‘I’m keeping mine as a memento,’ Walkey said with uncharacteristic gravity.
‘I’m planning my first pint,’ Michael said with pride.
‘Your first pint?’ MacDonald asked. ‘Where have you been, Hegarty, in a seminary?’
‘My first pint as a soldier,’ he corrected.
Daniel knew how easy it was to let your guard slip amongst friends, to forget that you had arrived as a boy and remained so by age.
‘What will you do with yours?’ Walkey asked him now.
‘I’ve been looking for something to send to... my girl,’ Daniel said, awkwardly.
‘Ah, the great letter writer,’ Lecane confirmed.
Daniel smiled. He thanked God that she was.
‘You are far and away too serious about that girl,’ Michael said.
‘She is my life, Mick. It’s that simple.’
Michael sighed. ‘I had better buy you a pint, so, when the time comes or I’ll be drinking alone.’
‘You never drink alone in the army,’ Wilkin said.
Michael stroked his upper lip as if trying to encourage hair growth.
‘He’ll be talking to it next,’ MacDonald said. ‘Like a pet.’
‘Why don’t you grow one yourself, MacDonald, if it’s that easy?’ Michael snapped.
‘I like the feel of the air on my skin,’ he said fanning his face. He had the constant appearance of being on the verge of laughter. Daniel loved that about him.
‘That’s it! I’m getting rid of it.’ Michael leapt from his biscuit.
‘Ah, keep the little thing,’ Walkey encouraged. ‘Or we’ll have nothing to tease you about.’
‘I’m sure MacDonald will come up with something,’ Michael said. ‘He always does.’
‘True enough,’ MacDonald said. ‘True enough.’
It was school all over again – but with men.
A fear began to grow at the Curragh Camp that the war would be over before they had completed their training. When, in November, they received their uniforms, they brightened, expecting that they would soon be off to the front. But no orders came. Snow covered the plain in a silent, white blanket. Musketry training was introduced.
‘Where the blazes did you learn to shoot, Healy?’ asked Lieutenant Julien.
‘Beginner’s luck, sir,’ he said, then deliberately missed the next two shots.
Madame had taught him well, not only to shoot but also to care for his rifle. When his next pay was increased to reflect his ability, he ceased to miss shots.
Slowly, their training began to change. They were introduced to trench warfare, learning to attack, defend, dig, reinforce and maintain trenches. They engaged in night manoeuvres, one attack involving some four thousand men, bringing with it the first real feeling of war. They were taught gas defence and to work with barbed wiring. There was, they heard, a whole new method of warfare being employed on the fields of France and Belgium, which meant that the war would not be over by Christmas nor any time soon. Both sides had dug in.
Men began to arrive at the Curragh who had seen service. They had been wounded and, now, following recovery had been sent to the camp to regain their fitness before returning to war. They were the quietest of men, older in appearance. Weary. They gravitated to one another or remained entirely alone. They looked upon the new recruits with a mixture of pity and annoyance. They were a different species of soldier.
One day, in the Mess, a young Private approached the veterans’ table. He could not have been much older than Daniel himself.
‘Tell us of the war.’ He threw the question out like a novice fisherman casting a fly in the vague hope of a bite.
They eyed him as though he was indeed an annoying insect, then returned their eyes to the army fodder.
‘We’ll be over there soon enough,’ the Private insisted. ‘We must know how it’ll be.’
There was silence in the Mess, all eyes on the war-weary soldiers because the lad had spoken for everyone.
One veteran looked up from his plate. There was strength in his face but humanity too. He looked into the boy’s eyes as though stepping into his very soul.
‘Nothing you do here will prepare you for what’s to come – except perhaps prayer. That’s all you can do, Private. Pray. Hard. For it is down to luck alone whoever makes it home in one piece.’
How could a silence have become more silent? And yet it had. Daniel pushed his plate away. Throughout the Mess, men rose and left.
In December, they were granted leave. Michael, whistling Silent Night, began to pack immediately. He paused and looked at Daniel.
‘What are you waiting for, Healy? Let’s go.’
‘I’m grand here.’
‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘He never wrote, Mick,’ he said quietly.
‘Then you’ll stay with me. They’ll be delighted to have you, at home.’
Daniel smiled. ‘I’m staying put.’ It would most likely be Michael’s last few days with his family before war. Daniel could not take that from him – or his parents. ‘You don’t think I’d miss British Army turkey?’ He would request permission for a day visit to Dublin to see Maggie.
On Christmas Day there was a parade and, later, a concert. C Company played its pipes and drums, up and down in front of the barracks. There was a great snowball fight with the Munsters. Windows were broken and they joked of the Christmas miracle – no punishment administered.
On the final day of leave, Daniel was granted his wish – a day visit to Dublin.
As the train chugged its way to the capital, he could barely contain himself.
Daniel put a finger to his mouth when Maggie’s mother answered the door. She smiled and nodded and led him to the drawing room in silence. She gestured that she would be in the dining room. He mouthed his thanks. Slowly, he opened the door. Maggie’s image revealed itself inch by inch. Her short hair reminded him of all that she was – as if he could have forgotten. She was seated at the fire, head bent – knitting?
She frowned then and threw it down. ‘Blasted thing.’
He laughed as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
She swung around. ‘Danny!’ She jumped to her feet, raced to him and leapt into his arms. He laughed at the joy of it. ‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
He drank her in, the curve of her lips, every inch of her face, each eyelash. At last, he lowered her to the floor.
She remembered her hair and attempted to flatten tufts of it.
He took her hands away. ‘How I’ve missed this hair,’ he said, running his fingers through it. ‘And these eyebrows. And these cheekbones.’ One by one, he kissed them. ‘I have especially missed this mouth.’ He closed his eyes as they kissed. He could have died at the softness of her lips. He held her to him. After months of only men, it was as though he’d been transported directly to heaven. ‘Let’s stay like this forever. Let’s never move again.’
Her laughter was the most magical sound.
His eyes fell upon the tangled mess, discarded on the floor. He smiled. ‘You’re knitting?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘A scarf for you. Any sign of the wretched war being over – so I can stop?’
He laughed but was greatly touched. ‘You have my full permission to stop.’
‘Not on your life.’
There was a moment of mutual horror.
She clung to him. ‘I can’t lose you, Danny. I can’t.’
‘You won’t.’
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. ‘Promise me.’
A lie was preferable to the truth. ‘I promise.’
Tears threatening, she turned from him suddenly. ‘Come sit by the fire,’ she said, her voice high.
They sat on opposite sides of the hearth. To Daniel it seemed a great distance.
‘How is your family?’ she asked.
He looked into the fire. ‘I’ve not seen them.’
‘Ah, Danny.�
��
He shrugged. ‘I’m not welcome.’
‘I’m sure that your father is sorry.’
‘Then why has he not written?’
‘You should have met your mother and Niall, separately.’
He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t ask it of them – to go behind his back.’
She nodded. ‘I’m sorry that you didn’t get to see them.’
‘I sent Niall a letter with a shilling in it. I felt like Judas. I promised I’d be home for Christmas.’ His voice cracked. ‘And I promised you that the war would be over.’
She went to him and slipped onto his lap. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. Then she smiled bravely. ‘So I don’t get to see that famous moustache of yours?’
‘What I grew wasn’t worthy of the word moustache.’
She smiled.
‘You should have seen it, Maggie. You’d have gone right off me.’
‘It’d take more than a moustache.’
He stayed all day, then took the last train of already-homesick soldiers back to the Curragh Camp.
nineteen
Daniel
1915
In February, the Pals were transferred to The Royal Barracks in Dublin, a step closer to war. It was strange being so close to home and as distant as ever. They were trained in trench warfare in the Phoenix Park and musketry on Dollymount Strand. Then the rumours began. The first that Daniel heard was that they were ‘off to France in ten days’ time’. He began to write letters but then orders never followed and he recognised the rumour for what it was. After that, they were ‘off to Egypt’, ‘off to France’, then ‘off to France’ again. All in ten days’ time!
Then in April, a rumour was followed by official notification. They were off to Basingstoke, England for further training, then on to war. There were whoops and cheers and caps in the air and, of course, more orders. Daniel had never witnessed so much scribbling in one barrack room.
Ten days later, he stood at the door of that same barrack room, empty now of soldiers, kit and sound. This had been his home for three months and the army his family for five months longer. He walked out, last to leave, tucking a final letter from Maggie safely into his breast pocket. As he followed the others down the echoing corridor, he was gripped with a sudden and terrifying fear that he would never see her again.
Relatives and friends crowded the square at the Royal Barracks. A photographer recorded soldiers holding up rations, tins of corned beef and canned peaches. Families arrived with gifts and embraces, laughter and tears. Daniel searched the crowd for Maggie.
‘Daniel!’
He turned and laughed in delight. He had written to his mother to tell her that he was away. He had not expected her to come; such was her loyalty to her husband. But here she was with Niall, who ran to Daniel and threw his arms around him. Daniel lifted him into the air.
‘How you’ve grown! Did you get my shilling?’
Niall nodded. ‘I bought you Humbugs for the journey.’ From his pocket, he fished a brown, creased paper bag.
‘My favourite brother.’
They laughed at that. Then they stood, the three of them, with lumps in their cheeks, silent amongst the noisy crowd.
‘We were gladdened to learn that you were with the Pals,’ his mother said at last. ‘Father knows Ernest Julian, a man of high character and much learning, a lawman too.’
‘He is a Lieutenant.’ And the kind of man that Daniel’s father would have liked as a son.
‘He’s sorry, Danny,’ she said quietly.
‘Then where is he?’ he asked, equally quietly.
‘He’s working. The courts don’t stop for a man whose son is going to war.’
‘Have another sweet,’ Niall rushed as though to end the conversation.
Daniel’s heart ached.
‘Do you have an address in England?’ his mother asked.
‘No but I’ll write to you with it.’
She rummaged in her handbag and produced a handkerchief.
As she dabbed her eyes, Niall put an arm around her. He looked at Daniel as if to say, ‘See, I’m looking after her.’
It was too much to ask of him, Daniel realised. He was so sorry for bringing the war to them. ‘It may be over before we finish in Basingstoke,’ he said.
She nodded.
Suddenly, and way too soon, it was time to leave.
Niall abandoned his mother, running to Daniel. ‘Don’t go!’ he begged.
Daniel squatted down. ‘I’ll be back soon, Nially. I promise.’
Hurt filled his eyes. ‘Like you promised to be home by Christmas?’
‘I’m sorry about that. I thought-’ Behind Daniel a whistle blew. ‘I must fall in. I’m sorry.’ He grabbed Niall and squeezed him tight. Then he hurriedly embraced his mother.
He left them then and fell into line beside Michael.
‘This is it!’ Michael said jovially. ‘At long last.’ But his eyes were red from crying.
The marching orders were given.
The Pals were off.
Niall ran alongside the formation. But at the gates of the barracks, his mother held him back, her hands on his shoulders, silent tears streaming down her face. Daniel kept his eyes on them until he could see them no longer. He had never felt as guilty.
Out along the quays, they marched, past pavements thronged with people cheering and waving handkerchiefs and hats. Up ahead, the army band played. Daniel felt as though he were underwater. Where was Maggie? Was he to leave without goodbye? Was she all right? He had no way of knowing.
They passed the Four Courts. Outside on the steps, a group of lawmen, finished for the day, had gathered. They cheered and called goodbyes to friends and colleagues. His father would be inside, reading over some paper, advising some client, his argument-filled life going on undisturbed. Daniel reminded himself that his mother had come. And Niall. He would never forget that.
He glanced at each privileged face. And then it was there, the one he had known all his life. His father was standing, chin raised, scanning the marching troops. His eyes worked methodically, searching line after line. Daniel knew when their eyes would meet and still it was a jolt. Time seemed to stand still. Then, slowly, his father raised an arm above his head. He held it there and kept his eyes on his son. Daniel remembered all the times those eyes had offered encouragement, support, affection. Despite their argument, despite even his beliefs, he remained Daniel’s father and he loved him. Daniel longed to go to him, to tell him all of that and apologise for his part in the argument. Then he could see him no more.
twenty
Maggie
Maggie pushed her way through the crowds, scarf in hand, heart a flutter. Despite a note from her mother, her teacher had not allowed her to leave early. At last, Maggie had left of her own accord. She wished, now, that she had done so earlier.
She heard a band and pipers and knew that she was too late. They had left the barracks. All she could do now was wait where she was and hope that she could somehow get to him as they passed.
At length, they came into sight. Her heart began to hammer. In uniform and cap, they all looked the same. How would she pick him out?
All around her, people jostled for position. Maggie had to jump to see. Desperately she scanned each face. But none were his.
Then they turned right and began to cross the river. They would not pass her way! Perspiring and desperate, she took off after them.
Soon she was running with children, alongside the troops. Up Dame Street they went and still no sight of Daniel. At Trinity College, students in striped blazers had gathered, some clinging to the railings for a better view. On seeing the Pals, they cheered and threw their flat-topped, straw hats into the air. The Pals in return, let out a united roar.
Maggie nudged her way through the hordes and climbed up onto the railings. Her eyes scanned face after face. She could not cry. For then she would never see him.
At last, and with incomparable relief,
she spied him, his own eyes scanning faces with a desperation that she understood.
‘Daniel!’ she called but her voice was lost amongst so many others. ‘Daniel! Daniel Healy!’ She waved like a wild thing.
It was Michael who saw her. He elbowed Danny and pointed. At last, their eyes met, relief flooding his. He laughed and waved. She jumped from the railings and made her way to him. He hurried to the edge of his line, his friends moving quickly to fill the gap.
He held her to him so tightly that she laughed.
‘I thought I wouldn’t see you,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry. They wouldn’t let me out, the old biddies.’
‘You’re here now.’ He kissed her.
And then she was fumbling for the scarf and pressing it into his hands. ‘Can you credit it? I actually finished the blasted thing in the end.’
He wrapped it around him immediately. ‘I’ll wear it always.’
‘God, but you’re gorgeous, Healy,’ Michael said.
‘Don’t mind him.’ Danny smiled.
‘I never do,’ she said directly to Michael.
‘You haven’t changed,’ he replied.
‘No, I punch as good as ever.’
He laughed.
An officer barked an order. They faced forward – all three of them.
‘Should I go?’ Maggie asked.
‘If you go, I’ll follow,’ Daniel warned.
‘Come on, then,’ she dared.
‘Do you want to be walking out with a deserter?’
‘Is that what we’re doing, walking out?’ she teased.
He turned to her suddenly, his face alive. ‘Marry me, Maggie. As soon as we’re together again and you’re old enough, will you marry me?’ He stepped out of line, lowered himself onto one knee, held her hand and said, ‘Maggie Gilligan, will you be my wife?’
She began to laugh and cry. ‘I will. I will. Get up quick before they kill you.’
Through The Barricades: Winner of the SCBWI SPARK Award 2017 Page 13
