‘I wish we didn’t have to go to this service, Mom,’ said Stella.
‘We have to, for Dad’s sake.’
‘I know. I just…’
‘Just what?’ said her mother gently.
They were in Stella’s room in the Mill Hotel, the atmosphere warm and cosy compared to the chilly November air outside. Her mother was putting the finishing touches to plaiting Stella’s hair, and they were preparing to attend an Armistice Day service in Dublin, once they had been picked up by Commander Radcliffe.
‘I feel a bit torn, Mom.’
‘How, torn?’
‘With all the awful stuff with the Black and Tans. It’s hard not to sympathise a bit with the rebels. I mean, would it really be that bad if Ireland got independence?’
Her mother considered for a moment. ‘The politics are complicated, Stella. But the way they’re going about independence, killing and shooting people, that’s not the civilised way to bring change.’
Stella wondered if there was a civilised way to win independence, but she said nothing.
‘Besides,’ said her mother, ‘Armistice Day is about commemorating those who fell in the Great War. It’s a separate thing.’
‘Not to some people here. They think it’s all the British Empire, ruling the roost and flying the flag.’
‘Don’t say that in front of your father, Stella. Armistice Day is important to him; he lost friends in the war.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Mom. I’m just saying what the mood is with some people.’
‘What people?’
‘Folks in Balbriggan. In the chess club, and the band, and girls talking in school. They’re not saying stuff to me because Dad is an officer, it’s just what I hear.’
Her mother finished the hair plaiting and shifted position to look Stella in the eye. ‘In spite of all that, you were very keen to stay in Balbriggan.’
‘I know. And thanks again for letting me stay.’
‘So, what’s really going on, Stella?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Have you some other reason for wanting to stay in Balbriggan?’
Stella swallowed hard. She thought about the secret shared by herself, Johnny and Alice, but tried to give nothing away by her expression. It was lovely to have her mother back from Canada, but Mom was more aware than Dad had been, and Stella realised she would have to be careful.
‘I want to stay for all the reasons I gave you, Mom,’ she said.
‘Is there…is there a boy involved?’
‘No.’
‘I’d understand if there was, Stella. I was thirteen once too.’
‘I don’t have a boyfriend, Mom.’
‘All right. Though I believe Johnny Dunne came back specially for Granddad’s mass.’
‘It’s not like that with Johnny. He’s just a friend. A really good friend, but that’s all.’
‘OK.’
‘And he’s not around here any more, he has a job back in Dublin,’ added Stella, deciding to play down the link to Johnny as much as possible.
‘Right.’
‘I like living in Balbriggan, it feels…it feels like home now, Mom, in a way Toronto never did.’
‘Really?’
‘I love Mr Tardelli’s band, and the chess club, and my classmates, and living in the same place as Alice. It’s good here, Mom, despite what happened the town.’
‘If you say so.’
Stella sensed that her mother wasn’t fully convinced, but before she could respond there was a knock on the door.
‘All present and correct?’ said Commander Radcliffe good humouredly as he stepped into the room.
Stella looked at her father, resplendent in his RAF dress uniform, and she felt a flood of affection for him. She wished, yet again, that Johnny and Dad didn’t have to be on opposite sides, and on impulse she crossed to him and kissed him on the cheek. Then she linked his arm and made for the door, determined to show her support, as they went to mark Armistice Day.
* * *
‘So, boys and girls, a question for you,’ said Mr Tardelli playfully. ‘What’s the result if you drop a piano down a mine shaft?’
Alice wracked her brains, knowing the joke would have some sort of musical basis. It was break time in band rehearsal at the church hall, and although everyone groaned at Mr Tardelli’s riddles and jokes, Alice knew that most of the band members actually enjoyed them.
She looked at Stella, who shrugged to indicate that she hadn’t a clue regarding the answer. Alice could think of nothing either, and she turned to the musical director. ‘All right, Mr T. What’s the result when you drop a piano down a mine shaft?’
Mr Tardelli kept a straight face, but Alice could see that his eyes were twinkling.
‘A flat minor!’ he answered.
There was the usual mixture of laughter and groans, but Alice thought the joke was actually quite clever.
‘I’ve another music joke,’ said Padraig Egan.
‘Go on then,’ said Alice. She didn’t like Padraig when he spouted the political the views that he clearly heard at home, but most of the time he was good fun, and he knew how to tell a joke.
‘What’s a cat’s favourite song?’ he asked.
‘Three Blind Mice!’
Alice laughed with the others, then Padraig changed the mood with a question to Stella.
‘So, what did you think, when Sinn Féin protested during Armistice Day?’ he asked.
Mr Tardelli encouraged wide-ranging discussion during rehearsal breaks, and he didn’t chide Padraig for altering the relaxed atmosphere, but Alice thought Padraig was being mean-spirited. She didn’t immediately spring to Stella’s defence, however, feeling that it was important to let her friend be seen standing up for herself.
Stella thought for a moment then answered in an even tone. ‘Armistice Day is to honour the war dead, so I thought it was rude to start chanting during the proceedings.’
‘But it’s not just honouring the dead, is it?’ answered Padraig. ‘They’re glorifying the war,’
‘You wouldn’t like it if someone came to a friend’s funeral and chanted slogans. It’s just bad manners, Padraig, to chant when people are mourning their dead.’
‘If they were worried about the dead they shouldn’t have let thirty-thousand Irishmen be killed fighting England’s war.’
‘No one said the losses weren’t terrible,’ said Stella. ‘But there’s a time and a place to make your protest.’
‘There might be if the government were honest,’ answered Padraig. ‘If they said the slaughter was a tragedy. But they don’t say that. They fly their flags, and parade, and glorify the war on Armistice Day. So it’s only right that people protest on Armistice Day.’
Alice felt that Padraig had a point, even if he was parroting an argument that he had heard from others.
‘I actually agree with you about the glorifying part,’ said Stella. ‘They should stop that and concentrate on mourning. But chanting slogans? I still say it’s wrong to protest like that.’
‘It’s freedom of speech,’ said Padraig.
‘You can have freedom of speech without being nasty.’
Alice didn’t want to see the discussion turning into a row and so she turned to Mr Tardelli, who often joined in their discussions. ‘What do you think, Mr T?’ she asked.
The musical director stroked his moustache as he seemed to gather his thoughts. ‘I’m torn,’ he said. ‘I believe it’s important to respect the dead. But I think Padraig is right. I think the government use Armistice Day to glorify the war.’
‘Even if they do, Mr Tardelli,’ said Stella. ‘Is it not plain bad manners to chant when people are mourning the dead?’
‘Yes, Stella, it feels that way to me. But then we have to ask ourselves a hard question.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Alice.
‘Do we just allow freedom of speech when people say what we like? Or do we allow it when they say things we hate? And if they can’t say things we hate, it’s not really freedom of speech, is it?’
‘Maybe,’ said Alice.
‘But where do you draw the line?’ asked Stella.
‘I’d draw it at chanting,’ said Mr Tardelli. ‘But others don’t, and maybe we should keep an open mind. But now, I think we’ve talked enough. Back to the music!’
Alice looked at Stella, and winked to show her solidarity. Then she picked up her violin, her thoughts a muddle as she grappled with all that had been said.
* * *
Johnny watched his target carefully, allowing the man to get a hundred yards ahead before mounting his bicycle and following him. The agent had come out of Rabiatti’s Saloon on Marlborough Street, one of the meeting places of the British intelligence officers operating in Dublin. Up until now Johnny had found his undercover work nerve-wracking yet exciting, but today he felt less excited and more on edge.
Johnny had been warned that the man he was following, Captain Bennett, was a key member of the enemy intelligence team sent to Dublin to combat Michael Collins. But it wasn’t just the thought of dealing with an experienced foe that had Johnny feeling uneasy. The previous night the authorities had launched a major operation in the north inner city. People had been questioned, houses searched, and from his room several streets away in Gardiner Place, Johnny had heard shots fired. The search hadn’t extended to Hanlon’s boarding house, but the thoroughness and size of the operation had taken Johnny aback. He realised that at any time the enemy might cast their net again, and that next time he mightn’t escape their attention. It was wearying, too, having to be constantly on guard, and it went against his nature not to be friendlier with the other telegraph boys.
Mr O’Shea had told him that his mission would be ending soon, and although he hadn’t admitted it, Johnny had felt relieved. More importantly, though, his world had changed since meeting his mother, and the previous Sunday they had taken the steam tram to Lucan, then travelled by jaunting cart along the Liffey Valley to the Strawberry Beds. It had been a crisp autumn day, and as with his other two meetings with his mother, he had come home that evening exhilarated, and feeling there was more to live for than the struggle for independence
He still wanted to play his part in changing Ireland. Only this morning he had seen in the newspaper headlines that the Bolshevik revolutionaries had won the civil war in Russia, so change was possible. Not that he was so naive as to think that change was always good – there was no telling how the Bolsheviks would work out. He had read too that his comedy hero, Charlie Chaplin, had been divorced, and that was hardly a positive change. But he still wanted to bring about a better Ireland, and today his orders were to follow Captain Bennett and to take note of anyone with whom he made contact.
Johnny cycled down a blustery Marlborough Street, closing the gap on Bennett, then dismounted when he was about twenty yards behind his target. He went through the motions of opening his telegram satchel, and he allowed the English officer to widen the gap again. Johnny distractedly flicked through the telegrams, as though seeking one in particular. In truth he was a bit distracted today, his mind still grappling with what his mother had said at their last meeting.
She had nervously proposed that when Johnny’s mission was finished he could live with her in Glasgow. Johnny had been moved by her desire for them to be together and touched too by the fact that it meant so much to her that she was nervous about his response. She had told him to take his time and think about it, and Johnny had thanked her and said that he would. Part of him felt that he should stay in Ireland and see to the finish the fight for independence. Another part of his brain told him that he had already taken big risks, and that maybe his current mission should be his last one. It was, after all, the course of action that Mr O’Shea had suggested. He felt too that he was blessed to get an unexpected chance at having a family life. He loved the idea of being part of an extended family with his mother, his uncle and aunt, and his cousins, and he thought that maybe he should seize the opportunity.
Before he could deliberate any further Johnny saw Captain Bennett turning the corner into Abbey Street. He quickly put the telegrams back into his satchel, then lifted his bicycle onto the pavement and wheeled it towards the corner. Just as Johnny reached the junction with Abbey Street, Bennett came back around the corner. The manoeuvre caught Johnny unawares and for a moment Bennett locked eyes with him. Johnny got a fright and he hoped his surprise didn’t show on his face. It wasn’t the first time that those he had been trailing had taken evasive action. Most times, however, he was far enough behind not to be noticed, and when he had encountered the agent who doubled back at the top of Grafton Street, Johnny had whistled as though unconcerned and strode past him.
This felt different though. It was possible that Bennett saw nothing suspicious in a telegraph boy with whom he exchanged a glance. But the British officer was a trained agent. And not alone was he a professional, he was an agent working in a highly challenging environment, where every chambermaid, every barman, every hotel receptionist – in fact just about every civilian – was a potential enemy agent against whom he had to be on guard. And he had seen Johnny clearly.
Johnny kept going now, resisting the urge to look behind him to see what Bennett was doing. Instead Johnny turned the corner into Abbey street and walked along at a moderate pace as he considered his next move. Should he circle around and continue to follow Bennet from a distance? Or would it be smarter to cut his losses and call off today’s mission?
It went against the grain to call a halt. But if Bennett spotted him for a second time, alarm bells would surely ring. Johnny remembered his promise to Alice that he wouldn’t take needless risks. And now that he had found his mother again there was even more at stake. He stopped wheeling the bicycle and opened his satchel again, going through the telegrams as he tried to reach a decision. Supposing this was the day when Bennett met an informer that the rebels hadn’t been aware of? Yet it could also be the day when Johnny gave the game away by pushing his luck – and if that happened he would be endangering Mr O’Shea and Mrs Hanlon. He hoped he wasn’t fooling himself with these arguments, and that he wasn’t simply losing his nerve now that he had more to live for.
He stood unmoving on the pavement for a moment, uncertain what to do. Then he decided to follow his gut instinct. He recalled the observant look in Bennett’s eyes when they had exchanged glances, and it made his mind up. Calling off the mission, he wheeled his bicycle to the roadway, mounted the saddle and cycled briskly away.