Johnny Dunne knew he was in trouble. He heard the trucks screeching to a halt in the street below, and his stomach tightened in fear. But he forced himself not to panic. He had seen enough Black and Tan raids to know he couldn’t escape out the back door of the pub – the Tans would have men stationed there too.
The Black and Tans had come to Ireland the previous March to bolster the Royal Irish Constabulary in the war of independence that had raged for the last two years. The Tans had a frightening reputation for brutality, and Johnny didn’t want to fall into their hands. As a fourteen-year-old he had been able to spy for the rebels all the previous year with few people taking notice of him. Until the previous week he had worked in Balbriggan’s Mill Hotel, but he had left the town after the Tans ran riot, burning down dozens of homes, shops, and businesses, and killing two civilians.
Johnny had been ordered to move to a safe house in Thurles, while he awaited his next mission in Dublin. So much for Ryan’s Bar being a safe house, he thought now, as he heard the Tans shouting and screaming as they burst into the pub. Johnny was two floors above them, in his bedroom, and he had a little time before they got to him.
Was there somewhere he could hide? There was no point hiding under the bed or in a wardrobe, the Tans were likely to look there. Johnny knew that Mr Ryan, the pub owner, was an IRA sympathiser, and that there were arms hidden on his farm outside the town. But if they found weapons here in the pub then anybody present would be interrogated. And Johnny couldn’t allow himself to come to the attention of the Tans.
He thought frantically now as he heard more shouting and the sound of heavy boots pounding on the stairs. There was an attic above the bathroom across the landing, but the trapdoor into it was high above the floor. Maybe if he climbed onto the rim of the bath he could open the trap door, climb into the attic and hide till the Tans left? Unless they searched the attic too – in which case he would be found hiding, which would look extremely suspicious.
Johnny heard the pounding of the boots getting louder, and realised that the raiders had reached the first floor. He needed to make a decision, and quickly. Despite his fear, he tried to think clearly. With Mr Ryan hiding weapons at the farm, the chances were that he wouldn’t risk also hiding arms here in the pub. The Tans, however, weren’t to know that, so they might well search everywhere here, including the attic.
Better not hide at all, better to brazen it out, thought Johnny. He stepped across to the bathroom and flushed the toilet. He left the door open so that the sound of the flushing lavatory would be heard, then he quickly made for the stairs and descended.
He could hear the Tans in the first-floor living room shouting at Mr Ryan, and two of them faced him as Johnny reached the landing. One Tan aimed a rifle at him and the other man, who held a Webley pistol, grabbed Johnny and pulled him into the room.
‘Where the hell were you hiding?’ he demanded.
He was a heavily built man with reddish hair visible under his beret, and, to Johnny’s surprise he had a Dublin accent. Most of the Tans were British, but Johnny had heard that there were Irishmen in their ranks also – men who were drawn by the generous wages the mercenary constables were paid.
‘I was in the toilet,’ answered Johnny, as he heard the sound of bottles being smashed in the bar below. Three more Tans ran up the stairs to the floor that he had just left. Another Tan roughly threw the furniture about the living room, then ran the bayonet of his rifle through the cushions on the sofa.
Although Mr Ryan was a tall, well-built man with a tough demeanour, he stood immobile, not complaining about the damage, and answering the Tans’ questions. His eyes met Johnny’s briefly and he gave the slightest of nods, as if to say things would be all right.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked the Tan with the rifle, and Johnny thought that his accent placed him from the north of England.
‘I work here,’ said Johnny. ‘I help in the bar.’
‘Live here too?’
‘Yes, on the top floor.’
‘Right vipers’ nest of Shinners. You a little shinner too?’
If only you knew, thought Johnny. If only you knew that Michael Collins, the Commander of the rebels, has a mission planned for me in Dublin.
‘I know nothing about politics,’ said Johnny innocently. ‘I’m just doing a job.’
‘How come you’ve a job in Thurles? You’re not from here, that’s a Dublin accent,’ said the red-haired Tan accusingly.
Always keep your lies close to the truth. It was what Johnny was taught when he had started spying for the rebels. ‘Yes, I’m from Dublin. But my da died, and we needed the money, so Ma got me this job through a cousin.’
Johnny could hear the Tans taking the place asunder above his head and he was glad that he hadn’t hidden in the attic. Mr Ryan was still being questioned aggressively, but Johnny tried to block it all out and concentrate on his own situation. One slip here, one wrong word, and the game would be up.
‘Where are you from in Dublin?’ asked Red Hair.
‘We live on the Northside,’ answered Johnny, trying to sound as if he was co-operative, while still striving to be as vague as possible.
‘Where on the Northside?’
‘Phibsboro.’
‘What street?’
Johnny hadn’t expected the Tans to be this painstaking with their questions. His heart was thumping, but he barely hesitated, and came up with a road whose name had stuck in his memory.
‘Monck Place.’
‘House number?’
‘Twenty-two,’ said Johnny, not knowing how many houses there were in the street.
Was that the kind of thing the police checked in the aftermath of raids? He had no idea. But if they found his information was false they would assume that he lied for a reason. Then they would come looking for him.
The Tan wrote down the details that Johnny had given him. Did the man believe him? He seemed to. Then again, he could be playing cat and mouse. Johnny breathed deeply, forcing himself to appear calm. Meanwhile the Tan who had been bayonetting the cushions pulled the drawers out of a press, scattering the contents onto the floor, but without finding anything incriminating. All the time Johnny and Mr Ryan were held at gunpoint, then eventually the other Tans thumped back down the stairs, reporting that the attic and upper floor were clear. Without replacing the furniture or apologising in any way, the raiders prepared to leave. The Tan with the rifle pointed his finger at Mr Ryan.
‘We found nothing this time, Paddy. Next time you mightn’t be so lucky!’
Mr Ryan spoke calmly, but looked the man in the eye. ‘My name isn’t Paddy. And there’s nothing illegal here, so luck doesn’t come into it.’
Johnny saw a flicker of anger in the Tan’s eyes, and for a second he feared that the man might strike Mr Ryan.
‘OK, let’s go,’ said his red-haired companion.
The Tan stared hard at Mr Ryan, then turned away. As noisily as they had arrived, the raiding party took their leave.
Johnny breathed out, then turned to Mr Ryan.
‘What time is the next train to Dublin?’
‘Why?’
‘I need to be on it,’ said Johnny.
‘They’re not expecting you yet. There’s a timetable for these things.’
‘The Tans don’t follow our timetable! They’ll be back to arrest me if they check that address.’
‘They’ll hardly check an address a kid gave them in a raid.’
‘I can’t take that chance.’
‘Look, I know we’re an underground army, Johnny. But we’re still an army. And your orders were to come to Dublin when instructed.’
‘Yeah, and my orders were to stay in a safe house. But this house isn’t safe any more. I’m no coward, Mr Ryan. I’ve taken risks for the cause. But I’m not hanging about to be picked up by the Tans. So, what time is the next train?’
Ryan seemed to consider this, then spoke resignedly. ‘OK. There’s a train at half-three. I’ll tell Dublin you’ll be on it.’
‘Thank you. And Mr Ryan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I make a suggestion?’
Mr Ryan gave a crooked grin. ‘Something tells me you will anyway.’
Johnny gave him a wry smile in return. ‘If the Tans do come back, why don’t you say you caught me with my hand in the till and sacked me? You don’t know where I went, but you think I have relations in…will we say Cork?’
‘Cork is a fine spot.’
‘Cork it is, so. I’ll start packing.’
Johnny turned away and made for the door, still feeling excited. Part of it was from the raid, and having outwitted the Tans. But part of it was thinking about what was to come. He would be working for his hero, Michael Collins, the most wanted man in Ireland. He took the stairs two at a time, eager to be on his way, and to start his new mission.