‘I’m grand,’ she lied.
‘Sure, take it anyways.’
‘No. Honestly, I’m grand.’
He held it out to her. ‘Go on. You’re doing me a favour. I’m too warm, altogether.’
She smiled and took it with thanks.
‘It’s great, isn’t it?’ he said, wistfully looking around him.
She smiled back. ‘It is.’
And then, like a lark, he burst into song. Wrap the Green Flag Around Me, Boys carried Maggie back to starry nights in the mountains and dreams of freedom. In the darkness, voices rose from all around the Green. If she lived, she would remember this moment forever.
She jolted awake in the thick of night to the sound of machine-gun fire. Bits of clay were falling in on her.
‘Stand to! Stand to!’ came shouted orders from across the Green.
The trench came alive with curses and fumbling. Maggie got to her knees and felt for her Lee Enfield. Bullets sprayed the soil in front of the trench, showering them with earth. Beside her, her friend was up, aiming at The Shelbourne Hotel. A great plume of fire shot from the barrel of his Mauser, illuminating him.
‘Drop down!’ Maggie called.
But it was too late. Already, bullets were tearing into him, flinging him back. Maggie scrambled to his aid. But when she reached him, lifeless eyes stared up at her as if in surprise. Anger ripped through her but she did not stand up to fire. She waited. Only when the machine-gun fire had moved to the far end of the trench did she raise her head. Peering up at the windows of the Shelbourne to locate the shooter, she took aim, fired and dropped down. The rat-a-tat-tat halted. But seconds later, it took up again as the gunner was replaced. From positions all over the Green, shots were being returned. Then came a scream.
It was so hard to stay down. Only by reminding herself of David’s words about what her death would do to their mother, did she manage it. As soon as the bullets had passed, she was up again, picking her man and firing. The soil in front of her exploded as a second machine gun started up. She dived to the bottom of the trench, chest rising and falling, breath ragged. One thing was clear, ducking about in holes, they proved no match for machine-gun fire from a height.
A whistle blew ordering a retreat. Maggie crawled to her dead comrade, closed his eyes, joined his hands and prayed for his soul. Then she took his gun and ammunition to prevent them from falling into enemy hands.
Crouched but ready, she waited for a break in fire, then she was up and running, others too.
Firing resumed in a sudden burst and she ducked behind a tree. She pressed herself against it as bullets tore at the bark. Flashes of light over to the right revealed another British Army unit that had taken up position in the United Services Club. It was Daniel’s father’s club and a reminder that the rich would always see themselves as part of the British Empire.
She waited what seemed like an age for the next lull. The minute it came, she raced to the bridge that crossed the pond. Halfway across, the firing began again and she dived to the ground as bullets whizzed past, chipping off pieces of masonry above her head.
At last, she reached the statue of Lord Ardilaun, which was providing cover for a large group of rebels attempting to leave the Green. At every break in fire, two or three would dash out across the road, down York Street and in through the side entrance of the Royal College of Surgeons. Rebels had taken up position on the roof of the college to draw fire from the soldiers in the United Services Club so that their comrades could make the three-hundred-yard dash safely.
A fresh three men ran out onto the road. Almost immediately, they came under fire. One fell. He lay motionless as the others kept going. Bullets sprayed the ground and the facade of the college. Finally, the firing ceased. The young man sprang to his feet and raced to safety.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ Maggie said in relief.
Commandant Mallin barked a brief laugh, then pointed at Maggie and two other rebels. ‘Make ready.’ He looked out onto the street. ‘Go!’
Maggie shot out, legs and arms pumping, fearing a bullet at any moment. She raced onto York Street and came to an immediate halt. An angry mob stood facing them.
‘Get off of our streets,’ one ordered, slapping an iron bar into his palm.
One of Maggie’s comrades stepped forward. ‘Go on home, now,’ he said with calm authority. ‘This is not your fight.’
‘Our boys are over in France risking their lives for this country. So it is our fight.’
‘And look at you,’ a woman spat at Maggie, ‘with your head uncovered, you floozy. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
She ran at Maggie, who reacted by reflex, raising the butt of her weapon and bringing it down on the woman’s shoulder. She fell to the ground with a surprised yelp. The crowd surged.
‘Run!’ someone called from the door of the college, opening it wide.
They raced to it and through. It was immediately slammed shut and barricaded behind them. A pounding followed.
‘Such fury!’ one man said.
‘What has them so exercised?’ someone asked.
‘They’re going to lose their separation allowance due to the rising.’
‘Separation allowance?’
‘The money they get from the British Army for their boys being overseas.’
‘Ah.’
Maggie looked towards the door. She felt as though she had butted Danny himself with that gun. Their anger was about more than the allowance. It was about betrayal.
Maggie was amongst those instructed to rest. But she could not rest. She wandered from room to room of the college where Daniel would have been studying medicine were it not for the war. It was cold and dark and the rooms smelled of formaldehyde. Floating human eyes stared out from jars. There were other organs – stomachs, hearts, all of them coldly, methodically labelled. How many rooms would it take to hold all of the organs that could have been collected from Gallipoli? How many people would die in the rising? And why did anyone, at all, have to die for the basic right to freedom?
forty-nine
Daniel
Easter Tuesday Morning, 1916
It was the early hours of Tuesday morning. At Kingsbridge Station, train after train coughed up its military load. Hundreds of men shifted nervously, awaiting orders. At the entrance to the station, a horse whinnied and pawed the ground, picking up on the tension. Daniel wondered how he might slip away. Given the situation, they would be watching for deserters. If he were caught he would be arrested and no good to her then.
At last, they began to march along the quays on the opposite side of the river to where Daniel had set out on with the Pals, a year earlier, almost to the day. The sound of sniper fire from all across the city jolted him back to Gallipoli. His senses heightened, his shoulders rose. He felt that he could even smell the place but that was madness.
As they advanced, they came under sniper fire from a building across the river. A man fell.
‘Return fire,’ their Commanding Officer ordered.
They turned, lowered themselves onto one knee and opened fire. Daniel trained his field glasses on the windows of the building but he could not see her. He could not see anyone. They were too smart for that.
Rebel fire had ceased.
Ordered up side streets and alleyways to avoid further attack, they finally approached the rear of Dublin Castle, which was now back in the hands of the British Army. After a brief officers’ meeting, it was decided to support troops already advancing on the City Hall.
As they fell in, Daniel glanced up at the copper dome of that splendid building. Flashes of light from the rooftop preceded echoing sound. Daniel prayed that she was not there. The rebels did not stand a chance against so many troops. And she would never surrender.
A whistle blew. Daniel took a deep breath and advanced. At the gates of Dublin Castle, they came under fire from snipers in nearby buildings. They were ordered forward at a trot. Quickly, they joined forces with the troops on the
ground and stormed the City Hall, pouring in through the enormous windows, glass already broken by the rebels, shattering underfoot as they landed.
Female screams filled the air.
‘Hold fire,’ Daniel shouted. ‘Hold fire.’
‘Drop your weapons!’ his CO ordered as the room was plunged into light.
Arms were raised, rebels surrendering without a fight. Daniel scanned faces for Maggie’s. But he did not find her amongst the unarmed women who had been tending to the wounded. Neither did he find her amongst the wounded. But he recognised a face. It was one of the girls that he had spent a happy afternoon with, peeling potatoes. He approached. Though he guessed her to be a rebel, he asked aloud as though she were a prisoner of the rebels, ‘Have you been harmed?’ Under his breath, he added, ‘Maggie Gilligan, where is she?’
The girl’s eyes showed, at first, surprise, then recognition. ‘Not here. But Patrick Shanahan is upstairs and he’ll know.’
‘Thank you.’ Then, under his breath, he added, ‘Take care.’
The ground floor had been taken without a fight. Already, the CO was preparing his men to advance on two spiral staircases that led to the next level. With Patrick upstairs, there would be no surrender. How could Daniel get up to him before the columns of already advancing men? How could he find her? What could he do?
Terrific fire showered down on the men advancing on the stairwells. Casualties were heavy. The CO ordered an immediate retreat. He ran a hand over his mouth.
‘I have an idea, sir,’ Daniel said.
‘I’d like to hear it, Healy,’ he said doubtfully.
‘Let me advance alone. I might be able to negotiate them down.’
He raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘And how might you do that, Sergeant?’
‘I would advance, unarmed, speaking in Irish, advising them that they’re surrounded and outnumbered and that the only reasonable option is surrender.’
‘These are not reasonable men.’
‘They gave up easily enough down here, sir.’
‘Because they had women prisoners.’
‘How many men will we lose storming the stairwells?’
The CO surveyed the staircases once more. Moments passed. At length, he looked at Daniel. His eyes narrowed. ‘How is it that you speak the Irish language?’ he asked with suspicion.
‘The Gaelic League, sir. It’s a cultural organisation.’
He eyed Daniel closely. ‘I can trust you, Healy, can’t I?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘At the first shot, we’ll be up behind you.’
‘Yes sir.’ He handed over his weapons, cap and jacket, then advanced with arms raised. Approaching the staircase, a shot pinged off the metal bannister. Behind him he heard the order, ‘Shoulder to arms.’
He called up, in Irish. ‘Don’t shoot! I’m unarmed! I’m searching for my wife, Maggie Gilligan. She’s with the Citizen Army.’ He hoped to God that Patrick was up there, that none of the soldiers behind him could speak Irish or, that if they could, they would be sympathetic. He awaited a shot from above. And behind. He took another step.
‘Cease fire!’ a voice ordered in Irish. Daniel recognised it as Patrick’s.
Relieved, he looked up but the place was in darkness.
‘Allow him up but watch that stairway behind him,’ Patrick continued in Irish.
Daniel did not trust him. But he had no other option. Reaching the top of the steps, he halted, squinting into the darkness. He could feel rifles trained upon him. A shot rang out and he ducked. He heard laughter.
‘It’s only the Brits firing in through the window and missing as usual,’ Patrick said.
More shots followed, hitting off the ceiling, shattering chandeliers but injuring no one because of the angle of fire.
‘Your wife?’ Patrick asked.
‘I was being concise, under the circumstances.’ Daniel turned to Patrick’s voice and saw the silhouette of a man, a soldier. How they’d changed. ‘It’s good to see you, Patrick.’
‘Surrender or join us, that’s your choice.’ Patrick’s voice was cold.
‘Where is she?’
After a long pause, he said, as though for old times’ sake. ‘At the Stephen’s Green garrison.’
Daniel turned and began to walk towards the stairs.
‘Halt!’ Patrick shouted. ‘Or I’ll shoot. And trust me, Danny, I will.’
Daniel turned to face him. ‘I must find her, Patrick; she’s all that matters to me.’
‘She’s where she wants to be, doing what she wants to do, fighting for her country – as you ought to be.’
‘I’ll join you as soon as I find her.’ He did not, in truth, know what he would do when he found her – if he made it to Stephen’s Green without getting his head blown off – by either side.
‘Why should I trust a British Army soldier?’ Patrick asked.
‘I joined for one reason only – to get Home Rule so that she wouldn’t have to fight.’
After a pause, he said, ‘If she knew that, she’d kill you herself.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ Daniel looked at him, appealing to the friend he once was. ‘Patrick, if I’m to die today, let me die alongside her, fighting for Ireland. Let me go to her now.’
‘How will you get past your friends, down there?’
‘Leave that to me.’
In the darkness, he heard a sigh. ‘I’m a fool.’
‘I’m the fool.’
‘Take care of her, won’t you? Who would have guessed that first day we met how fond of her I would grow?’
Daniel heard in those words the affection Patrick had for her, perhaps more than affection. If so, how could Daniel blame him? ‘Patrick, the place is surrounded.’
‘Don’t I know it?’ He smiled.
‘You should surrender.’
He gave Daniel a look. ‘Go on now before I change my mind.’
Daniel stepped forward and offered his hand. They shook. Then Daniel made for the stairs. Reaching it, he turned. ‘Godspeed.’
‘And you.’
Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Daniel looked down. Advancing troops had their rifles drawn, ready to shoot. Daniel was in their direct line of fire. Patrick threw him a revolver. On reflex, he caught it. His eyes met those of his commanding officer who, seeing the gun in Daniel’s hand, took aim and fired. Daniel was reeling back before he heard the shot. Light and sound erupted all around him. He thought of Patrick. He thought of Maggie. Then he thought no more.
fifty
Maggie
Tuesday
Maggie was ordered to rebel headquarters with a dispatch. Having hidden it in her boot, she covered her dress (muddied and torn from the trench) with a Red Cross apron. She left her coat open and donned the armband.
She approached the exit at the rear of the college, praying that British Army rifles were not, at that very moment, trained upon it. She took a deep breath, then opened the door and instantly raised both arms. To her relief, the street was empty. She took off, staying in close to the buildings, alert for signs of danger and careful to avoid broken glass and debris that littered the streets.
Soon, she reached Dame Street. Looking to her right, she saw a sandbagged, heavily defended Trinity College where a year ago the Pals had received that tremendous send-off. Turning to her left, she gasped. Her hand went to her mouth. British Army troops were herding rebels out of the City Hall at gunpoint. It had fallen!
Stunned, she stared, straining to see Patrick. It occurred to her then that she would not see him. He would never have surrendered. She prayed that he was wounded. It was the only way he could still be alive.
‘Halt!’ a voice barked behind her.
Already halted, she slowly turned. Two British Army soldiers had their rifles trained upon her. They looked young and nervous, a dangerous combination. She felt for her revolver, cold inside her hand muff. She thought of the dispatch in her boot and how valuable it would be to the enemy. She would not let them get
it.
‘Where are you headed and what is your business?’ the smaller of the two demanded.
‘I have been ordered to the Rotunda Hospital for medical supplies.’ She indicated her armband and, with a flick of her coat, the apron.
The men exchanged a glance. The taller of the two looked like Daniel.
‘You’re with the Royal Dublin Fusiliers!’ she exclaimed. ‘My fiancé, Daniel Healy, is with the Pals. He served in Gallipoli and Salonika. He’s at the Curragh Camp now.’ She felt a stab of guilt, using him to get out of this situation. At the same time, she knew that he would want her safe.
‘I doubt that he is at The Curragh or any camp,’ the short one said.
Her eyes widened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Everyone has been called up,’ he said.
‘Not the wounded, though? He’s not yet fully recovered!’
‘If he can stand on two legs and hold a gun, he’ll be here in Dublin. I can guarantee you that.’
Maggie swayed.
The other lad gripped her arm. ‘Don’t be worrying,’ he said, glaring at his colleague. ‘The rebels are entirely outnumbered. Our men are pouring into the city in their thousands. More are on their way from England. Very soon there won’t be a rebel left standing in this city. Your fiancé will be grand altogether.’
‘I must get to the Rotunda,’ she uttered.
‘It’s far too dangerous for a young woman to be out on the streets.’
‘I have my orders.’
‘Well, whoever gave them to you ought to be shot. Do your business and refuse to go back out. Your life depends upon it.’
She nodded. ‘I will. Thank you.’
The other Private softened. ‘And I wouldn’t be going down Sackville Street or anywhere near the General Post Office.’ He looked at his colleague. ‘Perhaps we ought to escort her.’
‘No, no,’ Maggie rushed. ‘You, too, have your orders. I know a back way. My aunt lives down around there.’
Through The Barricades: Winner of the SCBWI SPARK Award 2017 Page 27
