Secrets and Shadows (9 page)

Mr Pawlek, enemy agent
…in one way the idea was exciting. But mostly it was scary to think that he might be dealing with a Nazi, knowing how ruthless they were. Barry stood gazing over the water, the summer sun forgotten now as a tiny chill ran up his spine.

G
race hated doing homework, especially on bright summer evenings like this. Just one more week and school would be over, with the holidays stretching out before her. She had slotted in well at her new school in Stanhope Street, but she definitely wouldn’t be sorry when the term ended.

Now that she had finished tea, Grace was sitting in a corner of the kitchen going over her spellings. Granddad was lighting his pipe, Uncle Freddie was reading the newspaper and Ma was doing her trick with the carrots – though Grace wished that she wouldn’t.

Grace didn’t want to hurt Ma’s feelings, so she never complained about the taste when her mother grated carrots, baked the gratings in the oven, and then used the blackened results as ‘tea leaves’. Ma mixed them with regular leaves to stretch out the supply of rationed tea, and sometimes when supplies were really short the carrot ‘tea leaves’ alone were used.

Ma was doing her best to keep everyone in the house happy. But Grace knew that she was trying to find somewhere else she could afford to rent, despite Granddad saying that they were welcome to stay as long as they liked.

‘Your man Churchill takes the biscuit!’ said Uncle Freddie, putting down his newspaper and shaking his head.

‘What ails you now?’ asked Granddad, puffing contentedly on his pipe.

‘He’s going on about freedom and keeping the Nazis at bay,’ said Freddie.

‘Well, in fairness, Freddie, isn’t he doing just that?’ answered Ma.

‘Good woman, yourself, Nancy!’ said Granddad with a chuckle.

Grace was pleased that Ma had disagreed with her uncle. When Freddie buttered Ma up she found it embarrassing, especially when Ma didn’t dismiss his flattery outright.

‘He’s keeping the Nazis at bay,’ argued Freddie, ‘but the only freedom he cares about is England’s.’

‘How do you know what he cares about?’ asked Granddad.

‘From what he allowed. Didn’t the Royal Navy pursue the German ship
Altmark
into a Norwegian fjord? They violated Norwegian waters – and the next thing you know the Nazis decided Norway wasn’t really neutral, and invaded the country.’

‘I didn’t realise that,’ said Ma.

‘And Churchill has his beady eyes on our ports,’ insisted Freddie.

‘Are you saying Churchill’s going to invade us?’ said Granddad.

Despite normally dismissing most of what Uncle Freddie said, Grace couldn’t help but be interested this time, and she put down her spelling book.

‘Maybe not
now,
because we’ve raised an army, and he knows we’d fight him tooth and nail,’ answered Freddie.

‘So if he’s not going to invade us, and he’s resisting the Nazis, what’s the problem?’ said Granddad.

‘The problem is we’ve spent a fortune we don’t have expanding the army. That’s money that could be spent on housing or schools.’

‘There is that,’ agreed Ma, who had strong views about the poor housing that so many people in Dublin had to endure.

‘The bigger army is also to fight the Germans if they invaded,’ argued Granddad, ‘it’s not just Churchill.’

‘Maybe,’ said Freddie, ‘but this thing of Winston Churchill as some kind of saint, it’s a load of…’ Uncle Freddie stopped himself, though Grace wished he had let slip the rude word that he obviously wanted to use.

‘It’s a load of rubbish,’ said Freddie.

Her uncle went back to his newspaper, and Grace picked up her spelling book again. She was meeting Barry later on and now she was really looking forward to it. Barry hero-worshipped the British Prime Minister, Mr Churchill, and now she had something with which to challenge him playfully. She returned to the spellings, eager to finish her homework and meet up with her friend.

Barry strode happily out the garden gate, the sweet smell of roses hanging in the air. Yesterday’s school tour had been brilliant, and Barry was really glad he had managed to raise the money to go on it. In the relaxed atmosphere of the tour – and with Shay McGrath absent – he had gotten on well with his classmates and felt much more like one of the group. After visiting Cobh, they had all had
high tea in a hotel in Cork, and there had been a great sing-song on the train coming home. Looking back, it had definitely been his happiest day since leaving Liverpool six weeks previously.

The only niggling thing had been the strange behaviour of Mr Pawlek in Cobh. Mum had always said Barry had a vivid imagination, and he had tried to convince himself that he was getting carried away in thinking of the drill teacher as a spy. But try as he might, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Mr Pawlek was up to something.

He hadn’t shared his suspicions with any of the other boys in his class, not wanting to risk his recent acceptance by leaving himself open to ridicule. But he needed to tell someone, and he was looking forward to hearing Grace’s opinion this evening.

They had arranged to meet after tea, and Barry reached her door and knocked, slightly nervous now that the time had come to share his secret. The door swung open, and Grace greeted him smilingly.

‘Barry, come on in,’ she said, ‘we’ve a new record I want you to hear.’

‘Great,’ said Barry, stepping inside and following Grace into the front parlour. ‘What is it?’

‘“Blueberry Hill”, by Gene Autry. Uncle Freddie got it in town.’

‘That’s a great song,’ said Barry. ‘I didn’t think it would be your uncle’s style.’

‘He’s not always an eejit,’ said Grace, who had stopped before reaching the gramophone. She looked at Barry with a hint of
playfulness. ‘In fact, now and again he says something that’s smart.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, he says your Mr Churchill isn’t the saint you think he is.’

‘I never said he was a saint,’ said Barry.

‘You think he’s great, though.’

‘He
is
great. When Poland fell, and Belgium, and Holland and France, he still stood up to the Nazis. Even when England was the only country left, he wasn’t afraid of them.’

‘Uncle Freddie says he only cares about England – that he doesn’t care about other people’s rights.’

‘Well it’s easy for your uncle, isn’t it?’ said Barry, feeling irritated at Freddie.

‘How is it?’ asked Grace.

‘
My
uncle is half starved in a Nazi prison camp.
Your
uncle is sitting on his backside in Dublin.’

‘Why shouldn’t he?’ challenged Grace. ‘Ireland is neutral.’

‘Other Irishmen aren’t neutral. My dad isn’t. And he says there’re loads of Irish fighting in the Royal Navy – and the RAF and the British Army.’

‘That doesn’t mean Uncle Freddie has to. He’s entitled to his opinion.’

‘Yeah, your uncle’s spouting his opinions, while-’

‘He’s not
spouting
!’

‘He is! But my uncle George
fought
for his, and ended up in a prison camp.’

‘Well good for him!’ retorted Grace.

Barry was shocked. He thought of his favourite uncle and all that he had suffered since his capture, then he looked Grace in the eye. ‘Good for him? A prisoner of the Nazis – and you say “good for him”?’

‘I don’t…I didn’t really mean it like that. It’s just…’

‘Just forget it, OK?’ said Barry. He wasn’t in the mood now to hear Gene Autry singing ‘Blueberry Hill’. And he certainly wasn’t going to reveal his suspicions about Mr Pawlek. ‘I’ll see you, Grace,’ he said, and before there could be any more argument, he turned away and walked out of the room.

‘D
o you want to keep our deal going a bit longer?’ asked Johnny Keogh as he took the rhubarb tart from Grace at the corner of Brunswick Street. The cake shop had just closed after a busy Saturday, and Grace was a little tired, but she looked at Keogh warily. So far they had both kept their parts of the bargain, and there had been no more bullying from Shay McGrath. But a boy as tough as Johnny Keogh had to be handled carefully.

‘How do you mean?’ she asked him.

‘School finishes next week, so I’m due one more tart. But if you give me a couple more I’ll make sure that there’s no problem over the summer, even after school closes.’

Grace looked him in the eye, but Keogh stared back unblinkingly.
Was there a threat here? Was he subtly suggesting that if she didn’t extend the deal then he would withdraw his protection? Perhaps even tell Shay McGrath that Barry was no longer protected, to force her to hire him again?
Grace felt bad enough after last night’s row with Barry over his uncle. She couldn’t let him be bullied again. But she didn’t want Keogh taking advantage of her either.

‘That’s not the deal we had,’ she said.

‘You wanted your mate to be OK in school, and now he is. But Shay McGrath only lives in Kirwan Street cottages. He could
easily bump into your friend over the summer, and McGrath might feel he’s not protected now school’s over.’

Grace kept her expression calm even though she felt annoyed. She was sure now that Keogh
was
subtly issuing a threat.

‘I wouldn’t say that Barry is all that likely to bump into McGrath,’ she said. ‘And even if he does, I’m sure McGrath is still afraid of you.’

Keogh went to speak, but Grace raised her hand, stopping him. ‘But just to be sure, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ she continued. ‘I’ll give you one extra week, to make certain there’s no trouble over the summer.’

She could see that Keogh was weighing this up and she spoke again. ‘Don’t push your luck, you’re getting an extra tart without having to do anything. OK?’

Keogh held her gaze, then gave a wry grin. ‘OK.’

‘Right, see you next week,’ said Grace, then she turned and made off towards home. She crossed the busy thoroughfare of Stoneybatter, her mind distracted as she skipped between the sour smelling slop man’s cart and a horse drawn milk float from the Lucan Dairy. Reaching Arbour Hill, she started up the incline and slowed down, trying to marshal her thoughts. All day long she had been thinking about the incident with Barry, and she wanted to make peace with him. But he had been annoyed by her remark about his uncle in the prison camp, and she wasn’t sure how he would respond.
Only one way to find out,
she decided as she came to the terrace of houses where both their grandparents lived. She
passed her own door, and the monkey puzzle tree that Freddie had planted in the small front garden, then she reached the gate at Barry’s house and paused. She stood there a moment gathering her nerve, then swung open the gate, crossed to the front door and knocked.

After a moment Barry’s grandma opened the door.

‘Ah, Grace, come on in,’ she said. ‘Barry, Grace is here!’ she called behind her.

Grace stepped in, hoping that Barry wouldn’t still be angry.

‘I’m just polishing the floor, love. Step into the front room there and I’ll send him in to you.’

‘Thanks very much,’ said Grace, then she went into the parlour.

She heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and Barry came into the room.

‘Hello, Barry,’ she said.

‘Grace,’ he replied in a non-committal tone.

‘Look, I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean it to sound like it did.’

‘Right.’

‘I got you this,’ continued Grace, placing a paper bag on the table. ‘The jammiest jam slice in the shop!’

Barry’s face creased into a smile, and Grace felt relieved. ‘Pax?’ she said.

‘OK,’ he answered.

‘I really didn’t mean to insult your uncle.’

‘I know,’ said Barry. ‘Maybe…maybe I was a bit touchy.’

‘Friends then?’

‘Yeah, friends.’

‘And I hope your Uncle George gets out safely, I really do.’

‘Me too,’ said Barry. ‘He’s my favourite uncle.’

‘Yeah? What’s he like?’

‘Great fun. He’s a delivery driver for Lewis’s, the big store, and he taught me how to drive.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. He loves driving, says everyone should know how.’

‘Where did he teach you?’

‘On a quiet road down by the docks.’

‘How long did that take?’

‘A few weeks. He kept at it till I got good.’

‘Brilliant.’

‘Yeah, I like being with him. He’s actually one of my first memories.’

‘Oh? What was the memory?’

‘We were at the Empire Theatre in Liverpool. He’d brought me to a show called “Mr Whittington”. There were songs in it, and it was funny,’ said Barry fondly, ‘and when we came outside Lime Street was all cold and frosty. And Uncle George wrapped me up inside his overcoat. And I was trying to walk to the bus stop, and his feet and my feet were inside the coat and we were laughing.’

‘Sounds nice.’

‘It was.’

Grace could see that Barry looked a little wistful, so she decided
to change the subject. ‘Talking of good memories, how was the school tour?’

‘Great. We went to Cobh. Do you know it?’

‘I know of it,’ said Grace. ‘Our teacher said it was the last port the
Titanic
visited. But I’ve never been.’

‘It’s where the Irish navy has its headquarters. And…’

Barry hesitated, and Grace looked at him enquiringly. ‘What?’

‘If I tell you something, will you swear to keep it secret?’

‘OK,’ said Grace, intrigued.

‘Swear.’

‘I swear.’

‘I saw my drill teacher, Mr Pawlek, taking pictures of the naval base. And I know this might sound really mad…but…well, I think he might be a German spy.’

‘God!’ This was far more exciting a secret than Grace had expected – it was like something from the Enid Blyton stories she read. ‘What makes you think that?’ she asked.

‘There was something about the way he was doing it. It just didn’t feel right. They’ve loads of posters in Liverpool warning you about spies, so I know the kind of stuff they do.”

‘Like what?’

‘Checking out airfields, and ports, and beaches where landing craft could come ashore. And recording troop movements and where important factories are that could be bombed. All that stuff.’

‘And you really think that’s what he was at?’

‘I don’t
want
to believe it, because I like him.’

‘But you’re still suspicious?’

Barry nodded. ‘There were a couple of other things too.’

‘What?’ asked Grace excitedly.

‘Well, he always made it sound normal, but he’s asked me a lot about my dad. Where his ship is, and all that. And he quizzed me about Mum too. She works in a factory making aeroplane parts – he was dead keen to know where the factory is.’

‘Right.’

‘And there was one other thing, though maybe it’s nothing,’ said Barry.

‘What?’ asked Grace, fascinated.

‘I asked him what football team he followed. He said it was a local team I wouldn’t know, but when I asked more he said he grew up in Danzig.’

‘So?’

‘Mr Pawlek is supposed to be Polish. I looked up Danzig, and it’s a Free City that’s surrounded by Poland all right. But it used to be in Germany. Polish people call it
Gdansk
, but the German name is
Danzig
– and that’s what he called it.’

‘God,’ said Grace again, her pulses racing a little. ‘Maybe he really is a spy.’

Barry made a face. ‘Or maybe he’s just a drill teacher who’s interested in ships.’

‘But what if he
is
a spy?’ said Grace, part of her wanting the more adventurous explanation.

‘Then I can’t let him away with it. But if I say it to my grandma
or anyone else they won’t believe me.’

‘Why don’t we check him out? Then if we got proof we could go to the police.’

‘Would you be on for that?’ asked Barry.

‘Of course! We’re friends, aren’t we? And he’s the enemy if he’s spying on your family for the Nazis!’

Barry looked at her approvingly, and Grace could see that he was pleased to have an ally.

‘We won’t say anything to anyone,’ said Grace, ‘but Mr Pawlek will be our mission. And if he’s a spy we’ll catch him out!’ She held out her hand to Barry. ‘Agreed?’

‘Agreed!’

Strong sunlight shone through the church’s stained-glass windows, colouring the altar with beautiful bands of red, green and blue light. The lingering smell of incense scented the air as the choir sang the final hymn of the Mass, and although Barry wasn’t especially religious, this morning he felt uplifted. He was in good spirits to begin with, yesterday having been a rewarding day. He had been glad when Grace had called in to make things up, and in addition to their friendship being back on track he had also received an exciting letter from his mother. Apart from all the usual news from Liverpool, there had been two great developments. Firstly, he had been given permission to attend the sports camp, and secondly,
Mum had managed to bring her summer holidays forward, and would be visiting Dublin in July.

So things were definitely looking up, with the one exception of his suspicions about Mr Pawlek. And even that situation felt less like a worry and more like an adventure now that he had shared it with Grace, especially since she was eager to check out the drill teacher. The first step was likely to be taken in the next couple of minutes, Barry suspected, as he followed Grandma out of their pew in the church, having already spotted both Grace and Mr Pawlek in the congregation.

They all came out of the garrison chapel into the warm June sunshine, the Mass-goers mingling on the church steps and on the gravel driveway.

‘Good morning, Mrs Malone,’ said Mr Pawlek, as he approached them. ‘Good morning, Barry.’

‘Morning, sir,’ answered Barry, feeling an illogical sense of guilt, even though Mr Pawlek couldn’t possibly have known that Barry had discussed him with Grace.

‘Mr Pawlek,’ said Grandma. ‘Beautiful morning, thank God.’

‘Yes, beautiful. And a lovely Mass; the choir sang very well.’

‘Didn’t they?’ said Grandma, and Barry could see that the teacher’s comments had won the approval of his devout grandmother.
Was that a deliberate tactic, the kind of thing that a spy would automatically do to win people’s trust?

‘And thank you for Thursday,’ she added, ‘Barry really enjoyed the trip to Cobh.’

‘Good,’ said Mr Pawlek, turning to look Barry in the eye. ‘Interesting place, isn’t it?’

He couldn’t know he had been spotted taking pictures at the harbour, could he?
Barry tried to keep his response casual. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’d a great day.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

‘And he got some more good news yesterday, didn’t you, Barry?’ said his grandmother.

‘Eh, yes. My mum is coming to Dublin in a couple of weeks,’ said Barry in explanation.

‘Excellent,’ replied Mr Pawlek. ‘Though I thought the factories normally take their holidays in August?’

‘Yes,’ answered Grandma, ‘But Ellen’s factory is-’

‘Letting some staff off in July,’ cut in Barry, not wanting his grandma to reveal any further details about the aircraft factory. He suspected that the way he had cut Grandma off sounded slightly rude, so he continued now, as though he had done it from innocent excitement. ‘It’s great!’ he enthused, ‘they only let a small number of people take their holidays in July, and Mum’s going to be one of them!’

‘That’s good news all right,’ said Mr Pawlek.

Out of the corner of his eye Barry saw Grace’s mother queuing for the Sunday newspaper, and he looked around to find Grace making straight for them.

‘Hello, Mrs Malone, Barry,’ she said.

Barry and his grandmother returned her greeting, then
Grandma turned to the drill teacher. ‘This is Grace Ryan, a friend of Barry’s. Grace, this is Mr Pawlek from Barry’s school.’

‘Hello, Mr Pawlek,’ said Grace, ‘I’ve heard all about you.’

The teacher raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. Barry told me about your summer camp. And the trip to Cobh – that sounded really interesting.’

Barry felt his pulses starting to race and he hoped that Grace wouldn’t arouse Mr Pawlek’s suspicions.

He watched carefully now as the teacher looked at Grace with interest. ‘Yes, I think our trip was a success. And as for the summer camp, you’d be welcome to join us – it’s for girls as well as boys.’

‘Thanks,’ said Grace. ‘But I’d have to ask my ma about it.’

‘Of course.’

‘Grace is staying with her grandfather, her home was bombed in the North Strand,’ explained Grandma.

‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Mr Pawlek.

He sounded completely convincing, Barry thought, though of course if he was a spy he would have had plenty of practice at lying.

‘Yes, the German’s bombed us, even though we’re neutral,’ replied Grace, with a hint of challenge.

Barry knew that Grace was doing this deliberately to see how Mr Pawlek would respond. He hoped that she hadn’t gone too far, yet at the same time he was fascinated as he watched his teacher’s expression.