CHAPTER 9
The first week at school flew past, and Eoin and Dylan settled quickly into life in Castlerock. At the weekend Eoin took Dylan on a tour of the grounds, showing him the best hiding places and the best windows in which to sit to catch the last of the sun’s rays. Dylan even started going about on his own, which was a relief to Eoin who didn’t really want to spend the whole school year with a Siamese twin.
After lessons on Monday the whole year trooped onto two mini buses parked just outside the headmaster’s office. Mr Carey climbed on board and stood at the top of the bus in which Eoin was sitting with his friends.
‘Right boys, a bit of quiet please. This is a rare treat for Castlerock rugby, and I hope you enjoy the day and appreciate it. I know you understand how you need to behave so I won’t go on about it.
‘When we get to the Aviva we will go straight to the committee room where we will watch a DVD of last year’s final and have some snacks and drinks. Then the old boys want to present you with a memento of the occasion. Enjoy the day and – like I said the last time we went there – make me proud.’
Dylan was clearly excited as the bus made its way through the traffic towards Lansdowne Road. ‘I’ve never been here before,’ he admitted. ‘I’d love to see a big match in the Aviva, I can’t imagine what it was like to actually play there.’
‘It was a bit special,’ agreed Eoin, ‘but it’s funny how easy it is to shut off everything when the match is going on. I only really panicked towards the end, just in time for the last kick of the game!’
‘But they all lived happily after, so you got over it quickly then,’ quipped Dylan.
The bus pulled into the tunnel that ran all the way around the inside of the stadium, and parked in an area where the passageway widened.
The boys were greeted by a woman in a stadium jacket and escorted to a lift which took them to the fourth level. The room was lined with tables crammed with goodies, but the Castlerock boys remembered their teacher’s warning so they waited for the order to eat.
A recording of the final was playing on a big screen, and Dylan was among the boys keenly watching the action.
‘That’s really cool, Eoin,’ he told him. ‘You’re a pretty good player. But I’d say I’d have a good chance of getting on as scrum-half. He’s not up to much, is he?’
‘Careful now, Dylan. Rory’s one of our room-mates and he’s a good pal. See how it goes – but you might have to take your time,’ Eoin replied.
‘Why?’ asked Dylan. ‘There’s a new coach. He’ll pick the best man for the job, surely?’
‘Maybe …’ said Eoin, who couldn’t fault Dylan’s argument, but he could also see it would mean trouble ahead in room seven.
‘Attention, everybody,’ called out a man in a grey suit. ‘My name is Paddy Murray, and it is an awful long time since I played Under-13 for Castlerock College. I’m chairman this year of the old boys’ club, and we decided to honour your remarkable victory in this very stadium last season. It was a stunning performance and we were very proud of you that day, especially with so many people here to watch it.
‘We would like to make a presentation to each member of that marvellous side, and I would like to invite the the inspirational captain, Richard Duffy, to come up and call out their names.’
Richie joined Mr Murray at the top of the room, and began to read out the names of the team.
‘Hugh Bowers, Glen Fox, Harry Young …’ and on he went, working his way through the squad. Each player was presented with a team photo and a classy dark green tracksuit with his name embroidered on the back and the legend ‘Fr Geoghegan Cup winners’ on the chest.
Duffy went through the team in order of shirt number, but missed out the Number 15. When he had finished with the replacements, he called out his own name, collected his prize, and walked back to his friends at the back of the hall.
There was a round of applause before Mr Murray put his hand up. ‘Hang on a second,’ he said. ‘There’s one tracksuit left over … Let me check … yes, the name on the back is “Madden”. Is he not here? Has he left the school?’
‘No, sir.’ said Eoin, ‘I’m right here. Maybe Richie forgot I was playing that day.’
Duffy glared at Eoin, but if his omission was a deliberate snub, it certainly didn’t work. As Eoin walked up to receive his memento, the applause and cheering was louder than for all the other boys put together.
CHAPTER 10
After a couple more speeches the boys settled back to watch the dramatic second half of the game, or to wander around the trophy-filled room and stare at the photographs of the sport’s greatest warriors from years gone by.
‘Congratulations, Eoin, that was a lovely prize to get, wasn’t it?’ asked Mr Finn.
‘Yes, sir, thank you,’ he replied.
Mr Finn pointed at one of the photographs on the wall. ‘That’s the first team to visit here from New Zealand, in 1905 I think,’ he said. ‘The captain of that time was a very special player, although I don’t see him in the photo. Ah, here’s Mr McRae, he may be able to tell you about him …’
‘Hello, Mr Finn,’ the new coach replied. ‘And well done, Eoin, I’m impressed watching the game there.’
‘Tell me,’ asked the older teacher, ‘do you know much about this All Black team?’
‘I do indeed,’ said Mr McRae, his eyes lighting up as he looked at the picture, which had become yellowed with time.
‘They were the first team to be called the All Blacks – the Originals we call them back home. They were a phenomenal unit, led by an amazing man called Dave Gallaher, who believe it or not was born in Ireland …’
‘Really?’ said Eoin. ‘Why was he playing for New Zealand then?’
‘Well, I’m not sure of the details, but I think his family immigrated to New Zealand when he was a baby. That was an amazing journey to take at the time, sailing in a steam ship which took months. He grew up to be one of our greatest players, and wrote the best book about playing the game that I’ve ever read. My first coach told me he thought it was the start of modern rugby coaching and I can’t argue with that.
‘His story is still remembered in New Zealand though because he lost his life in the First World War. When I was still playing I had a season in Auckland and we got to the final of the Dave Gallaher Shield. I’m glad to see he’s not forgotten in his native land too.’
‘Well that’s an amazing story,’ said Mr Finn. ‘I must look him up on the Google-machine in the staff room. And he was from Ireland, you say?’
‘Yeah, a place called Donny-gal, is it?’
‘Ah yes, Donegal. We pronounce it “Dunny-gawl” here.’
‘It’s funny that he’s not in this picture.’ said Mr McRae, ‘Maybe you could find out why on the Google-thing too, Mr Finn?’
Eoin laughed and excused himself before he wandered over to where his friends were tucking into the last of the chicken goujons and cocktail sausages.
‘That was a great dig at Duffy,’ said Alan, ‘He totally tried to blank you but you ended up an even bigger legend.’
‘Yeah, well I decided this summer I’m not going to stand for any rubbish from Duffy any more. Bullies like him just need to be taken on. He’s a coward really, and I think if we all stand together and stand up to him he won’t be able to bully us all.
‘I even told Mr McRae that he wouldn’t make a good captain this year. I told him in front of Duffy too. I think that shocked him a bit – that’s why he was trying to get back at me today.’
‘Wow, Eoin, that was brave,’ said Rory, who like most of the boys had been one of Duffy’s victims. ‘You’ll want to watch your back, though. He’ll try to get at you in other ways.’
‘Whatever,’ said Eoin, with a grin. ‘You heard the cheer – I’ve got the guys behind me. I’ll be all right.’
CHAPTER 11
As the boys marched back to their bus, Eoin tapped Alan on the shoulder.
‘That’s where it all started, tha
t’s where I first met Brian,’ he said, pointing to the corridor that led to the treatment room.
‘Who’s Brian?’ asked Alan.
Eoin reddened as he realised he had blurted out his secret, distracted by the excitement of the evening and the return to the scene of the most amazing days of his life.
‘Eh … eh … I mean … where we went on the stadium tour …’ Eoin stammered, unconvincingly.
‘You mentioned some guy called Brian before. What’s that all about?’ asked Alan.
Eoin stopped and looked at his feet.
‘OK, but it’s a long story, and a bit unbelievable, really,’ he said, ‘but I’ll tell you all about it later.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Alan, looking quizzically at his friend. OK, how about a stroll around the grounds when we get back. I need to work all that pizza off,’ he said, slapping his belly.
The rugby players climbed back onto the bus for the journey back to Castlerock. Eoin sat quietly at the back with Alan, and the pair were a bit surprised to see Richie Duffy and Dylan get on the bus together, laughing and joking.
‘What’s Duffy up to, I wonder?’ mused Alan. ‘He’d usually have the new boy crying in the corner by now.’
‘Dylan wants Rory’s place on the team,’ replied Eoin. ‘It looks like he thinks sucking up to the captain is the best way to do it.’
‘Oooh, that could get very messy!’ said Alan. ‘Being on the first-fifteen means everything to Rory. Our little dorm mightn’t be so happy if Dylan takes his place.’
‘I know, but Dylan is tough. I’m afraid his ambition could be a problem for us all.’
The return bus journey passed peacefully, interspersed with guffaws from Duffy and Dylan who seemed to be getting on like a house on fire.
Eoin gave Fiachra his tracksuit and asked him to leave it in the dorm, before he and Alan set off at a jog for the playing fields. Once they got there Eoin sprinted the length of the field with Alan puffing along far behind. The friends lay on the ground till their breath returned to a steady pace.
‘So what’s all this mystery?’ Alan gasped.
‘Seriously, you have to promise not to tell anyone, or tell me I’m an idiot,’ Eoin pleaded. ‘But I can’t explain it, just that what I’m telling you is completely true.’
‘OK, I promise, go on,’ said Alan, now completely mystified.
‘Brian is a ghost––’ Eoin started.
Alan laughed. ‘A ghost? Ah, come on, Eoin, you must think I’m an idiot.’
‘No, I’m deadly serious,’ he replied. ‘I met him in the Aviva last year, and we became friends. He gave me some really good tips about rugby, even during the final.
‘He was an old player who was killed playing rugby in the ground years ago, and came back to, sort of, haunt the place ever since. He’s gone now though, the last time I saw him was just after we won the final.’
Alan just stared at his best friend. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times as he tried to ask one of the many questions he wanted to ask. They all came at a rush.
‘Was he, like, white like a sheet, or all gory like a zombie?’
‘How was he killed?’
‘And how did you see him?’
‘Hang on, hang on,’ said Eoin. ‘He looked like any rugby player in his kit, but the jersey and boots looked very old-fashioned. He looked a bit pale, I suppose, but there was no blood. He was a prop and got injured when a scrum collapsed. I still don’t know why I was able to see and hear him – he told me that he’d been around for more than eighty years and I was the first person able to see him and that he was able to talk to.
‘He was a really nice lad, very friendly but a bit lonely I suppose. I sneaked in here a few times to talk to him. He was a great help. I hope I’ll be OK this year without his advice.’
‘Ah, don’t say that, Eoin,’ Alan chipped in. ‘You were epic last year, ghost advice or not.’
Alan tapped his toe against the goalpost. ‘I’ll tell you Eoin, that story is a bit hard to take in to be honest … But I do believe you, even if no one else would. I’d love to see a ghost,’ he went on. ‘Is there any chance he might reappear if we went back to the Aviva?’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Eoin. ‘On the day of the final he said he was going to leave and there was no sign of him there today.’
‘It’s not fair,’ grumbled Alan, ‘Nothing interesting ever happens to me.’
‘I don’t know. One day you might beat me in the race back,’ laughed Eoin, as he took off in the direction of the school.
CHAPTER 12
Next day the first years had Mr Lawson for history. At the end of the class he told them that, at Mr Finn’s suggestion, they were going to enter the Young Historian of the Year competition for the first time. This was a very prestigious award scheme that included a generous prize for both the school and the winning pupil, including a trip for a class group to a historic site anywhere in Europe.
‘Mr Finn tells me you have some excellent young historians among you,’ said Mr Lawson, ‘but I want everyone to have a go at this. Have a think about what you’d like to write about and we’ll start tying ideas down at our next class.’
‘Yawn,’ said Alan as the boys wandered off to do their after-school work.
‘I don’t know,’ said Eoin, ‘I like history. It could be a bit of crack. It’ll give us an excuse to get some extra time on the computer.’
After they finished their homework they kicked a ball back and forth a few dozen times before Eoin called a halt to the game.
‘I’m going to go to the library. I want to check out if they have a book. Want to come?’
‘No, I’m whacked,’ said Alan. ‘I’m going to crash out on my bed.’
Eoin jogged over to the main building, and slipped into the school library, which was on the ground floor beside Mr McCaffrey’s office.
Besides the librarian, a retired English teacher called Mr McDonagh, he was alone.
‘Can I help you?’ the librarian asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Eoin. ‘I’m looking for a book called The Complete Rugby Footballer. It’s by an old guy who played for New Zealand. I can’t remember his name, sorry.’
‘Hmmm, that’s interesting. We have a lot of books about rugby, but I’m not sure I’ve heard of that one. Let me check the catalogue.’
The grey-haired man thumbed his way through a big box full of small white cards. After some minutes, he pulled one out.
‘Yes, here it is. The Complete Rugby Footballer by D. Gallaher and W.J. Stead. Gosh, published in 1906! I hope it’s not too fragile to read,’ he murmured. ‘Follow me …’
The librarian took off towards the far corner of the library, where a dusty cabinet with a glass-panelled front stood. He selected a small key from an enormous bunch and opened the door with a creak. He reached inside and carefully lifted down a thick, brown book which he handed to Eoin.
‘Take good care of that, young man, I doubt it has been looked at in a hundred years. It is not available to borrow, I’m afraid, so you will have to read it here. And as I’m closing up in ten minutes you had better be quick.’
Eoin sat down at a desk and examined the cover of the book. The title and names of the authors were picked out in gold and Eoin had to wipe a layer of dust off the spine before he opened it.
He examined a photograph on the first page, a side shot of a grinning rugby player holding a ball. Opposite was the title again, and above it a message written neatly in ink. Eoin read it, and suddenly shivered as if someone had opened a window and an icy blast of wind had blown through the old room.
There, in the top corner, were written the words ‘B.F. Hanrahan, from Charlie, Christmas 1927’.
Eoin stared wide-eyed at the page, and looked up to where the librarian was busy tidying away some volumes.
‘Brian …’ he started, ‘But how …’
‘I was wondering that myself,’ came a whisper behind him.
Eoin turned quickly, and
there leaning against a bookcase was a pale young man dressed in black, red and yellow hooped rugby kit.
‘Brian!’ he gasped, at which the librarian looked up.
‘Are you all right, young man?’ he asked. ‘You must keep quiet, even if there are no other readers about.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Eoin. ‘I just got a bit of a surprise.’
‘Surprise? Huh, it didn’t seem like that sort of book,’ grumped the librarian.
Eoin put his head down, and whispered out of the side of his mouth, ‘How did you get here? Where have you been?’
‘I’m not sure how I got here,’ said Brian. ‘It must have been that book. Maybe it works like Aladdin’s lamp? I got that book from my brother on the last Christmas Day I was alive.
‘I was really interested in the All Blacks and the way they changed the game. I had seen them play Ireland in Lansdowne Road a year or two before and they were very impressive.
‘I remember after I died that my brothers packed up all my belongings and sold off what they didn’t want as keepsakes. They raised enough to buy a trophy which they donated to the club for best young player, or something of that order. Someone in the school must have bought that book and it ended up here after that …’
‘Time’s up!’ came the call from the librarian. ‘I’m open again tomorrow after school if you need to consult the book again. I’ll keep it here under the counter for you.’
Eoin stood and turned to say goodbye to Brian, but the ghost had already departed.
CHAPTER 13
The Under-14 trials were very well attended – even some of the boys who hadn’t played rugby the year before turned out, eager to sample this sport that had so enthralled Castlerock at the Aviva Stadium the previous year.
Mr Carey was there too, and organised the dividing up of the players into four teams, but Mr McRae took the two best teams and led them up to the senior pitch to play a twenty-minute-a-side game. The A selection to play the Bs consisted of the starting fifteen from the Fr Geoghegan Cup final, so Eoin slotted in at inside centre, Richie Duffy at out-half and Rory was scrum-half.
Rugby Warrior Page 3
