfect set up. Earns loads and only about occasionally.’

Hannah stuck her tongue out at Noelie.

The island itself was compact. The main beaches were ahead and as it was July there were more people about than usual. Black Gary pointed to places as they walked. ‘Cape Clear Island, out there on the horizon. Roaringwater Bay is over there.’

Noelie decided to risk a flyer. He told Black Gary Jim Dalton’s story, about him disappearing and being accused of being a garda informer. Did he know anything about that or have any republican contacts?

Black Gary didn’t. He had no time for the IRA himself on account of them bombing a pub in Birmingham in 1974 that he himself had occasion to be in once in a while. ‘Too many head-bangers, if you ask me.’

Noelie carried on to the matter of the human remains found in the Ballyvolane–Glen Park area, on the edge of Cork city. ‘They’ve been identified as Michael Egan, an Irish navvy from London.’

Hannah explained they were trying to find out if he was in Danesfort or not.

‘Not easy at all to get that type of information,’ he pronounced. ‘You’ll have to write to the Rosminians in Clonmel. All the Danesfort records are there now. But they’ll make it very difficult for you if you’re not family. And you’ll have to pay as well.’ Black Gary’s tone turned sarcastic. ‘Don’t you know the Rosminians are fierce short of money these days.’

They reached the main beach on the island. It was wide and sandy. Noelie spotted the headland where he had camped once before and recalled why the location was so good: it had a great view out to sea and was beside the best beach. Black Gary suddenly stopped.

‘Did you say Ballyvolane?’

Noelie nodded. ‘The Egan remains were found in Glen Park. That’s in Ballyvolane.’

‘They had their farm there.’

‘Who?’

‘The Donnellys had their own farm – the Donnelly farm we called it. I was there one time. It was big. Now that was a place where you had to work hard. Harvest time and thinning work. All day long too.’

‘Paid work?’ asked Hannah.

‘My arse.’

Noelie wanted to make sure he understood correctly. ‘So the Donnellys had their own farm at Ballyvolane and boys from Danesfort went there to work?’

‘It wasn’t unusual,’ clarified Black Gary. ‘A lot of industrial schools had arrangements with local farms. The Donnellys were just availing of a handy situation. Anyway, who was going to object? Not us. Weren’t they giving us good-for-nothings an opportunity in life?’

Noelie thought about this. ‘Except Ballyvolane’s quite a distance from Danesfort, isn’t it? A good fifteen miles I’d say. Not a small distance in the fifties and sixties.’

‘Sure that was an issue. Sometimes if you were sent to Ballyvolane, you went for quite a while. A week would be the shortest time. But there were boys that went there for longer periods as well, months at a time I mean.’

Noelie nodded.

‘It was cosy. Boss man at Danesfort was a Donnelly and Albert sort of consulted at Danesfort too. What could you do? If you were picked you had to go.’

Black Gary walked down as far as the water’s edge and skimmed some stones. Noelie hung back and Hannah noticed.

‘That’s interesting, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Can’t beat Facebook. Always said it.’

Noelie ran off before Hannah could thump him.

They ended up back at the pub. They ordered pints and took a seat by a long window looking out over Baltimore Harbour. Black Gary was too well known for his own good though. Almost everyone had a few words with him as they came and went. When Noelie got the opportunity, he asked about the farm again.

‘Where exactly was it then?’

‘Don’t know the area at all and I’ve not been there since.’

Noelie thought about this. There had been a lot of development in the Ballyvolane area of Cork. When he was young, it was the countryside but it was far from that now.

‘Albert Donnelly, can you tell me anything about him?’

‘I’ve done my best to forget Albert.’

Black Gary was a jolly man, for all his past troubles, but he looked unhappy now. A ferry was coming across and they all watched it for a while.

‘He disliked me. Don’t know what it was but he took agin me big time. So I kept out of his way. I knew of a boy who ran away while at that farm and was badly beaten by Albert.’ He stopped as if he was thinking about this. ‘He was always saying that we were what we were because of how we were born. Do you get me?’

Noelie nodded. ‘Out of wedlock, you mean?’

‘He’d say it to your face that you were a bastard. He was very mean. I was afraid of him.’

Noelie exchanged glances with Hannah. Black Gary continued. ‘He hated how I looked too. But like I say his brother Tony wasn’t that way. He was harmless enough. Strict but harmless.’ Black Gary shook his head. ‘Albert puts me in a bad mood even now.’

On the ferry back, they huddled close to ward off the breeze on deck. Noelie was quiet.

‘We need to find out more about the farm.’

‘Yes. Albert too.’

‘Is he alive, I wonder?’

‘Every chance. He’d be in his seventies now, mind.’