Secrets and Shadows by Brian Gallagher Page B

warning posters in Liverpool to know that this was the kind of thing done by spies. But Mr Pawlek being a spy seemed ridiculous. Barry tried to tell himself that he was being dramatic, that his over-active imagination was running away with him. Yet his instincts insisted that something wasn’t right.
    He watched as Mr Pawlek turned and made his way back alongthe waterfront toward the centre of Cobh. Barry stood well back, out of the teacher’s line of sight, but followed his progress as he walked away briskly.
    Could he really be spying? Mr Pawlek was Polish, and Poland wasn’t at war with Ireland, so that hardly made sense.
Unless, of course, he was lying.
Germany was right beside Poland. Supposing he was German, but pretending to be Polish? His English was excellent, and Barry couldn’t have told the difference between a German and Polish accent. And a German agent might well be interested in Ireland’s naval headquarters – especially if the Nazis decided to invade Ireland, which was still a fear of the Irish Government.
    Barry thought too of all the innocent-seeming questions that Mr Pawlek had asked him: about where his father’s ship was based, and where his mother’s aircraft factory was situated in Liverpool. Wasn’t that exactly the kind of information a spy gathered?
    Mr Pawlek, enemy agent
…in one way the idea was exciting. But mostly it was scary to think that he might be dealing with a Nazi, knowing how ruthless they were. Barry stood gazing over the water, the summer sun forgotten now as a tiny chill ran up his spine.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    G race hated doing homework, especially on bright summer evenings like this. Just one more week and school would be over, with the holidays stretching out before her. She had slotted in well at her new school in Stanhope Street, but she definitely wouldn’t be sorry when the term ended.
    Now that she had finished tea, Grace was sitting in a corner of the kitchen going over her spellings. Granddad was lighting his pipe, Uncle Freddie was reading the newspaper and Ma was doing her trick with the carrots – though Grace wished that she wouldn’t.
    Grace didn’t want to hurt Ma’s feelings, so she never complained about the taste when her mother grated carrots, baked the gratings in the oven, and then used the blackened results as ‘tea leaves’. Ma mixed them with regular leaves to stretch out the supply of rationed tea, and sometimes when supplies were really short the carrot ‘tea leaves’ alone were used.
    Ma was doing her best to keep everyone in the house happy. But Grace knew that she was trying to find somewhere else she could afford to rent, despite Granddad saying that they were welcome to stay as long as they liked.
    ‘Your man Churchill takes the biscuit!’ said Uncle Freddie, putting down his newspaper and shaking his head.
    ‘What ails you now?’ asked Granddad, puffing contentedly on his pipe.
    ‘He’s going on about freedom and keeping the Nazis at bay,’ said Freddie.
    ‘Well, in fairness, Freddie, isn’t he doing just that?’ answered Ma.
    ‘Good woman, yourself, Nancy!’ said Granddad with a chuckle.
    Grace was pleased that Ma had disagreed with her uncle. When Freddie buttered Ma up she found it embarrassing, especially when Ma didn’t dismiss his flattery outright.
    ‘He’s keeping the Nazis at bay,’ argued Freddie, ‘but the only freedom he cares about is England’s.’
    ‘How do you know what he cares about?’ asked Granddad.
    ‘From what he allowed. Didn’t the Royal Navy pursue the German ship
Altmark
into a Norwegian fjord? They violated Norwegian waters – and the next thing you know the Nazis decided Norway wasn’t really neutral, and invaded the country.’
    ‘I didn’t realise that,’ said Ma.
    ‘And Churchill has his beady eyes on our ports,’ insisted Freddie.
    ‘Are you saying Churchill’s going to invade us?’ said Granddad.
    Despite normally dismissing most of what Uncle Freddie said, Grace