‘Not at the table.’
He got up from the table and read. He looked at Maggie as if to say, ‘What am I looking for?’
She shrugged.
‘Maggie what’s going on?’ her mother demanded.
‘I honestly don’t know, Mam.’ It wasn’t a lie.
Lily arrived down, singing. Maggie wanted to hug her.
An hour later, David, Lily and their mother readied themselves for Mass. Lily looked at Maggie expectantly.
‘Hurry up, Maggie. You’ll be late.’
‘I’ll go later,’ she said. She could not miss Patrick – if Patrick was indeed coming. Why had Tom not said a word to her? Was he as confused as she was?
‘I’ll wait with you,’ Lily said cheerfully.
‘No, Lily.’
Maggie’s mother looked at her questioningly.
David put his hand out to Lily. ‘Come on, Lil,’ he said brightly. ‘Maggie will go later.’
Lily looked at Maggie. ‘Will you be all right without me?’
Maggie smiled. ‘Give me a hug and I’ll be grand.’
Maggie held her tightly, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. At last, she let Lily go. She smiled widely and pressed her sister’s nose. ‘Say a prayer for me.’
‘I always do, Maggie.’
‘I love you, Lil. You’re the best sister in the whole wide world and you have changed my life.’
Maggie remembered her mother and glanced up. Her hand was covering her mouth.
‘I’m sorry,’ Maggie said with her eyes. She got up and threw her arms around her, not knowing if she would see her in an hour or never again.
Her mother clung to her and when she let her go, there were tears in her eyes. ‘There’s nothing I can say, is there?’
‘No, Mam,’ Maggie whispered.
She embraced her fiercely then. ‘I love you, Maggie Mae.’
‘I love you too, Mam.’ Maggie pressed herself into her, fighting a surge of tears.
She stood at the door, watching them go. At the gate, they turned and waved.
‘It’s Easter Sunday, Maggie,’ Lily called. ‘You should be wearing something happier.’
Maggie pressed her lips together and waved ferociously. Then she ran inside before they could see her cry. In the drawing room, she watched from the window till they were out of sight. A country could ask an awful lot of a person.
Half an hour later, Maggie was pacing the empty house when there was an urgent banging at the door. She ran to it.
It was Patrick.
She pulled him inside. ‘What’s happening? Is it off?’
‘No one knows. The arms shipment was intercepted and that damned fool MacNeill got cold feet.’
‘Will the Citizen Army rise alone?’
‘I can’t imagine Connolly sitting on his hands, can you? Here’s your mobilisation paper.’ He handed it to her. ‘We’re all to be at Liberty Hall by three o’clock today.’
‘To rise?’
‘Only to be there, for now. It’s chaos, Maggie. I’d better go. I’ve a pile of these to deliver. I don’t know how I’ll get back in to Liberty Hall by three.’
‘Give some to me. I’ll deliver them.’
‘Would you?’ he asked in relief.
‘Rather that than stay here going out of my mind.’
‘Be careful. If they get a whiff of what we’re up to, we’re doomed.’
And then he was gone.
Maggie left a note for her mother saying that she would be back shortly. Outside, she leapt onto her bicycle and was off.
It was a glorious day. Church bells called people to prayer while she tore around the city she knew and loved so well, standing at doors that opened to confused, enquiring faces. She left them no less confused. It was the same message for everyone: be at Liberty Hall by three.
Maggie arrived home at one.
‘Did you get Mass?’ Lily asked.
She grimaced. ‘I’ve been busy, Lil. I’ll say a prayer.’
Lily looked at her like she was committing sacrilege. ‘Mind that you do.’
Despite everything, Maggie laughed.
‘I’m serious,’ Lily said wagging a finger.
‘You are seriously wonderful. That’s what you are.’ She lifted her up and swirled her around.
Lily’s smile could have lit up Dublin Castle.
Cycling to Liberty Hall for three, the warm sun on Maggie’s back felt like an omen. Approaching the quays, her heart soared at the banner across its facade, proclaiming, ‘We Serve Neither King Nor Kaiser’.
Inside, the place was alive. At last, she found Patrick.
‘Well?’ she demanded.
‘We’re to march.’
‘You mean fight?’
‘No. March. But if it comes to a fight, we’ll fight.’
They hurried to arm themselves.
Shortly after, a bugle sounded and they were off.
Heads high, they marched the streets of Dublin, men and women who shared a dream. Nearing Dublin Castle, tension rose. It was as if the world was holding its breath to see if a fight would break out. Maggie imagined rifles pointed at their heads. It would not make much of a statement to be cut down here in the briefest of battles. She put one foot in front of the other and reminded herself to breathe. That was all she could do. Keep going. Her shoulders felt like they would snap with tension. Her whole body was ready to spring into action. Her heart was a runaway train. And she was perspiring like a man.
Then, magically, they were beyond immediate danger, out of sight and shot of the Castle. Maggie’s shoulders fell in relief – not that there wouldn’t be a fight but that there would be a better one.
Returning to Liberty Hall, guards were posted at every window, door, stairway and corridor. Such was their readiness for battle that, should the British Army attempt a search, the fight would begin. A large unit of men, Patrick included, was ordered to remain at Liberty Hall, in readiness. Maggie was instructed to go home and return at eight the following morning.
forty-five
Maggie
Maggie stole from the house before anyone was up – anyone except Tom, who she had not seen since he stormed out the previous day. She wondered where he was and if it meant that the Volunteers would be rising after all.
The streets were deserted as she made her way to Liberty Hall, the citizens of Dublin taking advantage of the bank holiday. Nearing the quays, she saw men converging on the rebel base from all directions and her heart soared with pride.
Inside, they were ordered to attention and their numbers counted. Then, as their names were called out, they fell into line behind their assigned captains. Patrick was under Seán Connolly, who would be leading the march on Dublin Castle. Maggie was assigned to the St Stephen’s Green garrison, under Michael Mallin. She looked at Patrick with regret; she had always believed that they would fight side by side. He winked as if they were preparing for a day at the races. And still Maggie worried that the Citizen Army would be rising alone. If so, they would be annihilated.
As they awaited orders, unfamiliar men with an air of authority began to arrive at Liberty Hall. They were immediately ushered upstairs to meet with James Connolly.
Patrick looked at Maggie with fire in his eyes. ‘We may not be rising alone, after all.’
‘Who are they?’ she whispered.
‘The Military Council of the IRB. Pádraic Pearse, the teacher. The poet, Joseph Plunkett. The shopkeeper, Tom Clarke.’
She squinted at him. ‘These are rebel leaders?’
‘Don’t let appearances fool you, Maggie.’
‘You said Plunkett. Is it the same Plunkett who was harbouring rebels?’
He nodded. ‘It’s the count’s son.’
‘Is he unwell?’ Despite his flamboyant dress, he looked incredibly thin and pale and had had to be helped up the stairs by Michael Collins.
‘He was operated on last week for consumption. Discharged himself. He was due to be married this week but has put it off for th
e insurrection.’
Duty asked so much of a person, Maggie was thinking when Madame burst into Liberty Hall in a khaki shirt and breeches. She took the steps two at a time, an automatic hanging from one side of her cartridge belt, a Mauser the other. On her head was a black hat with a heavy plume of feathers.
‘Good day for a Rising!’ she called.
At last, the leaders emerged together in great spirits. A united force would rise, after all!
James Connolly began to distribute weapons. Maggie noticed in horror that he was giving revolvers to women to be used as a ‘last resort’.
When he presented her with a revolver, she raised her chin. ‘I’ll take a Lee Enfield, too, Commandant Connolly, seeing as we’re all equal and I’m one of the best shots you’ve got.’
A smile crept across his face. Then he called on the quartermaster to bring a Lee Enfield. Presenting it to her, though, Connolly frowned. ‘Remember all that I said about cover.’
‘I would never forget it.’ Neither would she forget him – whatever lay ahead.
She stepped out of the line and began to examine her gun.
‘Take a look at this,’ Patrick said, holding out a sheet of paper.
‘What is it?’ she asked impatiently. It was time to fight, not read.
‘The Proclamation of the new republic, printed by the hundreds to be distributed to the citizens of our fine nation so that they know what we’re about.’
Maggie took it eagerly. She read of a new republic with equal rights for all, where happiness and prosperity would be pursued for the entire nation. She looked up at Patrick, her eyes glassy. ‘Here’s an ideal worth dying for.’
‘We’re making history, Maggie,’ he said more reverently than she had ever heard him speak.
When the fall-in was finally sounded, Maggie and Patrick looked at each other. He surprised her, then, with a sudden, clumsy embrace. He pulled back, holding on to her arms and looking into her eyes.
‘Mind yourself,’ he said.
She felt a sudden rush of affection for him. ‘You be careful, Patrick Shanahan.’
‘Now why would I be careful when I can be dangerous?’ He grinned.
She frowned. ‘Heroics will get you killed. You know that.’
He put a hand on her shoulder. He looked as if he was going to say something important. Then he simply winked at her. ‘See you on the other side.’
At the order, they fell into their separate battalions. And as Maggie began to march out into the sun, from the mouth of James Connolly, she heard the muttered words, ‘We are going out to be slaughtered.’
forty-six
Maggie
Easter Monday, 1916
The bugle sounded. Maggie’s heart leapt with excitement and nerves. So many times she had marched in preparation for this day. Taking her first step, now, arms swinging, she filled her lungs with air. This was it.
Reaching O’Connell Bridge, a large unit, including rebel leaders, Connolly, Pearse and Plunkett, turned right onto Sackville Street, headed for the headquarters of the new Irish Republican Army, the General Post Office.
Maggie’s unit was ordered over the sparkling Liffey and up Grafton Street. The few people who were out took no notice, well used to the sight of parading rebels. The odd child stopped and waved. And still, Volunteers continued to arrive and join the ranks.
‘Go home and stop playing soldiers,’ one policeman shouted, while barefooted newsboys distributed the Proclamation.
On St Stephen’s Green, Dubliners were enjoying the lazy sunshine. Couples strolled in quiet conversation while nannies and their little charges fed the ducks.
‘Clear the park,’ Commandant Mallin ordered.
But when the rebels asked the people to leave, they would not believe that a revolution was taking place. Weapons had to be produced.
A cacophony of shots rang out from the direction of Dublin Castle. Maggie turned automatically to the sound, thinking of Patrick. She prayed, not just for him but also for his mother; the woman had suffered enough.
Cleared of civilians at last, the park was locked. Orders went out for trenches to be dug inside the railings. Maggie’s thoughts turned to Gallipoli. And Daniel. But such thoughts were for another day. She was ordered to stand guard at one of the entrances to the Green. As she was marching to take up her position, Madame arrived by motorcar, waving in a state of high excitement.
‘The City Hall has been taken by Seán Connolly and his men!’
Maggie touched her heart in relief as a great cheer went up.
Madame leapt from the car and hurried into the Green as though late for a garden party.
Maggie took up her post opposite a rebel she did not know.
‘Do you want to get yourself shot?’ he warned onlookers, who were peering in through the railings.
They turned and, without urgency, began to leave.
One looked back. ‘Go on off and fight the Germans. Make yourselves useful.’
Maggie’s colleague grinned at her. ‘You wouldn’t want to be looking for respect.’
Maggie smiled but her stomach was churning, reminded of all that Danny had gone through in the name of Home Rule – Danny and so many thousands of others. But Home Rule was a pup being sold by the British. They needed nothing short of a republic. And that was the truth of it.
Outside the Green, rebel units were setting up barricades using carts, bicycles, furniture, whatever they could get their hands on. They halted motorcars and then drove them into the barricades. They stopped a tram, ordered the passengers to disembark and then turned the vehicle into a barricade. Maggie wondered how long they could hold off the British Army.
‘Halt,’ barked her companion.
She turned to see a constable trying to gain entry.
‘Halt, I say.’
He rattled at the lock.
The sentry lifted his gun and took aim. Still, the policeman did not retreat.
‘I will shoot. So help me I will shoot.’
Maggie, fearing that his gun might accidentally discharge, raised hers too in the hope that it would intimidate the policeman into a retreat.
He stood his ground.
‘You there!’
Maggie turned and breathed out in relief. Madame was approaching at a clip. If anyone could make the constable see sense it was she. Maggie was turning back to face the policeman when three shots rang out. He crumpled to the ground. Maggie swiveled around to see who had fired.
‘I got him!’ Madame exclaimed, as though talking of a fox.
Someone was shaking her hand. Had she really fired?
Maggie turned back to see the young man lying in his own blood on the other side of the gate. Her first instinct was to help. Then she heard running and looked up. A group of civilians was rushing to his aid. The shine on his shoes seemed so particularly sad. Had he polished them that morning before going on duty? Had his wife done it for him? A sister, mother? He was a policeman but he was also Irish, unarmed, and only doing his job.
‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’
Maggie looked up into the eyes of a young civilian glaring at her as if she had pulled the trigger. She was filled with a sudden, overwhelming shame. This was not how she had imagined revolution.
forty-seven
Daniel
Easter Monday 1916
As darkness fell, Daniel waited with hundreds of soldiers to board trains that would steam their way to Dublin from the Curragh Camp. All afternoon, it had been organised chaos as troops, weapons and ammunition were prepared for battle. Not believing that the day had come, he was silent.
His fellow officers were not.
‘I’ll enjoy putting down every last one of those fools.’
‘What have we been doing in France, only risking our lives for this country?’
‘They may be fools but they picked their day well. With half the army on leave, Lord knows how long it will take to call everyone back to barracks from all around the country, ass
emble them into battalions and get them up to Dublin.’
Daniel envied them the simplicity of their thoughts. To him, the rebels were boys he’d drilled with, sang with, laughed with, cursed with, grown up with. He understood the honour of their cause. How easily they would fire on British Army soldiers, knowing them only as the enemy, not as men they had shared trenches with in Gallipoli and Salonika, those God-forsaken places where Irishmen fought alongside Englishmen for the same reason.
Sweet Jesus, how had it come to this? How could he fire blindly at a sniper that he might have learned to shoot alongside, a sniper that might only be a boy of twelve or thirteen, fired up with a passion that had been stoked up within him in the Dublin mountains? How could he fire into a building (for they would be in buildings; that is how they would fight) knowing that they could be women, children, friends, Maggie?
He stubbed out his cigarette. He could not fight his own people. And yet if he did not, he would be shot for treason. Everything was smudged, ridiculous almost. Here he was, expected to fight with the British against the Irish, who were armed with weapons from Germany, their mutual enemy in the Great War. One by one, he looked at the men, his men. Who could he trust to do their duty? And what did it matter when he could not trust himself? Only one thing mattered. Maggie. He did not know how he would find her, let alone protect her, but he would die trying.
forty-eight
Maggie
Easter Monday Night, 1916
As night fell, Maggie climbed down into one of the trenches that had been dug at the perimeter of the Green. Being female, she had had to argue herself into that position. Luckily, Madame had seen her shoot. Now, she stored her Lee Enfield and settled down on a bed of earth. She inhaled the smell of freshly dug soil and wondered if Daniel had smelt the same in the trenches of Gallipoli. It was cold and a light mist lingered. She curled up and rubbed her arms. The lad beside her took off his jacket and offered it to her. She looked at him in his shirtsleeves.
Through The Barricades: Winner of the SCBWI SPARK Award 2017 Page 26
