The City of Shadows. Michael Russell

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      MICHAEL RUSSELL

       The City of Shadows

      For Anita

      I have been here before,

      But when or how I cannot tell;

      I know the grass beyond the door,

      The sweet keen smell.

       ‘Sudden Light’

       Dante Gabriel Rossetti

      Table of Contents

       Title Page

       Dedication

       Epigraph

       Part One: Free State

       1. The Phoenix Park

       2. Merrion Square

       3. Harold’s Cross

       4. Stephen’s Green

       5. Clanbrassil Street

       6. Kilranelagh Hill

       7. The Mater Hospital

       8. Kilmashogue

       9. The Gate

       10. Red Cow Lane

       11. Adelaide Road

       12. Weaver’s Square

       Part Two: Free City

       13. Oliva Cathedral

       14. Danzig-Langfuhr

       15. Zoppot Pier

       16. Mattenbuden Bridge

       17. The Forest Opera

       18. Silberhütte

       19. The Westerplatte

       20. The Dead Vistula

       Part Three: Free Will

       21. Glenmalure

       22. Dorset Street

       23. Westland Row

       24. Baltinglass Hill

       A Tale of Two Treaties

       Acknowledgements

       About the Author

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

      PART ONE

      Free State

       Inthe back drawing-room there was a quantity of medical and electrical apparatus. From the ceiling, operated by pulleys, was a large 170 centimetre shadow less operating lamp hanging over a canvas covered object – when the cover was removed it was found to be a gynaecological chair with foot rests. The detective sergeant found a specially padded belt that could be used in conjunction with the chair. Among the objects found in the drawing-room was a sterilising case, in the drawer of which were wads of cotton wool. In the office there was a cardboard box containing a dozen contraceptives and a revolver.

       The Irish Times

      1. The Phoenix Park

       Dublin, June 1932

      The moon shone on the Liffey as it moved quietly through Dublin, towards the sea. The river was sparkling. Silver and gold flecks of light shimmered and played between the canal-like embankments of stone and concrete that squeezed it tightly into the city’s streets. By day the river was grey and sluggish, even in sunlight, darker than its sheer walls, dingier and duller than the noisy confusion of buildings that lined the Quays on either side. Its wilder origins, in the emptiness of the Wicklow Mountains, seemed long forgotten as it slid, strait-jacketed and servile, through the city it had given birth to. It wasn’t the kind of river anyone stood and looked at for long. It had neither majesty nor magic. Its spirit had been tamed, even if its city never had been. From Arran Quay to Bachelor’s Walk on one side, from Usher’s Quay to Aston Quay on the other, you walked above the river that oozed below like a great, grey drain. And if you did look at it, crossing from the Southside to the Northside, over Gratton Bridge, the Halfpenny Bridge,

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