4: Home Thoughts From Abroad

573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
20 September 1941
Hey Da!
I was never that much of a letter writer before, and I know what a bibliophile you are, so you’ll forgive me I my writing style is a bit coarse for your taste. Well, we made it here alright. We had a rough enough crossing, though not as rough as Mary, a girl who we rescued from the laundry, who had to sleep in a lifeboat. We checked out your friends and they were kind enough to give us a place in their attic. They were really lucky, as much of this area was bombed. I suppose there’s some truth in the legend of the luck of the Irish after all. They’ll charge us some rent as soon as we get some jobs. They’re all amazed at our story, no-one would believe that Hermes was an ex-Nazi until he started speaking in German. When he told me what he was saying I got a right laugh. They reckon he can get a job in espionage like you suggested, so he’s going down to Whitehall in a few days to see what the story is. Me, I’m going to have to try for a job in a munitions plant until the little fella is born.
I Hope you’re Okay and haven’t been getting any hassle from the guards. Hermes is sending you a letter as well.
XXX,
Siobhan.




573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
20 September 1941
To Whom it Concerns,
I’m pleased to be able to say that thanks in a large part to your skills and ingenuity, your daughter is able to live without fear of being imprisoned for having a baby outside wedlock. Regrettably, I am suffering some of the same feelings of displacement I felt when I first arrived in your country but I’m sure they will pass as I get used to the ruined buildings and the listless faces on people and the astonishingly poor food. The people here in Kilburn are indeed more like the Irish people I saw in movies at home than the ones I saw in Ireland. I think we discussed that strange paradox once. For this reason Siobhan is able to settle in here a little better than me, but there are times when she reveals he status as an outsider, like when we travel on the underground, and she always stands near the train to feel the air blow into her face. When I use the underground, I know what Mr. Eliot was talking about in Four Quartets. In a few days, as Siobhan may have told you, I am trying to get a job in espionage. I am aware of the dangers but reading your copy of the Gita has convinced me that no other course of action is open to me.
Yours Sincerely,
Herr Hermann Schillerz, esq.




573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
27 September 1941



Da,
You’ll be pleased to hear that your daughter is now a working girl. Some of the girls told me about a place where they take loads of Irish girls on. It’s way over in Dagenham, unfortunately, and takes almost an hour to get there, but the novelty of travelling by those strange underground trains hasn’t worn off yet. I sometimes have doubts about helping to make arms that will be used to kill people but the more I hear about the Nazi regime the more I am convinced I am doing the right thing. We are able to pay our rent easily and have even been able to brighten up the place a bit, though it’s no Buckingham Palace as of yet. I sometimes miss home, but I can usually cure myself by going down to Oxford Street and looking at all the shops and people. Hermes is in in the process of trying to get a job in the secret service, you’ll hear about it, no doubt.
Siobhan.





573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
27 September 1941
To Whom it Concerns,
Tom, you certainly were not being facetious when you told me what a strange race the Anglo-Saxons were. I have been trying to get a job in the secret service for the last three or four days, and have barely been able to cling onto my sanity in my efforts to convince them that I am not a double agent. It would be so much easier if they ever raised their voices when they are angry or betrayed any emotion. You were also correct in telling me how class-conscious they are, as the civil servants seem hardly to belong to the same species, let alone the same race as the English people who live around our area. At least if I fail to convince them that my intentions are honourable, I know that Siobhan has got a job and will be able to support our child in any eventuality.
Yours Faithfully,
Hermes.








573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
3 October 1941
To Whom it Concerns,
Well, I finally managed to convince the people in the secret service that I am no longer a Nazi, and I am glad to say they have given me a job. They want to train me here for six months and then they will send out to a place called Dover. It is over an hour’s journey away but it is said to be a nice place, so if I earn enough money we can both go out to live here, in any case I have reservations about bringing up our child in a place like Kilburn, even though everyone is confident there will be no more bombings in London. I am starting to get used to these English people, their euphemistic way of speaking, the subtle innuendoes and the reserved understatements. It may seem like a strange thing to say, but I feel more at home with the Irish people in Kilburn. Every Friday night we go to a ceili and Siobhan never ceases to amaze me with her dancing ability; often it seems like she is a conduit for the music, drawing it up from the bowels of the Earth, reminding me of that line from that Yeats poem you showed me:
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we tell the dancer from the dance?
I hope you’re getting our letters alright. Write back to us sometime, let us know if you are alright.
Yours,
Hermann Schillerz.
Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
10 October 1941
Siobhan and Hermes,
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write. I’ve generally been Okay, I’ve had several attacks but they’ve never affected me for more than a few hours. To be honest, the pain I feel at your abscence causes me much more suffering. I maintain my sanity by reading and the phone is a gift from whatever benign force in the universe that led you away from that awful Magdalen home. When I tell people the story of your escape, they find it hard to believe and think that I have been reading too many espionage novels, though to be honest I’ve never gone in for them, and if I did read someone else’s account of your flight it would strain my credibility. Nevertheless, I am relieved to know you are both Okay and have found gainful employment. I am also glad that Hermes, the name by which I will always know you, has brought the love of literature I inspired to England. Let me know what you are reading at the momemt, and tell me about the war, as we hear precious little here, as you probably know. Also, I’m interested to hear what Hermes has to say about the English being so class conscious they seem like two different races. In a sense they are, It’s the combination of the Norman intellect of their upper classes and the Saxon agression of their workers that has helped them to rule the world, but may ultimately prove their downfall. I hope as much as you do that it won’t be at the hands of the monsters who rule Germany now.
Yours,
Tom.
573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
20 October 1941
Tom,
I could get into all sorts of trouble if this letter is apprehended, but there are all sorts of rumours floating around at work that, as you predicted, the United States may be going to enter the war. Feelings are mixed about this prospect; many feel that an American victory could lead to the US becoming the sort of great power that Spain was in the 16th century, others are more pragmatic and realise that while britain may be able to defend itself, that continued american isolationism will only lead to either a Nazi or Bolshevik Europe. It seems, regrettably, that there is no stopping my compatriots on what I still think of as the Eastern front, though I am still comforted by your accounts of 1812. I often reflect on the irony that with a simple twist of fate, I could be over there with them. My training is going quite well, although the English approach to espionage is very different from the German one. I remember Goering once saying that this was because they have a 400-year history as a “Master Race” behind them. It made sense to me then, now it sticks in my throat like a bone from one the many cod I have eaten since I have moved here. Siobhan is writing to you as well.
Hermes.




573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
30 October 1941
Da,
I’m so glad to know that you’re alright. I’m sorry to hear that you’re still getting those pains, but we’re doing all we can to get to the root of them. Your grandchild is starting to make an apprecibale impact on my stomach, pretty soon I’ll be going down to Oxford Street to look for some maternity wear. Hermes thinks he is going to be stationed on the coast and wants to move down there, but I like it here in London, especially this area, it’s the sort of place home would be if it wasn’t governed by such a theocratic oligarchy (You see, I did pick up a lot of ideas from you, even if did often give the impression of apathy) If Hermes does move down to the coast, I think I’ll stay here and he can come visit me at weekends, but don’t tell him I said that. I will be able to continue working in the factory for another two or three months. My hands have become a little rough from using the heavy machinery and every day I have to have a bath after work. Maybe, God forbid, if there is another war the women can go and fight while the lads build the guns for us. Some of the fights I’ve seen at work convince me that we would make a formidable fighting force. Let me know how you are,
Siobhan.




573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
10 December 1941
Tom,
It seems that another of your prophecies has come true. It’s an awful pity that you didn’t publish them, or you could have become a contemporary Nostradamus or Haunessen. Opinion, naturally enough is divided as to the American’s strategy. Many think they want to concentrate their efforts in the pacific, others think they are waiting for the Soviets and Nazis to bleed themselves dry before planning an assault on Europe. From the signals I am getting at work, I feel there is eventually going to be some sort of attack on the north of France. My training is almost complete, but I have yet to convince your daughter that it would be best to raise our child away from the city. I would appreciate your advice, as she has no end of respect for your viewpoint. As you know, I would never try to force my will on her, but I think my plans are for the best. What do you make of this Churchill character? Here he is treated with a reverence that would make the fuehrer blush.
Hermes.







Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
21 December 1941
Hermes,
Like me, my daughter is an extremely single-minded individual and it would be hard to persuade her to come and live on the coast with you. It is hard to know what to counsel, but if the Buddha were here to give advice he would suggest some sort of middle way. I think I might be able to persuade her that it would be better to go down to Dover while she is having the child, but always leave the option of going back to her job open to her. Bear in mind that she spent the first twenty years or so of her life living in a rural backwoods town with me and that London must seem very exciting to her. Respect her freedom, otherwise the war you’re fighting is just senseless bloodshed. Round about this time in the last war, the troops stopped fighting and started to play football in no-man’s land. I can’t see that happening this time, with the fanaticism that has overcome Germany and Russia. The jury is still out on Mr.Churchill, but I lean towards the opinion that he is little better than his antagonist, a jingoistic imperialist whose opinions about my country leave a lot to be desired. Do you know what Darré said about Poland? It should be Germany’s Ireland. That says a lot. Another part of me thinks that there is a long tradition of freedom within England itself and that Churchill is a bulwark protecting it. I just hope he is aware of the words of Neitzsche: If you look into an abyss long enough, the abyss will look into you, and those who fight monsters must take care not to become monsters themselves.

Happy Christmas,
Tom.























Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
21 December 1941
Siobhan,
I understand your reluctance to move down to Dover with Hermes, but he only has the best interests of your child at heart. I think you should at least consider staying down there for a while during the final months of your pregnancy. You will undoubtedly find the people down there anally retentive and perhaps a little rascist, but it will only be for six months or so. Do you really want your child to grow up in the smoky bars of Kilburn, where it could be vulnerable to all sorts of diseases? And bear in mind what Hermes has done for you, when any other man may have just abandoned you. I beg you to consider his point of view.
Happy Christmas,
Da.










573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
12 January 1942
Tom,
Once again you seem to have worked your Tallyrandian magic with your daughter, as she has become reconciled to the idea of coming down to Dover with me. I think it is bit of a tragedy that no form of government has ever come along that puts people of intellect like yourself in positions of power instead of effete monarchs, brutal dictators, or mendacious, baby-kissing democratic politicians. I am due to go down to Dover in two weeks time, and Siobhan in in such an advanced state of pregnancy that she is coming with me. MI6 have arranged a place for us to stay. It’s in a boarding house, I am told that it is frugal but adequete, the sort of cryptic euphemism I have become used to. In Dover I will be using radio technology to try to pick up German signals, so you never know, if you still have my old radio we might be able to communicate. Thanks once again for saying whatever you did to Siobhan.
Yours,
Hermes.







Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
21 January 1942
Hermes,
I’m glad you’ve inherited some of my scepticism about the people who lead us, but I do have some hope for democracy as a system of government. On the other hand I am a little fearful of the consequences of what you would have called Weltmacht for the United States. I am also fearful that if it exports it’s brand of unfettered capitalism around the world the consequences may not be that much better in the long run. But then, every other empire has crumbled, and the American empire that will follow from this war will only last so long. I’ve been thinking about what it must be like to bring a baby into a world of such uncertainty, I don’t envy you, but then civilisation has not remained static for three thousand years, and humans are an extremely adaptive species.
Yours,
Tom








10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom 1 Febuary 1942
Da,
Following Hermes down to to the coast was at best a mixed blessing. The air is fresher than it was up in London, but that is the best thing I can say about this place. It’s okay for Hermes, who enjoys his work, and works long hours and falls asleep as soon as he gets home, but for me it is terminally boring. The landlady is such a rascist, Daily Mail-reading bitch that we had to get false identity papers made before we could stay here. The fucking wench thinks I’m Welsh and Hermes, God Love him, has to put on a Liverpool accent when she’s within earshot, awright? The food here is even more God-awful than it was in London, and when we go down to the pub we can never strike up a conversation with anyone, as they seem to have few interests beyond cricket, village fetes and the vicar’s last sermon. Sometimes I wish the Germans had bombed this shithole into the ground, but usually I just go down to the cliffs and yearn to be somewhere else. The cliffs don’t point in the direction of anywhere I want to go, but the symbolism is pretty potent all the same. My baby is due in two months, as soon as I am finished wet-nursing it I’m going to leg it back to Kilburn. Hope you are well.
Siobhan.



Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
13 Febuary 1942
Siobhan,
I’m glad to learn that the twin blows of living in a woman’s prison and among southern English people haven’t completely broken your spirit, but often it’s best to be stoical in these situations. I don’t know why we do what we do to women; allow their youth and beauty to blossom for a brief, ephemeral period before shackling them to the confines of marraige, but then I don’t really understand why we make men go and fight in muddy trenches either, but I haven’t given up on seeking the truth just yet. I’ve also been reflecting that the prejudices you’re having to deal with right now will probably still be there when the current antagonism between England and Germany exists only in the history books and archive movie-reels. I can understand your desire to leave Dover as soon as you are able, but I only ask you to talk it over with Hermes and try to reach some sort of modus vivendi. Incidentally, why hasn’t he written in so long? Any plans on what to call the child?
Yours,
Da.






10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom 25 Febuary 1942
Tom,
I’m sorry I haven’t written to you in so long, but it’s been very busy here at work and very stressful at home. I’m reading and translating all sorts of transcripts of things that get picked up on radio, morse code signals and so on. I’m finding out all sorts of bizarre plans on the part of my compatriots, they appear to think that they will be in Moscow before the year is out and then they can turn their attentions to another assault on Britain. I heard this one bizarre rumour that they have a new bomb that can fly over the English Channel and hit targets in Britain. I’m sure they just deliberately send out such rumours to scare us. This made me think about what a paradigm of modern man I am - My god, what a pretentious thing I just wrote - but perhaps you see my point, there is all this conflicting, contradictory material for me to make sense of, such a torrent of information; in a way, you, with your valiant attempt to read everything ever written might relate to me better than anyone else. I do get time off now and again, and Siobhan and I usually utilise to go up to London to catch a matinee show and buy some books and magazines. We called to see Mary a few times, that girl I told you about. She’s doing fine, has a job in a factory, and a decent-seeming boyfriend. Siobhan’s visits to the city are about the only time she seems to come alive these days, as if the new life inside her was sucking all the vitality out of her. Is it always like this? Though I dearly wish to be there for the birth and development of my child, at the momemt I am loathe to stand in the way of her request to go back to London as soon as one of her friends there can take care of her. I hope your prediction that that the war will be over in three years proves accurate, though, like many of the soldiers in the field, I have no idea what will happen if I survive it.
Yours,
Hermes



















Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
10 March 1942
Hermes and Siobhan,
I know I usually write to both of you seperately, but I have been suffering my pains worse than ever recently, and often find myself unable to move for almost a day at a time. These are dark days for all of us, with the march of the Nazis in the east seeming relentless, but remember that the darkest hour is always the one before the dawn, and it is only a matter of time before Hitler overextends himself. It seems that your own relationship is also undergoing difficulties, but this is true for every pair of intellectuals, and I use this term without feeling guilty of flattery, who choose to live together. When you are afflicted by angst, remember the words of JS Mill: It’s better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied. When it’s your relationship with each other that causes you problems, remember where you might be without one another, and think what a boon you are to one another. I wish I could give you both this advice in person, see your beauteous young faces and hear your tender laughs, but, difficult as it is, I accept that fate has decreed otherwise. I urge you to try to accept yours, difficult as it may often seem.
Yours,
Tom.




10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom 27 March 1942
Da,
I’m sorry to hear that your pains have been acting up again. We have been talking to the doctor about it, and unsurprisingly, he has never heard of the like, but he knows of a specialist in Harley Street who deals with this sort of thing. Hermes is making quite good money and may be able to afford for you to be treated there. I won’t burden you with accounts of my own pains as you probably heard enough about them from my mother’s account of my own gestation. We are in two minds about what to call the baby, we want to give it an Irish name but fear this may give our identity away to her nibs, who seems to have her suspicions already: she is constantly asking our opinion about Irish neutrality, De Valera and the like. Sometimes I am tempted to come right out and tell her the truth, just to see the look on her ruddy, pock-marked face, but Hermes tells me that American servicemen will be stationed here before too long, and places will be hard to come by. Hermes would write, but he is barely able to stay awake after work. At least he was earning enough money to able to buy a record player, though the bitch never lets us turn it up too loud. I’ve thought about your advice, and we reached some sort of compromise; when the baby is three or four months old, I’m going to go back to Kilburn, but I’ll come down here on weekends, when I hope I’ll be a bit more appreciative of the town’s bucolic charms. I must go and binge on some of the bilge that passes for food here.
Yours,
Siobhan.
Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
12 April 1942
Siobhan,
I’d love to be able to say that I knew how you felt, but I think we both know how disingenuous that would be. One part of me thinks nature is playing a cruel trick on us my making the opposite genders so radically different, another thinks perhaps it’s this difference, as the people over in Calais might say that makes human intercourse more exciting. I suppose the baby must be starting to kick by now, and bear in mind when you’re having your morning pains, that neither I nor Hermes nor any man that you ever see for the rest of your life will ever know what that sensation feels like. I wish you could be bringing my grandchild into a more hopeful world, but there is every possibility that Hitler will be just a name by the time he is old enough to speak. I’m glad you’ve managed to reach a compromise with Schillerz, you know, some day in the future men and women will be doing the same work for the same pay, and increasing mechanisation will mean that we’ll all only have to work for 15 hours a week or so, giving us time to do more fulfilling things with our lives, but don’t forget to be grateful to the men who’re making this possible, risking their lives in North Africa and the pacific to beat the forces of misogyny... Try and write to me again before your child is born.
Yours,
Da.

10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
22 April 1942
Tom,
I’m sorry I didn’t write to you in a while but it was extremely busy at work. Right now it is Siobhan who is too stressed out to write, endlessly binging only to throw much of it up. Since there is a little part of me that doesn’t want our child to grow up an only child, I hope every gestation is not like this one. At least there is only a month to go, which is more than can be said for this fucking war. There has been a bit of a lull in German messages intercepted lately, which is why I have enough energy to write this. I don’t know if this is because they have a new code we can’t break or because they are moving forces to the Eastern front, such is the air of secrecy that pervades my place of work. This is good news in a way, as it allows me time to read some of those books I bought in London, though Siobhan is not ideal company in her current state. I have been told I can use the phone at work to communicate news of your grandchild’s birth to you, so don’t stray too far from the phone.
Yours,
Hermes




10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
1 May 1942
Tom,
Are you Okay? We were trying to ring you all day today but we could get no reply. Maybe there’s a problem with the phone connections between Ireland and here, but we think that unlikely. Anyway, if you are reading this, you must be well, so you will be glad to know that you are now the grandfather of a 6lb boy, and we’ve decided to call him Thomas. He’s in perfect health, and he appears to have your brow and chin. Siobhan got through the experience fine and will write to you before long. We hope you’ll get to see him before he grows much older, but in the meantime ring 00-44-1-174-6785 as soon as you are able.
Yours,
The proud father of your grandson









10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
17 May 1942
Oh, Da,
Why haven’t you telephoned? Can you imagine how sick with worry we are? We are only too aware of all the things that could have gone wrong, Hermes has been trying to contact you by telephone for the past few days, but is getting no reply. If you get this letter please write back as soon as possible. We had some photographs taken of Thomas jnr. and will send on a copy to you as soon as possible. He is the quietest little baby I’ve ever seen, takes on from his father that way, but I’m sure as soon as he has something worthwhile to say we won’t be able to shut him up, like his grandfather. But please, da, whatever it takes to reassure us that you’re alright and lift this dark cloud that hangs over the birth of your grandson, please do it.
Your loving daughter,
Siobhan.








Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
27 May 1942
Siobhan,
I’m awfully sorry to have caused you such angst, but it seems there is indeed a telephone fault between here and England which has been making any direct contact between us impossible. I tried using Hermes’ radio to contact you but it was a bit like looking for a needle in a stack of pins. I’m delighted to know that I’m a grandfather and would swim across the Irish Sea to be with you if I could to see my little grandchild. It tortures me to know that it may take a week or more for this message to reach you and I know what you must be going through as I write this, but I hope these words bring you some form of relief. As soon as I finish writing this I’m going to the post office. I can’t wait to see the pictures of my grandchild, I’m sure that if he’s as beautiful as his parents he’ll win every bonnie baby contest going.
Your proud father.









10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
3 July 1942
Da,
Can you imagine our relief when we got your letter? I was suffering so much stress that that I was often unable to breastfeed the little guy and we had to warm up cow’s milk. But don’t worry, he’s doing fine, growing at a normal rate. I’ve been reading some books that Hermes picked up second hand in a place on the Tottenham Court Road by an Austrian who died not too far away from there. He has some interesting theories on why people become the way they are, and blames most of our problems on what happens to us in childhood. What I can understand of him is fascinating, though I often feel it puts more pressure on me as a mother. At the same time it makes me realise how ahead of your time you were in raising me, and how lucky I was to have you as a father. If I can be half as good a parent to Thomas jnr. as you were to me, I’m sure he’ll be fine. His picture is enclosed, by the way. I’m sorry for going so sentimental on you and hope you can read this through the tears, but it’s such a relief to know that you’re okay. How are your pains? Hermes has been making more inquiries, but we are still in the dark as to how long this god-awful war is going to last. Write back pronto.
Siobhan.



Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
13 July 1942
Siobhan,
I’m pleasantly surprised to hear that you’re immersing yourself in the pages of Sigmuend Freud on the staid South-East coast of England. I have some of his works in the original German which I always meant to introduce Hermes to but never got round to. I suspect they might be quite valuable now as his theories are not in vogue in Germanophone countries right now, to put it mildly. I say this because I’ve been thinking about how you will support your child once the war is over, though I’m sure some new form of employment will come along. I’m glad to see you want to bring up your child the way I brought you up, as most children do the opposite. The simplest advice is always to follow the middle path between strictness and permissiveness. If Herr Freud is right about our problems originating in childhood, I’d be interested to know what theories people come up with about Hitler. It’s stuck me recently that there’s never been a war like this before, and that it may dominate people’s consciousness for years to come, provide us with archetypes not known since the days of the ancients, though this will be little consolation for those dying in the battlefields, or crashing their planes into ships in the pacific, if Japanese pilots really do that. I can’t quite understand that mentality, though I also risked my life for my country, I’ve always believed that the state should be there for it’s people and not the other way around. If the victorious states don’t recognise this, then world war three will come all too soon. But I think, fortunately for my grandchild, that they will. I got the snap, by the way, and he is a handsome devil. I can’t wait for some of my friends from Dublin to come down so I can show him off.
Yours,
Da.





















10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
25 July 1942
Tom,
I read your last letter to Siobhan with great interest. I’m sorry I haven’t written to you myself, as I’ve been busy at work again and I’ve spent much time trying to find out if my own family in Germany are Okay. I am wondering why I have started doing this, when I should be at home with our child. Is this normal? What was it like for you when Siobhan was a baby? I’d love to know your feelings, though I can offer you little in return besides some of the latest rumours about the war. Hitler is commiting many divisions to the East, leaving his Western flank unguarded, but the Americans are going to wait until their industrial capacity is maximised before they attack, and are spreading all sorts of rumours about where and when this attack will take place, which is one of the reasons I am so busy. Some Americans are already trickling in here, they are big, loud, brash men, not unlike the Americans in movies, at least the sort made by Warner Bros. I hear that they have been given extra rations of meat by their government to make them better warriors, am interested to hear your opinion on that.
Yours,
Hermes.



Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
1 August 1942

Hermes,
Some of the armchair generals got it horribly wrong when we predicted that Franco’s descicion not to attack Madrid after taking Toledo would result in a socialist victory, so this makes me uneasy of making any such pronouncements, but the putative concentration of German intelligence on the Eastern front cannot but fill me with hope. Russia has proved such a formidable opponent for the Teutonic Knights, the Hanseatic league, Bonaparte and the Kasierreich that I wonder if there is any force great enough to bring it to it’s knees. Yet the fear that the blood that it’s young men spill will gain them no thanks from those they liberate in the west fills me with sorrow. Yet, for a while I can put these fears to one side and realise that by the time you read this I may be a grandfather. I so look forward to hearing your voices again, yours almost as much as my daughter’s, such a son you have become to me. I would pray for a better world for him to be brought up in, but if there was any god I doubt he could my voice among the throng that must surely have the same hopes. My own leader here on this this lonely island has more mundane things on his mind, like strengthening his own grip on power, and Fianna Fail have increased their representation in the Dail. I don’t know if you remember which party is which, and in the bigger scheme of things it seems like a mere anthill, though, just as ants work themselves to the bone inspite of their size, the politicians here fall over matters like agricultural subsidies as if the war in Europe was just a flicker on the movie screens. It’s almost enough to make you think that Louis McNeice and Bernard Shaw were right.
Yours,
Tom.
Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
7 September 1942
Hermes,
Sorry I wrote you before I got you last letter, but there were things I wanted to get off my chest. Ironically, at the moment I have little desire to write and every desire to sit in the sunshine, which is now beginning to dissapate.
Extaneuous circumstances prevented me from being near my daughter when she was a child, but I’m given to understand that most men go through what you’re experienceing now. I’m not exactly sure why it happens, though I do know that the males of most other mammalian species try to spread their seed as widely as possible, and when one female is impregnated, they move onto another. But relax, your apathy won’t really hurt your son, as it’s his mother he needs for the first few years of his life. It seems a little bizarre to me that while I sit here on this sedate island, kamakazies are crashing planes into ships filled with live men and dead cows. There’s no doubt in my mind that eating meat makes people more agressive, though whether this makes them better fighters in a modern war or not is a moot point. I think if the US wins the war, it’ll be because there are more of them and not because they eat more meat. In any case, I doubt it’s much consolation to the Iowa cows that they helped to defeat Hitler by being eaten. It’s a fearful development nonetheless, as I think I may have dwelt on the dehumasing effects of mass-production of meat before. Interestingly, though Germany is ruled almost exactly in accord with the dictates of one man, that man never tried to force his people to become vegetarians like himself. If he did, it would be so much easier to feed Germany’s burgeoning population that there would probably have been no war, and the price of grain would fall so much that France and Poland would have forced into a customs union with Germany, the sort that they had planned before WWI. This theory is predicated on the German people accepting vegetarianism, which is, of course, a big “if”, but it’s fascinating all the same. What are you living on right now, by the way? And have you made any contact with your German relatives? If you have access to a camera, why not get some pictures of little Thomas with yourselves in them as well. Still getting those pains, but they haven’t killed me off yet.
Yours,
Tom












10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
19 September 1942
Da,
Sorry I haven’t written in a while, but bringing up a baby is a stressful job. I appreciate more than ever what an amazing person my mother was. I feel slightly less eager to get out of here now, though there is a major part of me that wants to get back to the ceilis of Kilburn. The more I hear about the war, the more I realise how lucky I am to be hear. Your grandchild is doing fine, so much so that he may never believe the account of his conception, gestation and birth, if we ever summon up the courage to tell it to him. Sorry to hear about your continuing pains.
Siobhan.











10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
19 September 1942
Tom,
As usual I read your ideas with fascination. It is quite hard to get good vegetarian food here, so we generally have to get by on something called baked beans, which seem to me as indicative of the industrialisation of agriculture as US meat rations. We have been looking around in London for spices, different sorts of pulses and so on, but with the war happening it is very hard to get them, especially as shops seem to favour their regular customers. I’ve also heard that after the war the UK might have to give up India and what it owns of Africa, as it’s resources have been so stretched in fighting this war. As ever, I’m eager to hear your prognostications. A photo of Siobhan, Thomas and myself is enclosed, and a letter from Siobhan, though I’m sure you know that already.
Hermes








Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
2 October 1942
Hermes,
Adolf Hitler, liberator of India! It seems absurdities will never cease. Next thing I’ll hear, Jews will get an independent state in Palestine. I’m interested to know how India will fare as an independent state, I suspect, like another famine-ridden victim of British imperialism, it will take donkey’s years for it to recover, though a lot of water will pass under the bridge before that process can even start. Speaking of the Jews, have you heard any more rumours about what is happening them in Germany? The last I heard Hitler was planning to send them all to Mauritius, though I doubt even that nutcase would go so far, though nothing that could happen would surprise me any more. Are you starting to take more of an interest in my grandson? If not, don’t worry, I won’t be angry.
Tom









10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
15 October 1942
Tom,
Your equanimity in the face of world developments never ceases to amaze me: if it was anyone else I would suspect that behind the blase sardonicism of your letters there was a smouldering terrror but I know how honest you are to yourself. The news from Russia is quite encouraging, unless, as Bismarck or Machiavelli might have said, you happen to be a Russian soldier thrust into battle against German tanks and planes with only a musket. Back on the home front, Siobhan has decided to go back to London for a while, she will get her job in the factory which will keep her going for at least another year as there seems to be no end in sight to British bombing of German targets. Still no contact with my family in Germany. Siobhan’s friend Mary will take care of Thomas jnr. while Siobhan is at work. It’s not an ideal situation, but at least she will be coming down every weekend. She does not seem too concerned that I will be unfaithful to her, whether this is because she trusts me or knows what a load of frigid, small-breasted, brown-toothed wenches the women here are is something I won’t concern myself with. I hope you won’t take this amiss, but it’s never concerned me whether she remains faithful to me or not, as I know there is something between us that transcends mere carnal fidelity. There may not be another man in the world I could make this admission to but you, so I hope you don’t see it as a form of disloyalty to your daughter. She plans to write to you when she gets to london. On a lighter note, it’s just occured to me that the Irish government’s policy on single mothers has probably led to more images of the King being sent to Ireland than any measure introduced by the British.
Hermes.
573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
29 October 1942
Well Da,
I’m back in the big smoke, though thankfully it isn’t nearly as smoky as it was back in 1940. I’ve got my old job back, which is a bit of a relief as staying around that place in Dover was driving me up the fucking walls. Thomas jnr. was reluctant to leave my arms at first, but now he’s okay. It’s good to be back where the ceilis and the cinemas are, though I miss Hermes, the talks we used to have, the laughs, and... there’s one other thing he used to for me better than anyone else, I suppose you know what it is; I suppose he’ll have more energy for it if we only do it at weekends. He came up to London with us on Saturday, we went to see a movie called Citizen Kane; I couldn’t make head nor tail of it but Hermes was well into it and seems to think you might like it as well, so watch out for it. Sorry for forcing you to write to two different adresses, but I think I’m just following my dharma.
Yours,
Siobhan.




Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
11 November 1942
Siobhan,
So the Coney Island Roller Coaster that is your life has brought you back to Kilburn. I don’t know if your need for adventure is something you inherited from me or if it’s a reaction to the more settled life I tried to give you, either way I can hardly object. At the same time I think you should stay loyal to Hermes, even though he’s the least possessive man in the world, and no matter how many tall, muscular, chisel-jawed Yankees may be on leave in London on any given day. I think it’s the least you owe him. I’m sorry if this insults you, but I know you have a need for promiscious sex and I don't think that’s immoral in itself, but Hermes has done so much for you and I wouldn’t want to see him get hurt. It’s a tightrope we all have to walk between our desires and our responsibilities, but peace of mind lies on the other side. Whatever happens, I’ll always love you dearly, but Hermes has also become like a son to me. Whatever else, please make sure you stay with him every weekend, however much of an aul’ bitch his landlady is.
Yours,
Da.





Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann

11 November 1942
Hermes,
I hope you’re dealing with the abscence of may daughter alright, though hopefully by the time you read this she’ll have come to visit you a few times. I hope that you undersatnd that, if she doesn’t, it’s not because she doesn’t love you, but that the place you are living reminds her of all the negative things about home but none of the positive things. I’m glad you liked Citizen Kane, I’m looking forward to seeing it if it ever finds it’s way here. Would you believe I actually met it’s young star, he actually stayed in Ireland for a few months and played at the Gaiety, after convincing everyone he was a famous actor from New York. I hope some of my stoicism which you seem to admire so much has rubbed off on you, though of course I also hope you will have little need for it. I’m making the most ethereal philosophical position seem like a headache pill right there, but I hope you get the idea.
Tom
































10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
20 November 1942
Tom,
We’ve worked out what I think is called a modus vivendi where Siobhan comes downs here and I go up to London on alternate weekends, depending partly on what the weather is like. We listen into the weather reports (remember them?) every day before making plans. I try to ring her every night, I tell myself that it is to make sure she is alright, though deep down I know that she can take care of herself and I really just want to hear her voice. It pains me to know I might not hear my child’s first word or see him walk for the first time, but I always reassure myself that people are going through worse all over the world right now. I can empathise with you about Siobhan’s abscence as only in her abscence have I realised how her ebulient presence can light up any environment she is a part of like a circus coming into a nineteenth century village. But tell me, what did you say to her in your last letter? When she came down last week, any time I mentioned your name she wouldn’t say anything in response but just embrace me tightly. Strange behaviour, even for her, though it is often her unpredictability that makes her so exciting. News about the war is a little thin on the ground at the moment, though at least the North African campaign is doing well, it is all the newspapers seem to report, with Rommel’s name being as well known as any allied commander. What are your plans for Christmas? If you cannot get to Dublin then I can try and get leave to visit you. Are you still getting those pains? I will be going to London next week and can find out more information if you want.
Hermes
Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
2 December 1942
Hermes,
I know you have an awful lot of respect for me and I’m not enough of a John the Baptist to admit I don’t deserve some of it. However, I’m far from infallible and I think that, with the best of intentions, I may have alienated my daughter in my last letter. I can’t really tell you how, but I need you to plead my case for me. I’ve written to her myself but I fear my letters have either been discarded or lie unopened like some of the correspondence to your compatriots in the Soviet Union. As I’ve interceded on your behalf a few times I think it’s the least I deserve. Since I angered her I’ve been getting a whole new series of pains in addition to my original ones, which strengtens my original postulation that they are rooted in my emotional state, so you can probably leave that consultant in Harley Street alone, he probably has enough on his plate. I feel a little like Michael Cassio trying to get back into Othello’s good books which troubles me because of how he ended up, except that I know that my daughter loves both you and me and will forgive me in time. I am glad to hear the news from North Africa, even if it puts me in the invidious position of eagerly awaiting another barbarian invasion of Italy, this time from the brash mongrels from across the Atlantic.
Yours,
Tom


























10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
10 December 1942
Tom,
Is it really true what you said to your daughter? I have to take her word for it as the original letter has been destoyed. It is possible she has conveyed some nuances incorrrectly, but the gist seems totally unlike you. As far as I can see, she is in the paradoxical position of wanting to forgive you, contingent on an unconditional apology from you, but is afraid to open any of your letters as she might be similarly offended. I suggest the best thing to do is either try to telephone her or else write to her at my address. My sense is that this will all blow over in time: I certainly hope so as I feel partly responsible for this whole sad affair. I sense also, though, that beneath all her short-term anger lies a profound love and respect for you, the way the North Atlantic is placid beneath the waves on the surface... well, not so much right now, maybe, but you get the general idea. I suppose you know better than anyone that these things happen, and that after our baroque adventures we were never going to live happily ever after like in some Grimm Brothers tale. I don’t suppose I have to tell you that I feel a bit like a student who is so intoxicated by his new-found erudition that he is is lecturing his tutor, and it makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, but I see little alternative in the circumstances. I will intercede on your behalf when I go up to London at the weekend; I am told that in peacetime the city is lit up beautifully but right now power rations and the fear that Fritz will strike leave it dark and wet and force people to make their own amusement.
Hermes.
























Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
19 Decmember 1942
Hermes,
It seems the vagaries of the postal system and the chronic wartime unreliabilty of the phones means that I will spend Christmas in my daughter’s low esteem and it will be 1943 before any sort of armistice is signed between us. Nietzsche famously said that what does not kill us makes us stronger, and though I’m sure a Russian soldier who’s had both his arms and legs blown off by a German mine might take issue with that postulation, I sincerlely hope it will apply to my relationship with my daughter. I am enclosing a letter to her in which I try to explain what I did, without wanting to justify it in any way, just explaining that solitude and old age can sometimes cloud one’s judgment, and that, had this been a conversation rather than a letter, I could have made a qualification straight away and it may all have been forgotten about. As I am unsure whether she will write back to me, I am putting you in the somewhat invidious position of “vetting” the letter for me, as you seem more in tune with what her feelings are at the present time. Whatever her reaction, I hope you enjoy Christmas, though of course it may have passed before you receive this letter.
Tom




Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
19 Decmeber 1942
My Dearest Daugther,
How could I have been so insensitive? It’s hard for me to justify what I said to you, I could claim in my defence that I am alone most of the time and that I am growing older and not thinking as clearly as I used to, but this would clearly ring hollow. I could try to intellectualise and say that in many cases the things that bring men and women together are often the same things that force them apart and that I was merely trying to ensure that this did not happen to you and Hermes, but this explanation does not satisfy myself so I see no reason why it should satisfy you. The most honest explanation is to plead the Polonious defence: when we go older, particularly the penis-owners among us seem to develop a need to give their children, and people younger than them in general, advice, no matter how superfluous, otioise or illogical. I don’t know why we do it, probably some primal need to show that we haven’t, as the Chinese apothegm has it, grown old in vain. In many societies the elders are the ones whose opinions are respected most, it is perhaps telling that these societies are relatively “unadvanced” in the sense that modern westerners would understand the term. At the same time, even though I understand your anger at the sentiments expressed in that letter, I would be extremely distressed if you genuinely believed you had never learned anything from me. As my ham-fisted advice seems to have done nothing to damage your relationship with Hermes, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I hope you enjoy Christmas and that the new year will bring you and my grandchild nothing but happiness.
Your loving father.
573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
5 January 1943
Da,
I’m sorry I stayed angry with you for so long over what was essentially a misjudgment on your part, but it was such a shock to see you, who had always brought me up so against the grain of the conservatism of contemporary Ireland that everybody else stopped trying to iron out the splinters, talk to me in that way. It must be some cosmic force that prompted to you to mention Polonius, as the staff at work put on a production of Hamlet, which I was never that familiar with (I did King Lear for my Leaving, as you probably recall) and the foreman from my unit played that character in a witty self-parody that both endeared me slightly to him, but more importantly, led me to understand why you said what you did. I hope you can understand my anger all the same but remain reassured that it will result in no long-term diminuition of my respect for you. You’re right in thinking that my relationship with Hermes is unaffected: I have seen a few yanks on leave on the tubes, but their brash garrulity is no match for Hermes’ quiet charm, and I doubt if I seem like a worthwhile attempted conquest to any of them coming home from work on the tube covered in dust with grease in my hair. Some feather in their caps I’d be, I’m sure. The rest of Christmas was pretty subdued, Hermes had a few days as MI6 and the abwehr had a sort of virtual football match in No man’s land over the Christmas holidays. He remarked to me how ironic it was that people who putatively lead their lives by the same creed should kill each other in such vast numbers (Wonder where he picked that up from) He borrowed a copy of Ulysses from a friend of mine just before he went to back to Kent and is making another earnest attempt to read it, so don’t expect too much mail from him in the next month, except perhaps to have some of the references and allusions explained. Thomas jnr is doing so well that I’m trying to persuade Hermes to become a diplomat after the war, as the thought of there being another conflict like this in 18 years time. In case I haven’t made it clear, I’ve frogiven you for you little faux pas, or fox pass as we say here in Kilburn. Just don’t do it again, yeh big eejit.
Love,
Siobhan
















Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
12 January 1943
Siobhan,
I don’t think you know how happy you’ve me, so much so that once I’ve seen my little grandchild I can probably die happy, though I’d like to hang around for another decade or two and see what sort of world emerges from this conflagaration, and if any of my prognostications are validated. If Hermes wants to be a diplomat, then he could probably have no better teacher than Leopold Bloom, except for one or two instances that Hermes will encounter if he comes out of the other side of Proteus, a rock on which some major intellects have floundered, alive. Though I’m generally in favour of people developing their own responses to books, I think Ulysses is one of those works where you need a Virgilian guide to take you through the various cerebral circles. It is so reassuring to know that my grandchild is Alright. I’ve been reading a few psychology books and I’m trying to determine what effect being born into a wartime situation will have on his psyche, but like Socrates, the more I learn the more I realise how ignorant I am. I just reassure myself that he has two parents that care for him deeply and are fighting the war far from the front. Thanks for your forgiveness; I was always sure that it would come but I was never presumptuous enough to take it for granted. Give Hermes my love and wish him well in his journey into the Joycean wilderness.
Your Loving Father.



























10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
3 Febuary 1943
Tom,
I’m sorry it’s been so long since I last wrote, but as Siobhan has probably informed you, I’ve been making another valiant attempt to read Ulysses. I struggled through the Proteus chapter like an explorer in some strange foreign jungle and came out bruised and battered into the world of Leopold Bloom. I like him a lot, he reminds me of you, though whether this is because, consciously or unconsciously you imitate him I will never know. Right now I’m reading the Scylla and Charibdis chapter and can relate quite well to it, stuck as I am between the listless Anglo-Saxon natives and their garrulous cousins from across the Atlantic. If it wasn’t for the company of Joyce and my visits to and from Siobhan I think I would have gone as crazy as the people now ruling my country quite a while ago. Siobhan says she may have mentioned my desire to become a diplomat after the war, at the moment it’s more of a vague hope than a serious aspiration, contigent as it is on this war ever finishing, though I am hearing rumours that the Russians have finally turned the corner at Stalingrad and it is being constantly intimated that an American invasion in the West is imminent, with much of the work in my department being directed to sending confusing signals in this regard. It is good to know you are back on friendly terms with your daughter, particularly as I feel partly responsible for the whole misfortunate affair. I hope your pains are not too bad.
Hermes
573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
28 Febuary 1943
Da,
This time next year I’ll be able to propose to Hermes, though we’ve both agreed to wait until this awful war is over before we tie the knot, and then can have a nice church wedding, ha ha. Most people think we’re crazy, that I’ll lose out on widow’s pensions and the like should anything happen to Hermes, but I think we’ll be alright in any case, I’m making plenty of money as I’m getting plenty of overtime and have hardly any time to see Thomas jnr growing up, which he’s doing at an alarming pace. You don’t have that excuse, though, far from it. Why aren’t you writing to us? Let us know if you need any medical attention, as I’m sure Hermes can get enough leave and security passes to bring you over here if needs be.
Siobhan










10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
21 March 1943
Tom,
Why aren’t you writing? I’ve gone beyond a nostalgic reminiscence for the Platonic dialogues we used to have together to a fear for your safety. Siobhan hasn’t heard from you either, and we’re worried like hell. Everything is fine here, give or take the odd formation of luftwaffe bombers flying overhead and striking fear into my heart, and your grandson is doing great. Please write to us as soon as you can. If we don’t hear from you in the next month I’m going to come over, whether I can get leave or not.
Hermes.











Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
15 April 1943
Hermes/ Siobhan,
It is my sincerest wish that this letter reaches you both, both for your sake and my own. Recently my pains have been such that I have been unable to risk walking into town to reach the post office, and the mail is not even coming to my house because of a recent outbreak of foot-and-mouth disease. It may seem bizarre that such a medieval plague could strike our country in this day and age, but that’s the way it is. To top off my woes, the phone works only sporadically and the newspapers are not being delivered either. I am not short of food as there are plenty of potatoes growing in the garden and the cow remains as fecund as ever. I am trying to train Plato to fetch the newspaper from the newsagent but he has been so depressed ever since Siobhan left that he shows no interest in such a venture. I only hope that if anything should happen me on my way into town that he will be able to fetch help. If you ever get this letter, please fill me in on what is going on in the war, as no amount of rereading of the classics can ever fill in the void of living in this information desert.
Yours,
Tom.





573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
23 April 1943
Da,
Thanks be to God you’re alright. You can’t imagine how worried we were, and still are. Your letter reached us alright so we know you must have made it to the post office, but we have no way of knowing that you made it back alright. Hermes is trying to send you signals on the radio, so try and get that thing working. For the last few months the stress your illness has placed upon me is showing in my work: at the moment I am manufacturing components for aircraft and I’d hate if a bomb went off in anyone’s plane as an ultimate result of your illness. If you get this you’ll be pleased to know that Thomas jnr is doing well, starting, at last to grow some teeth: it’s good to know that there is some growth amidst all this decay in the world. Please get well, it would kill me to think my son will never see the person to whom he owes his freedom. We both have the weekend off and Hermes is here, he is writing to give you the low-down on the war.
XXX
Siobhan






573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
23 April 1943
Tom,
Sorry to hear that you are among the many people in the world forced to go through unimaginable pain at the moment. Can all this suffering really be the result of one man’s megalomania? That is the prevailing view here, and also in America. As you have been even more starved of war news than usual, it may cheer you up to know the Nazis are being pushed out of Russia at least, though I would beg you not to dwell on the Jacobean vengence that may be inflicted on them by the wrath of Stalin, nor the dismal fate of the Poles squeezed between the two angry giants. I know what Donne said about any man’s death diminishing me but... The Germans are also being pushed back in North Africa, and the talk is shifting from who is going to win the war to when the allies are going to win. Your suffering has put us in a slightly invidious position, as we are always eager to know you are alright, but do not want to force you to take unnecessary risks. What is this foot-and-mouth disease of which you speak? I think I may have heard something about it when studying the Thirty years war.
Hermes.






Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
10 May 1943
Hermes,
That last trip to the village inspired enough confidence in me to make subsequent journeys, though the threath of getting an attack hangs over me like the sword of Damocles. I’ve been re-reading the Gita and it’s convinced me that I need to do everything I can to help you and my daughter, no matter what risk to myself. I’m glad to know that Barbarossa’s red beard has become frozen in the Russian snow, though a knowledge of the US Civil war, when the most baroque excesses of violence happened after the turning point at Gettysburg stands between me and complete jubilation. I sense, though, that many people in these islands and in the US will not see it that way, and start having babies again, who’ll grow up to hear endless accounts of their father’s wartime adventures and grow up instilled with a fearsome awe of any sort of conflict or rebellion. You asked what foot-and-mouth disease was, it’s a disease that only affects cows and reduces their weight, yet sends humans into a panic. It’s more proof, as if proof were needed, that our growing dependence on meat is a dangerous development, but my letters to the government may as well be kept to burn on the cold winter nights that will come before this war ends. I’m glad to know, at least, that my grandchild is okay.
Tom



573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
29 May 1943
Da,
I’m sure there have been all sorts of bravery displayed on every side of this horrible conflict, but I doubt if any can surpass your willingness to risk dying just to let us know you are okay. I know that sounds either sarcastic or hyberbolic, but I mean every word of it. Every day Schillerz tries to communicate with you on the radio to save you this trouble but it never seems to work, so you just have to put your faith in that god-damned phone working more consistently if you want to hear any of your grandson’s first words. I will be lucky to hear his very first words myself as I am at work so long, though if I would want anyone other than you, hermes or myself to hear them, it would be Mary, who has become as trusted a friend as any female friend I ever had. For the first time since I came here, people seem upbeat as they are sure that the war will be over within the next year or so and are hopeful for the sort of world that will emerge from it. Whenever I mention this to Hermes, he always urges a Cassandra-like caution that fazes me a bit, but I suppose the need for certainty that attracted him to Nazism still clings to a certain part of his psyche. Thomas jnr has grown a new tooth, it’s at times like this I’m glad to be away from him. Is there anything we humans can do without drawing suffering upon ourselves? I just hope he appreciates how much pain he had to go through to get those teeth, and doesn’t rot them with the suggary food that everyone here seems to eat, with predictable results.
Siobhan

Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
15 June 1943
Siobhan,
I think our collective sweet tooth is a hangover from an earlier stage of evoultion when we needed fruit sugars to keep us going but never anticipated that tooth-rotting refined sugars would ever exist, just as the whole war thing emanates from the desire of males to show off their physical prowess and maximise the number of females in their harem. At least we’re conscious of this, so maybe you and me are a little more evolved than the people you live with, and not the other way around, as some cariciturists would have us believe. I think we may be on an evolutionary trajectory from just caring about our immediate family, to communities, then races, and finally all of humanity, at which point wars would cease, though some philosophers, like Heraclitus, would say that would be a bad thing, as many think conflict is necassary for “progress”. I wonder how comforting those theories are to someone dying of starvation in the camps right now. I’d love to believe that it’s my hyper-evolved empathy with the whole human race that’s causing me these pains, but it seems a bit far-fetched. Why hasn’t Hermes written lately? He’s the one I normally bump such theories off, though I know you understand them just as well.
Da.




10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
1 July 1943
Tom,
I haven’t written in so long because work has been so busy, but at least I am now in a position to inform you that the allied invasion of Europe will take place
---- ---- in --------. Keep that information under you hat, mind. At least we are both getting the weekend off next week, and I think Siobhan is finally going to come down once and get away from the stifling summer heat of London. It must be so nice back in Ireland right now. Being dragged along by the mood of optimism that seems to be affecting everyone right now, I’ve been making plans for our child’s future. When the war is over we will probably go back to Germany and get married, therefore we will all be citizens of whatever new state emerges from the rubble, and will be able to come and go from Ireland as we please, without fear of little Tommy (I just realised this is the German equivilant of `Fritz’, and kind of like the irony) being arrested. With my knowledge of English and espionage, I should be able to get a job in a consulate or somewhere, even if I never become a fully-fledged diplomat. What do you think? As always, your opinion is welcome.
Tom




Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
15 July 1943
Hermes,
I’ve got some bad news. That last letter I got from you was censored. I’m not particularly worried about the information you were trying to convey, nor do I spend much time worrying about which side of the Irish sea it was blue-pencilled on. What concerns me is that a lot of intimate stuff has passed between you, my daughter and myself and, though none of it was censored, it could have been read. To give myself peace of mind, I’ve written to some friends of mine in the forensic department of the guards and they’ll try to ascertain if there’s any fingerprints other than our own. I hope not, as the idea of the sort of voyeuristic thrill people could get from reading our letters sends a thrill down my spine. The foot and mouth epidemic is keeping me confined to home and forced back upon my own resources, but the news that you are to make an honest woman of my daughter cheers me in my hour of pain, though after all you’ve been through together it may seem somewhat of an anti-climax. What language are you going to bring Tommy up to speak? I ask out of purely practical considerations, not out of any rascist motives - it’s not as if the alternative was to speak Irish, is it? It’s just that you can’t be sure the war will be over within the next year or two so it would be a gamble to bring him up speaking german. I hope my pains will have recovered enough that I can attend the wedding; a small, fatalistic part of me has always wanted to see the suffering visited upon Germany at first hand and this could provide a welcome oppurtunity. I wish you every success in whatever career you choose after the war, and I think diplomacy is a noble calling, particularly if you get a chance to inform the world of what is going on in Ireland right now. My pains are unrelenting, malheuereusment.
Yours,
Tom
10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
2 August 1943
Tom,
I’m shocked to learn our letters are being censored, as I thought that sort of thing only happened back home, though I suppose circumstances are quite exceptional. The only comfort I can take is knowing that the people who are reading through these letters probably have no idea who we are and probably sift through thousands of letters each day. Coincidentally, this could be our last weekend together in Dover, as Siobhan’s attempts to prove her Welshness have not convinced my landlady, who can spot the Irishness in her laugh, her smile, and understandably, the accent is also hard to maintain, though, stranglely, I’ve always thought her Welsh accent was more convincing than my Liverpool accent, which was something she herself learnt after seeing some movie. Anyhow, the landlady has being reading in the Mail how Ireland it a hotbed of Nazi spies, collaborators, sympathisers, fifth columnists and the like, and is convinced Siobhan is one of them. I wish I could point out the irony, and you know, after the war, I probably will. We think we will try to rent out a place somewhere else on the coast, though it is murderously difficult to get places in the current climate. Camping is an option, though hardly a viable one with a small child. He’s going to grow up speaking a mixture of German and English which will leave him confused for a while, but he will hardly be the only child in Europe of whom this could be said. I too sincerely hope you will be able to come to the wedding in Bavaria, and a wild, beer-swilling orgy I’m sure ‘twill be as well, so I hope it happens before little Tommy is old enough to remember. He is doing very well, thankfully, with a new tooth seeming to grow each week and his first word apparently imminent, so at least there is one thing you don’t have to worry about. Keep writing to me at this address, as I’ll still be here whatever hours during the week I’m not working.
Hermes.


















Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
20 August 1943
Hermes,
Ah yes, hibernophobia. I may have mentioned this before, but long after this war is over, English landlords will still be hanging up signs that say “No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs” My advice is to just hang in there, I suppose you have a good idea when the war will be over, even if you can’t tell me without being censored. The best way, in fact, probably the only way to deal with the prejudice you face over there is to prove to yourself that you are a decent person and know in your heart how wrong they are. Did you find a place to stay on the coast away from that ghoulish wench? I’m afraid you can run from the crassness and vulgarity of the English, but it will confront you everywhere in their dreary little island. I guess you already know this, though it should give the censors some food for thought. Hey fellas! What do you think of my opinions? Pretty contentious, n’est ce pas?
Tom





10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
7 September 1943
Tom,
I see what you mean about the vulgarity of the English being all-pervasive. We went down to Brighton for a weekend to get away from the wench but found nothing but “naughty” postcards and short, pot-bellied day-trippers sticking their heads into gauche paintings of musclemen, little kids yelling for icecream, and a general atmosphere that makes the tackiest Kraft Durch Freude holiday seem like one of Cortez’ voyages of discovery in the Amazon. I can now see that the admiration of Nazi leaders for British was inspired by the latter’s capability for subduing their working classes with a steady diet of vapid kitsch, and am left to wonder if the end of the war will reveal any horrors that exceed the Stygian excess if have borne witness to. I am just glad my son will not remember any of this, and hope it doesn’t leave any mark on his subconscious.
Hermes.







Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
25 September 1943
Hermes,
So you didn’t like Brighton so much? Amazingly, I know this because your last letter wasn’t censored at all, though it contained no end of inflammatory opinions and some German words. I am tempted to ask you to write to me in German just to see how the authorities react, though I suspect it might be somthing along the lines of locking you up and forcing a confession out of you by duress, and threathening, explicity this time, to invade Ireland, so I resist the temptation. The foot and mouth epidemic has eased off somewhat, so the paper boy is coming round again and I am learning about the war again, but only what our elected representatives deem trivial enough for the hoi-polloi to be made aware of. As you’ve been pretty quiet on the subject I’d appreciate you filling me in, just don’t tell me anything you wouldn’t be able to find out from a British paper. What papers do you get over there by the way? And why isn’t Siobhan writing these days?
Tom







10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
9 October 1943
Tom,
Nothing but good news on the war front, old sock. The home fires are burning, Jerry is being routed, and an invasion in the west is... imminent, though I can’t say more than that. I don’t get time to read newspapers that much, at work I sometimes read the Times, which as you probably know is considered the paper of record here, back at home I read the landlady’s copy of the Mail, or sometimes the Telegraph, though I often find their views on my compatriots, and yours, rather harsh. When I go to London I read the Manchester Guardian, and I can sometimes find copies of the Irish Times, which is a breath of fresh air. I never see any of your columns, though. Why is this? Siobhan is staying down here for the weekend, and is taking a break from putting up with my landlady’s endless innuendoes to write to her loving father.
Hermes.
































10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
9 October 1943
Da,
Sorry it’s so long since I last wrote but it has been particularly busy at work and it seems imprudent not to take advantage of the overtime on offer, as after the war it might be hard for us girls to find work. It means I can’t see little Tommy all that much but at least I know his future will be provided for. He is doing really well, calling me “ma”, though, regrettably, he sees his father so infrequently that he does not call him “da” yet, though I’m sure that, in time, he will come to realise who he is. He is learning the names of most of the people who live in the house, though, and seems to be forming some sort of bond with Mary’s son Jack, who’s about two months older. Things are starting to become more cheerful here with the growing confidence that it is not a matter of who is going to win the war but when. How are you? Hermes tells me there’s been no relenting of your pains, but rest assured that we will definately have enough money to bring you over to a specialist over here when the war is over. I wish I could make the return journey but I’ll have to wait ‘till I become either a British or German citizen; that issue has still to be resolved with Hermes. Glad you are well enough to read this.
Siobhan.




Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
27 October 1943
Siobhan,
It’s so good to hear from you again, and to know that my grandchild is alright. I look forward to seeing you again so much that I’ll probably come over after the war even if my pains have relented. I am still unsure how to advise you on the issue of whether you should go to Germany after the war or stay in England: I like the idea of Hermes becoming a diplomat but know how happy you are in Kilburn, ideally he could become ambassador of the new German state to Britain, but then very few of us do the work we really want to do in our hearts. It occured to me after reading your letter that another Irish person has been turned into a workaholic by living in England. One of my theories which I may have advanced to you before is that we were a race of easy-going musicians and poets before the Anglo-Saxons turned us into labourers, much the same way Circe turned men into swine, but I never thought that theory would apply to you. I know how much you miss Ireland, as even in the jungles of Kerala or on the peaks of Darjeeling, let alone the bombed-out remains of Kilburn, I used to miss the rugged hills of home. While you wait to get a foreign passport, you might get a chance to visit Scotland or the lake district in Cumbria, it might remind you a little of home. I’m glad my grandson’s social skills are developing, and am left to reflect that if he had been allowed to grow up here, he might have grown up to be a weird loner like his grandfather, so perhaps we have something to thank the Irish theocracy for. Then again, maybe not
Da.
Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
27 October 1943
Hermes,
Yes, the English may be fighting a war for freedom but there’s a nasty conservative streak in their press that’ll probably still be there when you and I are both in our graves. I suspect that this war will lead to the US and Russia becoming the sort of superpower Britain was in the last century and it will be generations before they accept this. How this will be reflected in their relations with their immediate neighbours remains to be seen. I suppose you hardly need to be told this, but it’s often good to have some kind of contextualisation. Bear in mind that your landlady’s animus towards Irish people isn’t that different from the anti-semitisim of the the nazi leadership, in each case, a hard-working, emotionally constipated race take out their frustrations against those they percieve as being lazy. I’m sorry to speak of your nation so pejoratively and I know it’s unfair to generalise, but it’s worth bearing in mind that Nazism could have happened as easily in Britain as in Germany, no matter how many arguments about “long traditions of liberty” would be thrown up in response to such an argument. I hope you realise my remarks aren’t aimed at you personally, though you have to acknowledge how more open you became with yourself after fate landed you in Ireland. I’m interested to know your response to my remarks. About the Irish Times thing, the foot-and-mouth epidemic put the kibosh on that, but I’ve saved all the columns for you to read when this war is over.
Tom


























10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom

20 November 1943
Tom,
As you may remember, I read the Republic when I was staying with you and have to conclude that you are using the Socratic method, as I know you would never be so naive as to think a whole nation could colletively be “emotionally constipated”. Your remarks did give me food for thought, though, as I had never seen my own former prejudices reflected in my landlady before. Anti-semitism is something I was brought up with and it wasn’t till I left Germany that I realised what an absurd philosophy it was, thanks largely to yourself. I suppose if my landlady could live in Ireland for a while she might realise that Irish people aren’t all bog-trotting bomb-makers who want to turn her internal organs into oileann pipes. I suppose the only way we will ever be able to deal with the sort of prejudices is to use planes to meet people of different nationalities instead of dropping bombs on them. I gather that in some cities in the United States there are many nationalites but they are all confined to ghettoes, which is a bit sad, though I would probably still believe the exact opposite if I had not met you. Keep the thought-provoking letters coming, as my emotionally constipated colleaugues at work never have anything interesting to say.
Hermes.



























Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
15 December 1943
Hermes,
Something slipped by the Irish censor’s beady eye into the pages of the Irish Times to the effect that the Allied generals think this might be the last Christmas you live in wartime conditions, though they think that, like the Thirty Years War, it may drag on on the emerging great power’ eastern flank for some time. I wonder if letter will be censored, and have been thinking about we censor ourselves all the time, in speech as well as in writing, fearful of how the truth will hurt ourselves or others. I say “we” even though I’m a person who always tries to be open with myself and others, but know that self-censorship is always inevitable. I suppose some truths about ourselves and the world are too hard for us to deal with, which is why we supress our consciousnesses with alcohol, drugs, religion and nationalism. I’m sorry if that isn’t a very reassuring Christmas message, but it’s the sort of thing that occurs to you when you live in such an isolated place.
Tom






10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
5 January 1944
Tom,
Either your astonishing presience has come to the fore or Siobhan has been writing to you for advice, but it seems her need to dampen her consciousness has taken the form of an increasing dependence on alcohol. I got a few days off at Christmas and was grateful to be able to spend so much time with my son, but watching his mother get drunk so often on poteen that someone smuggled across the Irish Sea was a bit distressing. I led myself to believe that she was only doing this because it was Christmas, but her friend Mary took me to one side and expressed her concern that nights like this, with all the vomiting and obscene language and pugnacity that go with them, are becoming ever more frequent. I don’t know if it’s because her work is so stressful or if she just misses home, but my fear is that, even when the war is over, the dipsomania might not go away. I am afraid to ask her to stop working as this might come across as being misoginistic, and anyway, this might give her more time to drink at home. But I desperate to ensure that Tommy does not grow up with a mother with alcohol problems. I am thinking of telling her that the British are using bombers to attack civilian targets in the hope that this will convince her to stop working in Dagenham and come down to live with me. I’ve only heard rumours to this effect which I find a little hard to credit, but sometimes a small lie is not the worse cause of action. I hate to drag her down here and find the idea of keeping my eye on her distasteful, but I can see little alternative in the circumstances. Please write back as soon as you receive this, I feel I cannot act until I have recieved your advice.
Hermes

P.S. You mentioned something about the Thirty Years war: when I went to school I was led to believe that this was an attempt by the Jewish plutocrats in London and Amsterdam to keep the states of Germany at each others throats: I must find a different perspective when personal matters are not so pressing.

















Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
20 January 1944
Hermes,
Paradoxically, when I wrote that letter about being honest with myself I wasn’t really being honest with myself, as I never told you about the strain of alcoholism in our family. Now the sword of Damocles has dropped, I may as well tell you it comes from my side of the family, though, strangely, it never afflicted anyone till they left the country, so perhaps emigration is a factor. I don’t know why it is that when the English stereotype us as being drunken fools and we label them arrogant boors, we both seem to do our best to confirm these prejudices when we visit each other’s cold rainy islands. The tragic thing is it may be a while before she gets to return. Perhaps you should marry her straight away, though it hasn’t escaped my mind that this would be giving in to the forces of conservativism. Otherwise, try and convince her to stop working in that arms factory, because, cogniscent as I am of Neitzsche’s quote about looking into an abyss etc. I know I could never become sacrifice myself on that alter of ugly necessity, to paraphrase Emerson, and I doubt my daughter could either, without it injuring her psyche in some awful way. I think the best modus vivendi that a Buddhist monk could come up with would be for her to quit her job, do something more constructive, and ensure that you visit her every week to ensure she isn’t drinking too much. Don’t tell her to stop working in the arms factory herself, as this will only galvanise her resistance, but ask Mary or one of her other friends. It’s important that she continues to go out and meet people and dance, but make sure you are there when she is doing so. If, as is predicted, the war will be over within a year or so, this will prove a reasonable stop-gap before you reassess your situation.
Tom






















573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
18 Febuary 1944
Da,
My life has undergone great changes since I last wrote to you. I’ve acted largely on Hermes advice, but, though he has said nothing to indicate this, I sense your guiding hand behind everything. While I was working in the arms plant I was having constant nightmare and drinking far too much. You probably know the story: first it was just at dances, then I’d go to the pub on my way home from work, and when I went down to visit Hermes I would carry some gin with me... I won’t bore you with the rest of the details, as you used to live in Kilburn yourself and my story is probably chillingly familiar. Anyway, Hermes convinced me that working in the arms plant was probably the cause of all my alcholism and that I should either come down and live with him or find some more constructive work. The idea of going down to live with his cow of a landlady didn’t appeal to me so much, so I asked around to see if there was anything else I could do, because I know I would go crazy if I stayed at home minding Tommy all day. Fortunately, the job I got allows me to take care of him while I work, which is ideal. I got a place supervising war orphans from the Kilburn area, it doesn’t pay very much but Hermes is earning quite a lot so that isn’t really an issue. The thing you might find hard to believe is that the orphanage is run by a Catholic nun from Ireland: I thought, as you probably did as well, that I would never want to encounter another member of her profession again, but I put all my preconceptions to one side and found she was actually quite a decent person. She explained to me that she left Ireland when she realised the church, as she saw it, was being used as a tool of oppression by the state, and that few of the nuns she worked with had joined her order for genuine spiritual reasons, but because their families wanted the prestige of having a bride of christ in their family, that many of them had never wanted to sign up for a vow of chastity and that this was where their resentment towards people like me came from. It made me see nuns in a whole new light, and I felt a bond with Sr. Agnes, who, like me, was, in a sense, escaping from Irish nuns, though now I see that they were a symptom of a problem in Irish society rather than the cause. The most important thing is I’m enjoying my work, even if the odd badly maimed child reminds me why I left the old job; I get a shudder down my spine when I think of the children in Germany with similar injuries that may have been caused by bombs I helped to make. Tommy is growing up fast and making friends with some of the other kids in the orphanage, Jack comes along with us some days, which is the least I can do to repay Mary for all the times she took care of Tommy. I’m still having a few drinks when I go out to dances but that’s about as far as it goes. I hope your pains are not too bad.
Siobhan









Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
3 March 1944
Siobhan,
I’m so glad to know you’ve stopped working in that arms plant, particularly after some of the rumours that Hermes has related to me, but it’s even more impotant to know that you’ve stopped drinking so much. As I told Hermes, I wasn’t that shocked to learn you’d been drinking so much, as there’s a lot of alcoholism in the family and so many Irish who go to live in Kilburn go down that path anyway. What you say about nuns is more or less correct, some of them do have genuinely altruistic motives for choosing that career, there are others who genuinely believe in punishing people like you for their “sins”, and there are those who join their order because it is the only career open to them, just like... well, I think I may have made that point before. It’s so good to know you’re doing a job you enjoy, though, paradoxically, it’s one I hope you won’t be doing for too long, though I suspect that when the war is over, thousands of displaced children will need to find their way home and you might be in a position to help them. As you suspected, my “guiding hand” was behind your leaving the arms plant: I hope it doesn’t make you feel too dependent on me, even if it does, remember how long I was dependent on you. Hermes either hasn’t written in a while, or else his letters are falling foul of that nice Mr. Censor; let me know which. My pains haven’t gone away; I’ve had them so long I suspect I’d start to miss them if they went away.
Yours, Da.

10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
20 March 1944
Tom,
Sorry it’s been so long since I last wrote, but work has been incredibly busy, though I can’t tell you why because, if my landlady is to be believed, one of the many German spies in Ireland will surely intercept my information and send it back to Berlin via the radios with which every Irish farmer comunicates with the German high command. I don’t know if it’s safe to tell you this or not, but the paradox is that most of the work at the moment consists of sending out false rumours about our attack plans, so if Ireland really was full of spies I really would be giving you “news” of our attack plans. I don’t know why the Mail persists in these rumours: you explained to me why demonising a racial other or unheimlich as we would say back home is considered necessary for social order but I thought Herr Hitler would fulfill that role more than adequetely for the time being. Siobhan tells me she wrote to you again with the good news: she is enjoying her work more and more as Tommy grows older and is even willing to do the same work in Germany for a time after the war. I know this would mean we would be farther away from you but as soon as Siobhan gets a German passport we will be able to visit once in a while, or you can come over and live with us if you want. I’ve been reading some books on recent German history from a British perspective: it’s fascinating to view things through the opposite end of the telescope now and again. Hope your pains are not too bad, I’m glad you can deal with them with such eqaunimity.
Hermes
Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
13 April 1944
Hermes and Siobhan,
It’s a while since I wrote a letter to the two of you together, but you seemed to have been drifting apart for a period, but now you look to be converging again. It happens to all couples, usually in the later years of marraige, but these are not normal times, if there are such a thing. Your last couple of letters brought out my paternal feelings that had been dormant for a while, but with the growing feeling that the war is nearly over and the news that my grandchild is growing up to be such a sociable child, I got that glow I hadn’t had in a while, since Siobhan was a little girl. I’m growing increasingly hopeful that I’ll see all three of you before too long. I’m eager to know how you’re all looking: why don’t you send some more photographs? I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your letter sooner: I don’t know why but today seemed like an important day to reassert my parental feelings.
Tom







10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
7 May 1944
Tom,
You’re optimism about the war ending soon may soon be justified, as an attack on the Western Front is imminent - I can’t tell you anything more than that - but it will be a logistical operation the likes of which the world has never seen before and hopefully never will again, though I gather the last war was referred to here as the war to end all wars. I never let it slip my mind that if I was assigned to the eastern front and somehow managed to survive, that I might be facing this huge assault myself. As far as we can tell, Fritz (it always seems strange to call the enemy that, as I used to have a friend of that name in school) has no idea where the attack is going to be and has spread his defences the way you would have spread one of those rations of butter. I’d like to think my efforts in spreading false information have contributed in some small way to this, though I realise that we are merely taunting the dying beast that is the Nazi Reich. Lest I become too optimistic I keep in mind what you told me about the American Civil War. I’m sorry we didn’t send you over more photographs of little Tommy, I suppose you realise we both have a lot on our minds right now, though we would have to face an entirely different set of pressures if it wasn’t for you. I hope this set of snaps from the last year or two gives you a reasonable sense of his development. Don’t expect any communication from me in the next month or so: I am working so hard that I barely have enough energy to walk home in the evenings. Siobhan should be able to write Okay: she seems much happier, is looking better since she stopped working in that awful factory. I hear rumours that Werner van Braun, a man who was accorded the respect of a American Indian medicine man back home, I working on a new bomb that can fly by itself, but you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to realise this is probably just German propaganda.
Hermes




















573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
10 May 1944
Da,
Hermes told me he sent some photographs of Tommy to you a few days back. I’m sorry I didn’t send some myself, but I am getting such pleasure from my work at the moment. The politicians here speak of building a “new Jeruselam” out of the ashes of this war, with decent health care and education for everyone, and even speak of helping to rebuild Germany when the war is over. I wish we had leaders with such vision in Ireland, instead of the inward-looking bigots that we choose to elect. Perhaps this war will make people realise what a precious gift democracy is. Anyway, the point I was trying to make before I got sidetracked was that I feel like I’m witnessing the birth of a new form of civilisation out of the ashes of the old, hierarchical society, and that’s exciting to me, the way being around at the birth of the Irish free state must have been to you. As with you, the post-war world may not turn out the way I hope, but at least the idea of social justice keeps me going when I have to deal with all those poor crippled and maimed kids. Some of them have become really attatched to me and call me “mum” but there are no signs of Tommy becoming jealous. He speaks quite a few words now; more, I’m told than the average kid of his age: maybe he’ll grow up to be a genius like you, with Hermes’ chisseled good looks into the bargain, though he was hardly brought up in conditions conducive to ubermenschlicheid. (Yeah, I do get time to read, especially since I stopped drinking so much). Hope your pains are alright.
Siobhan.
Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
30 May 1944
Siobhan,
Some of us did have ideals as to the sort of utopia Ireland could have become after we gained independence, but they got lost somewhere amidst the endless bickering and recriminations of the civil war. I’m as hopeful as anyone that the people who come back from this war will have fought for something worthwhile, but I’m not holding my breath. If there’s something that gives you hope, though, it seems churlish to disparage it. I got those photos of Tommy, and he does appear to be growing up fast when you consider how he must be being fed on rations. Then again, never forget that, as recent as two generations ago, his ancestors were living on potatoes and not much else. It makes me think of what amazing times I’ve lived through, and how the last lines of Lear may be more apposite now than ever. I can see how after all you’ve been through you probably want nothing more than stabilty for my grandchild, but don’t forget that the free-thinking spirit is probably the most valuable asset the family posseses. Hermes tells me there is no point in writing to him right now as he is so busy at work, so let me know if he is alright.
Da





10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
12 June 1944
Tom,
As you may have gathered, today is what the papers have designated D-Day+6. I don’t know how widely it was reported in Ireland, but it seemed an amazing undertaking from the newsreel footage I saw and the reports I read in papers, with whole artificial harbours created overnight, tanks landing on beaches; it made me think of that Heraclitus quote about war being the mother of all good things: perhaps some day all this technology will be used to help people rather than kill them. The good news is that the Germans and the Vichy French are on the run, crushed by the sheer weight of numbers as much as anything else. The smart money here is betting that if the Germans are pushed back to Germany before the winter sets in, the war could be over by Christmas, otherwise it could be like Stalingrad in reverse. So, as the cold-hearted dipsomaniac East Prussian who brought Germany together might have said, the only thing to be decided is how many more men will die. I don't know what sort of mechanisms will be put in place to ensure that this doesn’t happen any more, but I know I want to be part of them. Appropriately, I’m reading War and Peace in my spare moments, of which I will need quite a few. I suppose you know how it turns out, but I want to find out for myself. I guess the title gives the ending away a little bit, I hope the ending the story we tell little Tommy about how he came into being ends as happily.
Hermes
Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
25 June 1944
Hermes,
Our noble, honourable, venerable leader has decided that we can, indeed be informed about D-Day, sensing perhaps which way the wind is blowing, though it’s transpiring that all along allied prisoners have been released, though even your compatriots aren’t treated all that badly, a lot better than Siobhan was in that laundry, for example. I got this information from some of my journalist friends, - the foot and mouth outbreak has totally passed, so contact with the outside world is possible again - strictly on the q.t. so don’t be too suprised to find blue pencil all over this letter. I’m interested to hear you talk about your own life as if it were a story, if it was, the momentum would definately seem to be carrying that story to a happy ending as if by some immutable physical law. It would be tragic if anything were to happen you now, after all you’ve been through. Strangely, there’s been no relenting in my pains, so maybe they were never psycosomatic. Maybe it was the cows here who were feeling the pain of Europe in their feet and mouths, though I don’t think so, as agricultural practices here turn them increasingly into Cartesian machines. Plato is still doing well, it’s safe to take him for a short walk now and again with summer on the horizon.
Tom



10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
15 July 1944
Tom,
Glad things are also improving on your side of the Irish sea. Things have slackened off considerably at work, the feeling seems to be that our work has been done and now it’s up to “our boys” (at home they would always be “men”) on the battlefield. It looks like I might finish Tolstoy’s magnum opus sooner than I anticipated; I often wonder what I would have made of his animus towards my race if I had read it before I left Germany. The weather is quite nice at the moment, Siobhan is unable to come down that often, but I bring Tommy down for a few days at a time, I think this gives him a good balance of fresh air, exposure to nature and socialisation, though I’d be interested to hear your point of view as well, as you did such a good job bringing up your daughter in difficult circumstances. Some of the people at work are suggesting that after the war, Britain and the US will bring their marraige of convenience with Stalin to an abrubpt divorce, and, while both sides will be too exhausted for all-out war, their will be plenty of work for the espionage industry. I’m not so sure I want to stay in this line of work, but I’m keeping my options open. Your opinion is again welcome.
Hermes



573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
2 August 1944
Da,
It’s with a paradoxical pleasure that I report that I am able to spend more time on the coast with Hermes: I was really enjoying my job, but with German bombing raids decreasing and no lack of homes willing to take in orphans it’s been much easier for me to get time off to go down the coast for long weekends. It’s not the money I miss, there’s hardly any need to worry about that with all the money he’s earning, it’s the actual work and the opputunities it provides for Tommy to socialise. He seems to relate more with the kids in the orphanage, as if he realises on some deep level that he, too, is in a sense dispossesed. I have an itching to keep doing this sort of work after the war, Sr. Margeret Mary tells me that there is a growing charity movement for poorer countries in Africa and Asia that is unrelated in any way to missionary work. It’s something I’ll devote some thought to, though the idea of dragging Tommy around the world with me seems a little unfair to him, as does the idea of leaving him at home with Hermes. AAYOIW. More good news: the putatively imminent victory in the war has allowed Hermes’ landlady to put some of her xenophobia on the backburner, so I can visit without fear of any of her snide innuendoes. HYPANTB.
Siobhan.



Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
25 August 1944
Hermes and Siobhan,
Why am I writing to the two of you at once? Sloth, my dear children. Assuming Siobhan’s first acronym in that last letter was soliciting my opinion, I have mixed feelings about aid from relatively rich countries to our poorer cousins. I think the war will be followed by widespread decolonisation but that this may prove a poisoned chalice for much of Africa. I think it would have been better for everybody if we had left these countries alone in the first place, but now I think we have somewhat of a responsibilty to resolve some of the problems we have caused. Whether you can do this and still bring up a child is for you to decide; I’m just pleased that you both have some plans for when this war is over, and wish this nation’s leaders could be as internationalist in their outlook, and to know that this ill wind is blowing some good to people other than profiteers and arms manufacturers. If your second acronym was asking about the pains, they have been easing up lately, perhaps the history books will tell us why. Hermes, have you found out the latest news on the current war or are you too engossed in reading about the one Tolstoy recounts? The only rumours that I have heard indicate that the allied forces haven’t advanced as far as they expected and may be dragged into a hyperborean war of attrition. Any refutation of this rumour would be as welcome as a cold glass of carrot juice to a visually impaired man in the Gobi desert.
Tom

Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
23 September 1944
Hermes and Siobhan,
There are games of chess in which the outcome is very obvious for a time before the king is finally forced into checkmate, and this is probably one of them. I would like to think that our government in Ireland cannot keep holding back the forces of modernity forever, but I cannot have the same confidence on that score. I’ve been thinking intensely, as I do about these things, about Siobhan’s desire to go around the world working for aid organisations. Our race have a long history of wanderlust and have connections all over the world, which throws our current isolationism into sharper relief. It’s also good to know, on reflection, that stability isn’t your absolute priority for your child, and give my blessing to whatever course of action you choose. After all, I was brought up in extremely unstable circumstances and it didn’t do me any harm did it? Did it? Answers on a postcard, please. Seriously, if my grandchild is anything like me he would prefer growing up in Africa or India to being in some dull, fucntionalist post-war school in England or Germany. Normally, after a war, people become extremely conservative, eager to cling onto the lives they managed to preserve, but the population of the allied countries would be untrue to their rhetoric of fighting a war for freedom if this were to be the case. Just make sure Tommy gets to see his grandfather once in a while.
Tom


10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
14 October 1944
Tom,
I wanted to begin this letter by saying that I had good news and bad news, but this latter term hardly does justice to some of the news coming from Poland. The good news, briefly, is that the Russians have made advances on the Easten Front, the bad news... It seems my countrymen have been hoarding Jews onto cattle trucks, taking them to huge camps where they are asphyxiated with gas... yes, read it a few times, for it will take a while to sink in, a dozen or so words on a page that recount what may be the greatest crime against humanity ever commited: there are those who dismiss the news as Soviet propaganda, those who claim there must be some mistake... yet it so congruent with Nazi philosophy that I fear we have not yet heard the worst, that we have lifted up a stone and let the horrendous creatures under it run amuck, that we are about to look into a mirror and see everything dark and evil about our species reflected back at us: It is times like this I wish I had the sort of stoicism and equanimity you have, but I know only age and experience can deliver these gifts, so I am forced to seek sucour from you in this hour of terror, assuming you can read this information from my quivering hands.
Hermes



Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
25 October 1944
Hermes,
Yes, I too have heard of these concentration camps, and even after all I have seen, my capacity for shock has been proven undiminished. Yet in this hour of global grief, there must also be some reasoned analysis, and to me it seems a logical continuation of much of the trends of the twentieth century, rather than the horrible abberation that it will undoubtedly be portrayed as. Once upon a time we killed animals for food and fought ourselves for food and women, now we corral cattle into slaughterhouses; it seems logical that someone would eventually do the same to humans. And, bear in mind, it’s only about 50 years since American Indians were given the rights that Jews recently lost in Germany. Fifty years before that, and a million and a half of my countrymen were deliberately starved... yet no amount of reasoning can dull the shock I feel, and you must as well: I only hope it strengthens the desire of you and my daughter for a better world. With the news that the nazis are evacuating camps my pains have eased, but not gone away completely, heaven forbid, but maybe there is another Pandora’s Box to be opened somewhere.
Tom





10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
3 November 1944
Tom,
I dread to think what other horrors your pains could portend, but succour is to be found in my growing child, who is currently spending a lot of time down here: there is not much work in the shelter right now and the landlady’s animus has shifted, at least momentarily, from the Irish to the Germans. I would like to put your continuationist hypothesis to her, and maybe mention the Irish famine, just to see her reaction, though I suppose it would be something along the lines of kicking us out on our asses, baby and all: anyway, the sight of people walking around en masse, as they do in London gives Siobhan the shivers at the moment: so crumbling and decayed is the city at the moment that it could pass for one gigantic death camp: this is what it could become if the rumours of van Braun’s latest invention are true. The nearest thing I have to good news is reports that the nazis are losing what people here are starting to call the Battle of the Bulge, though less to a Nordic god’s hammer blow than to a cancer which has gradually found it’s way into their country and is eating from the inside. For some reason, I’ve never thought of sending that image to allied propagandists, or mentioned it to my landlady.
Hermes



Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
19 November 1944
Hermes,
Your last letter reminded me of a passage from Ullyses, I won’t spoil it for you by revealing which one. Have you got over the shock of the news of the death camps? I would like to think no one could ever be shocked ever again, but I fear that no matter how long you or I live there will be horror expressed at things far more trivial, while things almost as serious are ignored. After this, I’ve stopped looking into my metaphorical crystal ball and trying to predict the future, as I could never have predicted this, though I did say the war would last five years and... sorry, I had to stop myself their, it’s a sort of addiction. I’m glad to know you and your family are spending more time together. Have you made any more plans for the future? Silly Question. Ask Siobhan to write.
Tom









573 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
10 December 1944
Da,
Sorry I haven’t written in a while, but I’ve been busy making plans for after the war. It isn’t going to be over by this Christmas, it seems, though it could be by the next one. I’ve been visitiing a new organisation called Oxfam who organise famine relief around the world. There’s this really fascinating woman there who explained to me that behind the rhetoric of this war is a plan by the Americans for a new form of colonisation of Africa, and she fears the multinational banks that will undertake this conquest will use famine to subdue the people in much the same way the Bitish did to us. Her whole spiel had a sense of deja-vu about it, so if you were the one who explained this to me before, I’m sorry I didn’t give you the attention you deserved at the time. I really want to be there when the famines take place to help the people, and leave dealing with the underlying causes to others. The people in the office want me to do administrative work because I have a young child and all, but the idea of working in a poky little office in London doesn’t appeal to me that much. AAYOIW. Most of the children in the orphanage have been given placements for Christmas and Hermes will get time off as well so we plan to have a quiet Christmas with our friends in Kilburn. It may seem like a terrible thing to say, but now that the war is nearly over, we feel more uncertainty than we have any year since we came here, though, paradoxically, our prospects are probably much better than the people who had to fight the war. Happy Christmas, HYPANTB.
Siobhan
Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
20 December 1944
Hermes and Siobhan,
“I am in blood stepped so far, returning was as tedious as going o’er”, wails Macbeth after killing has become a way of life for him. If you’re guilty about fearing the end of the war, don’t be, the people who should be are the allied powers, for whom this war has allowed arms manufacturers to tie in a Gordian knot. Whether these arms are used to counter a hypothetical bolshevik threat or sold to the new “decolonised” regimes in Africa is anybody’s guess, but I am left feeling that this war will no more be a war to end all wars than the last one. I’m sorry I can’t offer a more consoling Christmas message, but then I’m not the King of England, and I’m glad I’m not Joseph Goebbels, who must have walked over the thin line dividing exageration and deceit a long time ago. I do think Europe will learn some lessons from this war, the most important being that our small little continent isn’t the centre of the world any more, though some nations will learn this better than others, not that I want to mention any names. It pleases me so much that you both want to work for a better world, the issue of where you do this work seems irrelevent to me. Happy Christmas, Hope the war will be over by the next one.
Tom





10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
10 January 1945
Tom,
Thanks for that wonderfully honest Christmas message. We didn’t get it ‘till a few days ago, which I suppose shouldn’t surprise either of us that much. The ironic thing is that I’ve heard rumours that Churchill has deliberately withheld grain from starving Indians in Bengal, which seems to confirm both your earlier scepticism about him and your prognostications about the post-war world; perphaps this is why the evacuation of the death camps has not brought about any end to your pains. More horror stories reach us all the time, and, unlike during the Irish famine, those people with cameras will not flinch from showing us the details, so maybe we might learn from this. Rumours of missile attacks from Germany mean we are on high alert here, and Siobhan has shifted from working in an orpahanage to being on rescue drill, which means we aren’t going to see so much of each other for a while at least. I have to resign myself stoically to not seeing Tommy for a while, but I know he has plenty of paternal support up in Kilburn. HYPANTB.
Hermes




Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
25 January 1945
Hermes,
So I did mention before that I never liked that Churchill chappie. I’m not sure when my animus toward him began, perhaps it was when he did everything in his then thankfully limited power to stop Irish independence, something that almost the entire population of the 26 counties wanted, or when he referred to Gandhi, a man far more enlightened than himself, as a “half-naked fakir”; but he’s always come across as being a hypocritical imperialist boor. Hypocritical, because he positions himself as a champion of democracy while supporting manifestly undemocratic imperial regimes, boorish because of the way he expresses his contrary views. Actually, as the fear of nazi spies infesting Ireland has probably sunbsided, this letter may not be censored, even though it’s one of the most seditious that I’ve written. It’s just another of life’s little ironies. Still getting the pains, am reconsidering your old plan to go to Harley St. and see the effects of the luftwaffe at first hand.
Tom







10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
12 Febuary 1945
Tom,
Amazingly, your last letter wasn’t censored, except in a sense by myself, as I’ve been afraid to discuss the issues in it with anyone. I think we discussed that whole issue before, actually. I forgot to tell you that I finished reading War and Peace and was happy for the Russians who went back to their old status quo ante bellum lives, but, being in the position I am, I wanted to know what happened to the invading french (and Germans) who must have returned to iginimony if they didn’t die in the Russian snows. I’m reading Anna Karenina right now, in my occasional spare moments, and am constantly awestruck by the fact that Tolstoy died only about ten years before I was born. Has the world changed all that much in such a short space of time? If so, the Chinese philopher who asked us to live in interesting times wouldn’t be dissapointed by our current epoch. Siobhan rings regularly, and gets Tommy to express some of his burgeoning vocabulary into the phone. She wants to do relief work in India when the war is over, which I sense will be soon. I guess you’ll have no shortage of advice for her if she goes down that path. HYPANTB.
Hermes.




Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
25 Febuary 1945
Hermes,
I suppose we’d be doing our epoch a disservice if we didn’t admit it was fascinating, but I often wonder how much really changes. After all, in the last century, people thought things were getting better all the time but they were building bigger guns and boats and tanks that would lead to the carnage of the last war. My own sense is that there are certain constants in human behaviour that no amount of civilisation will eliminate, and, tragically, the need for some sort of conflict is one of them. Unfortunately, after this war the root causes of conflict will probably never be examined as a small group of Nazi fanatics are asked to carry the entire culpability for the deaths of however many million people on their shoulders. After the war we’ll go on eating as much meat as ever, probably more than ever, still go on trying to impress the opposite sex with acts of physical prowess, still blame other races for our problems... well, I guess I’m not completely innocent of that last crime myself, so I shouldn’t be so aloof. If you ever get to read any of Tolstoy’s philosphical work you’ll see where I got all this from. It’s disconcerting to know that ever since civilisation began there have been people like ourselves who dream of a better world and this is where it has got us, but I take comfort in the fact that civiliastion is such a recent development on an evolutionary scale. Sorry to be so downbeat, but I think at least one person should see the truth behind the lies.
Tom

10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
15 March 1945
Tom,
You don’t have to apologise for being downbeat, you know what a precious commodity truth is in time of war, I don’t think an orchid in the desert is ever asked to apologise for it’s existence. I’ve been given a lot of thought to what you said, and think that no matter how forlorn the fight to make the world a better place is worth being engaged in anyway, even after so many millions of people have died, I still feel it’s worth trying to improve the lives of a few of them. Western Civilisation is all we have, the challenge is to try and improve it. How we go about that is a huge, probably unanswerable question. Siobhan is ringing all the time, she assures me she will write to you one of these days.
Hermes.









Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
13 April 1945
Hermes,
I’m glad you’re youthful idealism wasn’t entirely diluted by the Machiavellian game of devil’s advocate (I have to admit that my position wasn’t entirely a rhetorical one, but that’s by the by) Usually when people have kids they stop looking for a better world and start hoping for great things for their offspring, and I’d like to think I played a part in your being an exception. Actually, come to think of it, the Catholic Church stopped allowing priests to have kids in the 11th Century and didn’t exactly become bohemian anarchists, but as a general rule my last point is true. I hope you suceed as a diplomat, or whatever else you want to do, as the world needs people like you, but Always remember, though, that your utopia might be someone else’s hell. Why hasn’t Siobhan written in so long?
Tom









10 Evergreen Terrace,
Dover,
Kent,
United Kingdom
1 May 1945
Tom,
Normally I wouldn’t be too worried about Siobhan not writing in a while but she hasn’t rang me in a while either so I’m starting to get worried. I’m sure that if anything really bad happened her she would have phoned, or else one of her friends would have, though I’m not entirely sure if any of them have my number down here. I would go up to London but for some reason I’m being asked to work weekends, though a German surrender is expected any day now. As soon as I get news that she is alright, I will try to ring you, though it would be bizarre if I finally got through to you at this late stage in the war. I’m still being told there’s a place for me in the secret service after the war but I want to postpone any descision on this matter to when I have a clearer head. I’m not sleeping so well and am being forced to work long days, otherwise I’d get a late train up to London and commute back down. When I do get any sleep I have repeated nightmares that Siobhan has been a victim of a V2 attack: on one occasion I woke up to hear one flying overhead, I hope that’s not a bad omen. I hope your pains are alright, I’m getting similar pains in my chest now, though I grieve for only one person instead of the human race as a whole.
Hermes.



Ballanasaoirse
Co. --------
Saorstat Eireann
10 May 1945
Hermes,
I wouldn’t worry too much about my daugther; I think I would sense if anything had happened her, and what sort of aleatory, amoral universe would it be if a stray rocket-bomb was allowed to strike down such a wonderful creature in the prime of her youth? It’s a time to rejoice, as one of the greatest threats to civilisation as a whole has been eliminated, even if our noble, visionary prime minister has taken it upon his narrow, sloped shoulders to provide an ugly, incongruent coda to the defeat of Nazism by offering his condolences to the German legation on the death of Hitler. It’s times like these one almost suspects your landlady is right, but almost is the key word here. I’d appreciate it nonetheless if you let me know when you find out Siobhan is alright. Congratulations on your part in the defeat of the Nazi menace.
Tom









571 Edgeware Road
Kilburn
London NW7
18 May 1945
Tom,
I’m not sure how I can tell you this tale; I fear if I tell you the main point at the beginning, the shock might be too much to bear, so I’ll begin at the beginning. If you want to get straight to the point just read the last few sentences. Yes, the war ended and everyone was out on the streets waving their little flags and singing their little ditties, but I wanted to use my day off work to get back to London to find out what had happened Siobhan. I got a train up to London, where the atmosphere was again ebuillient, one after another chirpy cockney types approached me with imprecations like “‘ere, cheer up guv’nor, ver war’s over. ‘itler’s dead.” I explained my situation with growing weariness and recieved a mixture of solemnity and reassurances that Siobhan was probably okay. I had to keep talking in that riduculous Liverpool accent I’ve been affecting for the last four years while talking to ordinary English people. When I finally got off the train in London, there was even more bedlam, celebrations everywhere, a mass of Union Jacks and St. George’s crosses, soldiers returning from the front, maimed and bruised, to meet their proud families, little kids licking lollypops, old women waving handkerchiefs. I felt like I was swimming against the tide, on the underground I felt I was in some new circle of the inferno where no-one could understand me. I got off in Kilburn high street, to endure more of the same, strange women coming up to me on the street planting kisses on my cheeks, I brushed them off as politely as I could. The busses didn’t seem to be running, so I had to make my way to Siobhan’s place on foot. I felt a growing sense of foreboding as I passed the hollowed-out husks of houses that had fallen victim to the dreaded V2s, and tried to make sense of the incongruity of people celebrating this most phyrric of victories, for what sort of victory is it that robs the victor of so many of her children? I made my way to Siobhan’s house, banged on the door ‘till my hands were bruised, then ran out of patience and kicked in the door. I found the place exactly as it would have been left by her, yet she remained eerily absent. I went over to her friend Mary’s house, two doors down the road. I knocked gently, knew from the tender, sympathetic embrace she gave me what had happened. On her way home from work she called into an office of the aid agency for whch she wished to work. She spent about an hour in there, discussing her plans for after the war. On her way out, a screaming came through the air, a V2 hit the building she was passing, causing rubble to fly in all directions. A piece hit her on the head, rendering her sweet, innocent face unrecognisable. Only the papers in her pocket made her identifiable. At the time Tommy was at home with Mary, where I am now. We’re coming back to you in a week or so, if you’ll accept us. I know that I’m ultimately to balme for your wonderful daughter’s death but feel I must face you. Please try and find it in your capacious heart to forgive the monster that lust and greed has made me.
Hermann Schillerz