Her Secret War Page 2

  If Da had been cantankerous before, he was a tyrant now without Ma’s softer influence. The rumour he might be going on reduced hours at the factory didn’t help matters. Where would that leave us, Sarah often wondered. The war was crippling the country, and there was so little work. She was employed in a small architect’s practice in town, but it paid a pittance, and Maura’s typing job didn’t bring in much more.

  ‘You still awake?’ Maura asked in a whisper from the other side of the room. ‘I can’t get to sleep.’

  ‘Me neither. Best try though. You won’t enjoy the outing this afternoon if you’re tired.’

  ‘I can’t wait, Sarah. I love going to Howth.’

  Sarah turned over and gazed across at her sister. Despite the heat of the room, Maura was clutching the sheet under her chin. Sarah suspected she was shivering, even though it appeared Jerry had scarpered. They hadn’t heard a plane for at least fifty minutes.

  ‘Hey, you know, you might meet someone nice out in Howth tomorrow,’ Sarah said, hoping to take Maura’s mind off the Luftwaffe’s earlier antics. ‘It’s bound to be packed with day-trippers. A holiday weekend always brings them out in their droves.’

  Maura’s face lit up. ‘Oh yeah; wouldn’t that be lovely. Let’s walk down the harbour to the lighthouse. Of course, I’ll have free rein with you joined at the hip to Paul O’Reilly,’ Maura said with a giggle. ‘How is the gorgeous Paul, by the way?’

  ‘I neither know nor care,’ Sarah snapped. ‘I despair of him; he’s plane mad. All he talks about is joining the RAF and doing his bit. Some fella he knows went up to Belfast to enlist, so he’s thinking of doing the same.’

  ‘No! Ah, God, I’m sorry.’

  Sarah huffed. ‘Don’t be.’

  ‘But won’t Paul’s da kill him if he enlists?’ Maura asked.

  ‘Course he will. Pat O’Reilly is a fierce IRA man, same as our Da. Sure, he’ll skin Paul alive if he finds out.’

  ‘So, is Paul just going to sneak off and say nothing?’

  ‘What else can he do?’

  Maura’s glance brimmed with sympathy, setting Sarah’s irritation level to high. ‘Will you be all right? You’ll miss him if he goes.’

  Sarah snorted. ‘Plenty more fish and all that.’

  ‘Get away with ye! Sure, you’re crazy about him,’ her sister answered.

  Sarah took a swipe at her with her pillow but the gap between the beds was too wide. ‘For your information, I’ve finished with him.’

  ‘No! Get away! I don’t believe it for a second. You’ll be back together in no time. Paul’s the nicest lad you’ve ever dated.’ Maura sighed. ‘Those blue eyes and that blond hair. He’s only gorgeous.’

  ‘He has brown hair!’ Sarah scowled at her.

  ‘No, no, it’s definitely blond. All right, keep your hair on! Maybe dark blond. Anyway, perhaps he won’t go? It could just be talk. Probably trying to impress you; you know what fellas are like.’

  ‘I tell you; he’s made up his mind, and so have I!’

  Maura turned over, pulling the sheet up over her head, but Sarah heard her mutter: ‘You’re mad in the head.’

  For a moment, Sarah was rigid with anger, but Paul’s face flashed into her mind. He was a handsome fellow with a ready smile and a wicked sense of humour, but he was abandoning her. It wasn’t even their war. What was he thinking? But their row replayed in her mind. God! Maybe her silly sister was right. Had she made a stupid mistake? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d messed up. She had said some harsh things. But he had just stood there taking it, which made her even angrier. When she had run out of steam, he had given her a look that would have curdled milk. In that moment, she realised she had hurt him deeply. But it was ridiculous, this plan of his. She couldn’t understand why he wanted to enlist when he had a well-paid job. It was only those who couldn’t find work that went to England – there were plenty of jobs over there in the factories. Probably the only good thing to come out of the war. But what if Paul joined up and then got himself killed? The thought made her ill.

  Thumping her pillow, she moved around until she found a more comfortable position on the lumpy mattress, then turned her head to look out the window. The sky was beautifully clear. It was peaceful at last.

  An awful thought struck her, and she broke out in a cold sweat. What if Jerry did the same thing coming back from Belfast? They often dropped their surplus bombs out over the Irish Sea to save fuel on their way home from bombing runs.

  The silence of anticipation was almost worse than the earlier pandemonium.

  Sarah was just dozing off when she heard a strange whistling sound, accompanied by a tremendous bang. The entire house vibrated. In horror, she watched as the crack in the ceiling snaked across to the window, the plaster dust floating down on top of her, making her cough.

  ‘Mother of God! What was that?’ she cried, scrambling to sit up in her bed. Then it happened again, followed by rumbling. ‘Is it an earthquake?’

  Maura crossed herself, then frantically kicked off the sheet and bedcover. ‘No, Sarah. That sounded like bombs to me, and they’re close by.’

  Sarah flung back her bedclothes and flicked on the light. She glanced at the clock. It was twenty minutes to two. ‘Come on, get dressed, Maura. We need to find out what’s going on.’

  ‘Turn off the light!’ Maura cried.

  ‘I think it’s a bit late to be concerned about blackout.’ Sarah buttoned up her blouse with shaking fingers. ‘Did you hear Da come in yet?’

  ‘No. I’m certain he’s still out.’

  They finished dressing in a rush, then headed downstairs. Sarah pulled open the hall door and they stepped down onto the pavement. It was mayhem outside. All the neighbours were out, looking about wildly, most in their night attire. The men were running down towards Portland Row, their terrified wives standing in the doorways, screaming at them to stay put. Sarah spotted a plume of smoke to the west.

  She grabbed the arm of a passing man, forcing him to stop. ‘What’s happened?’

  He shook her off. ‘What do you think? Bloody Jerries, that’s what!’ He raced away.

  ‘What should we do, Sarah? Should we go look for Da?’ Maura’s face was deadly white.

  Sarah gnawed at her lip. ‘I don’t know.’ She nodded towards the chaos. ‘Looks like Summerhill was hit. Da wouldn’t have been up there. He should be all right.’ Blast him, she thought. Why hasn’t he come home to check on us?

  Maura shuddered, her eyes wide with terror. Sarah put an arm around her shoulder and tried to smile, but panic was almost choking her. She couldn’t think straight. Should they stay in the house or leave? Where would be safer if Jerry came back? Seconds later, they heard a distant rumble. Maura clutched at her neck. ‘Oh my God, that must be another one.’

  Sarah pulled her back into the house. ‘Maura, it’s a Blitz! We need to find shelter. Quick, under the stairs.’ Sarah tussled with Da’s bike and flung it across the hall. They squeezed into the gap left by the bicycle and clung to each other, shivering.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Maura said after a few moments of silence. ‘There was no warning, no siren. Why would they bomb us? We’re neutral!’

  ‘I tell you what, why don’t I go out and flag the bastard down and ask him in my best German?’

  Maura scowled back at her. ‘That’s not helpful!’

  ‘Then don’t ask stupid questions, Maura.’

  A few minutes passed as they sat in silence.

  ‘Do you think Da’s all right?’ Maura asked.

  Sarah didn’t give a fig, but she didn’t want to frighten Maura any further. ‘Sure he is. It would take more than the Jerries to do him in. He was either in the bar at Egan’s or on the bridge having a smoke. He’ll have got a fright, that’s all. No doubt he’ll return home to check we’re not hurt … soon.’ More likely, he’d head back to the pub if at all possible, Sarah knew. The men would like nothing better than to dissect tonight’s activities over a few malt whiskies.r />
  Time dragged, but they were too afraid to move. Sarah heard the noises out on the street; people milling about, talking loudly, someone shouting instructions. A fire engine sped past, siren blaring. Maura crossed herself and muttered a prayer under her breath.

  Then, the drone of a bomber could be heard again. ‘Jaysus! He’s back,’ Maura cried. ‘I can’t stand it, Sarah, I can’t stand being cooped up! We’ll be trapped if we stay under here.’ Maura pushed her way out and headed for the front parlour. Ma’s best room: the room they only used for special occasions. Ma’s wake was the last time they had used it.

  Sarah followed, reluctant to be left alone under the stairs.

  ‘What should we do? What if there are more bombs? Would we be safer outside?’ Maura asked, tilting her head, listening out for the plane. ‘It sounds fainter. Has he moved away, do you think?’

  With growing alarm, Sarah stood in the centre of the room, running her fingers through her hair. Her hands were shaking. ‘I don’t know, Maura, ok? I’m trying to think.’ Her voice shook.

  ‘Sorry, Sarah. I’m dead scared. Why won’t it stop? I want them to go away. Why can’t they leave us alone?’ Maura asked, sitting down on the edge of the armchair. She wrapped her arms around herself, her lower lip trembling. ‘Oh, no! Look!’ Maura pointed to the window.

  Sarah moved closer to the large sash window – Ma’s photograph had pride of place on the deep sill – and saw that the upper pane of glass had cracked, probably when the bombs fell. Da would be livid about the damage. The picture was the only decent one they had of Ma, and Sarah couldn’t bear the thought of it getting damaged; best it went into a drawer. As she reached for the silver frame, there was an ear-splitting whistle, followed by a huge boom.

  The window exploded inwards, and Sarah fell into darkness.

  3

  31st May 1941, North Strand, Dublin

  ‘By all that’s holy; she’s alive!’ The voice sounded far away, as if she were dreaming. Sarah tried to focus on it. The light from a torch played on her face, hurting her eyes. She struggled to cry out but choked on dust and grit. Any attempt to move brought wave after wave of pain in her limbs. With growing horror, Sarah realised she was pinned up to her neck in rubble, the pressure around her body almost unbearable. Everything stung; her eyes, her face, her nose. She could hear the pathetic moans of someone in pain. Oh God, that’s me!

  The light swung to the left and Sarah could make out the shape of a person behind, crawling towards her, inch by inch, through the gloom. To her dismay, he halted. ‘Jaysus, it’s very unstable here, lads. Stay back!’

  No, no! Sarah wanted to cry out. Please don’t leave me here in the darkness. Get me out!

  ‘Mick! I can smell gas,’ a distant voice shouted. ‘We’d best hurry. Have you far to go?’

  ‘A couple of yards, that’s all,’ the man replied, sweeping the torch around. ‘’Tis just the one.’

  Sarah prayed. ‘Hail Mary …’

  With painstaking slowness, the man picked his way forward. ‘Hello, love. I’m Mick Ward. Don’t you fret, now. We’re going to get you out. What’s your name? Are you one of the Gillespie girls?’ Sarah nodded and tried to speak, but no words would come. She started to cry. Where was Maura?

  Mick reached out and removed a large section of brickwork which had been pressing down on Sarah’s shoulder. Passing it behind to another man, he flashed Sarah a grin. ‘Won’t be too long, love. You just hold tight.’ She didn’t have much choice.

  Sarah had no idea how long it took Mick to dislodge her. As each piece of rubble was removed, he did his best to reassure her. But if she moved, searing pain shot through her body.

  ‘Maura?’ she croaked. It came out as a whisper.

  ‘What’s that love?’ Mick asked, tilting his face closer.

  The dust caught in her throat as she tried to speak. A fit of coughing was all she could manage.

  ‘Just a few more minutes, now.’ He patted her free shoulder and turned away as a second man crawled forward.

  ‘Let’s try to pull her free,’ he said to Mick. ‘We’re running out of time. The smell of gas is getting stronger.’

  Frantic, Sarah tried again. ‘Sister.’

  ‘What’s she saying?’ the second man asked.

  ‘No idea. Best get her out. Ok, missy, this is going to hurt a bit,’ Mick said. With a nod to the other man, they both grasped a shoulder and heaved. Sarah screamed in pain and passed out.

  That’s odd, Sarah thought, looking up at the ceiling through a sleepy haze. The crack has disappeared. Did Da get it mended? Mystified, she drifted back into a deep sleep.

  The next time she woke, sunlight was streaming in through a window directly onto her face. A large, clean sash window. And her precious bookcase was missing. Blinking to full consciousness, she took in her surroundings. It wasn’t No. 18. In fact, it looked very much like …

  ‘Poor lamb, you awake, love?’ A young woman in a nurse’s uniform came into focus. She was leaning over her, her brow marred by a deep frown. ‘You’ve certainly been through it. They had to sedate you for the pain. How do you feel?’

  Sarah’s throat was raspy dry. ‘Where?’ was all she managed.

  ‘You’re in the Mater Hospital. I’m Nurse Agnew. Do you remember what happened?’

  Sarah shook her head, and immediately regretted it as pain sliced through her skull, taking her breath away. As she moved, Sarah sensed the heaviness of her leg and arm. Glancing down, she realised both were in casts. All of a sudden, she recalled the droning of the bombers, the explosion, and Maura sitting in the front parlour, shaking in fear.

  ‘Oh my God! Maura!’ Sarah exclaimed, struggling to sit up. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Take it easy; you’re safe now. Don’t be fretting about anyone else for the moment,’ Nurse Agnew said, gently rubbing Sarah’s upper arm. ‘Would you like some water? Let’s get you sitting up.’ With surprising deftness, the nurse pulled Sarah up, plumping up the pillows behind her. Now Sarah could survey the entire ward.

  As Nurse Agnew held a glass to her parched lips, Sarah took several sips before pushing the glass away.

  ‘How long have I been here?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘It’s Monday afternoon. They dug you out on Saturday. Can you tell me your name and your age, love?’ the nurse asked.

  ‘Sarah … Gillespie,’ Sarah croaked, as a pulse of terrifying blackness encroached on her peripheral vision. ‘Nineteen.’

  Through a haze, Sarah saw Nurse Agnew grab a file at the end of the bed. ‘Ah, that’s grand. You see, we weren’t too sure who you were, and no one on the ward recognised you.’ The nurse gave her a sympathetic glance. ‘Probably because of the swelling to your face. Anyway, there are loads of people looking for family and friends. I’ll get your name posted up so your loved ones can find you. Hopefully, it won’t be too long.’ Nurse Agnew sighed. ‘It’s been chaos these last few days. We’ve never seen the like.’

  ‘Maura?’ Sarah asked, fighting off dizziness and losing the battle.

  ‘Who’s that, love?’ The nurse leaned down towards her.

  ‘My sister,’ she whispered.

  Nurse Agnew straightened up. ‘I’ll see what I can find out.’

  Sarah grabbed the nurse’s arm as she moved away. ‘And my Da?’

  ‘What’s his name?’ the nurse asked, her eyes full of sympathy.

  ‘Jim Gillespie.’

  ‘Right. They might both be here; you never know. But don’t fret if they aren’t. They also took casualties to Jervis Street Hospital. You must rest, now. The doctor will be along to see you soon.’

  Sarah watched the nurse move to the next bed, then looked about only to come up short. The ward was full of injured women; faces she recognised from all around North Strand.

  On Tuesday morning, Sarah awoke to the gentle squeezing of her arm. She looked up into Nurse Agnew’s face.

  ‘Sorry to disturb your sleep, Miss Gillespie, but there’s a Garda here who wants to speak
to you,’ the nurse said. ‘Here; let me help you sit up.’

  A young policeman was standing at the end of her bed, pale-faced and cap in hand. Nurse Agnew pulled the curtains around Sarah’s bed. ‘Quick as you can, Guard, please. Miss Gillespie needs her rest,’ was the nurse’s parting shot to him.

  ‘Morning, Miss,’ he said, coming around the bed to stand beside her. ‘I’m Garda Burke, from Store Street Station. We understand that your sister and father are still missing.’ She nodded. The colour rose in his face and he cleared his throat. Sarah felt sorry for him; he didn’t look much older than Maura.

  ‘Have they been found?’ Sarah asked, clutching the sheet. The fog lifted from her brain. He could only be here to deliver bad news. Her stomach heaved.

  ‘Well, Miss, I … we can’t say for sure. There’s a lot of confusion and they are still digging people out.’ His voice wavered. ‘The thing is, a number of bodies have been brought to the morgue and we have no way of identifying them, other than through personal belongings.’ He opened a small bag. His hands shook. ‘Perhaps I could show you some of these and you could tell me if you recognise them?’

  Sarah cringed. Please, God, no!

  Garda Burke pulled out several pieces of jewellery, a purse and a leather wallet. Sarah scanned them and shook her head.

  ‘Ok,’ he said, ‘Just a few more.’

  Da’s signet ring; his wedding band. She recognised it immediately. With a shaking hand, she picked it up from the policeman’s palm. ‘JG’ was engraved on the top. Her fingers curled around it.