The Guns of Easter

by Gerard Whelan

  Then Jimmy stopped. Who would they be fighting? The British army. There was no-one else here to fight. But his own Da was in the British army, as were thousands of other Irishmen. Many of the soldiers posted in Dublin were Irish – you heard it when they spoke. So, would Irishmen be shooting at each other at home here in Dublin?

  Thinking of Da made Jimmy suddenly remember Ma. She would be home now with the girls. And she had no money. This afternoon, though, she’d be coming down to the Post Office along with other soldiers’ wives to collect her separation allowance. But with a rebellion going on and the Post Office in the hands of the rebels there’d be no money paid out here today.

  ‘Where the hell are the police?’ squawked the old woman beside him. ‘They’ll soon clear these thugs out!’

  Jimmy doubted that very much. He’d seen two policemen quietly slipping away only minutes before, not wanting to get involved. He thought of the look he’d seen on the faces of the Volunteers’ leaders. They wouldn’t be cleared out by any police force. There would be shooting here. Ma mustn’t come here today. He must warn her.

  Jimmy took a last look at the Post Office. Men were piling things in the frames of the broken windows, fortifying them. On the street, the crowd was getting bigger. Even Jimmy knew that he was watching history being made. Whatever happened today, one day people would wish that they’d been here to see it. It was also, of course, the most exciting thing that Jimmy had ever seen, and he didn’t want to miss a minute of it. But Ma had nobody else to depend on; he could come back later.

  Jimmy tore his eyes away from the scene and ran across the street, not looking back. As he ran, he heard the old woman in the shawl shouting a curse at the men who were fortifying the windows.

  Once away from Sackville Street everything was completely normal. The scene at the Post Office might have been something from a dream. Jimmy didn’t stop running even when he reached his own house. He raced in the front door and up the rotting stairs, jumping over the piles of dirt and rubbish on the landings. He didn’t stop until he stood gasping, staring at Ma, trying to get his breath back so that he could tell her the news.

  Ma was sitting by the bed where Sarah lay. Sarah was red-faced and moaning, his mother pale and grim. Son and mother looked at each other.

  ‘Ma!’ Jimmy got the word out at last. ‘Mick …’

  ‘I know, son,’ she broke in. ‘He was here just after you went out. He came to explain. He said he couldn’t tell us before.’

  There was a whimper from the bed beside her, and both of them looked at Sarah. Her face was wet with sweat.

  ‘How is she?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘Worse. She’s burning with fever. I sent Josie to Kitty Doyle – I was afraid she’d catch it too.’ Ma stood up, wiping her hands on her skirt. She came and stood in front of Jimmy, looking him in the eye. She was pale and tired and worried. ‘Jimmy,’ she said, ‘I think we’re in trouble.’

  ‘The Post Office …’ he said. ‘The Volunteers are after taking it over. There won’t be any money today.’

  His mother nodded. Tears came into her eyes. ‘It’s not just the allowance,’ she said. ‘It’s Ella.’

  Jimmy looked at her in surprise: surely she wasn’t fretting about Ella now. Didn’t she have enough problems of her own with a sick child and no money?

  Ma seemed to read his thoughts, and shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s not what you think. Ella … Ella made a mistake.’ The tears in her eyes overflowed, and she rubbed at them almost angrily. She didn’t seem to know what to say. That wasn’t like her. Then she began to talk in a low, serious voice. Jimmy knew Ma’s serious voice: it meant that something was very wrong.

  ‘Jimmy,’ she said, ‘Mick didn’t think he’d get a chance to get here this morning. He was only here for a minute as it was. When he heard they were going to take over the Post Office, he knew we wouldn’t get any money today. So he decided to give us some money of his own – all his savings. It was four pounds, Jimmy. He tried to get over here last night to warn us. He wanted to give us the four pounds, so that we could get some food and get a doctor for Sarah. But he couldn’t get away – he was moving supplies to Liberty Hall all day yesterday.’

  Four pounds! Jimmy wondered how Mick had saved so much money. Was everything all right after all? But Ma went on before he could ask.

  ‘Mick met Ella in the street,’ Ma said. ‘He warned her what was going to happen. He told her that he had to get the money to us. She said she’d bring it over this morning. She promised, Jimmy, she promised … Mick gave her the money, but …’

  ‘She never came,’ said Jimmy. ‘She knew Sarah was sick, and she never brought the money! She kept it for herself!’

  ‘Hush!’ Ma said, looking nervously over at Sarah. ‘We don’t know that, Jimmy. Anything might have happened to her. Mick said he’ll try and see Ella today to find out what happened. Maybe she’s just delayed.’

  ‘But Mick is with the Citizen Army men down in Stephen’s Green,’ Jimmy pointed out. ‘He’ll never get a chance to see her.’

  Ma gripped his hand tightly. There were tears in her eyes again. ‘Maybe not,’ she said. ‘I said I’d go down to the Green if the fighting didn’t start. But I’m afraid to leave Sarah here on her own. Will you stay with her?’

  Jimmy’s fury faded. Suddenly Ella seemed very unimportant. ‘Will Sarah die?’ he asked.

  His mother finally burst into tears. She hugged him close to her and cried. ‘Oh Jimmy,’ she said. ‘I’m so afraid she will. I’ve never seen any of you so sick, and I don’t know what it is.’

  ‘Then you can’t go,’ Jimmy said. ‘If Sarah gets worse I won’t know what to do. I’ll go and look for Mick. Nobody will notice me.’

  ‘No! I’d be terrified that something might happen to you out in the streets. If fighting starts …’

  ‘And what if you go?’ Jimmy interrupted. ‘What if you go, and something happens to you? Where will we be then?’

  It was true, Lily Conway realised. It would have to be him. There was nobody else left. She looked at her son with a new respect.

  ‘You’re right, son,’ she said. ‘But you have to promise me you’ll come back straight after. See Mick, ask him about Ella, then come back. Promise me that.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘I promise,’ he said.

  ‘Promise faithfully,’ she said. ‘Cross your heart.’

  Jimmy crossed his heart and repeated his promise. Ma stood up and dried her eyes. She suddenly became businesslike, as if to distract her mind from worry.

  ‘It might take a while for you to get down to the Green,’ she said. ‘I have a little bread left. I’ll make you some tea. It might be all you’ll get for a while.’

  Jimmy wanted to protest. He wanted to start out straight away. But he knew she was right. As she bustled around getting the food ready, Jimmy sat in her chair and looked up at the old clock. But he wasn’t playing the thinking game: daydreams were unnecessary when the very stuff of dreams seemed to be spilling out onto the streets around him.

  9

  TO THE GREEN

  BY THE TIME JIMMY HAD FINISHED THE TEA AND BREAD and got out in the streets again it was after one o’clock. He went quickly down Abbey Street, dying to see what had happened. There was no sound of shooting nearby, and there were still people hanging around. They stood in groups, discussing the day’s shocking events.

  At the corner of Sackville Street he looked up towards the Post Office. In front of the building a tram had been overturned and lay there like the aftermath of some ignored accident.

  The Post Office itself seemed quiet. But a group of Volunteers stood outside on the corner of Prince’s Street, and there were others up on the roof of the building. There were unfamiliar flags flying from the two flagpoles on the roof. One was green with something written on it, but it was too far away for Jimmy to make out the words. The other was a tricolour of green, white and orange. Jimmy wondered whether that was the German flag.

  ‘The
Lancers! The Lancers are coming!’ The shout came from behind him. Jimmy looked around. The Volunteers who’d been standing outside the Post Office disappeared into Prince’s Street. Other people scattered too. Then, looking up towards the Parnell Monument, Jimmy saw them: a detachment of the British cavalry, their horses prancing as they advanced. Even as he watched they fanned out across the roadway and halted just beyond Nelson’s Pillar.

  Someone tugged at Jimmy’s arm. He turned his head. It was the old woman in the shawl whom he’d last heard calling for the police.

  ‘Get off of the street now, son,’ she said. ‘The Lancers’ll take care of them buckos.’

  Jimmy was about to answer her crossly when it struck him that she was right. He followed the old woman into the shelter of a shop doorway. She cowered back in its depths, but Jimmy couldn’t resist the urge to peer out.

  The officer in charge of the Lancers was holding up his sword. They were going to charge – and with lances! Jimmy couldn’t believe it: lances were best kept for daydreams, where enemy guns weren’t real.

  The Lancers charged. It was a fearsome sight and Jimmy ducked back into the doorway. For a few seconds the air was full of the sound of horses’ hooves on the cobbles. Then Jimmy jumped as a ragged, jolting crash of gunfire broke out.

  The sound of the hooves faltered. Another booming volley was heard. The hoofbeats thundered again – going away. The Lancers were retreating! Jimmy couldn’t help himself: he peeped out cautiously.

  His view was partly blocked by the overturned tram, but he saw men and horses lying on the ground in Sackville Street. A Lancer on foot was running up the path near Henry Street, and the main body of cavalry was galloping back towards the Parnell Monument.

  The idea that the army might retreat had never actually occurred to Jimmy before. He gaped at the fallen soldiers. There were four of them, and only one seemed to be moving. Two horses lay stretched out beside them. A thick cloud of gunsmoke hung in front of the Post Office.

  Without stopping to think, Jimmy ran towards the soldiers on the ground. When he came to the first of the fallen horses, he reached out and pulled the dead Lancer’s carbine from its holster in front of the saddle. It was as if someone else was making him move.

  The gun was short and light, but it felt heavy in Jimmy’s hands. His eyes fell on the dead Lancer lying just beside the horse. He was a young man, lying on his back with his arms flung wide. His eyes and mouth were open, and there was a dark stain on his chest. He had a look of surprise on his dead face.

  Someone grabbed at Jimmy’s arm. It was the old woman in the shawl.

  ‘What d’ye think ye’re doing?’ she demanded. She grabbed at the gun, trying to pull it from him. ‘Put it back,’ she cried, ‘ye dirty little rebel!’

  For a few seconds they struggled. The woman wasn’t much bigger than Jimmy, and she wasn’t strong. Terrified, he pushed her. She fell with a shriek. Jimmy didn’t stop to see her land; carrying the carbine, he ran towards the Post Office.

  ‘Hey!’ he called, holding the gun up towards the nearest of the barricaded windows. ‘Here’s a gun!’

  He had to stand on tiptoe to reach up. A hand appeared and took the other end of the carbine. Jimmy let it go, and the gun disappeared in through the window.

  ‘Thanks, young fella,’ called a cheerful voice. ‘Good work!’

  But Jimmy was already off and running down the street, followed by the blistering curses of the old woman. He didn’t stop running till he reached the river. On O’Connell Bridge he had to pause to catch his breath. He leaned against the stone balustrade and gulped in air.

  Jimmy was shocked by the enormity of what he’d just done. Not long ago the Lancers had represented all he most admired. It was as if Jimmy were turning his back on the world of dreams. Now he was a rebel too – just as the old woman said. But this wasn’t the time to sort these things out. He could think about it later. First he had to find Mick.

  His journey to Stephen’s Green was peculiar, because most of what he passed seemed so normal and ordinary. People seemed to be going about their everyday business. The streets were fairly empty, but then it was a holiday. As he passed the front of Trinity College, Jimmy heard shooting from Dame Street, but when he looked he saw no sign of anything odd there.

  He passed down Grafton Street, narrow and lined with expensive shops. At the far end he came upon a large crowd. Jimmy wormed his way through to the front of the group. Tommy Doyle was right: the Citizen Army had taken over the Green.

  It was impossible to say how many of them there were, but through the railings Jimmy could see the uniformed men moving around inside the park. There were a lot of them on the streets around the Green too, stopping traffic and making barricades. On the path outside the main gate Jimmy saw a group of uniformed men. Among them he recognised Mick’s friend Michael Mallin, dressed in the uniform of a Citizen Army officer.

  Mallin was talking to a woman who was also in uniform. She wore boots and trousers, and a big hat with dark feathers in its crown. Jimmy knew her, too. She was the Countess Markievicz, who’d been associated with the trade union during the big strike. She was carrying a gun, and Jimmy thought she looked amazingly glamorous.

  A motor car came out of South King Street, near where Jimmy stood. There was a shout, and three rebels ran over and halted it at gunpoint. Two of them carried rifles with fixed bayonets, the third a big revolver. They made the passengers get down from the car, then the man with the revolver got in and forced the driver to turn the vehicle around and drive it into place in a barricade being made further down the street. But Jimmy ignored the car’s progress: he’d recognised one of the two riflemen.

  ‘Mr Smith!’ he called out. ‘Mr Smith!’

  Smith was a friend of Da’s. Jimmy didn’t know him well, but the man always had a cheery hello for him when they passed in the street. Smith had been in the army and had spent time in America, and now he was some kind of reporter. At the moment he looked fierce and impressive in the dark green uniform of the Citizen Army. He smiled when he saw Jimmy.

  ‘Young Conway!’ he said. ‘Have you come to join up?’

  ‘I’m looking for my uncle Mick,’ Jimmy said. ‘Did you see him?’

  Smith nodded. He pointed in the direction that the car had gone. ‘The last time I saw Mick Healy,’ he said, ‘he was down there by Cuffe Street with Frank Robbins. Have you come from Sackville Street?’

  ‘Yeh,’ said Jimmy. ‘The Lancers attacked the Post Office but the Volunteers shot them out of their saddles.’

  Smith’s grin grew wider. He looked positively bloodthirsty. ‘Well, isn’t that good news, now?’ he said. He shouted over to another man. ‘Hey, Pat! Did you hear?

  The cavalry charged the Post Office and were pasted.’ The other man just laughed, thinking it was a joke. Looking at him, Jimmy recognised Paddy Doyle, also in the Citizen Army uniform. Paddy had been due to go for army training this week. It looked as though he’d be getting tougher training than he’d bargained for, though to Jimmy he looked very happy.

  ‘You’d best go find Mick,’ Smith said kindly. ‘You know, boy, your father will be sorry he missed this.’

  Jimmy said goodbye and trotted on, past serious men carrying guns. At the corner of the Green he saw Mick. Like many of the Citizen Army men, Mick had no uniform, but he was carrying a rifle. Jimmy called out to him.

  Mick turned. ‘Jimmy!’ he said. ‘What are you doing here? It’s dangerous – they might attack us any time.’

  ‘There’s not a soldier or policeman between here and the Parnell Monument,’ Jimmy said, ‘except the Lancers that the Volunteers in the Post Office shot.’

  Mick’s eyes grew wide at the news. ‘You saw that?’

  ‘I saw it. There were four Lancers shot, and two horses. I took a Lancer’s gun and gave it to the Volunteers. Was that the right thing to do, Mick?’ Jimmy wanted someone to tell him that it was.

  Mick looked at him oddly. ‘I suppose so,’ he said finally.
‘But it was very dangerous too. Stay away from any fighting, Jimmy, and don’t touch any guns. You might get yourself shot. The best thing you can do is stay home and mind your mother.’

  ‘But Ma sent me here, Mick, to ask you about Ella.’

  Mick’s face changed. It became closed and angry. ‘She never turned up, then?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Ma says Ella made a mistake, but … I don’t believe it. I think she kept the money on purpose.’

  Mick just sighed. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘She knew how important the money was.’ He looked at Jimmy. ‘It’s not really badness, you know,’ he continued. ‘Ella’s just cowardly and easily bullied.’

  Jimmy had his own ideas about Ella, things he’d put together from overheard snatches of conversation between her and his Ma. ‘Is it Charlie who bullies her?’ he asked. ‘Because he drinks?’

  Mick gave him another odd look. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, it is.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Jimmy,’ he said, ‘it’s no good. I won’t be able to go and see Ella. I can’t leave my post.’

  Jimmy had expected as much. Mick had his duty to do. ‘Then I’ll have to do it,’ he said. ‘I’ll go to her house.’

  Mick looked surprised at the determination in his nephew’s voice, but he shook his head. ‘That’s no good either,’ he said. ‘Too dangerous. She lives too close to the barracks.’

  Ella lived in Northumberland Road, just around the corner from Beggar’s Bush barracks. The rebels would be attacking the army barracks there.

  Mick was looking thoughtfully at Jimmy. ‘Jimmy,’ he said, ‘you’d better go home. Things could get really rough.’

  Jimmy recalled the promises his Ma had made him give. She’d made him cross his heart and swear to come back. You couldn’t break a promise when you’d crossed your heart making it. ‘Yeah,’ he said miserably. ‘I’d better go.’

  He looked at his uncle. Despite the rifle in his hands and his serious face, Mick looked as boyish as ever. Jimmy wished that he himself was old enough to pick up a gun and fight beside him. Some of the Citizen Army men he’d seen had looked only a few years older than himself.