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- Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
Dublin, 1943, and Roisin Tierney has changed her identity to evade the police in Nazi-occupied Ireland. With spies and informers a constant threat, Roisin must choose her friends carefully, and keep her Jewish heritage hidden at all costs. With her mother a prisoner in Spike Island Concentration Camp, and her father shipped abroad for forced labour, Roisin wants to resist. But who can you trust in a country ruthlessly policed by the Gestapo? Her friend Kevin is sympathetic, but has a politician father who carries out German orders. Her other friend Mary is anti-Nazi, but has secrets of her own to conceal. Some Irish people are Nazi sympathisers, some reluctant collaborators, and some fighting with the Resistance, so it's hard to know where to turn. But Roisin knows time is not on her side - and sooner or later she'll have to risk everything for the chance of a better future.
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Dedication
To Miriam – thanks for being the greatest supporter that any writer could ever hope to have.
Acknowledgements
My thanks to Michael O’Brien for supporting the idea of a novel dealing with Operation Green, the plan for a Nazi invasion of Ireland, to my editor, Helen Carr, for her excellent editing and advice, to publicists Ruth Heneghan and Ruth Ennis for all their efforts on my behalf, to Emma Byrne for her superb work on cover design, and to the everyone at O’Brien Press, with whom it’s a pleasure to work.
My thanks also go to Hugh McCusker for his expert proof-reading, to Claire and Domhnall Fahey for assiatance with German translation, and to Oisin O’Donovan-Kelly, a young reader who shared with me his views of an early draft of the story.
My sincere thanks go to Fingal Arts Office for their bursary support.
And finally, my deepest thanks are for the constant encouragement of my family, Miriam, Orla and Mark, and Peter and Shelby.
Contents
Prologue
Monday, 3 February 1941
Sacred Heart Convent, Cork City
Rachel felt a sense of dread as she looked down the avenue. The sky was blue, and the air mild, on this the first day of spring. Rachel, though, couldn’t suppress a shiver as she watched the sleek, black car that was coming up the tree-lined avenue from the main road. It was flying a swastika, the Nazi flag that flew on public buildings all over Ireland since the invasion the previous autumn, when the Germans had bloodily overwhelmed the Irish army and occupied the country within a week.
Rachel watched the car intently, hoping that it would turn right at the fork in the avenue. Left would bring the vehicle towards the primary school where she was a pupil, whereas right would mean its destination was the secondary school. On reaching the fork, the car turned left and Rachel felt her stomach tightening. Don’t panic, she told herself. It may be nothing to do with you. But she was the only girl in the school from a Jewish background, and the Germans had been rounding up Irish Jews and putting them into concentration camps. The Nazis often worked in tandem with the local Gardaí, but the Irish police were very much the junior partner, and all the power lay with the German Secret Police, the much-feared Gestapo.
Rachel turned away and walked quickly across the noisy schoolyard. It was breaktime, and the yard was full of uniformed girls, the younger ones excitedly playing chasing. From the corner of her eye Rachel saw the car pulling to a halt. She glanced backwards and saw two men getting out of the vehicle. One was in a Garda uniform, but the other man was in civilian clothes and wore a long black coat, despite the mild weather. Definitely Gestapo, thought Rachel, quickening her pace. She was tempted to run back to her classroom, grab her belongings and make for the rear exit of the grounds. Instead she forced herself not to draw attention and walked at a brisk pace towards the school’s reception area. She entered the main hall, the smell of beeswax polish hanging in the air.
There were other pupils about, and Rachel made sure not to catch the eye of Mrs Rafferty, the middle-aged woman who ran the school office. If the policemen were looking for her, the last thing she wanted was Mrs Rafferty to identify her. Rachel stopped and tried to think clearly. Was she getting herself into a state over nothing? Perhaps she should loiter in the hall, writing in a copybook while eavesdropping to hear the policemen’s business at the reception desk. Rachel hesitated, then her instincts kicked in and she decided to put as much distance as possible between herself and the police. If she took her belongings from the classroom and left the school, and it was all a false alarm, so what? Better to get in trouble with Sister Carmel than to end up in the clutches of the Gestapo.
Without further delay she turned into the corridor and made for her classroom. On reaching the door to the room, she swung it open and stepped inside. She collected her coat from the rack and was halfway to her desk when she found that she wasn’t alone.
‘What are you doing?’ said a voice.
Rachel turned around, startled. ‘Sister Carmel,’ she said, realising that her teacher had been at the back of the classroom
‘Why are you here during breaktime?’ asked the nun.
‘I…I came for my bag and coat.’
‘Why?’
Rachel looked at the nun, unsure what to tell her. Sister Carmel taught maths and religion and was regarded by the girls as strict, but fair. But her manner wasn’t sympathetic, and Rachel had never warmed to her.
‘You’re trying my patience, Rachel,’ said the nun.
‘Sorry, sister, I…
‘What?’
‘I’m frightened.’
‘Frightened of what?’
‘That…that the Nazis are coming for me. They’ve arrested all the Jews they could find in Cork.’
‘But your mother wasn’t detected. So the chances of them coming for you––’
‘They’re here! Two policemen are in reception!’ said Rachel, for once daring to interrupt her teacher mid-sentence.
Part of her hoped that Sister Carmel would reprimand her for interrupting, and would tell her that the visit had nothing to do with her. Instead the nun looked concerned.
‘Did you hear what they said to Mrs Rafferty?’ she asked.
‘No, I was afraid to hang about in case I’d be spotted.’
‘Right.’
‘Can I leave, Sister? Please. I’ll come back tomorrow if it’s all a big mistake.’
Sister Carmel looked uncertain, then she nodded. ‘All right.’
Just then they heard the sound of footsteps approaching along the corridor.
Rachel looked at Sister Carmel aware that the heavy tread wasn’t being made by schoolgirls. ‘This could be them!’ she said.
Sister Carmel looked frightened, then seemed to make a snap decision. ‘Quickly, Rachel,’ she whispered, ‘into the broom cupboard!’
Rachel grabbed her schoolbag and ran across the room. She entered the tall storage cupboard and closed the door after her. She lowered her schoolbag and coat to the ground then stood still, her heart pounding. No sooner had she settled herself than she heard a loud knock on the classroom door, followed by the sound of the door being opened.
‘May I help you?’ she heard Sister Carmel ask in a strong, confident voice.
Rachel had seen the fear in the nun’s eyes, however, and she wondered if her teacher could keep her nerve long enough to outwit the police. The Gestapo had a reputation for brutality, and being a nun wouldn’t save her if they took her in for interrogation.
Rachel heard footsteps as the two men approached, and she peeped through a crack in the side of the door.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Sister. I’m Sergeant Moran, and this is Kriminalkommissar Vogts.’
Rachel saw that Sergeant Moran had wavy, ginger hair and an open, almost friendly expression. Kriminalkommissar Vogts was athletically built, with tightly cropped brown hair, and his demeanour seemed more threatening.
‘We want one of your pupils,’ said the German in accented but fluent English.
The man’s tone was less courteous than the Irish policeman’s, and Rachel felt her knees beginning to tremble. Could there be some reason why they might want to talk to another pupil? But even as she clung to the slim hope, her worst fears were founded by Vogts.
‘We wish to see Rachel Clarke,’ he said.
‘May I ask why?’
‘No, you may not,’ said Vogts sharply. ‘Where is she?’
Rachel’s heart was pounding madly, and she found herself holding her breath. Sister Carmel was strict when it came to religious instruction, and she had taught the girls that a lie is always sinful. Would she lie now to save a pupil? And even if she was prepared to commit a sin, would she risk bringing the wrath of the Gestapo down on the school for the sake of one girl?
‘I couldn’t say where exactly she is,’ said Sister Carmel.
Despite her own terror, Rachel felt a surge of admiration for her teacher.
‘You couldn’t say, or you won’t say?’ said Vogts.
‘I couldn’t say. She didn’t come in today.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Is she usually a good attender?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yet the one day we want to see her, she’s not here?’ ‘Perhaps she knew you were coming.’
‘How would she know that?’ queried Sergeant Moran.
‘I’ve no way of telling, seeing as I don’t know why you want her,’ retorted Sister Carmel.
‘We want her because she’s Jewish,’ said Vogts bluntly.
Despite Rachel knowing this had to be the reason for their visit, hearing it said aloud was chilling. Terrible stories had reached Ireland of what the Nazis were doing to Jews in Europe, and she felt herself trembling with fear.
‘There must be some mistake,’ said Sister Carmel. ‘Rachel Clarke is a practising Catholic. She’ll be making her Confirmation next month.’
‘All that proves is how devious these Jews are,’ answered Vogts. ‘Her mother was Judith Goldberg before she married Edward Clarke and took his name.’
‘Be that as it may, Rachel Clarke is a practising Catholic.’
‘To mislead people. But when it comes to race, the child of a Jewish mother is Jewish. That’s the law.’
‘That hasn’t been the way in Ireland. Has it, sergeant?’
‘I’m…I’m sorry, Sister. Things have changed.’
‘It’s the law of the Reich,’ said Vogts. ‘Anyone guilty of obstructing it faces severe punishment. So I ask you again. And think carefully before you answer. Where is Rachel Clarke?’
Rachel swallowed hard, pressing her knees together to try to stop the trembling.
‘I don’t know Rachel’s precise location,’ said Sister Carmel.
‘But you have an idea where she might be. Better if you co-operate,’ said Vogts threateningly. ‘For you, the school, the Sacred Heart order.’
Rachel bit her lip. The school and the order were the core of Sister Carmel’s being. Even if she was willing to risk her own life, would she put the school and the order at risk for one pupil?
‘All right then,’ the nun answered.
‘Where is she?’
Sister Carmel paused, then spoke reluctantly. ‘I imagine she’s in England.’
‘England?’
‘She has family there. Probably the Clarkes saw this coming and she fled. There are ferries every day. She could have left from Cork, or Rosslare, or even Dublin. Have you taken her parents into custody, Sergeant?’
Before the Irish policeman could respond, Vogts cut in, ‘We don’t discuss police matters with civilians.’
‘As you wish. Well…if there isn’t anything else, Gentlemen, I have classes to prepare for.’
There was a pause, and Rachel prayed that the policemen would leave. To Rachel’s ears Sister Carmel had sounded convincing, but there was no telling how the Gestapo officer would respond.
‘Right, so. Thank you for your time, Sister,’ said Sergeant Moran.
‘Very well,’ said Vogts. ‘That is all – for now.’
Rachel silently breathed out, hugely relieved that they were leaving. But she still had to get out of the school, and there was the terrifying thought that her parents might already be arrested. Right now, though, she had to put that from her mind, and concentrate on safely exiting the convent grounds.
‘I’ll see you to reception,’ said Sister Carmel, and Rachel realised that the nun was giving her a chance to emerge from the broom cupboard as she escorted the policemen back to the entrance hall.
Rachel stood unmoving, even after she heard the classroom door closing and the sound of the policemen’s footsteps fading away. In the space of a few minutes her world had been turned upside down, and the fear that gripped her was paralysing. But she couldn’t stay here. She needed to move, and quickly. Steeling herself, she stepped out of the broom cupboard and crossed to the classroom door.
Rachel peered out carefully, relieved to see that there was no sign of Sergeant Moran or Kriminalkommissar Vogts in the corridor. She slung her schoolbag onto her back, draped her coat over her arm, and then walked swiftly down the corridor in the opposite direction to reception. Being breaktime, she didn’t encounter any other students, and she quickly turned out of the corridor and out the rear door of the building to the entrance to the bicycle shed. She moved to her bike and unlocked it, then donned her coat. Her heart was still pounding and she dreaded to think what might have happened to her parents. Well, the sooner she got out of the school, the sooner she’d know. Mounting the bicycle, she headed for the lane that acted as a back entrance to the convent grounds. She rounded the corner of the bicycle shed, rose out of the saddle, then cycled away at speed.
Part One
May 1943
Occupation
Chapter One
Rainbow Restaurant, O’Connell Street, Dublin.
Kevin Burke felt angry. He knew it was pointless, but he couldn’t help himself. Every time he travelled down O’Connell Street, it struck him anew. Although there was little that a twelve-year-old boy could do to change things, he still felt sickened when he saw the Nazi swastika flying over the General Post Office, where the Irish tricolour used to fly.
It was over two years since Ireland and Britain had fallen to the Nazis, but it still grated with Kevin to see German soldiers occupying his country. The war that Adolf Hitler had started in 1939 by invading Poland was still going on, with fierce battles taking place between the Russians and the Germans on the Eastern Front. In Western Europe, however, France, Belgium and Holland had fallen quickly to the Nazis, followed by a bloody, but successful, invasion of Britain and Ireland in the autumn of 1940. Despite Ireland being a neutral country, and the Irish army putting up a brave fight, the Nazis had ruthlessly overwhelmed all resistance, and within a week of the fall of Britain, Ireland too was under Nazi rule.
The Irish leader, Éamon de Valera, led a government-in-exile in Washington, while Britain’s Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, had escaped to Canada, from where he too was opposing the Nazis. Meanwhile, people in Ireland survived as best they could, with German law enforced by the Gestapo, any form of resistance brutally suppressed, and food strictly rationed. Bread, meat, fish, butter, sugar and tea were all in short supply to the general population, and required ration coupons for their purchase.
Kevin looked across the Rainbow Restaurant now, as smartly dressed waiters served the guests. His anger was giving way to guilt. The air carried the delicious smell of roasted meat, and a pianist was softly playing in the background. But why should he and his parents eat fine food in fancy surroundings when so many people in Ireland were going without? The discomforting answer was that as well as being a successful auctioneer, his father was also a member of Dublin Corporation. The Nazis had total control of Irish life, with an all-powerful Reich-Protector dictating German policy. But it suited the Nazis to have local politicians handling the day-to-day running of the city, and with that came certain privileges.
With Ireland being an agricultural country, much of its output was now exported to feed the German army. Generous allowance was made, however, for selected Irish restaurants where German officers dined, and access to these venues was one of the most valued benefits offered to local politicians.
‘Cheer up, Kevin, it might never happen!’ said his father playfully, breaking Kevin’s reverie.
‘Sorry, I…I was miles away,’ Kevin answered, trying for a grin.
It was his mother’s birthday today, and the three of them had come into town to celebrate. His father wore a well-tailored three-piece suit, and his mother wore a blue satin dress. For her sake, Kevin had kept his misgivings to himself, and now he turned to her. ‘How is your fish, Mam?’
‘Lovely, thanks.’
‘Fresh from the trawlers in Howth,’ said Dad. ‘And the chef here is excellent. That’s a winning combo.’
Kevin nodded agreeably. He wanted his mother to have a nice birthday – he’d given her a home-made birthday card and a charcoal drawing he had done of the Royal Canal – and he resolved to make more of an effort to hide his feelings.
They finished their main courses, then Kevin looked up with curiosity as a German officer approached their table. He was a middle-aged man in a smartly-cut uniform. By now, Kevin could tell the difference between SS officers with their black uniforms and swastika armbands, Luftwaffe pilots in their light blue uniforms, and regular army men in their uniforms of grey, which this man wore.
‘Major Weber,’ said Kevin’s father, rising to his feet and offering his hand.
‘Councillor Burke. Good to see you,’ said the German in clipped English.
‘This is my wife, Una,’ said Dad.
‘A pleasure to meet you Frau Burke,’ said Weber, bowing slightly before shaking hands.
‘And this is my son, Kevin.’
Kevin rose. He hated being polite to those who were occupying Ireland - and ruthlessly executing anyone who opposed them – but good manners dictated that he be courteous. He reached out to shake the German’s hand. As an only child he was used to meeting adults, and normally he would have engaged in conversation. But although he had to shake hands, he was determined not to make small talk with a Nazi.
‘A fine boy,’ said Weber, shaking hands and patting Kevin on the shoulder.
Keep your hands to yourself! Kevin felt like shouting, but he contented himself with giving no reaction whatsoever.
If Weber had picked up on Kevin’s lack of a response he didn’t show it. ‘I don’t wish to intrude,’ he said, his English fluent despite the clipped delivery.
‘Not at all,’ said Dad.
‘No, indeed,’ added Mam, with a polite smile.
Kevin knew his father generally altered his demeanour to fit the company in which he found himself. But while Dad had no choice but to deal with these people, Kevin still wished his parents would be a bit more reserved with Weber.
‘No, it’s a family occasion,’ said the German. ‘I just wanted to say good evening. And also to say that I look forward to your cooperation, Councillor, regarding the shipment to Hamburg next week.
‘Which you’ll certainly have, Major.’
‘Excellent. Well, Frau Burke, Kevin,’ said the officer, nodding in farewell.
Kevin hated being called by his first name, as though Weber was a family friend, but he joined his mother in saying goodbye. Then the German returned to a table of officers at the far side of the busy room.
‘Who is he, Tom?’ asked his mother.
‘Major Conrad Weber. Quite an important person.’
‘Nice of him to come over.’
‘He’s one of the more civilised ones. Though he was also putting on a little pressure.’
‘Oh? How’s that?
‘There’s a big consignment of beef to go to Hamburg next week. We have to handle the paperwork. He was marking my cards that he wants no snags at our end.’
‘Ah.’
‘But I’ve always kept on the right side of him, so we get on. Talking of which…’ Kevin’s father turned and looked at him questioningly.
‘What?’ said Kevin.
‘You could have been a bit friendlier.’
‘Friendlier?’
‘Yes. You were borderline rude, Kevin. He probably thinks you were just shy, but you could have made an effort.’
Kevin felt his hackles rise but he made sure to lower his voice. ‘You want me to be friends with people who are murderers?’
‘Kevin!’ said his mother.
‘Major Weber isn’t a murderer,’ said his father in a low voice.
‘They kill hostages, Dad, they kill Resistance fighters, they kill Jews.’
‘Major Weber is a quartermaster. He organises food supplies.’
‘So he feeds the ones who do the killing.’
His father hesitated, then spoke again, his voice still low. ‘Perhaps he does. But I can’t change that. So what would you have me do, Kevin? Condemn the Nazis? And end up before a firing squad? Or in a concentration camp – and maybe you and Mam along with me?’
Kevin didn’t have an answer, but his father held his gaze.
‘What would you have me do, son?’ he said gently.
‘I…I don’t know, Dad.’
To Kevin’s surprise, his father reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘These are desperate times, Kevin. We do what we have to do, and try to muddle through. All right?’
‘All right, Dad.’
But if you muddled through alongside people who committed murder, at what stage did you become part of the process?
‘Anyway, that’s enough of the gloom,’ said Mam, with forced cheerfulness. ‘Apple crumble for dessert, Kevin?’
‘Yes,’ he answered, trying to sound upbeat for his mother’s sake. ‘Apple crumble for dessert.’
* * *
Mary Flanagan kept her head down and strode past Tierneys’ house, hoping not to be seen. Normally she enjoyed being with Roisin Tierney, who had become her neighbour and friend on moving to Dublin two years ago. Now, though, Mary needed to be alone, and she kept up her brisk pace as she turned out of Shandon Park and made for Phibsboro Road.
Mary carried a small basket of flowers for her father’s grave and she turned left on reaching the main road. It was a short walk from here to Glasnevin Cemetery, and the late afternoon sunshine bathed the city in warm, golden light. The pocket gardens of the houses along her route were ablaze with colour, with flowers, shrubs, and potted plants thriving in the early summer heat. Mary thought that May was the best month of the year, and she loved the bright green of the leaves when they unfolded after their long, winter hibernation.
Mary savoured the scented air, then her sense of wellbeing was shattered by a volley of shots. She jumped slightly, taken by surprise even though she knew what the firing meant. More executions in the prison yard of Mountjoy Jail.
The Germans routinely executed captured Resistance fighters, which was brutal but unsurprising. What had cowed people far more, however, was the willingness of the Nazis to execute black marketeers, trade union officials, rebel priests – in fact anyone who dared to resist Hitler’s occupation of the country.
Mary’s family had first-hand experience of the ruthlessness of the occupiers. Her mother’s Widow’s Pension had been stopped by the authorities because Commandant Flanagan was among those officers who had continued irregular warfare after the Irish army had been forced to surrender to the invading Germans.
Luckily her parents owned the house in Shandon Park, so Mary and her siblings had a roof over their heads. Mam had been forced to go back to her original career of dressmaking, however, and even now, two years later, money was scarce.
