Friend or Foe

by Brian Gallagher

  ‘And they said the war would be over by last Christmas! Talk is cheap, Jack. But the Volunteers can stop the government if they try to force conscription.’

  ‘That would be rebellion.’

  ‘Well if that’s rebellion, then it was rebellion when the loyalists formed a private army and started the Ulster Volunteer Force. But we didn’t see the government disarming them.’

  Jack looked like he was about to argue, but Emer continued, keeping her tone reasonable. ‘Parliament passed the Home Rule Bill, and the UVF went out to block it by force. We need the Volunteers down here to stand up to that.’

  ‘I’m not for the UVF, Emer. My da says there should be no private armies, north or south – and I agree.’

  ‘So what do you want?’ Emer watched as Jack breathed out, his sunlit face a study in concentration as he tried to marshal his thoughts.

  ‘I want to be in the British Empire. And loads of people in Ireland do. I mean, we could have some sort of Home Rule and still be part of the Empire.’

  ‘But why would you want to be?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you?’ countered Jack. ‘Why turn your back on something so successful?’

  ‘Successful for who, though?’

  ‘The people who make up the Empire. Da says it’s one of the most successful empires the world has ever known, and we’re close to the heart of it. Why turn our backs on that prosperity?’

  Emer looked at him questioningly. ‘Prosperity? You’ve only to walk across Dublin to see hundreds of people who are hungry and dirt-poor.’

  ‘I know, and that’s all wrong. But we should be trying to make things fairer instead of rebelling against the government.’

  ‘It’s not rebelling if you take back your own country, Jack. Most of the English people I’ve met are really nice. But that’s not the point. This is our country, not theirs. They fought us, took our land and occupied us.’

  ‘That’s history now.’

  ‘And history can be changed. If we want to make history and take back our country, we’re entitled to. And if that means having to fight, so be it.’

  Jack went quiet, and Emer hoped that they weren’t going to fall out.

  ‘We’re not going to agree on this,’ said Jack. ‘Are we?’

  ‘I suppose not. But I still want us to be friends.’ Emer looked at him a little nervously. ‘Do you?’

  Jack nodded. ‘Yes, definitely.’

  Emer felt relieved. ‘Well … maybe we should just agree to disagree then. All right?’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘But I’m glad we talked about it, Jack. I felt it was kind of hanging between us, especially after this morning.’

  ‘I know. You’re better at this than me – I wouldn’t have known how to bring it up.’

  Emer grinned. ‘Know what else I’m better at?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Swimming. I’ll give you an odd of five, then race you across the river to the fallen tree! One, two …’

  Jack sprinted to the riverbank and jumped in. Emer was pleased that they had reached an understanding, and she finished counting, then ran to the bank and jumped into the river after her friend.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Don’t be silly, Jack,’ said his mother as she parcelled up a sack of old clothes on the kitchen table. The air was warm with the bright summer sunshine flooding in the window.

  ‘I’m not being silly, Ma. It’s awkward giving someone I know my cast-off clothes.’

  ‘You said yourself this boy lives in a shack, and his uncle hasn’t a bean.’

  ‘I know, but still …’

  ‘They’ll be glad of it. Back-to-school time is expensive, so it’s only right we help someone worse off than us.’

  ‘I don’t want to seem like we’re being all high and mighty, Ma.’

  ‘Lord save us, where do you get your notions? John, will you talk sense into this lad?’ she said, addressing Jack’s father, who was shaving at the kitchen sink.

  Jack looked appealingly to his father, who wiped soap off his razor. Under the rules of the Dublin Metropolitan Police Da was obliged to shave every day – a ruling he took seriously – and now he carefully laid down his gleaming open razor and spoke to Jack.

  ‘It does you credit, son, that you don’t want to embarrass your friend.’

  ‘He’s not really a friend, Da, more a schoolmate.’

  ‘Either way, your heart’s in the right place. But Ma is being practical. With this lad and his uncle really poor, it’s better they take some help rather than go without. All right?’

  Da was usually reasonable, but once he put his foot down that was it – as Maureen had found out when she had to leave her Volunteer boyfriend. There had been an atmosphere for a while after that, but Ma and Da had stood firm, and Jack realised now that they were united on this issue too. ‘OK,’ he conceded, ‘I’ll bring Gerry the clothes.’

  ‘Good lad,’ said Ma.

  ‘And here, get yourself a few nutty favours,’ added Da, winking and slipping Jack a penny.

  ‘Thanks, Da. Might as well do it now, I suppose,’ he said, reaching out and taking up the sack of clothes. He bade farewell to his parents and made for the hall door. Stepping out into the sunshine, he decided it was too early to call for any of his friends, and instead he turned the corner into Ardmore Avenue and made for the steps that led down to Old Cabra Road. It was a nice morning for a walk to Gerry’s cottage by the Tolka, and Jack decided that he would get the delivery of the parcel out of the way and then reward himself by buying sweets with Da’s penny.

  It was nice of Da to recognise his unease and give him the penny. Jack’s mind went back to the previous week when his father had listened carefully while he gave a description of the gunman who had threatened him on the remote hillside. Da had been sympathetic and had praised Jack for his accurate depiction of the incident, saying he would be a good addition to the force when he was older.

  Nothing further had come of the affair, however, and now Jack decided to put such thoughts from his mind and simply savour the warmth of the summer morning. Heading up the Old Cabra Road, he followed his usual route, crossing the sparkling waters of the Royal Canal at the lock near Broom Bridge, then descending into the valley where the Tolka glistened in the morning sunshine. Nobody was at the swimming hole this early in the day, and Jack walked past the gang’s usual spot and up the trail towards Gerry’s cottage. He had never been up to the building before, and as he drew near he saw that it was in a really bad state of repair. An ancient-looking cart lay in the yard to the side of the cottage, and a wild-eyed piebald horse grazed on nearby wasteland, tethered to a wooden stake. There was a faintly unpleasant animal smell in the air, and Jack lowered the sack, feeling nervous about knocking on the cottage door. Suddenly Gerry rounded the building, a bloodied rabbit carcass in his hands.

  ‘Jack,’ he said in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I, eh … I came to see you. What are you doing with that?’ asked Jack, indicating the bloodied remains of the rabbit.

  ‘I’m just after guttin’ it,’ said Gerry easily. ‘It’ll be dinner for me and me uncle.’

  ‘Right,’ said Jack. He looked away from the carcass and told himself that it didn’t make sense to be disgusted – their own meat was no doubt bloody when slaughtered by the local butcher. But he was still slightly shocked by Gerry’s blood-stained hands.

  ‘So what did you want me for?’ asked Gerry, casually hanging the rabbit from a hook and wiping his hands on a filthy cloth.

  ‘Eh … my ma thought you might get some use out of these,’ said Jack, handing over the sack. ‘It’s clothes and shoes and stuff … you know … with the … with the school year coming up and all …’ he said, knowing that he was blabbing due to his unease.

  Gerry took the sack but said nothing, and Jack felt even more uncomfortable. Why do my parents have to be such do-gooders, he thought, sticking their noses in where they aren’t wanted?!

 
After what felt like a long time, Gerry finally said ‘thanks’ and gave a curt nod.

  Jack was relieved that the other boy had at least accepted the clothes, but he wasn’t surprised that Gerry had been unenthusiastic. He might be poor, but he still had his pride. And in truth the two of them had never been friends, but rather classmates from very different backgrounds who nevertheless got on with each other. Gerry was regarded as a tough kid in school, and by being loosely associated with him Jack’s standing was boosted. Not that Jack couldn’t defend himself – his father had taught him to box. But Da had also insisted that he should always try to avoid fights, explaining that it would look bad for the son of a DMP man to get drawn into brawling. So being involved with Gerry had been handy. Now the other boy looked Jack in the eye, then reached into his pocket.

  ‘Here, have an apple,’ he said, and to Jack’s surprise he pulled out a small but shiny red apple from his pocket.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ said Jack.

  ‘I want to.’

  Jack realised that Gerry wasn’t just being generous. He was also saving face, and Jack guessed that by giving something as well as taking something, he was striving to appear more like an equal.

  ‘OK, then. Thanks, Gerry, it looks delicious,’ he said, taking the apple and slipping it into his own pocket.

  ‘I’ll put these in and walk back to the river with you,’ said Gerry, then he opened the door of the cottage and placed the sack of clothes inside.

  Jack got a glimpse of the ragged-looking interior, but as Gerry went to leave, a harsh voice called out from within the cottage.

  ‘Gerry?!’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Get in here!’

  The voice was slurred, and Jack suspected that Gerry’s uncle might have been drinking.

  ‘I was just going down to the river,’ said Gerry. ‘I’ll be back in–’

  ‘Get in here and don’t argue with me!’ shouted the unseen man. ‘Now, if you know what’s good for you!’

  Jack didn’t want to get Gerry into trouble, so he spoke up quickly. ‘Listen, I have to go anyway. I’ll see you again.’

  ‘OK, see you.’

  As Jack started down the trail, he heard the sound of an angry, raised voice from inside the cottage. He hoped that Gerry would be OK and that his uncle wouldn’t be violent with him. Jack had never seen his own father either drunk or violent. Struck by the contrast, he made his way down the hill, slightly ashamed of his earlier impatience with his parents and thinking that, when it came to families, he should probably count his blessings.

  ‘It’s like being in prison!’ said Joan. ‘I hate the first day back in school.’

  ‘It’s not all bad,’ answered Emer. ‘I like seeing the girls again.’

  They were gathered in the classroom of their convent school, awaiting the arrival of their teacher, and the room was noisy with the excited chatter of pupils meeting up after the summer. Most of the time Emer enjoyed school, though she wished that Gladys could have been in her class, like Joan was. Gladys and her family were members of the Church of Ireland, however, so she went to a Protestant school, while Emer and Joan attended a Catholic convent school run by an order of nuns.

  ‘Look on the bright side,’ added Emer. ‘We’re going to have Miss Clarke again.’

  ‘Yeah, I was praying we wouldn’t get Sister Maureen,’ replied Joan. She made a pious face and accurately mimicked the nun’s northern accent. ‘Every girl should have a favourite saint. Who are you devoted to, Joan Lawlor?’

  Emer laughed at her friend’s impersonation. ‘Well, Miss Clarke will never ask you that.’

  ‘No,’ said Joan. ‘She’ll just ask us what we think the stars are made of, or why women should have the vote, or what was the best song ever written!’

  It was true that Miss Clarke was constantly encouraging them to think about all aspects of the world around them. She was a colourful Englishwoman in her thirties who had come to Ireland from the town of Hoylake, on the Wirral peninsula. Although she was a Catholic with Irish relations, she seemed exotic to her pupils, with her unpious attitude, her English accent and her wide-ranging enthusiasms.

  ‘It’s great that we’ll have her for our last year in primary,’ said Emer. ‘I wasn’t sure if we’d get her for two years in a row.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Joan. ‘We could have been landed with Miss Potter – with her bad breath and her big bum!’

  Emer burst out laughing at her friend’s cruel but accurate description, then she heard her name being called.

  ‘Emer Davey!’

  ‘Yes, Sister,’ she answered, turning to find that Sister Assumpta, the vice principal, had silently entered the room.

  ‘What have I said is inappropriate behaviour for a young lady?’ asked the nun.

  Emer swallowed nervously under the woman’s gaze. Sister Assumpta was a disciplinarian who had the knack of arriving in a room soundlessly – hence her nickname, ‘Creeper’ – and many a pupil had regretted comments overheard by her. Emer tried to recall the most recent talk the nun had given before the summer break. ‘Eh … girls shouldn’t be heard whistling, Sister?’

  ‘No, they should not. Nor should they be heard shouting or engaging in boisterous laughter – as you’ve just been.’

  ‘Sorry, Sister.’

  The vice principal was a small, thin woman, but what she lacked in size she made up for in authority, and now her piercing eyes bored into Emer. ‘Perhaps you’d care to share the cause of your levity?’

  Emer hesitated, and the nun continued impatiently. ‘What were you laughing at?’

  Emer knew that Joan would be in big trouble if she repeated her remark about Miss Potter, and she could see that her friend looked nervous. But she herself would be in even more trouble if Sister Assumpta caught her lying.

  ‘Well?’ said the nun.

  ‘Just a joke, Sister,’ answered Emer.

  ‘Really? Kindly tell us what it was that provoked such unladylike hilarity.’

  Emer tried not to panic. She thought of Ben’s joke about the swimming trunks, but the nun wouldn’t approve. With her brain grasping desperately, she recalled a joke that Jack had told her. ‘Why … why is it easy to weigh fish?’

  The nun indicated to continue.

  ‘Because they have their own scales.’

  It had seemed funny when Jack told it, but Sister Assumpta’s disapproving expression didn’t change. Of course she wasn’t interested in being amused by the joke, Emer thought – this was just punishment for laughing too loudly. Still, she had kept herself and Joan out of far bigger trouble by not revealing the Miss Potter remark.

  Sister Assumpta kept her eyes locked on Emer’s and spoke with quiet authority. ‘No more guffawing. In future conduct yourself like a young lady.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  Sister Assumpta turned around and pointed to a girl who was standing behind her. ‘This is Catherine O’Flynn, girls. She joins us from St. Rita’s.’

  St. Rita’s was a primary school in a nearby poorer area, and Emer picked up on the hint of distaste in Sister Assumpta’s tone. Emer hated snobbery, though she knew it was widespread in Dublin – it even existed to a certain extent in her own family. Her mother had gone to a well-regarded convent school in Ennis, County Clare, and put great store in the privileges that her education had brought. Emer’s father was more of a self-made man and had gone to a modest school in County Kildare before working his way up in the grocery trade. But Dad was class-conscious and happily paid the fees for Emer to be educated. Each year Emer’s school allowed in several pupils who paid no fees, as a charitable gesture, and now Emer felt sorry for the new girl as she stood red-faced in front of the other pupils.

  ‘Catherine will be joining us for sixth class, in an attempt to win a scholarship for secondary school,’ continued Sister Assumpta.

  Emer felt a stab of irritation. Why couldn’t the vice principal have introduced her simply as a new pupil, without drawing attention t
o her background? Admittedly her poorer standing might have emerged in time, and maybe the nun wasn’t being malicious, but Emer still felt that she had been insensitive.

  ‘That will be all, girls,’ said Sister Assumpta. ‘Miss Clarke will be with you shortly. Meanwhile act with decorum.’

  ‘Let’s make the new girl feel welcome,’ said Emer.

  Joan looked hesitant. ‘Lottie Brophy knows her already and says that she’s not that friendly.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Creeper has embarrassed her. Let’s show her that we’re not all snobs.’

  ‘OK.’

  Emer started across the room, aware that Sister Assumpta had paused at the door and was watching her. Making a point of welcoming Catherine immediately after Sister Assumpta had criticised Emer for not being ladylike might annoy the nun, but she didn’t care. She walked up to the new girl. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Emer and this is Joan. Welcome to sixth class.’

  From the doorway she could see Sister Assumpta watching her, but she ignored the nun’s stare, smiled at the newcomer, and reached out a welcoming hand.

  ‘God, he looks like he’s going to read the riot act!’ said Ben as the captain of the swimming club stepped onto a podium in Tara Street Baths to address a gathering of club members.

  ‘Look at his face,’ whispered Joan. ‘You’d think he’d swallowed a lemon!’

  ‘Don’t let him see you messing, Joan,’ warned Gladys.

  ‘Why? What’ll he do, drown me in the pool?!’

  Jack was amused by Joan’s irreverence, but at the same time he didn’t want to annoy the captain. Joan wasn’t serious about swimming, but Jack was, especially now that he had mastered the art of breathing out into the water while doing the Australian crawl. He was still nowhere near Emer when it came to style and speed, but he had become a much better swimmer in the weeks since he had joined the club.

  ‘Watch it, Joan,’ whispered Ben now. ‘He’s looking at us!’

  Jack watched as Joan adopted an innocent and attentive face, then the captain began to speak, and Jack gave him his full attention.