Pawns E-Book

Brian Gallagher

• Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

In a time of war, how much would you risk to help a friend? Young Johnny Dunne works hard at Balbriggan's Mill Hotel, but still finds time to enjoy life with his friends, Alice and Stella. Though the three come from different backgrounds – Johnny had a harsh childhood in an orphanage, Alice is the daughter of the hotel owner and Stella the daughter of the Commanding Officer at the nearby RAF Gormanston. – they're inseparable, living at the hotel and playing together in the town band. But with the War of Independence raging, the friends face difficult decisions. Stella is pro-British, Johnny is pro-independence, and Alice is somewhere in between. Then Johnny's secret role, spying for the IRA on the Crown forces, puts him in danger.  And Stella and Alice have hard choices to make – choices that threaten their lives …

Leseprobe

Praise for Brian Gallagher’s other books:

Friend or Foe

‘Beautiful writing, great character development.’ Voya Magazine ‘An exciting adventure story.’ Irish Examiner

Stormclouds

‘This accurate depiction of violence … will surprise and educate many. A worthy accomplishment.’ Kirkus Reviews

Secrets and Shadows

‘Heart-stopping action.’ Evening Echo

‘Weav[es] historic fact and period detail into a fictional but nevertheless entirely credible story … Nail-biting.’ Books Ireland

Taking Sides

‘Gripping right from its first page … Dramatic action and storytelling skill.’ Evening Echo

Across the Divide

‘The atmosphere of a troubled city awash with tension and poverty is excellently captured.’ Irish Examiner

Arrivals

‘[Brian Gallagher is] one of Ireland’s finest authors of historical fiction for any age … a consummate storyteller.’ gobblefunked.com

Dedication

To Deirdre and Vincent – thanks for the many years of friendship

Contents

Title Page Dedication Acknowledgements ProloguePart One: AssemblyChapter One: Bloor Private Psychiatric Clinic, Toronto, Canada Chapter Two: The Mill Hotel, Balbriggan Chapter Three: The Mill Hotel, Balbriggan Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Part Two:ComplicationsChapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-TwoChapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Part Three:ChaosChapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Epilogue Historical Note About the AuthorCopyright

Acknowledgements

My sincere thanks to Michael O’Brien for supporting the idea of a novel dealing with the War of Independence and the Sack of Balbriggan, to my editor, Helen Carr, for her excellent advice and editing, to publicists Ruth Heneghan and Geraldine Feehily for all their efforts on my behalf, to Emma Byrne for her superb work on cover design, and to everyone at The O’Brien Press, with whom, as ever, it’s a pleasure to work.

My thanks also go to Hugh McCusker for his painstaking proof-reading, and I’m grateful to Denis Courtney for his support, and to Sara Hangan, Emanuelle Landais, Paul Flanagan, and Conor Browne, four young readers who shared with me their views of an early draft of the story.

My sincere thanks go to Fingal Arts Office for their bursary support.

During research in Balbriggan Library I was extended every courtesy and assistance by Assumpta Hickey and Colm Timmons, and my thanks also go to Susan Lovatt of Fingal Libraries and to Liz Eastwood in Balbriggan Chamber of Commerce.

The expertise of all of the above was freely shared with me, but any errors, or opinions expressed, are mine and mine alone.

And finally, no amount of thanks could express my gratitude for the constant support and encouragement of my family, Miriam, Orla and Peter.

Prologue

Sept 20th 1920

Bridge Sreet, Balbriggan, North County Dublin

Johnny Dunne tried to dampen his fear. Law and order had broken down tonight, and buildings were blazing all over town. What made it a true nightmare was that the people in charge – the police – were the ones setting the fires and running amok.

Johnny’s heart pounded and his throat stung from the foul-smelling smoke. He stood uncertainly on the pavement. He wanted to go forward, but was kept back by the heat from a burning public house just across the roadway. The fire roared as it consumed the building, the flames dancing crazily against the dark backdrop of the evening sky.

For the last two years a battle for independence had been fought by the Irish Republican Army with the forces of the British Crown. Earlier in the day two police officers had been killed in Balbriggan, and now policemen in lorries had descended on the town to avenge the death of their colleagues. The nearby base at Gormanston was the headquarters of the dreaded Black and Tans, a mercenary police force sent to Ireland to support the local constabulary. The Black and Tans had a reputation for brutality, and drunken Tans had been known to burn buildings, loot premises, and shoot people without hesitation.

Johnny knew that the smart thing would be to flee the town until the Black and Tans had satisfied their need for vengeance. But who could tell how much of Balbriggan would be left standing by then? And fleeing would mean turning his back on his friends. Johnny didn’t see himself as a hero, but he hated the idea of being a coward, and he wouldn’t run away.

Besides, if he fled now he wouldn’t know whether or not the local band hall had survived the inferno. If it was burnt down it would be a disaster for Johnny. Normally the band members brought their instruments home after rehearsals, but last week he had left his precious clarinet in the storage cupboard. It needed a minor repair, and Mr Tardelli, the band leader, had promised to have it fixed for him.

The clarinet was the only thing of value that Johnny owned, and he couldn’t bear to lose it. On turning thirteen last year, he had left St Mary’s Orphanage to work in Balbriggan’s Mill Hotel. The brother in charge of the orphanage band had allowed him to take the clarinet as a parting gift – one of the few kindnesses Johnny had been shown in the orphanage – and he treasured the instrument.

Each Friday night he made music in the band hall with his friends Alice and Stella, and it was the only time of the week when Johnny felt the equal of everyone else. If he lost the clarinet now it would take years to save for a replacement on his meagre wages. No, he decided, he simply had to get to the band room and retrieve the instrument.

He turned his back on Clonard Street where thatched cottages were blazing fiercely. Their roofs had been doused in petrol by the Tans, and terrified families were abandoning their homes and escaping westwards towards the fields of Clonard, the rise that overlooked the town. Johnny’s instinct was to join them, but he forced himself to go in the opposite direction. He started up Bridge Street, raising his hands to shield his face from the heat of the burning buildings. Crossing the road, he was about to turn into George’s Hill when his way was suddenly blocked by a Tan. The man pointed a Webley revolver at Johnny’s chest.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he demanded.

‘I’m…I’m trying to get home.’ Johnny thought it was a better answer than saying he was trying to salvage a clarinet.

‘What the Hell are you doing out at this hour?’

Johnny felt like saying that if the Tans weren’t wrecking Balbriggan he’d be asleep in bed. Instead he stayed calm and held the man’s gaze.

Always look a questioner in the eye. Mr O’Shea had drilled it into him when training him in spying techniques. Don’t stare someone out of it, but don’t drop your gaze. And keep your voice sounding relaxed and confident - like you’re totally innocent.

‘I was staying in my friend’s house. But houses near his are on fire, so I wanted to go home.’

Johnny wasn’t sure if the man believed him. Other Tans might be drunk, but this man seemed sober and alert.

‘Why isn’t your friend with you?’

‘He went to stay with his aunt.’

‘But the aunt didn’t take you in?’

‘I didn’t go to the aunt’s. I said I’d rather go home.’

The man still had the gun aimed threateningly. Johnny was tempted to try harder to convince him, but he forced himself to follow Mr O’Shea’s advice. Don’t blabber when you’re being questioned. Don’t refuse to answer, but don’t seem too eager to please.

‘You came from Clonard Street, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Full of Shinners up there,’ said the Tan challengingly. ‘That’s why we torched it. You a little Shinner too?’

If only you knew the half of it! thought Johnny. Instead he shook his head. ‘No, I’m not.’

‘That’s what all the Shinners say - when we’re around. Not so cocky then.’

Johnny had been trained by Mr O’Shea to stay as close to the truth as possible. But sometimes a really big lie did the trick, according to Mr O, who had spied for years beneath the noses of the British.

Time for the big lie. ‘I’m actually for King and Country,’ said Johnny. ‘My dad fought in the Great War.’

‘Yeah?’ The Tan didn’t lower the Webley, but he seemed a little less aggressive.

‘He served with the Dublin Fusiliers.’

‘Where did he serve?’

‘Suvla Bay,’ Johnny answered, grateful that Mr O’Shea believed in studying the enemy’s background as much as possible. ‘Fought with the Seventh Battalion ’till a Turkish sniper wounded him.’

Still the man didn’t lower the pistol, and Johnny began to fear that his lies might blow up in his face.

‘Seventh Battalion?’ queried the Tan.

‘Yes,’ replied Johnny, praying he hadn’t made some mistake.

The man held Johnny’s gaze for what seemed a long time. Then he nodded and lowered the gun. ‘Brave men in the Seventh.’

Johnny felt a surge of relief but was careful not to show it. ‘Yes, they were,’ he said.

‘Not like these Shinner scum.’

‘No.’

Johnny was aware that the longer he was kept here the greater the chance of the band hall being destroyed. ‘So, is it OK if I head home?’

‘Yes. But mind your step. Feelings are running high.’

‘Right.’

Johnny nodded briskly in farewell, then ran along George’s Hill in the direction of the seafront. The night air was pierced with screams, shouts, and drunken laughter, and flames licked noisily from the roofs and windows of burning buildings. Johnny was about to make a left turn when another Tan stepped unsteadily out of a doorway and into the middle of the road.

‘Whoa there, sonny!’

From his slurred speech and unsteady gait Johnny realised that this man had been drinking. No, he thought, he couldn’t waste more time being quizzed by a drunk. Johnny knew that it was risky to ignore an order from a Black and Tan, but he didn’t care. ‘Sorry mister, but my nan’s house is on fire!’ he cried. Without breaking stride, Johnny zig-zagged, side-stepping the drunken Tan.

The man shouted angrily, and Johnny prayed that he wouldn’t get a bullet in the back. He crouched low as he ran, to make himself a smaller target, then suddenly he was around the corner. He sprinted in case the Tan might follow him and take a pot shot. No shot was fired though, and Johnny slowed down to catch his breath.

He realised that what he had done was dangerous, but he felt exhilarated at defying the Tan and getting away with it. His satisfaction was short lived, however, and when he turned the next corner he saw that the band hall was also on fire.

Unlike the thatched cottages on Clonard Street it wasn’t blazing wildly, and Johnny ran forward again, hoping that it might be possible to rescue his clarinet before the place was destroyed.

He ran round to the rear of the hall. There was nobody in sight, and Johnny swiftly scaled the back wall and dropped down into the small yard. He could feel the heat from the fire, but he didn’t hesitate, and made for the back door. He lifted the potted plant under which the spare key was kept. It was hard to see with no lights on in the hall and the only illumination coming from the dancing flames. Johnny felt a stab of panic on not locating the key. He dropped to his knees, pushed the pot away and felt the ground. This time his hand closed on the metal of the back door key, and Johnny quickly rose and inserted it in the door.

He turned the key and was about to swing open the door when he stopped dead. If he opened it would the flames suddenly escape from the building, burning anything in their path? Or was it the other way around? Would air from outside flow into the hall and fan the flames? He didn’t know, but either way he couldn’t just stay here. Before he might lose his nerve he acted. Standing at arm’s length behind the door, he swung it open. To his relief flames didn’t erupt outwards, and he stepped inside the hall. He was struck by a wall of heat and wracked by a fit of coughing as smoke from the burning roof hit his lungs. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around his face, then crossed the room towards the cupboard where his clarinet had been left. The fire was spreading rapidly along the rafters, and he would have to get out before the roof caved in. But having come this far, he couldn’t go without the instrument.

He pulled open the cupboard, and there was the clarinet in its case, exactly where he had left it. Johnny scooped it up, then turned to cross the room. He was halfway to the door when he heard a loud crack. To his horror the ceiling began to collapse. Burning wooden beams started to fall, and Johnny’s stomach tightened with fear.

He made for the door, but a huge wooden beam fell before him in a shower of sparks. Johnny jerked back instinctively, crying out as more masonry from the ceiling fell on top of him. He felt a heavy blow to his head, and sank to the rubble-strewn floor as the rest of the ceiling collapsed into the room.

Part One

Assembly