Nineteen

 

            It is a cold man who is not moved by a feeling of insignificance when entering the Ministry of Defence Building in Whitehall, London. For an Irishman, the feeling is intensified by the knowledge that so many life and death decisions have been made within these walls affecting his countrymen and his forebears. The stone façade reaches to the blue London skyline and the immense proportions of the oak doors impose a physical as well as historical perspective on the insignificant figures that scurry in and out.

 

Andrew was not “at home” when Sean arrived, but his receptionist had obviously been briefed and Sean was prevailed upon to make himself comfortable with tea and biscuits whilst Andrew beat a hasty return to meet him. Andrew had been at Downing Street but had been instantly dispatched by his superiors to see what the “interesting paddy with kraut connections” might want. 

 

When Andrew arrived he put down his bag and went directly to Sean and embraced him.

 

            “My God, Sean, it’s good to see you.”

           

He guided them both to a pair of leather sofas and then called for Mrs Kitson and asked her to bring tea and toast. When she had done that he instructed her that he was not to be disturbed.

           

Andrew began with pleasantries. He mentioned old acquaintances and occasions they had shared, but he could see that Sean was only half interested. Something was preoccupying him.

 

            “Andrew,” he stuttered. “I’m sorry to be rude but I’ve come here to do something and until it’s done I can’t join you in reminiscences.”

 

            “Sure,” said Andrew, Becoming immediately attentive. “Go ahead.”

           

There was a long pause as Sean sat weighing up his words. He had a powerful sense that the next few sentences would change his life forever. He was about to step off the edge of normal life out into the abyss of chaos. But then he thought back to Frau Hahn and knew that his life had been deserted by normality already. When he did begin it was slowly.

 

            “Once upon a time you said something to me Andrew that was an insult any Irishman would take exception to.”

           

He raised his palm to silence Andrew’s attempted interruption.

 

            “If that insult had come from anyone else I think I would have chinned you. I want you to remember that so that you will have some understanding of the struggle I have had to arrive at the decision I am here to implement.”

 

He stopped and took a sip of his tea. The rattle of the cup as he replaced it in its saucer was amplified by the silence that filled the high-ceilinged office.

 

            “For the last few years, as you know, I have been working and studying in Germany. I have seen the rise of Nazism first hand. I went there with an open mind. Well to be quite honest I was well-disposed to Mr Hitler and his party, believing a lot of the criticisms of him from this side of the Channel to be typical British arrogance and bigotry.”

           

A look from Sean into Andrew’s eyes silenced any protest that might have been about to emerge from him.

 

            “My experiences have fundamentally altered my thinking. In fact, whilst your Government here procrastinates with a policy of appeasement hoping to avoid war at all costs, I, to my great shame, have already declared war on Nazism.”

           

Seeing Andrew’s puzzled look, Sean recounted the story of Frau Hahn. Andrew’s face betrayed no emotion.

 

            “So, Andrew, right now you see a changed man before you. Here I sit in the Ministry of Defence where all your bloody campaigns of slaughter in Ireland were planned and approved; here I sit offering my services to the bloody crown.”

           

After a long silence, during which neither man moved, as if trying to absorb the full significance of the words just spoken, Andrew finally cleared his throat and said, “Let’s go out.”

           

He then surprised Sean by putting his finger to his lips beckoning silence. He got up from the sofa and walked across to his enormous oak desk. Opening a drawer he took out a recording device. Sean saw that it was turning and must have recorded everything that had been said. He watched Andrew switch it off and remove the cylinder from the machine and slip it into his jacket pocket. He replaced the machine back into the drawer and repeated, “Come on, let’s go out.”

           

Andrew led Sean to a set of stairs at the rear of the building and down into a basement area. They entered a dimly lit room where Andrew called “Hello Gordon!” to an elderly man clad in blue overalls. “It’s only me, sneaking out the back way again.”

           

The man looked up from his Daily Mirror and called back.

 

            “Not to worry, Mr Trubshaw, Sir. Your secret is safe with me.”

           

Andrew winked at Sean and led him across the basement. He stopped at a large furnace and, using an iron poker that lay beside it, he pulled open the door. The intense heat from the interior flowed out and washed over their faces. In the dancing glare, Andrew looked into Sean’s eyes. He took the recording from his pocket and held it up. Sean watched Andrew throw the recording into the furnace and heard its agonising crackle as it disintegrated.

           

It wasn’t until they were seated inside the cocktail bar of the Grosvenor Hotel in Victoria that Andrew explained his actions.

 

            “Listen Sean, I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’ve made this decision. I agree with you about Hitler’s Germany. I am positive that soon his bunch of gangsters will bring about war. Unfortunately, when that comes we will not be warring against a bunch of gangsters but against the whole might of the Wermacht. Our problem is we are a divided house. Every department of state is embroiled in a virtual civil war between the appeasers and those who have seen through the illusion of Nazism. You have been brutally honest with me and I credit you for that. But if the story of Frau Hahn fell into the wrong hands in my Ministry there are those who would see it as their duty to expose you. If, as you say, the woman died, they would find no difficulty in implicating you in her death. They would find a way of returning you to Germany as a criminal. They would see it as a marvellous way of proving to Hitler that they wanted to do legitimate business with him and his administration.”

 

Sean’s face fell into a sad grimace.

 

            “I’m not proud of what happened.”

 

            “No Sean, that is wrong. Those of us who have allowed reality to re-enter our lives know that the normal rules of law and civilisation no longer apply in Germany. It is because of Germany’s magnificent history and culture that so many of us are unable to believe the evidence of our own eyes. As I have said, your honesty does you credit, but it is dangerously naïve. No one else must know what you have told me today. If they did not have you extradited to Germany they would use it as a lever to pressurise you into doing their bidding whatever your own feelings might be.”

           

Sean drank his whisky down and called for another. The waiter replenished Andrew’s glass at the same time.

 

            “Well I can’t go back to medicine, that’s for sure. Not after what I’ve done.”

 

            “That’s exactly where you’re wrong,” interrupted Andrew. “Medicine is the very thing you’ve got to get into. You must get back to Trinity and finish your course there. In any case, you have only a few months validation to complete. Then we must get you away to a gentle practice somewhere out in the west of Ireland; somewhere where intermittent absences won’t be too alarming. But your occupation must exempt you from military service should Eire declare war on Germany alongside Britain when the time comes.”

 

            “The country practice won’t be a problem. I’ve got one lined up.”

           

The men downed their whiskeys and Andrew called for two club sandwiches.

 

            “Sean,” he began hesitantly after they had both finished eating, “I want you to know I do appreciate the extraordinary courage it has taken for you to make this decision. Some of us are not blind to the crimes of the past committed in the king’s name in Ireland. You and your kind are greatly admired in military circles for the tenacity of your campaign. I know this decision of yours has caused an intense struggle within your conscience and I recognise the morality of what you are doing.”

 

            “Well, you may be right,” replied Sean thoughtfully, “but sometimes I think I really have no choice. Deep down I’m a fighting man, a soldier, and that’s all there is to it. All of this doctoring, studenting and rugby playing has been a vain attempt to deny the undeniable truth.”

 

            “Well, if that’s the case,” said Andrew, “you’re exactly the man for us.”

           

There would come a day when Sean would look back upon this conversation with morbid regret. He would come to see it as the day when his whole life turned and led directly to the day of his greatest and most tragic loss.

           

After spending a week in Leicester with his other close friend, John Barberis, Sean returned to London to undergo his induction programme. Despite the best efforts of the department’s psychiatrists, no reason could be found to doubt Sean’s anti-Nazi convictions, nor his determination to work with his new masters to help engineer the downfall of that odious regime.

           

On completion of his induction he was sent back to Dublin where he would meet and marry Martha Grady, and quite soon become the father of her son.