Rugby Warrior

by Gerard Siggins

  ‘Do you reckon?’ asked Dylan. ‘Would McRae allow me to switch to the wing?’

  ‘Well, on the Bs to start with, I suppose,’ suggested Eoin. ‘But you have the pace and you’re a tough one when you need to be. I think you’d make a cracking wing.’ Eoin put his arm on Dylan’s shoulder. ‘Look, let’s start this year off again on a better foot. I don’t have any other Ormondstown Gaels with me up in Dublin, so I’m relying on you to be my buddy. You know I don’t get on with Richie, but fair play to you if you do. I’m not going to say anything to put you off him, but just be careful there.’

  ‘Ah, I know,’ replied Dylan, ‘He was decent enough when I was fighting with you, but I suspect he won’t want to know me now we’re mates again.’

  CHAPTER 26

  They had a good kick-about that day in the Gaels, with Eoin suggesting a few moves that Dylan might add to his game to make him a potential Castlerock winger. By the end of the day they were laughing and joking like best buddies.

  Dylan was happy to take a lift back to Dublin too, and it was a happy, pleasant group that pulled up the drive to Castlerock College at the end of the mid-term break.

  ‘Thanks, Mr Madden,’ said Dylan as the boys took their bags out of the boot of his car.

  Eoin hung back to thank his dad.

  ‘I’m glad to see things have worked out better,’ said Dad. ‘He’s a nice young fella, just needs a bit of stability in his life, I’d reckon.’

  ‘Cheers, Dad. I’ll keep in touch,’ said Eoin. ‘And try to reply to my texts!’

  ‘I will, I will,’ laughed his dad, ‘You young lads don’t know how busy life is for parents. I don’t have time to be composing texts. And to be honest, I’m not entirely sure how this new phone works either …’

  Eoin chuckled to himself as he climbed the stairs to the dormitory.

  As he turned the corner he bumped into Dylan, who was talking to Mr McCaffrey. It was a serious conversation.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t see you,’ Eoin apologised.

  Dylan shrugged and looked at Eoin, but didn’t say a word. Eoin went into the dorm and shut the door. Alan bounced up from the bed, where he was reading a zombie comic.

  ‘Howya, Eoin, have a good break?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, not bad at all. Got a bit of work done. You?’

  ‘Boring. Rained a lot. Tried to start work on my project about Ancient Greece, but there always seemed to be something more interesting on TV. I watched a documentary about goats at one stage.’

  ‘Ha! Ancient Greek goats I hope? I’m pretty much done on the research for my thing so I’ll get down to writing it this week.’

  Dylan walked in just then, but besides the usual ‘hellos’ he was obviously not in the mood for a chat and lay down on his bed and plugged in his earphones. Eoin noticed the music player wasn’t even switched on.

  Dylan just didn’t want to talk.

  Although he was friendly enough, Dylan still hadn’t had anything more than a basic conversation with any of his schoolmates by Wednesday afternoon, when the Under-14s lined out for their first league game.

  By coincidence, the match was against St Osgur’s, the team they had beaten in the final at the Aviva at the end of the previous season.

  ‘I’m sure these guys will be stoked about this game.’ said Mr McRae, ‘And from what I saw of them in the final they’re a nifty side. But if you stick to the basics she’ll be right. You all know your role and your responsibilities. So go out there and show them that the final was no flash in the pan – Castlerock are the best team in the province at this age group, and those guys better remember that.’

  The team cheered as the coach’s stirring words echoed around the dressing room. It was their first chance to play in the school since the Aviva, too, and there was a big turnout of boys from the older classes.

  It was clear from early on that St Osgur’s hadn’t forgotten the final and were keen to hand out some revenge. Richie Duffy didn’t help, either, singing ‘cham-pion-es, cham-pion-es’ as the ball was put into the first scrum of the game. The referee stopped play and walked over to Eoin.

  ‘Ask your opera singer to keep it zipped, please, captain,’ he snapped.

  St Osgur’s steamed upfield and were 6-0 up within ten minutes as Castlerock, defending desperately, kept conceding penalties. The first time Duffy got the ball he foolishly tried a sidestep and run, but the visitors were only waiting for such an opportunity and he was flattened by three large forwards coming at him from left, right and centre.

  The three rose to their feet sporting huge grins as their team-mates started singing ‘Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life’ before the referee waved his finger at them.

  Richie was battered and bruised, but after a couple of minutes he was ready to resume his position. While many of the Castlerock boys weren’t too fond of Duffy, and even understood why the St Osgur’s players had done it – Richie was a member of THEIR team and he needed to be protected, and avenged.

  The Castlerock pack won a series of scrums and rucks which took them into the opposition 22 when Rory fired the ball out to Eoin at out-half. Eoin spotted a gap and went for it, and with a sharp injection of pace he burst through the flailing hands of the St Osgur’s defence. In half a second he was clear, and touched the ball down between the posts. He took the congratulations of his team-mates before ushering them back to half-way. He took the conversion himself, and for a second he thought he was back among the blackberry bushes of Ormondstown. Just as he did all summer in the GAA grounds, his kick split the air between the goalposts, and Castlerock were 7-6 in front.

  At half-time Mr McRae was positive about their performance, but he took Eoin aside for a private chat just before the second half kicked off.

  ‘Duffy still looks a bit groggy. I’ll give him five minutes and then I’ll take him off. I was thinking about moving Mikey O’Reilly into centre but that leaves us short of a winger. What do you think?’ the coach asked.

  ‘Dylan is keen to play on the wing, and he’s definitely got more speed than Joseph,’ replied Eoin. ‘He won’t let you down.’

  Mr McRae nodded, but did not reply. He looked over at the bench where the replacements were huddled. Dylan was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Mr McCaffrey took him away during the first half. Something’s up at home I think.’

  CHAPTER 27

  Richie Duffy recovered his verve in the second half, and Mr McRae left him on the field. In fact, he scored two of Castlerock’s four tries as the home team sauntered to a 28-16 win. Eoin led the cheers for St Osgur’s as the teams walked off, and again looked over towards the substitutes. Dylan hadn’t returned.

  After dinner, Eoin returned to the dormitory, by now very concerned about his friend. He found him lying on his bed, and it was obvious he had been crying.

  ‘Hi, Dyl, what happened today?’ Eoin asked. ‘Mr McRae was about to bring you on as winger.’

  Dylan didn’t reply, but sat up and walked over to the door, checked the corridor outside and closed the door behind him. He walked back to his bed, sat down and looked up at his friend.

  ‘OK, Eoin, what I’m going to tell you HAS to stay between us. You can’t tell anyone at all. Anyone. Do you promise?’

  Eoin nodded.

  ‘It’s about my dad. He’s not a very nice man, to be honest. I haven’t seen him since I was little, and most of my memories are of him being mean to my mother. Mum took Caoimhe and me away a good while ago, but he was, eh, away for a while so he didn’t bother us.

  ‘We were in Limerick for a few years but Mum got nervous there and so we moved to Ormondstown. We really like it there and she has a nice job too,’ he said.

  ‘One of her uncles was a rich lawyer in America and he wanted me to come to school here so he’s paying the fees. He was in Castlerock with Mr McCaffrey and explained the situation to him – and asked him to keep an eye out for me.

  ‘McCaffrey got a call from Mum today saying she had seen one of my dad’s c
ronies around Ormondstown. She doesn’t think he saw her, but she’s terrified all the same. It’s funny, she was nervous last week but I told her not to worry. Mothers always have an instinct about these things …’

  Eoin sat down on the bed opposite Dylan.

  ‘That’s shocking, Dyl,’ he started. ‘Is she OK? Why did you have to leave the game?’

  ‘She’s fine now, but she doesn’t know anyone well enough to trust in Ormondstown so she’s not leaving the house and poor old Caoimhe’s staying home from school. McCaffrey brought me over to talk to her as she was very upset when she rang him. Caoimhe’s in a state too, but she’s tougher than you think …’

  Dylan blinked hard and changed the subject. ‘Was McRae going to bring me on? Really?’

  ‘Yeah, he was going to switch the backs around a bit when Richie got injured. I told him you were a better bet on the wing than Joseph,’ said Eoin.

  ‘Thanks, buddy,’ said Dylan, suddenly cheered up. ‘I’ll make sure I’m up for it at training on Friday.’

  The pair wandered down to the common-room where Chelsea were getting a hammering from Barcelona on TV. Eoin chuckled to himself as blues fan Richie Duffy sat grey-faced in front of the screen.

  Eoin sat down in a quiet corner and took out The Complete Rugby Footballer and the notes for his project. He had lots of good information and a few ideas for how he would approach the project, but he was missing the magic that would give it a chance of winning. He would need to see Dave again soon.

  CHAPTER 28

  The next week was spent writing up the project, and Mr Lawson was very pleased with the way Eoin had put it together. He even called Mr Finn into the classroom to read the first draft.

  ‘That’s a lovely bit of work, Eoin, and some marvellous stories too. How did you come up with that yarn about the priest?’ he asked.

  ‘My grandfather,’ replied Eoin. ‘He met him a long time ago, just after, just after …’

  ‘Ah, yes of course. I remember. He had been a chaplain in the First World War. Dixie told me the story at the time. It made a great impression on him I recall. And it is interesting that his grandson should have picked up that relay baton, so to speak!’

  Eoin smiled, and returned to his work. The deadline for entries was two days away, and he wasn’t happy with some parts of the project. Mr Lawson had come up with a couple of great pictures off the internet, and the librarian had allowed him to photocopy parts of The Complete Rugby Footballer, but he wouldn’t allow him to send the valuable old book into the competition. So there was nothing connected to Dave Gallaher from his time that would give the project an edge over the other entries.

  After school he packed his bag and sauntered over to the stream where he had previously encountered Gallaher. He sat down on the rock and opened the book. It was already starting to get dark, and the evening was starting to get chilly. He wouldn’t be able to hang around too long.

  He stared at the photograph of Gallaher and his team-mate and co-author Billy Stead. The former rugby captain looked so strong and fit. It was hard to believe that anything could have stopped a man like him, but then he remembered how lethal were the weapons that humans were able to turn on each other, and how it took an eighteen-pound shell packed with high explosive to finally take the life of Segeant-Major David Gallaher of Ramelton and Auckland.

  ‘How are you, lad,’ came a voice in the now familiar Kiwi accent. ‘And how’s that pro-ject you’re working on?’

  ‘Hi, Dave,’ said Eoin, relieved that the ghost had shown up. ‘It’s nearly finished, actually. I just need a couple more questions answered, if you don’t mind.’

  Dave was able to fill Eoin in on what he needed to know, and they chatted for a while about the modern world of rugby and how very different a sport it appeared to the old All Black.

  ‘I watched a bit of that game you played last week. You guys are pretty slick. But I couldn’t work out half the positions you play in – in my day the half backs were in charge of the left or right side of the field, and whoever’s area it was in put the ball into the scrum, with the other standing off him. You seem to have one little guy to do that all the time now, and of course you played as the stand-off.’

  Eoin was relatively new to rugby, but explained it as best he could and hoped he hadn’t given Dave a wrong steer. He told him when their next home game was and suggested he come along.

  As Eoin rose to leave, he remembered that his project was still missing any sort of historical artefacts. He explained his problem to Dave.

  ‘Well now, I can probably help you there, son, but you’re going to have to promise to look after them for me. They mean more than life itself to me now, and I’ve got all eternity to look at them.’

  The old soldier opened the breast pocket of his tunic, and took out two items.

  ‘This here’s a photo of my wife, Nellie. She’s sitting with my lovely daughter Nora. She was just nine years old when I headed off to Europe.’

  He handed the faded, browning piece of stiff card to Eoin, and his eyes misted over. ‘Look after it good,’ he croaked.

  And then he opened his fist, which had been closed over a piece of dark cloth.

  ‘This here has been in my pocket for more than a century. I carried it everywhere after I stopped playing, and it went with me to that last battlefield near Wipers.’

  Eoin stared at the treasured piece of material, with a silver fern carefully embroidered on the black cloth.

  ‘Before it ended up in my pocket I wore it on my chest, on the black jersey of New Zealand,’ the All Black explained. ‘Good luck with the pro-ject, I’m chuffed that people will be hearing about Dave Gallaher all over again – and in Ireland too. Drop back here and let me know how it goes.’

  CHAPTER 29

  Next morning there was another surprise for Eoin, as the school secretary met him on the steps of the school and handed him a letter. The address was written in thin, shaky handwriting, but Eoin recognised the postmark as coming from Ormondstown.

  ‘Grandad,’ he smiled. ‘And what have you got for me here?’

  He opened the letter carefully, and was astonished to find there was just one, yellow piece of paper inside. It was clearly very old, and when he opened it, a poem was printed on it in very old-fashioned script. He read it to himself.

  Waste of muscle, waste of brain

  Waste of patience, waste of pain

  Waste of manhood, waste of health

  Waste of beauty, waste of wealth

  Waste of blood and waste of tears

  Waste of youth’s most precious years

  Waste of ways the Saints have trod

  Waste of glory

  Waste of God

  War!

  Underneath the poem was written a note in different handwriting.

  ‘Poem hand-written by the author, Geoffrey Studdert Kennedy, and given by him to Father Edward Fitzgerald, the man who gave the last rites to Dave Gallaher.’

  Eoin grinned, and kissed the envelope. ‘Thanks, Grandad,’ he said to himself. ‘That’s fantastic.’

  Mr Lawson was stunned when Eoin produced the folder containing his final project, which he had coloured to resemble Dave’s old book, and he was knocked out by the three pieces of history that he produced to accompany his entry.

  ‘Where on earth did you get these items?’ he asked.

  Eoin panicked, realising he couldn’t tell the whole truth without getting into a whole lot more trouble. But he couldn’t tell a lie to the teacher either.

  ‘My grandad gave me the poem,’ he replied. ‘He met the old priest, Fr Fitzgerald, a long time ago. It was just a coincidence that I told him I was doing the project on Dave Gallaher.’

  ‘And the photograph? I gave you a print-out of that from a website. But this looks like the original …’

  ‘A friend of mine gave it to me,’ Eoin explained. ‘He heard I was doing the project and got it to me. I have to look after it really carefully. Can we just send a copy to
the organisers and bring this along to the exhibition? I just can’t lose them.’

  ‘And the silver fern,’ asked Mr Lawson. ‘Is this …?’ he stared at Eoin. ‘It can’t be!’

  ‘It is,’ said Eoin. ‘The same friend.’

  ‘But, that’s a truly priceless artefact. I know for certain that the New Zealand National Museum would pay a fortune for such an item, let alone what private collectors might. I’m not a huge rugby fan, but this gives me the shivers just holding it. Who is this friend?’ he asked.

  ‘I would rather not say,’ said Eoin. ‘Security issues, you know.’

  Mr Lawson stared at the youngster. ‘Well, I must say I’m seriously impressed, Eoin, this is a brilliant piece of work. No matter how well you do in the competition I’d say you’re a certainty for an A in your next school report. Well done.’

  CHAPTER 30

  The Under-14s won their next two games, and already were being talked of as favourites for the Begley Cup. They had been drawn to play against St Isolde’s Academy in the semi-final and there was a real buzz around the school about the team.

  Unfortunately, the team suffered a setback just before the big game.

  Mr Lawson had asked Mr McCaffrey could he set up a small soccer club, but the headmaster needed a lot of convincing. Castlerock was a rugby school, and nothing could be allowed deflect from its aim to be the best rugby school in the province. The New Zealander pointed out that there were a lot of boys who couldn’t get into the three Under-14 rugby teams and were missing out on healthy activity.

  Reluctantly, Mr McCaffrey agreed and Castlerock AFC was granted a small, scruffy pitch in a distant corner of the playing fields.

  They played among themselves at first, but the trouble came during a friendly against Ligouri College. The team was mostly made up of boys who didn’t play rugby, but there was a handful of rugby players on the team. Just before the final whistle one of them, Joseph Pearse, was through on his own with only the goalkeeper to beat when he suddenly lurched forward and tumbled to the ground. He roared in pain, and Mr Lawson rushed out to where he lay.