When the men were all aboard, the band ceased playing, and the men must have been released from their orders, for suddenly they could be seen moving about again, clipping each other about the ears, slapping each other’s backs and waving to loved ones in the crowd on the docks. The sun was hovering on the horizon now, and it was light enough to pick out faces on deck. With the dying away of the band the murmuring of the crowd picked up again, and people started to fidget and look at their watches and rub their hands together for warmth. They looked as if they wished the boat would set sail now and be done with it, so that they could all get home to their breakfasts. A few women sobbed quietly into the handkerchiefs they had been waving so bravely a moment ago, and if Mary Ann hadn’t been standing there looking unmoved by it all, Amelia would have had a little sob herself. As it was, she swallowed hard and turned to her friend.
‘I didn’t see him, did you?’
‘Ah sure, there’s hundreds of them, all dressed the same. And he didn’t know to look out for us.’
‘Oh, Mary Ann, to think of him going off to Flanders, thinking that there is nobody here to see him off! Poor Frederick!’
‘They’re going to France, actually, northern France,’ said Mary Ann, matter-of-factly. ‘I heard somebody next to me saying it. They’ll be docking at a place called Le Harver. Would you think that’s a place, or is it just the French for “the harbour”?’
‘Well, France, Flanders, what does it matter? It comes to the same thing. There he goes, and nobody to see him off and wish him godspeed.’ Amelia sounded mournful.
‘Ah not at all.’ Mary Ann relented. ‘Sure, we’re here.’
‘Yes, but he doesn’t know that.’
‘That doesn’t make any difference. Wishing godspeed counts, whether the person knows it or not.’
‘Oh, do you think so?’ asked Amelia earnestly. ‘Do you think if we closed our eyes, and concentrated very hard, we might somehow get through to him, that he might sort of sense that there’s somebody out there?’
Mary Ann looked at Amelia’s sad little face and said: ‘Oh, definitely. Let’s do it now!’
So the two girls stood very still and closed their eyes and concentrated on transmitting farewell messages to Frederick. Amelia still had her eyes closed and her face all screwed up in concentration when she heard a shout of ‘Aaa-meel-i-a! Aaa-meel-i-a!’ When she opened her eyes, the sun was right up and the scene was filled with light, but all she could see, having had her eyes so tightly shut, were purple and green after-images swimming before her face. Gradually her vision cleared, and she could see that the boat was moving very slowly and gingerly away from the quayside, and there were dozens of khaki figures hanging over the side of the boat and waving and shouting. Had she imagined it? But no. She heard it again, she was sure, her name called long and loud from the deck of the boat. She still couldn’t pick Frederick out, but she knew he was there somewhere and was calling to her. Hesitantly she raised her neckerchief again and, feeling slightly foolish, she waved it in the general direction of the boat. But there was no point in feeling foolish at a time like this, and as the boat drifted away she waved with more conviction and called to the squirming masses aboard: ‘Goodbye. Goodbye, Frederick. Good luck!’
Just then, a small dawn gust of wind got up and snatched her neckerchief out of her hand. It fluttered for a moment just out of her reach, and then, with a little flourish of its tail, it sailed off after the boat.
Trouble at the Breakfast Table
As Mary Ann and Amelia made their way home, away from the docks and along the quays, they were met by Dublin awakening. On their way to the dockside that morning, the streets had been deserted, except for occasional seagulls, screaming and wheeling overhead, but now the city was coming to life. The shops weren’t open yet, and the workers hadn’t started their day, but there were plenty of people about, making deliveries and getting ready for the coming day. On Sackville Street, Amelia was amazed to see a raggle-taggle band of men marching along the middle of the road towards the river carrying rifles. They were led by a woman in military uniform with brass buttons on her tunic, and her skirt was swinging as she marched.
‘Mary Ann! Look!’ Amelia cried, astonished.
‘That’ll be the Countess,’ said Mary Ann.
‘Not Countess Markievicz?’ said Amelia in disbelief. This woman used to be a friend of Mama’s when Mama protested for women’s suffrage, but look at her now, leading an armed gang.
‘Yes.’
‘But where did she get the men, and the guns?’
‘Oh, that’s the Citizen Army,’ said Mary Ann.
‘Who are they? How are they allowed to march around with guns? Is it legal?’
‘I don’t know if it’s legal. They’re trade unionists, mostly. They’re a bit like the Volunteers.’
‘But why are they armed? I don’t understand.’
‘I suppose they’re getting ready for a rebellion.’
‘Oh, Mary Ann, is there going to be a rebellion, do you think?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ said Mary Ann cautiously.
‘But why? There’s going to be Home Rule, isn’t there, as soon as the war is over. Isn’t that what people want?’
‘No, there isn’t going to be Home Rule, Amelia, that’s all just hot air. The unionists aren’t going to put up with Home Rule, and the government is depending on the unionists. As long as the unionists mean the difference between power and no power, the government will keep the unionists happy, and to blazes with the rest of us.’
Mary Ann sounded very angry, all of a sudden. Amelia looked at her warily.
‘I don’t know, Mary Ann, it all seems very violent.’
‘No more violent than the war in Europe, and with much better reason. What’s the difference between Frederick Goodbody with a gun and Johnny O’Leary or Liam O’Malley or Patrick Maloney or whoever with a gun? He’s fighting your war, they’re fighting ours.’
‘It’s not my war,’ said Amelia tearfully.
‘Well, you’ve changed your tune, so,’ said Mary Ann, icily. ‘You were all excited at the idea a few days ago.’
‘Oh, Mary Ann, I don’t know what I think about it. I have to believe in Frederick, don’t I? Everyone else is against him.’
‘You do Amelia, you do,’ said Mary Ann, more softly, ‘but you don’t have to believe in his war.’
‘Nor you in this rebellion,’ countered Amelia.
‘That’s different,’ said Mary Ann.
‘How is it different?’
‘Well, in the first place, I think the cause is just. And in the second place, I was always in favour of this cause, I didn’t just take it up because some young fellow got himself involved in it.’
Amelia’s face burned when she heard it put like this, and tears stung her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Amelia, I don’t mean to be hard on you.’
Amelia sniffled. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I – I’m just a bit confused about it all. And I’m worried about Frederick. Mary Ann, what if he gets killed?’
‘Oh, Amelia, we’ll just have to pray that he doesn’t. That’s all we can do.’
And what about my Patrick? she thought to herself. He’s just as likely to get killed one of these fine days with his antics and his guns and his fine notions about rebellion. Mary Ann, just like Amelia, wasn’t half as sure of her position inside her head as she was when she spoke about it.
When the girls got back, footsore and with their hair in wisps about their faces from the sea breeze and their cheeks rosy from their adventure, everyone – except Grandmama, who always breakfasted alone – was seated around the breakfast table.
‘Thank God!’ exclaimed Mama, as soon as Amelia’s dishevelled head appeared around the dining-room door.
‘Where on earth have you been?’ thundered Papa at the same time. He stood up from the table and leant threateningly across the breakfast things.
Amelia entered the room shamefacedly and sat a
t her place. It was clear from the state of the breakfast table that Mary Ann hadn’t been there to supervise its laying. Cutlery lay about haphazardly and there was no butter knife.
‘Good morning, Papa, Mama,’ said Amelia, shaking out her napkin and smoothing it on her lap. ‘Mary Ann and I have been out for a walk. Sorry we’re late back. Did you have to get the breakfast yourself, Mama? What a shame!’ And calmly Amelia spread butter on a piece of cold, hard toast.
‘Went for a walk! You and Mary Ann!’ Papa repeated, incoherent with anger.
‘That’s right, Papa,’ said Amelia sweetly. Her knees were wobbling under the tablecloth, but she thought it best to maintain an unruffled aspect. If she showed that she was nervous or guilty, it would only draw suspicion on herself. So she tried to act as if going out for a walk with Mary Ann in the early morning and keeping her from her work was the most natural, normal behaviour imaginable.
‘What do you mean by this, Amelia?’ said Papa, beginning to be able to construct a coherent question at last.
‘Nothing, Papa,’ replied Amelia steadily.
‘Don’t you “nothing-Papa” me, young lady!’
‘I’m sorry, Papa.’ Amelia knees shook more than ever, and her hands shook too. She laid down her knife, and put her hands in her lap, so that her parents wouldn’t see how agitated she was.
But Amelia’s mother noticed. ‘Hush, Charles,’ she said softly, and then, turning to her daughter: ‘Your father and I have been very worried, Amelia.’
‘Me too,’ said Edmund, who’d sat wide-eyed through the scene so far.
‘I’m sorry, Mama,’ murmured Amelia, looking at her plate, which had a floral pattern on it and curlicues around the edge.
‘I think you have a duty to tell us where you’ve been.’
‘We didn’t mean to be late for breakfast. We thought we’d be back before you were all up.’
‘Back from where, Amelia?’
‘I’m sorry, Mama, I can’t tell you that.’ Amelia’s body had stopped shaking, but her limbs felt cold and her throat ached.
‘What do you mean, can’t tell?’ Papa broke in. Before she could answer, he went on: ‘No daughter of mine is going to go wandering about the streets in the middle of the night with a servant girl. I absolutely forbid you to do anything of the sort again, Amelia. Do you hear me, Amelia?’
‘Yes, Papa,’ whispered Amelia, still staring at her plate.
‘And now, you will tell us where you’ve been.’
‘I’m sorry, Papa.’
‘Sorry is not enough, Amelia. Where – have – you – been?’
‘I’m sorry, Papa,’ Amelia whispered again, steadfastly avoiding her father’s eye.
‘Hush, Charles,’ said Amelia’s mother again.
‘Don’t tell me to hush in my own house, Roberta!’
‘Oh please,’ wailed Amelia, looking up, ‘please don’t quarrel over me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ And she snatched her napkin up from her lap and buried her face in it.
Edmund jumped up from his seat, without asking if he might leave the table, and ran to his sister. He put his two thin arms around her and patted her back awkwardly. ‘There, there,’ he said, ‘there, there.’
Amelia’s arms crept around the little boy, and she kept her head hidden in his bony shoulder, and the two rocked back and forth, Edmund still saying ‘There, there,’ at intervals.
After a few moments, Amelia dabbed her face with her napkin and looked up at her parents. Her father sat stony-faced and her mother looked anxiously from daughter to father but said nothing.
‘Oh, Amelia!’ said her father in an anguished voice at last. ‘You must see that we just can’t have you behaving like this, and most particularly, we can’t have you wandering about and not letting us know where you are. It’s terribly, terribly worrying for us. You could have been knocked down in the street by a runaway horse or you might have fallen into the canal or anything, and we wouldn’t even have known where you were.’
‘Yes, I know. I just didn’t think,’ said Amelia, a small sob escaping with the words.
‘There, there,’ said Edmund again, patting Amelia’s knee, now that she was sitting up straight.
‘It’s all right, darling,’ said Amelia to her brother. ‘You go and finish your breakfast, now.’ And Edmund, with a final pat, left her side and went back to his scrambled egg.
‘I have to go now,’ said Amelia’s father, standing up again. ‘But by the time I get home this evening, I want a full account of this morning’s escapade.’ But even though he still sounded cross, he gave his daughter a little squeeze on the shoulder as he left the room.
In silence, Amelia crunched her toast. In silence, Edmund finished his scrambled egg. In silence, Mama drank her breakfast coffee.
‘May I be excused please, Mama?’ asked Edmund at last, sliding off his chair, even as he sought permission to do so.
‘Yes, Edmund, dear, of course,’ said Mama, and patted his head as he walked by her chair.
Edmund in turn patted Amelia again as he passed her chair, and, with great tact, he closed the door very softly behind him.
Amelia and her mother sat in silence for a little longer, Amelia keeping her gaze averted. But she couldn’t sustain this for long, and when she’d washed down the beastly cold toast with beastly bitter cold coffee, she finally lifted her face and looked her mother in the eye.
‘I went to see Frederick Goodbody off on the boat for France,’ she said quietly. ‘Please don’t blame Mary Ann. She only came because she said she couldn’t have me wandering the streets on my own. It’s not her fault.’
‘Oh, Amelia!’ Her mother leant across the table and lightly touched the back of Amelia’s hand where it lay in a fist beside her plate.
‘I knew you and Papa wouldn’t approve, and I’m sorry to have gone against your wishes, but I’m afraid I am not sorry to have gone.’
‘Poor Frederick!’ said Mama.
Amelia looked at her in surprise. Foolish Frederick, she thought Mama might have said, or Bad Frederick or Reckless Frederick. After all, Mama was an active pacifist, a member of the Fellowship for Reconciliation and the Women’s League for Peace and Freedom.
‘Did you say “Poor Frederick”?’ she asked. Why, this was just what she thought herself!
‘Why, yes. That poor lad, off to fight in such a horrible, filthy, bloody, man-slaughtering war. What sort of chance has he got out there? The poor, poor lad, and his poor, sad parents, how wretched they must feel!’ Amelia’s mother’s eyes filled with tears. ‘And poor Amelia, too. You must find it very hard, darling.’
Amelia thought the conversation was taking a curious turn. She expected that her mother would have chided her for her foolishness and defiance in walking to the North Wall to see the soldiers off, but instead she was being sympathetic about Frederick. She felt quite choked up.
‘He didn’t have anyone else to see him off, Mama,’ she said, determined to explain her action, even though no explanation was being required of her.
‘No, no, of course not, of course not. His parents were so opposed to his going. Such folly.’
Amelia wasn’t sure whether the folly applied to Frederick or to Frederick’s parents, so she said nothing in reply to this. After a while she asked: ‘Why do you say it is such a filthy, bloody war, Mama?’
‘Oh, child, all wars are filthy and bloody. That is why we are so opposed to them. But I believe this one is particularly filthy and bloody. Thousands of young men are being killed every week. And for what, for what?’
‘Thousands, Mama?’ Amelia thought she must be exaggerating.
‘Thousands,’ confirmed her mother.
‘So you don’t mind that I went?’
‘No, no. Just because we don’t approve of what Frederick is doing doesn’t mean that we would want to be unkind to him. You did the right thing.’
Amelia beamed.
‘But,’ her mother went on, ‘you were wrong to do it in secret. You wer
e wrong to sneak out of the house in the night like a wayward servant, and you were wrong to involve Mary Ann in your duplicity.’
Amelia stopped beaming and looked at her plate again, but her heart was light. She knew Mama was right, but she didn’t see how else she could have behaved. And she was pretty sure that Mama would put it all right with Papa that evening.
‘Mama, we saw Countess Markievicz marching through the streets with the Citizen Army. They had guns, Mama, real ones.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear, that foolish woman!’ said Mama, shaking her head.
‘She was a friend of yours, Mama. I remember.’
‘I knew her some years ago, when she was working for women’s suffrage. She’s always been interested in the nationalist cause.’
‘Mama, what do you think of the nationalist cause? Mary Ann has very strong feelings about it.’
‘Well, I agree with Mary Ann, to a very great extent, Amelia. There have been a great many injustices in this country. But as a pacifist I can’t condone the use of violence, no matter how strongly people may feel about these issues. I am committed to believing that the way to resolve these problems is through reconciliation. I am sad that Constance has got so mixed up with the violent side of the nationalist cause now. There are rumours that she is drilling youngsters and teaching them to shoot and let off bombs. That can’t be right, Amelia, and it’s very, very dangerous.’
Amelia felt uncomfortable at this little pacifist lecture, though she knew Mama was right.
‘Women are going to get the vote, Mama, aren’t we?’ she asked, to change the subject.
‘Well, I hope so. But while this wretched war is on, there will be no developments. Everything has to stand still in war time. There is time only for the war.’
‘Oh, Mama, you’ll be late for work,’ Amelia suddenly exclaimed, looking up at the wag-on-the-wall clock, which wagged away solemnly out of her mother’s vision. ‘It’s after half-past eight.’
No Peace for Amelia Page 5
