The House by the Liffey

Niki Phillips

Copyright © 2015 Niki Phillips

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or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents

Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in

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To those patient family members and friends who gave me so much help in writing this sequel to The Liffey Flows On By. They are acknowledged by name in the Author's Note at the end.

Tommy Butler made a faultless landing in his fighter jet aircraft at the RAF base in Northern Germany. He had just completed a patrol of the border area separating the British zone from the Russian controlled territories. This being the height of the Cold War, it was considered essential to keep an eye on what was now regarded as “the enemy” and to be alert at all times for possible hostile activity along the dividing line between the opposing factions. Things were especially tense just now. The relatively recent construction of the Berlin Wall had finally created a sinister physical division between the two sectors of the city, adding a visible emphasis to the division between East and West Germany. Military personnel were all warned frequently that it wouldn't take much to trigger an incident.

Unaware that his approach to the airfield was being watched by the Station Commander, the sudden release of tension at the end of his watch had resulted in Tommy's execution of a neat dive beneath a high bridge close to the edge of the airfield, followed by a well-executed victory roll, this, almost reflex action, a legacy from his recent days as a member of the Black Arrows. He was one of the most skilled pilots in the squadron and there was little chance that he would misjudge anything and cause a disaster. However, no matter how good any pilot might be, this kind of caper was strictly not acceptable and he knew that, if observed, at the very least a good dressing down would be in store for him.

Tommy was tired and looking forward to having a hot bath and putting his head down for a couple of hours before dinner in the Mess. They all knew that the Station Commander was entertaining the second-in-command of an RAF station further north. The newly promoted Group Captain Wilson was passing through on his way to take up a posting as Station Commander of an RAF base in Cyprus. The Station Commander here, Group Captain Shelly, was an old friend and had offered hospitality. Although no such announcement had been made, it was understood that squadron members would be expected, as a courtesy to the guests, to attend pre-dinner drinks in the Keller Bar. However, before he had time to do anything, Tommy got word that the Station Commander wanted to see him in his office immediately. Tommy groaned inwardly. Why the hell had he pulled that stupid stunt? Typical of him – impulsive, spur of the moment. He knew pretty well by heart the Group Captain's likely comments – he had been at the receiving end several times. He stood rigidly to attention in front of the man who, in truth, he admired greatly.

‘Well, Flight Lieutenant, you know why you're here?'

‘Yes, Sir!'

‘Well perhaps
you'd
like to tell
me
?'

‘At the end of my patrol I behaved in an irresponsible manner, showing a lack of self-discipline, Sir.'

‘And the possible consequences?'

‘Loss of a costly aircraft and a pilot whose training has been very expensive.'

‘Anything else?'

‘I was also endangering the civilian population, Sir.'

‘Precisely. Even you with your considerable flying skills are not immune from making mistakes. You know all this perfectly well and that dangerous stunts are absolutely forbidden. Yet you persist in ignoring the rules.'

‘It won't happen again, Sir.'

‘Well at least you haven't got the gall to say you're sorry, for I'm quite certain that your only regret probably is that I saw what you did.'

Tommy had the hardest time not twitching a smile but luckily for him controlled his face.

‘This has to be your last warning, Flight Lieutenant. One more such misdemeanour and it'll have to be demotion. Dismissed!'

Outside the closed door Tommy let out a long breath. As Maggie would say, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph”! On the other hand he couldn't really blame the Group Captain. The man couldn't possibly overlook such a breach of the very strict rules and he was right, it would only take a hairbreadth's misjudgement for a disaster, especially likely when a pilot was tired. On his way back to his room one of his fellow pilots winked at him and muttered:

‘Neat bit of flying, Tommy!' But following the reprimand, and especially the last warning, Tommy's feelings were too bruised to return more than a weak grin.

Later that evening David and Jenny Shelly were joined by Chuck and Liz Wilson with their daughter Isabel for pre-dinner drinks in the Keller Bar of the Officers' Mess. Squadron Leader Bill Welch and his wife Marion also joined them. Bill was CO of Tommy's squadron but had been off base that afternoon. Introductions were made and a short time into the conversation, at a level which could not be overheard beyond their circle, Bill said to David:

‘I heard you had to tear a strip off Tommy Butler again!'

‘Yes, he really is the limit. He will
not
abide by the rules – performing stunts at the drop of a hat. I really don't know what gets into him. It's as if he's constantly trying to prove something.'

‘I know, and of all people he doesn't need to prove anything – he's a brilliant pilot.'

‘Not only that; he's very good-looking into the bargain. Has it all: blond hair, blue eyes, tall and broad-shouldered.' Jenny laughed. ‘The girls are almost scratching each other's eyes out over him.'

Chuck and Liz had been listening to this exchange with some astonishment.

‘Sorry to butt in but is this Tommy Butler by any chance Irish?'

‘Yes, he is,' answered Bill. ‘Although he's very cagey about telling anything about himself or his background, except for the fact that he is Irish and comes from Dublin.'

‘That's true,' agreed Jenny. ‘We all do understand that Southern Irish members of the British Forces have to keep a very low profile back at home. Maybe some of them feel a need to be cagey about their background when they're over here too, but he seems to carry this to an extreme.'

‘I agree,' said Marion, ‘He's open enough about the fact that he's an orphan, but I find it very hard to believe his parents were tinkers. I can't swallow the idea that someone so obviously highly educated could be from a background like that, but he's quite insistent about it and, well, I suppose you just never know!'

‘Absolutely. But there's something else. He puts on that Irish accent but when he's caught off guard he has almost no accent at all.'

‘Some people are fooled though, Jenny. Last year Nicola Morton fell hard for him and it looked as if things were getting quite serious between them. The Mortons were so worried that Nicola would end up marrying him that they sent her off to Finishing School in Switzerland to split them up. They were concerned that there might be some truth in the tinker story and couldn't bear the thought of their only daughter marrying a poverty-stricken young man from such a background. I suppose you can see their point. If he left the RAF he might want to go back to Ireland and move in with his relatives. Aren't tinkers very clannish?'

By now Chuck and Liz Wilson were laughing so much they could hardly speak.

‘One more question about this Tommy Butler. Is he by any chance a good oarsman?'

‘Brilliant! He's a member of several RAF teams, and always rows in the various competitions – gets leave to do this wherever he is. He takes himself off to practise whenever he gets the chance. He says his home in Dublin is near a river and he was sometimes able to potter around in boats as a child. That doesn't fit the tinker story either!'

David Shelly smiled and Bill Welch chipped in.

‘In spite of the fact that he behaves like an ill-disciplined brat at times, he's quite an asset to the squadron – he's good at other sports too. I just wish he'd stop wanting to break the rules on such a regular basis.'

‘Maybe that's just part of being Irish!'

‘Now you're stereotyping, David, stop it!' Only his wife would have dared make a comment like that to the Station Commander. ‘You must admit though, aside from that cageyness, he's very sociable.'

‘Oh yes, good company, highly entertaining and, understandably, popular with the other men, regardless of rank or status. Generous in the Mess too. By all accounts Tommy Butler's no freeloader. But why the questions, Chuck?'

At that point in the conversation Tommy arrived and, on reaching the bottom of the Keller Bar steps, suddenly spotted Chuck and Liz. He stopped in his tracks in complete amazement.

‘Good Lord! I don't believe it! I
can't
believe it! Chuck and Liz Wilson – how absolutely amazing! Sir! How? Where? …' Unusually for him words completely failed him.

Liz, still laughing, although now with genuine pleasure, stepped across to him and gave him a big hug and a kiss, while Chuck gave him a resounding slap on the back. Everyone else looked on in astonishment, but Isabel, aged nineteen, looked at him with undisguised admiration.

‘I hope you remember me too, Tommy, because I remember you.'

He looked at her and for a few seconds words again deserted him, for in fine Butler tradition, Tommy fell in love on the spot with this very pretty, and at five foot nothing, petite, daintily-built girl. He recovered his wits quickly, however, and was so glad that a warm greeting would be allowable, for he did remember her as a little girl when the Wilsons had come to Riverside for a visit.

‘Of course I remember you, Isabel, and since we're old friends perhaps you'd give me a hug too?'

She blushed but without hesitation reached up to him.

‘Now could somebody please explain?' David Shelly was quite bemused. ‘How do you come to know each other? How does
Group Captain
Wilson know
Flight Lieutenant
Butler on, what are obviously, quite intimate terms? Christian names no less, though clearly you're not related!'

Tommy turned to Chuck in some agitation.

‘Oh, Sir, you're not going to blow my cover are you?'

‘I can't imagine why you want to be secretive about your family. And really, Tommy, tinkers! That's going a bit far! Whatever would Milo think?'

‘Milo? Milo Butler? You're related to the famous Milo Butler?' David couldn't believe his ears. ‘The name Butler is not that uncommon, so it never occurred to me and you carefully kept it under wraps – threw sand in all our eyes.'

Tommy flushed, in fact he felt he was blushing all over. He had so carefully kept his secret because he desperately wanted to make his own way: to have his successes on the strength of his own skill and merits. However, the secret was out now and so be it – it was bound to happen some day, might as well be now.

Tommy
had
made it on his own. Since the age of about six years old he had been determined to follow in his brother's footsteps and join the RAF, and it didn't make the slightest difference that Milo's had been a wartime-only commitment. He had got through his Cranwell training without a hitch and had passed out top of his group. Later, the icing on the cake, he had been selected to fly with the Black Arrows for a short time before they disbanded in 1961, then was sent to his current posting in Germany. Milo, or Lo as he had called him since he first started talking, was very proud of his achievements and he and Noola with her mother, Maggie, had come to his “passing out” parade, but other than that he had carefully kept his two lives completely separate and for more than one reason. There were other aspects of his private life that he definitely didn't want anybody here to know about.

‘Sir, I desperately didn't want to take advantage of Milo's reputation and record – succeed on my brother's coat-tails.'

By now everyone else in the bar had stopped their conversations and all were listening with fascination. The Group Captain was delighted. This explained so much about Tommy.

‘So he's actually your brother, but quite a lot older obviously. Well, well, well!'

He turned to the assembled company.

‘For those of you who may not know the story, Milo Butler, with his navigator and friend Joe Malloy, was shot down while on escort duty on D-Day and the two of them, Joe with a bullet in his leg, rowed all the way home to Ireland in their dinghy. It was an extraordinary feat of endurance for which they were both decorated. Mind you, the fact that they arrived in Ireland was, by all accounts, sheer chance, but nevertheless, quite remarkable. What's more they were members of the same squadron and close friends of Group Captain Wilson. Right, Chuck?'

‘Yes, indeed. You can all imagine the excitement when news came through about what they'd done and that they were safely home, not to mention the celebrations we had when they got back to the squadron!'

There was a split second's silence and then a great outburst of excited voices exploded through the bar. At first all Tommy wanted to do was sink into the floor with embarrassment but then he became infected by the general reaction of everyone and started to relax and get carried along on the wave of surprise and delight. Always so proud of his much older half-brother, whom he had hero-worshipped from the time he was a very small child, he now revelled in this huge outpouring of appreciation. To his surprise he didn't at all mind the sense of reflected glory, but tried to answer the bombardment of questions as fascinated friends swarmed around him.

In the middle of all this the Mess Manager arrived down and made his way through the crowd to Tommy. Hans Viberg was apologetic.

‘Sorry, Sir, but there's a message for you. I wouldn't have intruded but it seems to be important!'

He handed Tommy a slip of paper which read:

Call this number soonest. Very urgent. Lo.
A Dublin phone number was given, one that he didn't recognize.

Tommy was shaken. Something must be horribly wrong for Lo to send such a message. He made his way to where the Group Captain stood with Chuck.

‘Please excuse me, Sir, I must go and make an urgent phone call.'

‘Something wrong, Tommy?'