by Gordon Ryan
The magistrate shifted uncomfortably on his seat, coughed a bit, then pounded his gavel on the bench. “Yes, yes, well, we’ll see about that in due course. The prisoner is remanded into custody and will be transported immediately.”
As Tom and Sir Reginald shook hands, the barrister said, “This is not the end of it, you understand. I’ll persist in trying to have you released and deported.” The prisoner was then immediately shackled, hand and foot, by two Irish Guarda officers.
“Take heart, Tom. I shall keep working on this case at the highest levels,” Sir Reginald continued.
As he was being led away, Tom said, “It’s Katie I’m worried about, Reggie. Anders had a hard enough time keeping her from coming over here. Now when she hears the sentence ... Contact her, encourage her, and keep her informed, please.”
“You can count on it, Tom. Godspeed. I’ll be in touch.”
The ride to Portlaoise Prison, located about fifty miles west of Dublin, took nearly two hours. Two other prisoners were being transported in the canvas-enclosed back of the truck and two guards sat also inside the rear, separated from the prisoners by a wire barrier. No talking was to be allowed, but the two Irishmen ignored the guards’ repeated attempts to get them to shut up.
“We hear ya done well, Yank,” the more burly of the two other prisoners said.
“Time will tell,” Tom replied. It struck him as ironic that in his native land, on his way to prison, he was viewed as a foreigner.
“The bloody Brit’s seen his best day, man. He’s through in this land and he knows it. And as for the Irish traitors who sat at their feet and licked crumbs from their table,” the prisoner said, looking through the wire at the guard and spitting on the floor of the truck, “there’ll be no place in Ireland deep enough for him to hide.”
“I said shut your gob,” the guard bellowed, rapping on the wire with his billy.
The truck arrived at the prison and was driven through an archway in the two-foot-thick stone walls. Once in the center of the compound, the truck stopped, and the guards opened the rear door and the wire cage, motioning for the prisoners to climb down. Shackled closely together, the men struggled to maintain their balance as they exited the truck. After the prisoners were all on the ground, one of the guards from the truck stepped behind the three shackled men. Suddenly the man next to Tom, the one who had derided the guard, grunted and fell to his knees from an unseen blow to the small of his back. Tom was jerked off balance by their connecting chains and went to one knee.
“Get up, Yank,” the guard bellowed, “unless you want some of the same.”
Tom tried to assist the downed man to his feet, but received a kick in the buttocks from the guard. “I didn’t say to help him, I said get up.”
Tom rose slowly, but his chains prevented him from standing fully upright while his companion remained on the ground.
“Now you, Mick. Stand on your feet.”
Grimacing in pain, the other prisoner got to his feet and stood unsteadily alongside Tom. Both men remained silent as several guards gathered around. One of them, wearing a wide, polished leather belt around his waist, came to stand in front of the Irish prisoner.
“You’ve been granted a five-year visit with us, lad. We’ll brook no mouth of yours in here. If you’re to see your dear, sweet mother again, you’ll do what you’re told, as you’re told, and when you’re told. And that goes for the lot of you. Do I make myself clear, lads?” the man said.
The three prisoners looked down at the ground, avoiding eye contact with the warder and didn’t speak.
“Right, move ’em inside.”
Chapter 14
May, 1920
London, England
United States Congressman Anders Hansen, Chairman of the House Foreign Relations Committee, argued as forcibly as he could that his sister, Katrina Callahan, should remain in Salt Lake and let government officials handle things. But Katrina was not a woman who was going to let her husband rot in a British jail while the politicians—including her brother—muddled through the morass of protocol. Her only concession to Congressman Hansen—the name she applied to her brother whenever she disagreed with him—was that she would be grateful for his company during her trip to the British Isles. She was, in fact, appreciative of his advice and possible influence. She suspected that were she to travel to Ireland alone, she would only encounter multiple levels of “pass-the-buck” bureaucracy. She hoped her brother could help steer her through the process that would see Tom released. London, not Ireland, was the place to begin, Anders had assured her, and to this bit of political savvy, she listened.
Aware of the purpose of Tom’s mission to Ireland, Katrina had nevertheless been floored six months earlier by the news of his arrest, and also by the brevity of Tom’s statement:
“Arrested by British authorities–Stop–Trial in January–Stop –Notify Anders–Stop–Do not come to Ireland–Stop–Love, Tom”
When Anders had finally telephoned her thirty-six hours later with the full story of Tom’s arrest, Katrina’s impulse was to leave immediately for Ireland. Distraught and frantic, she was only prevented from doing so by her brother’s pleadings and those of his wife, Sarah. Together, they were finally able to convince Katrina to remain at home until the issue had been well considered and all political avenues explored. Four weeks later, Katrina traveled to Washington, D.C., to stay with Anders and Sarah until arrangements could be made to travel to London to meet with the proper authorities.
With the possibility of execution hanging quite literally over Tom’s head, Katrina had at first been crazy with fear. But Sir Reginald’s advice that Tom plead guilty and throw himself on the mercy of the court had proven sound. At least Tom wasn’t going to be hanged. Still, her husband had been sentenced to fifteen years in prison, and Katrina worried constantly how it must be for him—to be so far from home, locked up in who knows what kind of conditions. A continual exchange of cablegrams between Tom’s attorney and Congressman Hansen kept her sufficiently informed about the proceedings to keep her in D.C., but she was constantly agitated, sick with fear over Tom’s safety and finding it difficult to eat or sleep.
When the sentence was pronounced and news came that Tom had been transported to Portlaoise Prison, Katrina renewed her badgering of Anders to intercede politically. Then, when it appeared that nothing more could be done without actually going to England, Anders agreed to accompany Katrina there in an effort to somehow win amnesty for Tom. In the interim, Sir Reginald had appealed the verdict, seeking to get his client released from prison and deported.
Six weeks after Tom’s appeal to the prime minister had been denied, Katrina and Anders were seated in the outer office of Sir Reginald Hollister, barrister, waiting impatiently for their appointment. Hollister had been surprised the previous day to receive a phone call from Anders, announcing the fact that Mrs. Thomas Callahan, and her brother, Congressman Anders Hansen, were in London. Anders hoped his presence would open doors that would be closed to Katrina alone. It was unusual that the chairman of the United States Congressional Committee on Foreign Affairs would come to England. The political protocol attendant to such an impromptu visit, notwithstanding its unofficial nature, placed Sir Reginald in a difficult position. While he might have been inclined to merely placate Mrs. Callahan, he could not so easily avoid the level of courtesy required by the presence of a visiting legislator of Congressman Hansen’s stature. As Sir Reginald ushered Anders and Katrina into his office suite and took their coats, Katrina sensed the attorney’s British reserve—he was polite, but somewhat aloof.
“Please, be seated,” Sir Reginald said, motioning toward two leather chairs. His office window looked out onto the Thames River and Big Ben and the British houses of parliament beyond. It was a magnificent view, but one that was largely lost on Katrina.
Anders spoke first. “Please accept our thanks for seeing us so quickly, Sir Reginald. We know that it has been an imposition.”
“Not at all, Congressman Hansen. I am very much involved in your brother-in-law’s case and still hopeful of resolution.”
“Has there been any change?” Katrina interjected.
Sir Reginald had always appreciated a pretty face and before responding to Katrina, he briefly studied her. She wore a dark, full-length skirt and a white, ruffled, long-sleeved blouse, buttoned to her throat. The simple ensemble, he thought, quite flattered her trim figure, and with her blonde hair pulled up on top of her head under a broad brimmed hat, she was an attractive woman. He judged her to be about forty years of age, and under any other circumstance, he might have enjoyed meeting such a woman. But now, she was understandably agitated and was struggling to manage her emotions.
Sir Reginald shook his head. “I’m afraid not. These things take time. I understand that is not much consolation, but I am personally attending to your husband’s case.”
“Perhaps that’s the problem,” she said abruptly.
“Katrina!” Anders said.
“No, Anders,” she replied, glancing toward her brother, “Sir Reginald needs to hear exactly how I feel and understand my intentions.”
Anders shifted nervously in his seat and gave a half-hearted smile to Sir Reginald.
“I’m not certain I understand,” Sir Reginald said.
“Then let me make myself clear. I know that Tom has been most appreciative of your efforts to resolve his case and that he has full faith in your continued efforts. However, what is being done simply isn’t sufficient,” she said.
Sir Reginald looked toward Anders and back again at Katrina. “I’m still not certain—”
“I know you mean well, sir, but you are bound by your own traditions and protocol and probably fear offending your political peers. I have no such impediments. When all is said and done, Sir Reginald, this is a political issue, as you well know. We are not talking about criminals in the true sense, and that goes for most of the Irish military and political leaders as well. I am a Norwegian by birth, Sir Reginald, in case you weren’t aware, and my own country has only recently received its independence from Sweden. Certainly you can understand my sympathy for Ireland’s cause, even if Tom had not been born Irish.”
“Mrs. Callahan, it was difficult enough to persuade the Crown to drop charges of treason—charges which would have brought a death sentence, or, at a minimum, life imprisonment, as was the case with Willie Ryan, the man captured with your husband.”
“Sir Reginald,” Katrina continued, smiling sweetly at the older man, “treason is most often a political charge, is it not? In the beginning of the American Revolution, I believe the Crown considered George Washington a traitor but later dealt with him as the president of his country.” Katrina leaned forward in her chair and smiled again at the barrister. “In a few years, I wouldn’t be surprised to see your prime minister dealing with President Michael Collins of the nation of Ireland. I know this is difficult, but I am fighting for the life and freedom of the man I love, and my resources, Sir Reginald, are considerable. Make no mistake, I will use every penny that Thomas Callahan has amassed over the past twenty years. And that, sir, will buy a lot of press—politically oriented press, if you understand my meaning.”
“Katrina, I’ll not be party to this. This is blackmail,” Anders said, standing suddenly and staring down at his sister.
“Sir Reginald is doing his absolute best to free Tom. We should be grateful for that effort. He might have been hanged, you know. He admitted his guilt.”
“I know that, Anders,” she said, reaching for her brother’s hand. “And I also know that you and Sir Reginald are trapped by the system. A political system that grinds ever so slowly. I am not, and will not, be constrained by that system. It’s important that Sir Reginald, and the other British authorities, know of my resolve in this matter and that he deliver my message clearly.”
“Katrina, this is not like you at all. Had I known your intentions, I would never have agreed to come along,” Anders argued.
“I know that too, Anders,” she smiled sweetly, “that’s why I didn’t tell you.”
Sir Reginald leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his ample belly. A grin slowly formed on his face. “What would you have me do, Mrs. Callahan?” he asked.
“Sir Reginald, I want an immediate appointment with Prime Minister David Lloyd-George.”
Reginald’s eyebrows rose, and he clicked his tongue several times. “That, Mrs. Callahan, may prove difficult to arrange. The prime minister is very busy, you see.”
“Of course he is. And Tom has nothing but time on his hands, as I understand it. And I, sir, have nothing but a desire to see him freed.”
“I cannot promise anything, Mrs. Callahan, but there is a senior minister with whom I am closely associated. Perhaps he, in his capacity as Secretary for the Colonies, could be of some assistance. With your permission, I will contact him and request a few moments of his time.”
Still standing, Anders turned toward Sir Reginald. “That would be Churchill, would it not?”
“Indeed, Winston Churchill, formerly First Lord of the Admiralty.”
“How fitting,” Katrina said, rising to stand beside her brother. “Wasn’t Mr. Churchill the gentleman involved in the Gallipoli campaign?”
Sir Reginald rose and crossed to the front of his desk. “I see you’re well informed, too,” he said.
“My eldest son is now a New Zealand citizen, and as I understand it from his account, the Kiwi and Australian boys ... let’s see, I believe he used the expression ‘carried the can’ in that disastrous campaign,” she said, inclining her head and again presenting a broad smile.
“You have come prepared, haven’t you, madam?” Sir Reginald said, returning her smile. “I will see what I can do to arrange an appointment. My secretary will call your hotel immediately after I am able to arrange a meeting. It has been a great pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Callahan. If you are representative of the Norwegians, I can understand how your country achieved independence. I will be in touch.”
“Thank you, Sir Reginald. And by the way, it would be most appreciated if, in addition to Mr. Churchill, Prime Minister Lloyd-George would be able to attend our meeting.”
Sir Reginald Hollister paused a moment and then threw back his head and laughed loudly. “Congressman Hansen, you must stay in good stead with your sister. I shouldn’t be surprised to see her run for your seat, should you not perform to her expectations.”
“How right you are, Sir Reginald. Thank you for your time,” Anders said, shaking the older gentleman’s hand.
Three days later, at exactly 9:30 a.m., Anders and Katrina arrived at Sir Reginald’s law office, accompanied by the American ambassador to the Court of St. James, John W. Davis of West Virginia. Katrina had made good on her promise to Sir Reginald that she would invoke every available method to attract the necessary attention to her husband’s case. She had as yet not gone to Fleet Street, the center of most newspaper publishing, a restraint for which the American ambassador had offered his sincere appreciation.
Convincing the ambassador to accompany her and Anders to Sir Reginald’s had actually not been difficult. During their meeting the previous day, she had merely informed the gentleman that he was welcome to accompany her or not, but that the outcome of the meeting would certainly determine her next course of action. That night, in their hotel suite, Anders had nearly come to blows with his sister over what he had termed her abuse of wealth and position.
“Anders, I have loved you and listened to your advice all my life. But you have fallen under the spell of all politicians. Polite talk and veiled references to nonexistent intentions serve no one other than the politician. It works with the masses and keeps you all in office. Oh, make no mistake, I appreciate all you’ve been able to accomplish for Utah, along with Senator Smoot, but this time Tom’s life is at stake. Fifteen years, Anders, in that rotten, and no doubt disease-infested jail. Even if he’s not hanged, do you really think
he can physically stand that length of time under those conditions? I’ll not stand by and watch it. Mark my words, if Tom isn’t released, I will use every ounce of influence I have, and every dollar Tom has, to publicize the Irish cause and if necessary, I’ll give it all to the Irish to buy more guns.”
“Katrina, that’s not Christian and you know it, and you also know Tom wouldn’t want that,” Anders pleaded. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“And I hope you never have to again, but I will have Tom out of that dungeon.”
Entering Sir Reginald’s office with her retinue, Katrina caused quite a stir. When Ambassador Davis appeared along with Katrina, Sir Reginald was immediately summoned from his inner office. As he stepped through the door and recognized the ambassador, Katrina could see his surprise at her startling addition to the party list.
“Mr. Ambassador, I had no knowledge of your attendance this morning.”
“I understand, Sir Reginald. Please excuse my impropriety in coming without notification,” Davis said.
“Please, come in,” he said, ushering the trio into his inner office. As they crossed into the room, another gentleman stood, nodding at the ambassador.
“Good morning, Mr. Ambassador,” the other gentleman said and offered his hand.
“And to you, Mr. Churchill. It’s my pleasure, sir,” the ambassador replied. “Allow me to introduce you. Mr. Churchill, this is Mrs. Thomas Callahan of Salt Lake City, Utah, and her brother, Congressman Anders Hansen.”
