Friend or Foe Read online

  He tiptoed to the bedroom door and crept down the stairs. Reaching the front door, he opened it carefully to minimise its creaky sound, then stepped out into the winter night and closed the door gently behind him. The snowfall had stopped, but a light dusting of powdery snow lay on the ground and reflected the soft-coloured light from the lanterns attached to the nearby warehouse walls. In the faint glow Jack could make out Peadar leading Dinny and Cronin down the street.

  Jack shivered in the sudden cold, then followed them, figuring that later on he could get back into the house through the back door, which the men had left unlocked. They were on the edge of town here, and Jack encountered nobody on the street at this time of night. Striding quietly, he narrowed the gap between himself and the men, then came to a sudden halt when he saw that they had stopped at one of the furthest warehouses. They were past the last of the coloured lanterns, but Jack could still make out the figure of Peadar opening the warehouse door. Simultaneously Dinny moved to the deck of a long boat that was barely visible, moored as it was in the shadows opposite the warehouse.

  Jack flattened himself against a wall and watched a faint glow from inside the warehouse. He realised that Emer’s uncle must have lit a small candle, then he saw Dinny and Cronin carrying a wooden box each and making for the warehouse.

  Still keeping to the wall, Jack drew nearer. He was getting his night vision now, and he could make out shapes on the deck of the barge that he suspected to be the rest of the supplies that the men planned to unload. The boxes were clearly heavy, so it would take a while to move them all. If he timed it right, he might be able to board the boat and check the boxes while the men were inside. If I time it right. But what if he got it wrong and they caught him? The Volunteers regarded themselves as an army – and Jack was well aware of what armies did to spies. He shivered, and he knew it wasn’t just from the cold. But he had come this far, and he couldn’t just walk away.

  Just then the three men emerged from the warehouse, and each of them took another box from the deck of the barge. Jack waited until they crossed back to the warehouse entrance, then he sprinted towards the vessel. He assumed that they were storing the goods somewhere inside the building, but he didn’t know how long he would have before they came out for the next load. He lightly jumped up on the deck of the barge, then bent down to try to read the lettering that was on the outside of the boxes. With the door of the warehouse closed over, there was hardly any light spill, and Jack couldn’t read the wording. He decided to lift one of the lids. If he opened a box and found bullets or sticks of dynamite, he would have his proof. And then what will I do? He didn’t know, but until he was sure of the boxes’ contents, nothing could be decided.

  The lid of the box was firmly closed, and before Jack could find a way to open it, the door of the warehouse swung ajar. Jack immediately dropped behind the stack of wooden boxes and froze. He heard the men approaching – sooner than he had expected – and he felt his heart pounding in his chest.

  It occurred to him that he had wiped snow off the top of the box while trying to open the lid, and he cursed himself. What was I thinking?! If the men were alert, they might notice that someone had been at one of the boxes. And any kind of a search would reveal his hiding place, mere yards from where the men were now.

  Jack stayed totally still and held his breath. If the worst came to the worst and his hiding place was discovered, he would dive into the canal and swim for the far bank. The water would be freezing, but if he escaped into the darkness on the far side, he might be able to get back to the house and jump into bed without his face being seen. It was a desperate plan, and it would backfire completely if they saw his face. Or if they shot me in the back while I swam across the canal. There was every reason to suspect that men moving an important secret consignment would be armed. Before he could worry about it any more, the men reached the barge.

  ‘Damn it, lads,’ whispered Dinny. ‘Look.’

  Jack prayed that he wasn’t referring to the box with the snow removed. He pressed his knees together to stop them from shaking.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Peadar.

  Jack felt like his chest would explode from the tension as he waited for Dinny to answer.

  ‘The moon,’ whispered the bargeman. ‘It’s going to come out from behind the clouds.’

  Jack felt a surge of relief, then realised he wasn’t out of trouble yet. Just as Dinny had predicted, the moon suddenly came out from behind the clouds, brightening the scene. Jack wondered if any part of his body would be visible now. But even if it was, he couldn’t risk moving, with the men only a few feet away.

  ‘Right, let’s speed this up!’ said Peadar.

  Jack heard a grunt as Emer’s uncle lifted one of the heavy boxes, then Dinny followed suit. There was a short pause, and Jack’s mind started racing. Had Cronin spotted the snow-cleared box? Or Jack’s footprints on the snow-dusted deck, visible now in the moonlight? It was as though time stood still, and the couple of seconds before Cronin went into action seemed like an eternity to Jack. Then the man breathed out heavily as he hoisted a box and hurried after his companions.

  Jack let his breath out slowly before rising into a crouch. He needed to get off the barge quickly, especially now that the men were moving at a faster pace because of the brighter conditions. He also realised that this was his chance to read the writing on the boxes. He moved swiftly back to the front of the barge, and there, in the moonlight, he read the lettering on the top box: ‘Dynamite – handle with extreme care!’

  Well that answers my question and no mistake, he thought, then he jumped down from the boat onto the bank. He knew that the men could return from the warehouse any second, and so he sprinted away, keeping to the shadows and not stopping till he turned around a corner out of sight. This street too was brightened by moonlight, but Jack retreated further into the shadows and tried to gather his wits. His heart was still racing from his near-discovery, and he breathed deeply, trying to think clearly.

  The law-abiding thing to do would be to report all of this to the police. But that would result in Emer’s uncle being arrested and would feel like a betrayal of Emer – while he was a guest of her family. Yet if he did nothing, the Volunteers would have dynamite, and that could mean people getting killed.

  He knew that Emer would argue that countless thousands of people were already being killed on the Western Front and in the Dardanelles, and that the authorities didn’t seem too concerned about that. And there was also her argument – which Jack found hard to dispute – that the British Government had allowed the Ulster Volunteer Force to arm themselves to the teeth, and that the Irish Volunteers had to have weapons to defend themselves in the event of a civil war.

  He didn’t know how long he had been standing there on the street, conflicting thoughts going around in his mind, but suddenly he realised that he was shivering badly. The realisation brought him to his senses – he had to get back to the bedroom. And not just before he caught a chill, but also before Peadar and Cronin returned. He still didn’t know whether or not to report what he had seen, but either way he couldn’t stay here. He turned on his heel, stepped out of the shadows and started briskly back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Emer applauded vigorously as the curtain came down on the brightly lit stage for the intermission of the Christmas pantomime. She was in the Dress Circle of Dublin’s Gaiety Theatre with her parents, and she was wearing the new blue dress that Mam had bought as her Christmas outfit. Emer loved the dress, and her parents were also smartly turned out, in keeping with the glamour of the occasion. Emer loved all the traditions of Christmas but particularly the family’s annual visit to the pantomime the day after St Stephen’s Day. This year the Gaiety’s production of Dick Whittington featured the Marigny troupe of Lady Dancers as well as a band, chorus and ballet, and Emer had thoroughly enjoyed it.

  On Christmas Eve they had travelled by train to stay for two days with Dad’s family in County Kildare. Emer liked s
eeing her cousins and aunts and uncles, but she missed her friends. Before setting off for the station she had swapped presents with Gladys, Ben, Jack and Joan. Gladys had given her a lovely pair of kid gloves, Ben had surprised her with a chemistry set – a strange choice, but one about which she politely enthused – Jack had given her the Girl’s Own annual, and Joan’s gift was a large box of fancy toffees.

  Having her friends to stay overnight in Aunt Gertie and Uncle Peadar’s the previous week had been great fun, and a snowy Monasterevin had looked magical the next morning. All in all, Emer reckoned that this was turning out to be one of the best Christmases ever.

  ‘Think you could force yourself to have a glass of lemonade?’ her father asked playfully as they rose from their seats and headed out of the Dress Circle.

  ‘I’ll do my very best, Dad,’ answered Emer with mock seriousness.

  ‘Brave girl!’ said Mam with a laugh, and they made their way along the carpeted corridor to the bar. All the patrons around them were dressed in their finery, and it struck Emer that Mam and Dad were actually a handsome couple.

  Her father intercepted one of the barmen who was crossing the room with a tray of drinks and placed their order. Emer stood with her parents just inside the door of the bar, since all of the tables were occupied. She consulted her programme, eagerly scanning the list of performers. ‘Would you say there’ll be an escape artist in Act Two, Mam?’ she asked. ‘Or maybe a juggler?’

  ‘Have to wait and see, love.’

  ‘There was an escape artist in Act One,’ said Dad.

  Emer looked at her father disbelievingly. ‘No, there wasn’t.’

  ‘That fella who sang “Mother Machree” was an escape artist. The way he butchered the song, he was lucky to escape with his life!’

  ‘Eamon,’ said Mam reproachfully, but she was laughing as she said it.

  Emer loved when Dad was in good humour like this. Between running two grocery shops and being in the Volunteers, he was kept very busy, but when he relaxed he was good company. Emer always thought he seemed younger when he laughed.

  Suddenly the smile faded from her father’s face. Emer looked behind her to see if something had happened, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary in the crowded theatre bar.

  ‘What is it, Eamon?’ asked Mam.

  ‘Inspector Adams,’ answered Dad.

  Emer had heard her father discussing Inspector Adams, a Special Branch police officer based in Dublin Castle. He had once had an account at Smyths, the grocers where Dad had worked before going into business for himself, and they had known each other slightly back then. Now, however, he specialised in keeping track of nationalist activity, and Emer felt a sudden flutter of butterflies in her tummy.

  She looked around again and saw a ramrod-straight man in a dress suit approaching. He had close-cropped grey hair and carried himself with a military bearing, and Emer knew without being told that he was Inspector Adams. He didn’t look like the kind of man who would attend a pantomime for entertainment, and the horrible thought entered Emer’s mind that maybe he was here to make an arrest.

  But surely if he was going to detain Dad for his activities in the Volunteers, he would do it at home or when he was out drilling? Unless maybe he had a nasty streak and wanted to humiliate Dad by arresting him in front of everybody. Emer felt her stomach tighten, but she tried to convince herself that the approaching man was here with his wife, or perhaps treating a favourite niece or nephew to the pantomime.

  And besides, if he wanted to arrest someone prominent, there were more senior figures than Dad – men like James Connolly of the Irish Citizen Army, or Padraig Pearse, who hadn’t been arrested despite making a very inflammatory political speech at the graveside of the nationalist Jeremiah O’Donovan Rossa.

  Emer looked back at her father, trying to gauge his reaction to seeing the policeman. He didn’t actually look frightened, but all the fun had gone out of him and he seemed on guard. Emer noticed that Mam had placed her hand on his arm, and she wasn’t sure if it was to reassure Dad or to restrain him.

  Suddenly Emer felt scared. If this man were to take away her father, what would she and Mam do? She glanced around again and saw that the policeman was much nearer. He looked at her father, who held his gaze, and Emer found herself holding her breath. Then Inspector Adams gave a curt nod of recognition, Dad nodded back, and the man continued on his way.

  Emer breathed out, hugely relieved. Mam and Dad began chatting again as if everything was normal, but Emer sensed that they were doing it for her benefit. She thought that while this time everything was fine, in future it might not be, if matters came to a head between the government and the Volunteers.

  Just then the drinks arrived, and Emer smiled at her parents and sipped her lemonade. But although the drink tasted delicious, and the second act was still to come, things had changed. Emer sensed that no matter how they tried to disguise it, from now on they would always be looking over their shoulders.

  Jack loved his family’s annual New Year’s Eve party – or ‘hooley’, as Ma always called it – and he sang along with everyone else in the living room as Da performed his party piece, ‘In the Good Old Summertime’.

  Da often invited younger members of the force who didn’t have relations in Dublin to the party, and now the clean-cut young constables joined in singing with the family and their neighbours and friends. Ma served plates of Irish stew, and there were mince pies, Christmas cake and pudding on the table, while whiskey, porter, sherry and lemonade were all in ready supply. As usual the party was lively, but the presence of the policemen from Da’s station brought Jack’s mind back to the incident in Monasterevin and the difficult decision he had had to make.

  He had sneaked back to bed that night without waking Ben, then wrestled with his conscience. He thought of what Phelim O’Connell had said about accepting that people could be on opposing sides and agreeing to differ. That same week the British Army had abandoned their disastrous campaign in Gallipoli, and Jack reasoned that, compared to the huge waste of life in the Dardanelles, a few cases of explosives weren’t all that significant.

  The strongest argument of all, though, was Emer’s point: the Irish Volunteers needed arms to counter-balance the huge number of weapons that the loyalist Ulster Volunteer Force had imported. And so, finally, Jack had decided that if the government could ignore the UVF importing weapons, then he could ignore the Volunteers doing the same thing on a much smaller scale.

  Jack believed that he had done the right thing, yet part of him felt slightly guilty now as he watched Da singing. Once more he was keeping a secret from his father, who had been more understanding than many a parent would have been about the fight with Phelim. Still, he had made his decision, and what Da didn’t know needn’t worry him. His father finished his song to much applause, then Ma pointed at the clock.

  ‘It’s almost twelve, John. Countdown time!’

  Jack watched as his father took his fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and consulted it. It was a long-standing tradition that Da counted off the final seconds of the year, and everybody joined him in the chant: ‘Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!’

  It was now 1916. Everyone cheered, and Jack was hugged by Ma, Da and each of his four sisters. Bells across the city began to chime. Da led a chorus of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and the party-goers sang, their arms intertwined. Jack could never understand what the words of the song meant, but he sang along happily. They followed another tradition and opened the hall door, letting everyone spill out onto the street.

  Many of the other neighbours had done the same, and the cool night air was alive with exchanged greetings, ringing church bells and the distant sound of ships’ horns from the docks.

  Jack waved across the street to Joan, and soon he would go around the corner to see Ben and Gladys on Glenard Avenue. Emer and Mr and Mrs Davey had gone to a party in Rathmines, and while Jack would have liked to greet Emer, in another way h
e was relieved. With Mr Davey involved with the Volunteers, and with so many policemen here outside Jack’s house, the Daveys’ presence might have been a little awkward for everyone.

  Jack stood on the pavement outside his home, his mind going back over the past year. He had nearly drowned, he had encountered armed men up in the mountains, he had fought Phelim O’Connell and then made peace with him, he had swum in the gala and he had seen dynamite being smuggled in Monasterevin. It had been an exciting year but also a sad one, in which his cousin had lost his leg and thousands of soldiers had died at the Western Front, in the Dardanelles and in other theatres of war.

  Jack hoped that 1916 would be a better year. And he hoped that Da and Mr Davey wouldn’t be in conflict. Still, there was nothing that he could do about any of that now. And so he banished his worries and started up the road, eager to see Ben and Gladys and to wish them luck for whatever the new year might bring.

  Part Two

  Preparing For Battle

  Chapter Seventeen

  APRIL 1916

  ‘Nothing ever stays the same, girls!’ said Miss Clarke. ‘Remember that, because people who try to prevent change get disappointed. And history isn’t a series of dates to be learnt off by heart. No, history is the world changing before our eyes, sometimes almost without our noticing.’

  Emer sat forward in her desk, listening to her teacher as the spring sunshine streamed in through the classroom windows. She revelled in the way Miss Clarke taught history, especially when compared with the boring approach of Sister Assumpta, who had taken the previous class.