‘OK so,’ Sean began again. ‘Well, next thing we knew things started getting much worse with the British. They seemed to feel more threatened by the IRA, so they took out their frustrations on the people around here even more than they had done before. It was decided by the IRA that a guerrilla-style campaign was to be used against them and so the British started suffering small losses. By that time, they were rounding up anyone they even suspected of IRA involvement, so some of the lads had to take to the outdoors. Because it wasn’t safe for them to be found in one place, the best thing they could do was live on the run like.
‘By then Mammy and Daddy had accepted that Tom was going to do what he wanted, although they never said it mind you. Do you know, I think they were secretly kind of proud of him. I remember the night of our cousin Ann Creedon’s wedding, when the soldiers came in and hit Donal Creedon, Ann’s father, with the butt of a rifle. God, that was a terrible night altogether. They took loads of fellas away that night and roughed then up very bad. After that, anyone involved with the IRA had no choice but to go on the run, Tom included. They organized themselves into small fighting forces called Flying Columns and no-one really knew where they could be found. ‘Twas safer for everyone that way.
‘Bridget would cycle out from Macroom to visit us every few weeks, to see if we had any news of Tom, or to let us know if she had spoken to him or had received a letter from him. Tom and Bridget weren’t engaged or anything like that, but they had an “understanding” as it was called. I’d say Tom would have loved to have asked her to marry him at that stage…he was mad about her…but if the British thought she was connected to him, it would have put her in terrible danger. So the pair of them left that end of things alone.
‘Anyway, they did their best to keep in touch with each other but Tom knew he had to stay away, from their home places especially, for the safety of their families. I couldn’t tell you the amount of times the British came to the farm looking for him, shouting and roaring and making an awful mess. Being destructive just because they could, like. One time, a young soldier, only about eighteen or so, put me up against the milking parlour wall and threatened to shoot me if Mammy didn’t tell them where Tom was. She was great that day. She stood up straight, she was only five foot one, and said: “I don’t know where Tom is. I wish I did. Now, kindly let go of my boy. I’m sure your mother didn’t bring you up to threaten women and children.”
Her tone was so cutting, and the way she spoke so dignified, he did let me go. ‘Twas frightening all the same though.’
Sean took another sip of tea. His reticence to continue was palpable, Ellen thought, his mind debating how he would go about telling her the next bit.
Reading his mind, she said: ‘Sean, please don’t worry, just tell me the story as it is. I’m not as fragile as I look.’
Sean smiled sadly. ‘You are a perceptive woman Ellen O’Donovan, but then again you didn’t lick that off a stone. Your mother was the same. Well, the next big memory I have of Tom was a night out in the barn over beyond. Bridget and Tom were there, and Michael and Mammy and Daddy of course, as well as the two O’Driscoll boys. I wondered why everyone was out in the barn but I suppose they didn’t want anyone to see them from the road. Tom was a wanted man…and so were the O’Driscolls…so they were taking a huge risk coming out into the open, especially all together.’
Taking a deep breath, he said, ‘You see the thing was Ellen, the long and the short of it was that your mother was expecting and they were all trying to decide what to do about it. In those days, it was a terrible scandal, and the girls who found themselves in that position were locked away in terrible places, their babies adopted in America. Usually, the priest would get involved but not in this case. You see, the parish priest here at the time had spoken out against the IRA…he had family in the British Army during the Great War I think, and so he was very unpopular in the parish as a result.
‘Mammy was crying and so was Bridget. Michael was giving out yards to Tom, asking him over and over if there was no end to the disgrace he wanted to pile onto his family. Then he called Bridget…well, not a very nice name, I won’t repeat it, and her brothers and Tom had to be pulled off Michael by Mammy and Daddy. It was a terrible scene. It seemed that Tom and Bridget desperately wanted to marry but it was just too dangerous. The priest couldn’t be trusted and Tom’s situation meant that he had to stick with his Flying Column for fear of arrest. The problem was that leaving poor Bridget to cope on her own, having a baby out of wedlock, was a terrible fate too. In those days, a single mother was something that was unheard of. Not only would the mother be shunned from society, but the child would be too. God love them, it was an awful dilemma.
After going around and around in circles for ages, it seemed that only one solution seemed possible. Bridget would have to marry to give the child a name, and if she couldn’t marry Tom, then the only other option was to marry Michael.
And so that’s what happened. I know it must sound strange, especially what with Michael being the way he was, but he had to accept that was the only way out of it. Michael and Bridget got married and, if anyone thought it strange, then they had the good sense not to comment. I’m sure your arrival seven and a half months after the wedding caused a few raised eyebrows too, but conservative and all as people were, they looked after their own.
‘And so you were born, Ellen Margaret O’Donovan, daughter of Michael and Bridget.’
Sean leaned over and held Ellen’s hand as the tears came coursing down her cheeks. ‘I know this must come as a terrible shock to you,’ he said kindly. ‘But you should know this. Your father adored you. He took massive risks to see Bridget throughout her pregnancy and on the night you were born he sat outside in the barn, even though there was a price on his head, just to hear your first cry. Mammy was upstairs with Bridget and the midwife, and I was out in the barn with Tom. When we heard your little voice through the open window, your father cried like a baby and made me promise that I would look after you until he could do it himself. That is why, darling Ellen, you have made me the happiest man in the world by coming home. I can die happy now knowing I did right by you and that I told you how much your parents loved you.’
The normally gruff Sean choked with emotion.
For the next few minutes, Ellen and Sean sat in silence, holding hands and gazing into the fire, each lost in their own thoughts.
Finally, Sean broke the silence. ‘I suppose you know the rest, but I might as well finish it now…’
Ellen nodded at him through her tears, indicating that he should continue.
‘The next day we were all around the little crib, admiring you. Even Michael seemed delighted with you, picking you up and cuddling you. We were amazed. Nobody who knew Michael could ever have pictured him so soft. But he was mad about you. Even if he was still mad as hell at your father. Neighbours came and went, bringing little presents, and all in all, it was a great day. I remember that night hearing pebbles being thrown at my window. I opened up and there was Tom in the back garden whispering to me to come to the back door. I crept down the stairs and let him in. He had a big bunch of wild flowers and a home-made dolly that he told me someone had given him “for his little niece.” I went up and woke Bridget…she slept alone…I don’t think she and Michael ever…well, anyway she was alone. I told her she had a visitor and then Tom walked into the room. I never saw two people so happy to see each other. You stirred in the crib and Tom took you out and held you in his arms. I’ll never forget that moment as I stood in the doorway. He looked down at you and said: “Welcome little Ellen, I’m your Daddy, and you must stay here with your beautiful Mammy until I get rid of these cursed Englishmen, so you can grow up a happy little Irish girl. I won’t be long I hope, but they’re being a bit stubborn! Don’t worry though, my little angel, your Daddy is on the job. So it will be sorted out soon.”
He kissed your head and handed you to Bridget. He stood there for a few minutes with his arms around the two of y
ou. He told her he loved her more than life itself and that he’d be back to see you both as soon as he could. With that he was gone.’
‘He never saw her again.’
‘How old was I then?’ Ellen asked, finding it hard to get the words out, tears streaming down her face.
‘Let me see, I suppose you were only about two or three days old at that stage. Of course, all hell had broken loose after the Kilmichael ambush the previous month and everyone knew the English were jumpy and even more dangerous than before. They were like cornered rats by then. I don’t know if someone saw Tom leave that night or what it was, but when the Auxies turned up again in search of Tom and this time there was no messing. They dragged my father and Michael and me out into the yard and put us facing the wall, roaring at us that they’d better find Tom or we’d all be dead. Mammy was screaming and telling them we knew nothing when one of them hit her across the head with the butt of his rifle. Daddy went to help her but they rounded on him and gave him an awful beating. The poor man was never the same again after that. Luckily, Mammy was a tough old bird and she got over her injuries fine.
‘Bridget was in bed nursing you when they broke down the bedroom door. I heard her screaming “please don’t hurt my baby.” Next thing we knew, a young soldier came downstairs and handed you to Kitty O’Dwyer, a neighbour who was visiting at the time. We could hear them roaring at Bridget to tell them where Tom was. She kept saying she hadn’t seen him in months, that she thought he was gone to England. They must have lost patience with her or something because next thing we heard was the sound of gunshots, then silence.
‘Later that night Tom arrived and told us he was going to America. It was too dangerous to stay, he said. It was like someone had turned off a light inside him. He was distraught over Bridget, but there was no time for tears or funerals. Mammy and Daddy, and even Michael, begged him to leave you with us. America was so far away and Tom knew nothing at all about babies, but he wasn’t for turning. His daughter was going with him and nothing anyone could say would change his mind. And so we wrapped you up warm, I remember Michael gave you…’
‘His coat,’ Ellen interrupted. ‘I still have it. My father always told me my Uncle Michael gave me that coat to keep me warm on the boat.’
‘Yes that’s exactly what he said. Michael loved you too, but he couldn’t say it any other way. Some bottles were found for you and a few napkins and away ye went into the night. We were all nearly demented with worry those first few weeks, not knowing if you were alright or not. One day we got a letter …it was in code of course, in case the British intercepted it…it was from our Aunt Florence in Boston saying she had just got a new puppy, and even though it was her first puppy, he seemed to be managing fine. She did mention that she had no idea taking care of a puppy was such hard work. Mammy and Daddy were so relieved, and even Michael smiled. We had letters over the years, but when Mammy and Daddy died, and then Michael died, we just lost touch. I’m glad Tom had a good life, and that he was a good father to you.’
Sean’s voice had become virtually inaudible, and Ellen became acutely aware that telling the story had taken its toll on him – physically and emotionally.
She stood up, leaned over and kissed him on a wizened cheek. ‘Thank you Sean,’ she said quietly.
In the kitchen the main light was switched off and Mary was sitting by the fire, reading. The light was fading outside, and stillness had descended on the house.
Mary stood up, ‘Are you alright Ellen?’
‘I’m fine. It’s been an incredible day though.’
‘Conor and Bert went back to the hotel. I told them you’d be staying here tonight. I’ll drive you back tomorrow morning. There’s tea in the pot, and a few sandwiches. You must be hungry? I’ve made up the bed for you, and your electric blanket is on, so you won’t freeze. I know tis summer but the nights can be chilly all the same. Especially if you’re not used to it. I’ll just help Daddy up to bed and then I’ll be down to show you where to go. ‘Tis great to have you home Ellen. I hope you’ll come again.’
Ellen sat eating the sandwiches and looking at the photographs that were dotted around the large room. Arriving back, Mary said: ‘The room I had planned for you to sleep in is across the corridor there, but Daddy says you might like to sleep upstairs. Say it now if you would rather not, but it’s your mother’s room, and it’s the bed you were born in.’
Ellen felt her eyes well up for what seemed the hundredth time that day.
‘This was my father’s house?’ she asked. ‘I just assumed it was your husband’s place.’
Mary laughed, ‘Oh Lord save us no, not at all. Daddy wouldn’t live anywhere else, so we moved in here with him a few years ago. Our farm is further back the road, but we live here in the O’Donovan’s home place.’
Ellen looked up at the ceiling. ‘The house where my mother died.’
She followed Mary up the stairs and into a room with a big double bed covered in a deep red brocade quilt. A great sense of peace and love washed over her. She hugged Mary goodnight and settled into the bed she had last occupied eighty years earlier.
Chapter 26
‘Relax, they’re not going to eat you.’
Laoise poked Dylan in the ribs as they sat on plastic chairs outside the room where the interviews were being held. Dylan wished he was anywhere else but there at that moment. He just knew they were going to laugh him out of the interview. Sitting either side of himself and Laoise were a teenage girl and a guy that Dylan reckoned was in his twenties. The girl had a violin case on her lap, and he knew, just by looking at her, that she had probably first learned the instrument as a baby, and had been playing it ever since. The guy sitting beside her was dressed in scruffy jeans, a grandfather shirt and a battered, brown leather jacket. On the floor beside him was what looked like a banjo case but Dylan couldn’t be sure. Even if he had brought his guitar to Ireland, he would have been too embarrassed to play at this interview, he thought. What had he been thinking of, allowing Laoise to talk him into coming here? He was about to make a terrible fool of himself, he was certain.
Laoise’s mobile rang and she ran down the stairs shouting, ‘Ah Mam…just calm down will ya. I had an emergency…’ Dylan strained to hear the next bit, but by now Laoise had disappeared out the front door of the building. The whole thing was insane. He looked down at the application form in his hand. He wasn’t going to be able to do this. His stomach was in knots. He decided to head after Laoise, tell her the whole crazy plan was off, he wasn’t going through with it.
A nearby door opened and a woman’s voice rang out. ‘Dylan Holbrook?’
‘Er…yeah…that’s me,’ Dylan said barely audibly. ‘Please come in,’ she said smiling. ‘Did you bring an instrument?’
‘An instrument?’ ‘Oh…er em …no…no instrument... just …’
‘Just yourself then,’ she answered as she ushered him into the room.
He stood looking at a long table, two men sitting on either side. The woman sat down at the top of the table.
‘Dylan, please take a seat,’ said the younger of the two men.
As he pulled the chair in towards the table, Dylan had a good look at the two men. The blood drained from his face when he recognised Laoise’s father. He began to tremble so violently he could barely manage to hand the woman his application form. Seeing his obvious nervousness, she tried to put him at ease.
‘Dylan, my name is Sheila O’Mahony, and I’m the Head of Administration at the college. This is Kieran Cassidy,’ she said, nodding at the younger of the two men. ‘Head of First Year and Dean of the Faculty, and this is Diarmuid Lynch, the well-known piper who gives guest lectures and demonstrations to our piping students. Diarmuid doesn’t usually sit on these interview panels, but due to the illness of another staff member, he has kindly agreed to stand in today. So Kieran, would you like to begin?’
Dylan managed to croak out answers to Kieran’s general background questions. Throughout, Diarmuid looke
d kindly at him, but displayed no hint of recognition.
When Kieran finished going through his list of questions, Sheila O’Mahony took over. ‘Well I can see you have all the necessary forms filled out correctly and so on. I will look at them in detail later on. But, for now, we would like to know why you feel we should award you a place on this course.’
Diarmuid gave him an almost imperceptible wink and nodded to him encouragingly.
‘Well,’ Dylan began, ‘I only arrived in Ireland recently and I happened to overhear some music that was being played in a church. I went in and discovered that the sound that had drawn me in was the sound of uilleann pipes. The piper was nice enough to answer my questions. Up to that point, I had never even heard of uilleann pipes. The truth is they kinda got into my soul.’
He blushed with embarrassment at the very idea of him using such language but, at the same time, he knew that if he was to stand any chance at all, he had to convince these people why the music meant so much to him.
‘No instrument has ever had such an effect on me. I was in a band back in the States, doing metal and that kind of stuff, but the music I heard that day in the church was so different. Since that first day, I’ve done nothing else except travel to gigs and listen to as much traditional music as I can. It’s amazing and I...well. I love it. It’s like I hear it with my heart, not just with my ears. The fast tunes give you a kind of a rush to the head and make you want to like jump around or something. Like nothing matters only keeping the music going. And the slow ones, the slow airs, it’s like you can feel the sadness of the person who wrote the piece. It’s like the pipes are joining in the loneliness.’
The three interviewers looked at him and smiled. Kieran Cassidy was the first to respond. ‘Well thank you Dylan. We’ll let you know, but I must tell you that this course is very heavily subscribed and most, if not all applicants, have at least a background in traditional music. So, it would be wrong of me to send you away without giving you a true picture of the situation here. If you are not successful this time, might I suggest that you take up another, perhaps less challenging instrument, and reapply next year?’
The Tour Page 19
