Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Maureen Lee
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Chapter 1
Dublin,
February 1925
Bernie Kelly and his girls were moving to Liverpool on
Monday and his friends were throwing a party to see him off.
Dont make it a big one, lads, Bernie had pleaded. Hed
only given them five days notice. Just half a dozen or so of
me best mates, thatll do.
Only half a dozen! Ray Walsh, one of the best mates, chort
led, for Bernie, a solicitor, was on best-mate terms with most
of the professional men in Dublin and on slightly different
terms with a number of their wives.
Id prefer a quiet do, Bernie had insisted. He winked and
squeezed his friends hand, adding in a low voice, I dont want
all and sundry knowing Im taking off, like. And Ray had
understood. Bernie wasnt leaving for the stated reason that
Liverpool would provide more opportunities for himself and
his daughters but for another reason altogether, possibly to
do with a woman or an over-insistent bookie.
Hopefully he would only be gone for a while until things
blew over, as it were, and he and the girls would be back, his
misdeeds, whatever they were, either forgotten or forgiven,
though this was more of a hope than a belief. Everyone knew
Bernie Kelly sailed pretty close to the wind from time to time.
Perhaps this time he had got a bit too close.
It was even rumoured that eight years ago his poor wife,
Meriel, had died not because shed just given birth to Bernies
first legitimate son, Milo, but of a cruelly broken heart. She
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must have known that every now and again another woman
in Dublin was going through the same agony of producing a
son or daughter courtesy of her handsome husband, him of
the alluring smile, the dancing eyes and the ever-roving hands.
The party was held on a Saturday night in the Kellys big,
rambling house overlooking Phoenix Park. There were no
more than thirty people there, even though Bernie had held
parties in the past at which thered been ten times that many.
His girls, the prettiest in Dublin Patricia, 18, Aideen, 16, and
Tara, 14 went round with the food that had been prepared
by old Nora Hogan, whod done the cooking and cleaning for
the family since the beginning of time. Bernie was rumoured
to be paying her off with a small fortune in gratitude for all
her hard work on behalf of him and his family over the years.
Rumours of one thing or another, good and bad, surrounded
Bernie like a cloud of noisy bumblebees.
His eight-year-old son, Milo, had already been left with
Bernies sister-in-law, Auntie Kathleen, a widow whod looked
after the girls since his wife had died. They had already moved
into a house on the far side of the park and both would be
sent for when the time was ready, when Bernie and his girls
were settled in their fine new house in Princes Park, one of
the grandest areas of Liverpool.
At the party, Bernie handed out cards showing the address
and telephone number of his new office in Dale Street, not far
from the citys town hall. But I wont be properly installed for
a month or so, he told people. So dont be calling till then.
He looked more worried than excited about the big change
that was about to happen. Whenever he laughed or smiled,
you could tell he was only putting it on. He was rarely seen
without a cigarette burning in his mouth. Hed always been
fond of cigarettes, but was fast becoming what was known as
a chain-smoker. It was the same with drink, his intake of the
hard stuff having gone up by a mile.
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Are you sad youre leaving, Bernie Boy? Ray asked at the
party, thinking that was the reason for his miserable gob.
Of course I am, Ray. I was born and bred in Dublin. The
thought of leaving is tearing me guts apart.
Well, stay, Bernie. Stay. Theres not a single soul here that
wants to see the back o yis. Arent we all like one big happy
family?
Patrick Adams, Dick ONeill, Bernie and Ray himself had
met at Trinity College in Dublin where theyd been taking
their various degrees. They had remained friends ever since.
Ray was fonder of Bernie, Patrick and Dick than he was of
his own brothers.
Its not possible, Bernie sighed. Anyway, its time for a
change. Things have to move on, progress, or you just get stuck
in a rut for the rest of your life. Like I said, Im moving for
me own and me girls sakes. We could well end up in London
one of these days.
The party was well over by midnight, a good five hours before
Bernies parties usually came to a riotous end. After everyone
had gone, he urged his daughters to go to bed straight away.
Ive changed me mind. Were leaving early tomorrer, stead
of Monday, he told them. Are yis all packed and ready to go?
Patricia and Tara agreed they were, but Aideen, always the
awkward one, nearly had a fit. Im not nearly ready, Daddy,
she said angrily. With her dark red hair and green eyes, she was
the only one to take after her dad, except she didnt possess
hardly any of his charismatic ways. The other girls resembled
their pale, golden, long-deceased mother.
Then get your sisters to give you a hand, Bernie ordered
his middle daughter. Were leaving promptly at ten oclock in
the morning and thats that.
Tara gasped in horror. But what about Mass?
Youll just have to go to the seven oclock, her father
snapped.
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one of the many gangplanks, and crates and sacks were being
lowered by crane into the hold. A freezing fog had descended
on their little part of the world and the busy scene was being
acted out in a fuzzy mist.
Bernie paused at the foot of the highest gangplank and
showed what an amazed Patricia saw were four passports to
the peak-capped, heavily overcoated man in attendance. Hed
actually acquired passports without his daughters knowledge,
using photographs that had been taken when they were at
school.
A steward showed them to their cabin, which turned out to
be a suite of three bedrooms with an octagonal lounge at the
centre. It was even more luxurious than the accommodation
at the Adelphi, the in-built furniture glossy white and the beds
draped with ivory satin. Thick eau-de-Nil carpets covered the
floors and everywhere smelled of expensive perfume.
Aideen disappeared, returning a few minutes later to say,
in an awed voice, that the bathroom was actually black and
silver. And theres a mirror that covers an entire wall, and
two sinks.
Neither Patricia nor Tara spoke. They were in the lounge,
sitting on the very edge of the white leather chairs, as if they
didnt really belong there. Their father had entered the suite
with them but had since disappeared.
I reckon hes gone to look for the bar or one of them,
Aideen said. Theres probably half a dozen on this ship. Is this
a ship or a boat? she queried.
It must be both, Patricia surmised. She patted Taras knee.
Her sister looked close to tears. Itll be all right, darlin, she
promised, hoping it wasnt an empty one.
There was a knock on the door. A lad of no more than
thirteen or fourteen was there to ask what time they intended
coming to breakfast.
In half an hour, Patricia told him. A pot of tea and some
bacon and eggs would do them the world of good.
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*
Their father was either deliberately keeping himself out of
their way or drinking himself to death in one of the numerous
bars. They had been on-board the Queen Maia for two days and
seen little of him. They met at meals, but he would leave before
theyd finished eating and could start a proper conversation.
Patricia would hear him return well past midnight, when she
wasnt in the mood to get up and interrogate him, which
would only wake and upset her sisters. Tara was already forever
on the verge of tears.
Under different circumstances they might have enjoyed life
on the boat, it being so entirely different to the life theyd
always known. They were travelling first class, which was typ
ical of Bernie Kelly. He didnt know what it was like to be
careful with money. Patricia felt sure that second or even third
class would have been adequate. They were well-off but they
werent rich, not like the other passengers on their deck. The
women wore furs made from animals Patricia hadnt known
existed. Diamonds sparkled on their ears and around their
necks. They dressed for dinner in silk, satin or luscious velvet
gowns and had their hair done in the hairdressers on-board.
Last night in the first-class lounge, an entire orchestra played
while people danced and a woman in a gold dress sang Ill
See You in My Dreams, It Had to Be You, Tea for Two and
many other songs the girls knew, having heard them before on
the wireless back home in Dublin.
They had sat in a corner, watching and listening. If it hadnt
been for the worry and uncertainty they were facing, it would
have been a little bit like heaven. Instead, it felt more than a
bit like hell.
It was a moonless night, raining slightly, and the Queen Maia
looked as if it was sailing into nothingness on an ocean of black
ink. The lights from the ship itself illuminated the water around
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it. Bernie Kelly leant on the rail and watched the reflections
ripple and flow in its frothy wake.
Christ, it was cold. It was early morning, two or three
oclock, and he was the only person on deck. An outgoing
chap with scores of friends, he wasnt used to being alone and
it made him feel utterly wretched.
Until recently he had always been the luckiest of men. But
things had changed. The events that had happened in his life,
good and bad, had always affected him, but he accepted they
were the will of God, so not even the death of his wife, Meriel,
had brought him low. Since then, his main concern had been
his girls, his son and, of course, himself. But the last three
months had been a nightmare. His luck had deserted him
and everything that could go wrong had gone wrong, with
breathtakingly awful consequences.
Hed been flattered when his very own firm of solicitors had
been appointed to manage the estate of the recently deceased
Earl of Graniston. Bernie had known his son, Richard Heath,
at university, who had since inherited the title. The estate was
worth something like ten thousand Irish pounds and Richard
wanted it sold and the money transferred to England, where
he now lived permanently.
The sale had gone through smoothly without a single hiccup
and three months ago a cheque for just over ten thousand
pounds had been deposited in Bernies business account at his
bank, from which he was expected to deduct his commission
and pass on the rest to his old acquaintance, the new Earl of
Graniston.
Except he hadnt.
Bernie threw the butt of his cigarette into the dark ocean
and immediately lit another, shielding the lighters flame from
the sharp wind in his cupped hands. Music was coming from
somewhere and it accentuated his loneliness, knowing that
elsewhere on the boat people were listening to the same
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with the short grey hair picked up the card, read it and then
nodded at Bernie to sit down.
Me cash is buried in me luggage, Bernie explained. Will
an IOU do for now? It wasnt as if he could do a runner in
the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Ill pay yis tomorrer.
The man nodded again and Bernie sat down. As usual, he
was overwhelmed with a feeling that he was going to win
and this time the winnings would be huge. Nothing would,
or could, stop him. Winning was an absolute certainty. He
couldnt lose. He had learnt nothing over the past few months.
It was dark in the bar. Music, drums thumping away, was
coming from a loudspeaker, and there was a strange smell,
pungent, much too sweet, that he reckoned was some sort of
foreign aftershave or possibly tobacco. It made his eyes water.
The men spoke to each other in a language he didnt under
stand, but used English to Bernie with an accent he thought
might be Eastern European.
And of course Bernie lost. The more he lost, the more sober
he became. He realised he didnt even know what currency
they were playing in. He examined a note and the figure of
500 stared back at him.
What is this? he asked of no one in particular.
That is a five hundred dollar note, he was informed.
But dollars are always green.
Not the high currency ones, Mr Kelly.
Bernie managed to stop himself from gagging. Where do I
stand? he mumbled.
The game had paused while everyone waited for the result.
You have lost six thousand five hundred dollars, Mr Kelly.
The man drummed his fingers on the table. The three other
men and the small audience looked amused. That is equivalent
to about one thousand three hundred British pounds.
Thank you, Bernie said thickly. I think thatll do me for
tonight.
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The man shoved the IOUs towards him. You will see about
these tomorrow?
Bernie nodded. I will indeed.
What is your cabin number?
Twenty-three, he sighed.
Weeks ago, Bernie had decided that if he was going to be pun
ished, then hed sooner be punished for a lion as for a lamb. He
doubted if hed get many more years in prison for stealing the
Earl of Granistons entire inheritance than for merely stealing
a portion. So, he might as well keep the lot, he decided, take
his girls and Milo on a world cruise, stopping off and staying
at the best hotels in any place that took their fancy Venice,
for instance, Bombay, somewhere in Australia, or the United
States. His late wifes brother, Mick ONeill, lived in New York
and theyd been best mates as lads.
But, he realised, they wouldnt get far before his crime
caught up with him. There was an organisation established only
two years before the International Police Commission with
members all over the world. They would track him down and
his children would be left to fend for themselves in a strange,
foreign country.
So he decided to pretend to be moving to Liverpool, but
move to New York instead, but only with the girls. It would
be another few weeks before the alarm was raised, by which
time Bernie would be on the other side of the Atlantic where
he would change their identities, move house a few times, until
all four of them were hidden out of sight. Mick had found
them a flat on the lower east side of New York that would do
for now. Milo was too young to put up with such an unsettled
way of life so hed leave him with his sister, Kathleen.
By the time Bernie had settled his debts (other than the one
to the Earl of Graniston, which was the biggest), paid his staff
four weeks wages so they wouldnt starve before they found
new jobs, bought Nora Hogan, whod been with the Kelly
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