Danny Boy (9 page)

‘I wonder if he managed it?’

‘Aye, I think so,’ Rosie said. ‘The child can be determined enough when he sets his mind to it.’ She smiled and went on. ‘Chrissie told me he had to fight Mammy to give up anything at all for Lent.’

‘All weans give something up,’ Connie said, aghast.

‘That’s what Dermot told Mammy,’ Rosie said. ‘He told her he was the only one at school not doing without something.’

‘Aye, weans hate to be different,’ Connie said. ‘Mind you, both of us gave up sugar in our tea, didn’t we, and I can hardly wait to go home now and have a decent cup well sweetened.’

‘And me,’ Rosie said with a laugh, for no-one had been able to eat or drink yet that day because of them taking communion. Bernadette, tired of being ignored, starting butting at Rosie’s face. ‘Stop it!’ Rosie said firmly. ‘Bad girl.’

Bernadette didn’t care a fig about being bad and instead squealed with laughter.

‘Give her to me,’ Connie said, putting out her arms. ‘She must be a ton weight now.’

Rosie was about to hand the baby over gratefully, when Danny, catching up with them, snatched her from Rosie’s arms and set her up on his shoulders. ‘Did I hear your mammy say you were bad?’ he said to the baby, laughing at his young wife. ‘Not a bit of it. A wee angel so you are.’

Bernadette screamed with delight and beat at her father’s head with her podgy infant hands. ‘Mind you,’ Danny went on, ‘your granny’s right about you being a ton weight. Nine months old and still being carried about. About time you took up walking.’

Bernadette had no idea what her father was saying, but she knew she was being spoken about and she shouted out
her scribble talk in reply as Danny sidled up to his mother and, mindful of the other people streaming past them from Mass, said in an urgent whisper, ‘Go on back to Daddy. He’s on the look-out for Phelan and if he should come across him…well, let’s say he won’t be fully responsible for his actions.’

Connie shot him a startled glance. ‘I can’t,’ she complained. ‘The dinner.’

‘I’ll see to the dinner,’ Rosie told her. ‘Go on now, smooth down his feathers. We don’t want to see murder done on an Easter morning.’

‘I can’t say I’d blame Daddy, though,’ Danny said, as Connie scurried away. ‘God, I’d be livid. Christ, who am I kidding? I
am
livid.’

But thoughts of Phelan had brought to Rosie’s mind her own family. ‘I’ll go home after dinner,’ she said. ‘I have a bar of chocolate for Dermot. It’s Easter Sunday, after all, and I should pay them a visit.’

‘Will you take the wee one with you?’ Danny said, indicating the waving, babbling Bernadette above him.

‘Oh, aye,’ Rosie said. ‘Dermot wouldn’t forgive me if I left her behind. In fact, he probably wouldn’t let me in the house at all.’

‘He is fond of her all right.’

‘More than fond,’ Rosie said. ‘Our baby is well-loved, Danny, and no harm in that, but I won’t have her as spoiled as Dermot is.’

‘Sure, there’ll be no time to spoil her,’ Danny said. ‘She’ll probably have a wee brother or sister before she’s much older and when you have a whole squad of them to rear you’ll not have a spare minute to ruin any of them.’

Rosie laughed and thought that Phelan could go hang himself. All the worrying she had done about him had achieved nothing at all but upset those around her, particularly Danny who loved her so much. Well, from now on, she decided, she wouldn’t lose a wink’s sleep over him. She looked up at
Danny and smiled broadly. She had the urge to catch up his hand and run with him as if they were weans, the baby bouncing up and down on his shoulders.

Danny was delighted with the smile that lit up her face and hoped whatever had ailed her was now over. He held the baby’s feet with one hand and with the other he pulled Rosie close. She felt so loved and cherished it brought tears to her eyes. She took hold of Danny’s hand and, united, they walked home together.

Everyone expected Phelan back for dinner. Connie always said his stomach had often brought him home when he was younger. But when the food was served up there was still no sign of him. Matt was raging: it was almost seeping out of him. When he said menacingly that Phelan would have some explaining to do when he did come home, Rosie thought she would not be in Phelan’s shoes for all the tea in China.

The meal was an especially delicious one, and with a steamed pudding now Lent was over, which the family lingered over as if determined they wouldn’t let Phelan’s non-appearance destroy the meal Connie and Rosie had slaved for hours preparing.

It wasn’t entirely successful. Phelan’s empty chair was a stark reminder of his absence, and Rosie knew Connie’s ears were constantly attuned to hearing her son’s boots on the gravel path or across the cobbled yard.

They eventually finished the meal and the men settled before the fire for a smoke, Bernadette on Danny’s knee, while the women began collecting the pots, Connie taking every opportunity to peer through the window or the door, left open because of the warmth of the day. Rosie’s heart ached for her. How could Phelan just not come home like this? He’d know how his mother would worry so.

Matt too was equally worried and also hurt, but he didn’t deal with it the same way as Connie and sat before the fire
and talked to Danny about everything under the sun as if he didn’t have a care in the world. ‘Where d’you think he is?’ Connie asked Rosie quietly as they folded the tablecloth together.

‘He could be anywhere,’ Rosie whispered back. ‘Maybe he stayed at a friend’s house last night and is afraid to come home.’

‘You think that’s it?’ Connie said desperately. Rosie felt her grasping at straws.

What should she say? If she mentioned the Brotherhood and then found Phelan’s disappearance had nothing to do with that, she’d endanger the family. ‘I’m sure it will be something simple,’ she said reassuringly.

By the time the pots and plates were washed and dried, and the room put to rights, Matt had dropped off before the fire and Bernadette had followed suit, cuddled against her father. ‘I could put her in the room and we could have a wee walk out if you’ve a mind to,’ Danny suggested to Rosie. ‘It’s a fine day and you could go on to your mother’s after, when Bernadette wakes up.’

‘Aye,’ Rosie agreed, though in reality her legs ached and she longed to sit and rest. ‘Aye, that would be grand. Will you see to Bernadette, Mammy, and I’ll get my coat?’

But as Rosie crossed the floor she saw Dermot streak past the window and come to the threshold of the door, bent over, gasping for breath, his brick-red face glistening with sweat.

‘What in God’s name…?’

‘I have a letter,’ Dermot gasped. ‘It’s from Phelan.’

‘Phelan,’ Matt said, wakened by the boy’s name and leaping to his feet. He took the letter from Dermot and tore it open hastily. All eyes were on him as he scanned the words and then he burst out, ‘The bloody little fool. He’s joined the Irish Republican Brotherhood and he’s off to Dublin to answer Ireland’s call.’

Danny passed Bernadette to Sarah and came across to his
father and took the letter from him, aware that his mother had begun to cry. He too read the letter and then turned to Dermot. ‘How did you know this was from Phelan?’

Dermot had been through this many times. He knew not to say he’d had the letter from late on Friday night, and had chosen not to deliver it till now. It would not be a wise thing to do, and to say he’d spoken to Phelan and knew of his plans wouldn’t help his case one bit. ‘There was a note to me tied around the letter,’ he told Danny. And he went on, ‘The letter must have been pushed in the window. It was on the floor of my bedroom.’

‘When was this?’

Dermot shrugged. ‘Don’t know, I found it just now and I thought you should see the letter before anyone else.’

‘You did right,’ Danny said. ‘Good boy.’ His eyes raked the room. His mother was wiping her eyes with her apron, his father’s face set like stone.

‘What of Sam?’ Sarah asked suddenly.

Dermot shrugged. He knew Sam was involved, but to say so would bring more questions and he might trip himself up and so he said, ‘I don’t know about Sam.’

Sarah did, though. She knew her man would be fully embroiled in this nonsense, and she too felt tears seep from her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. She held Bernadette tight against her for comfort. The child, unused to being held so firmly, began to wriggle and Danny took her from Sarah and laid her in the cot in the bedroom, where she curled herself into a ball and put her thumb in her mouth and slumbered on, unaware of the turmoil in the next cottage.

Rosie was standing stock-still, the feelings of alarm and fear coursing through her body so that she tingled with it. She felt raw, as if every nerve-ending was exposed.

‘Find him, Danny!’ Connie cried suddenly as Danny came back from the bedroom. ‘You must go and find him and bring him home.’

Danny encircled his mother’s trembling frame. ‘I will, Mammy,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll not come home without him.’ And he kissed his mother’s cheek in reassurance.

Then Danny went to Rosie who was standing twisting her hands together agitatedly and he looked into her eyes and saw the fear in them. Oh God, he thought, how I love this woman and our child, and yet he knew what he had to do, and he saw by Rosie’s face that she knew too. ‘I must go, Rosie.’

Rosie wanted to plead with him, remind him he had a wife, a child, responsibilities. He wasn’t to do this. She wouldn’t let him. By Christ, what was he thinking of, even suggesting it? But she said none of this. She heard the gulping sobs of Connie and the keening of Sarah, who’d sunk to her knees before the mat as if her legs could no longer hold her up.

Her mouth went very dry as Danny pulled her close. ‘The boy’s not fifteen until July,’ he said. ‘I’ll look for Sam and Shay too and try and make them see sense, but Phelan will come home if I have to drag him every step of the way. By Christ, when I get hold of him I’ll knock the bloody head from his shoulders.’

Rosie laid her head against Danny, too distressed to even cry. ‘When will you go?’ she asked him brokenly.

‘As soon as possible. If Dermot has only just found the letter, they might not have gone far and I might catch up with him before he even gets to Dublin.’

Dermot felt guilty at Danny’s words. Danny was hoping to find Phelan on the road somewhere. The reality was he’d probably marched with the Brotherhood all the night long, armed with all the rifles and pistols from the cottage, and they were now positioned in Dublin town and up to any manner of things.

He could say none of this. He’d made a promise to Phelan and yet he was sad to see how upset everyone was. They didn’t see the glory in the fight that Phelan had seen and
Suddenly Dermot didn’t know who was right. ‘I’m sorry,’ he spluttered.

‘God, child, sure it’s not your fault,’ Connie said, wiping her eyes again. ‘Come up to the table and have a cup of buttermilk and a wee slab of barnbrack. You’re a good boy, so you are.’

Dermot felt anything but good, but he did as he was bid.

Struggling to control her voice, willing it not to break, Rosie said to Danny, ‘I’ll put some of your clothes in a bundle.’

‘I’ll not need…’

‘It might take longer than you think,’ Rosie insisted.

She almost stumbled away from him and when she reached the relative privacy of her own room, she leaned her head against the door and let the tears fall at last. She and Dermot knew what no-one else was aware of: the cache of arms. She would bet that hole in the cottage was empty now. This would never do. She wiped the tears from her eyes impatiently and began to sort out fresh clothes for Danny to take with him. She had no illusions about her young brother-in-law, though she knew Danny thought Phelan had just taken off on some half-brained idea of joining some revolutionary group while in actual fact she knew he’d been involved for some time and she had little doubt that whenever he’d left he’d had a rifle in his hands and bullets in his pocket. They intended to kill and maim. She wanted her Danny nowhere near that. But Phelan was just a boy and she knew Danny, as his elder brother, had to try and save him from himself.

‘How long d’you think he’ll be?’ Connie asked Matt.

‘How should I know,’ Matt answered shortly, anxiety for his younger son’s disappearance and his elder son’s mission to find him making him tetchy and his voice sharp. ‘It’s a tidy walk to Dublin, you know, if he doesn’t catch up with him on the road somewhere. And that’s not the whole of it. Dublin’s not like Blessington, a wee small place where everyone knows everyone else’s business. Sure, I would say there are numerous places there where a young man not wishing to be found could hide out.’

So that’s it, Rosie thought. Could take any time at all. It was like asking how long was a piece of string. She sighed, the burden of what she knew about the hidden arms weighing heavily on her, and she wondered for the umpteenth time if she should tell them. But for what? She doubted that knowledge would make them feel better and she remembered Phelan’s warnings well enough. There was no way she would risk bringing further danger or sorrow on this family.

The following day she wrapped Bernadette in her shawl, picked up the chocolates and sweets she had bought as presents, and went across the fields to her parents’ house. Bernadette was becoming more beautiful every day. Now her
fair hair was beginning to curl as she grew, just like Dermot’s, much to his delight. Her eyes, though, were a deep lilac-blue, ringed with dark lashes, while her nose was a cute button. Her mouth was wide and when she smiled you could see her four little teeth at the front. She was going on for ten months old now and could say some words and pull herself up on the furniture. Rosie loved the very bones of her, as did all the Walshes and Rosie’s sisters, while Dermot continued to be enchanted by her every word or action.

Rosie’s parents took little notice of their only grandchild and Rosie tried not to mind, telling herself it was only what she’d come to expect, but she’d have loved to discuss the baby’s progress with her mother, or laugh together at something she did.

But all Minnie was interested in now was Dermot having sneaked away to their house the previous day. ‘And with not so much as a by-your-leave,’ she cried, indicating the boy standing before her, his face flushed and shuffling his feet on the stone floor of the cottage.

Rosie knew he’d told his parents nothing about the letter, either before he delivered it or after, and she was pleased. Connie had advised Rosie to say nothing of Phelan’s disappearing and Danny in pursuit if Dermot hadn’t already. ‘Sure, we don’t want half the county alerted,’ she’d said. ‘They might be back before we realise they’ve gone and least said, you know…’

So Rosie didn’t enlighten her parents to the reason for Dermot’s visit the previous day, but stung by their indifference to her child and by the discoloured bruise on Geraldine’s cheek, she cried out, ‘Why shouldn’t he come and see me, his own sister, and the wee baby he’s uncle to? As for not asking permission, if you’d let him come when he wants, he’d not have to sneak away.’

‘When I want advice on how to bring up my own son, I’ll ask you,’ Minnie snapped back.

‘Aye,’ Rosie commented wryly. ‘That’ll be the day, but I’m warning you now, tying the boy to your apron strings is not the way to go on. No wonder he deceives you.’

Never had Rosie spoken in such a way to her mother and she looked at Minnie’s outraged face after her outburst and wondered if she’d order her from the house. ‘Look,’ she continued in a conciliatory way. ‘Let’s not quarrel. Never mind what Dermot did yesterday. Today is a new day. Let’s sit down to the fine meal Chrissie and Geraldine have got ready, and after it I’ll share the sweets and chocolates I have with me.’

‘Well,’ Minnie said at last. ‘I’ve never been spoken to in such a way before. I hope you don’t think, Rosie, because you’re a married woman you can show such lack of respect for your parents. We’ll say nothing about it this time, but I’d like you to remember it for the future.’

Rosie bit her lip and took the rebuke without any retort. She heard her sisters’ small sighs of relief and saw the look of gratitude Dermot flashed her.

The next day, the Walsh girls, returning to work after the Bank Holiday, came home in a state of great agitation. ‘There’s been a rebel uprising in Dublin,’ Sarah said. ‘I hope to God Sam and Phelan aren’t mixed up in it.’

‘What did you say?’ Matt asked, shocked.

‘An uprising, Daddy. It’s the talk of the place. We brought you the
Dublin Express
to see for yourself,’ Sarah told him, handing her father the paper. The main picture showed Dublin’s General Post Office with British soldiers littering the ground before it. From the roof there fluttered two flags and the reporter described them. One was the tricolour flag of Ireland and the other a green flag emblazoned with a harp and the words ‘Ireland’s Republic’.

‘They have taken areas on both sides of the Liffey,’ Matt read out to Connie and Rosie, who had stopped their preparations
for the meal at the girls’ news. ‘They also hold the South Dublin Union, The Four Courts and Boland’s Mill,’ Matt went on, pointing at the pictures in the paper.

‘By Christ,’ he declared. ‘What in God’s name are they thinking of?’

‘You don’t think they have a hope then, Daddy?’ Sarah said.

Matt answered gently. He knew she was thinking of Sam, and he was thinking of his sons, one possibly embroiled in the mayhem and the other walking straight into danger because of him. ‘How could it succeed, cutie dear? It’s like tipping a bucket of water into the Liffey and hoping to make a difference, even ten buckets, a hundred buckets.’

Rosie’s mouth was so dry she could barely speak. Fear clutched at her heart. Her Danny, her darling husband, was marching straight into that hell-hole, and all because of bloody Phelan! Surely to God Danny was too sensible to get involved? He was totally against any rebel activity. It wasn’t his way. He was a farmer, a pacifist, and although he wanted Home Rule and a united Ireland as well as the next man, he wouldn’t think it would be achieved by taking on the might of the British Army.

Connie listened horror-struck to Matt’s words and her heart seemed to stop. Phelan wouldn’t be involved in any of this. He was but a boy, only fourteen years old. But if he was and she’d charged Danny to bring him home…Oh God, it didn’t bear thinking about. Her two boys…

With her heart hammering against her ribs and fear showing in every vestige of her face, she said, ‘Phelan wouldn’t get mixed up in this, sure he wouldn’t?’

It was a plea to Matt, a plea for him to tell her of course Phelan wouldn’t. But Matt had worked alongside the boy day after day and knew more of his views than Connie. The look he cast her spoke volumes and she moaned, ‘Oh dear Christ, no.’

Rosie could stand no more. She put down the plates she’d been holding since Sarah and Elizabeth had burst through the door and took the cutlery Connie clutched in her hands, putting it on the table and holding Connie tight, two women in distress, taking comfort and giving comfort. Rosie’s cheeks were wet when she released Connie. ‘Come,’ she said, leading her before the fire. ‘Sit down, I have something to say to you all.’

She knew then she had to tell them of the cache of weapons she and Dermot had found. The veil of secrecy hardly mattered now, and she knew the place would be cleared. Every gun and bullet would be needed for this uprising and though she doubted her news would help the family, she couldn’t let them go on in ignorance.

Rosie crouched before her mother-in-law and told them every last detail.

‘Why didn’t you tell us sooner?’ Matt asked, stunned.

‘What difference would it have made, Daddy?’ Rosie asked, raising her head to face him.

‘I could have kept a weather eye on him,’ Matt said. ‘Stopped it going this far.’

‘Daddy, no-one could have stopped him,’ Rosie said. ‘He was fully committed to it. I know that much. Anyway, he swore Dermot and I to secrecy. He said if news of where the guns were stored got out, revenge could easily be taken by some of the desperate men of the Brotherhood. I was scared and yes, I admit it, but I wasn’t only scared for myself and Dermot, I was frightened for all of you. How could I tell you after Phelan said that, and put you all in danger?’

‘That’s what made you so jumpy and nervy?’ Connie said, remembering back. ‘Danny couldn’t understand what was the matter.’

‘I hated keeping it secret from you, but the alternative seemed worse.’

‘Aye,’ Connie said with a sigh. ‘You could do little else.’

‘Well what’s to be done?’ Sarah cried. ‘We can’t just sit here and…’

‘That’s exactly what we must do, all we can do is sit here,’ Matt said.

‘Maybe Danny will send news to us soon,’ Rosie said. ‘He told me he’d try to if he couldn’t bring Phelan back with him straight away.’

‘Let’s hang on to that at least,’ Matt said. ‘And we’ll hope and pray for the safety of both our boys and Sam too. I’m away up to the Fergusons after my dinner to see for myself if Willie has any more news of Shay.’

But Willie Ferguson knew nothing further, Matt told his family on his return, though whatever was in the offing, Shay and Niall were fully involved, for both were missing too.

The next day and the one after, Connie expected a letter, a telegram even, to say they were safe, but nothing came and each evening the girls brought home the
Dublin Express.

It made grim reading and brought only further heartache. There were other minor insurrections in County Meath, Galway and Wexford, the paper reported, but the skirmishes were brought under control quickly, the rebel leaders dealt with and martial law declared.

On Wednesday evening they heard of the ship
Helga
that had sailed unchallenged up the Liffey and begun bombarding Liberty Hall, the headquarters of the Citizens’ Army. British guns had been set up in Trinity College and were shelling Sackville Street and the General Post Office buildings, while rebels ambushed a party of ten thousand reinforcement soldiers at Mount Street Bridge, on their way from the harbour at Kingstown. Another gang of rebels had assembled in St Stephen’s Green.

There had been heavy British casualties, but eventually the rebels were forced out of the Green and into the Royal College of Surgeons. But by then the whole centre of Dublin was burning.

Food was not getting through to the shops, the paper reported. Normal life for the average Dubliner had stopped. The centre was a no-go area with the army shooting anything or anybody that moved and while Dublin burned, its citizens starved.

Friday’s paper told of further reinforcements pouring into the city and the evacuation of the General Post Office. ‘This must be it,’ Matt commented. ‘They can’t hold out any longer, surely to God.’

He looked around at the womenfolk, all ashen-faced, and admired their stoicism even though sorrow was deeply etched on their faces. He was coming to realise that he might never see either of his sons again and he wondered if they’d thought that far ahead.

Rosie had. She took Bernadette into bed with her at nights, for the big bed seemed very empty. She was more precious than ever, a wee part of Danny, and, Rosie thought, all she might ever have of him again. She’d never known worry before, she realised, not this gnawing, nagging worry that seemed to occupy every hour of the day. It had lodged like a hard immovable lump in her stomach.

She wished she could do something other than read about what was happening in her capital city a few miles away, but each night she’d see the shattered and shelled buildings in the pages of the newspaper and hear of the Dubliners trapped in their homes and knew she could do nothing but wait and pray.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Matt had gone into Blessington especially to buy the evening paper, as Elizabeth and Sarah finished work at lunchtime on Saturday.

That night they sat around the table and discussed the surrender. ‘Maybe I should go and see the situation for myself, Matt said.

‘How could you?’ Connie snapped. ‘Dear Christ, aren’t you run off your feet already and this the busiest time on the farm?’

Rosie glanced at her father-in-law. She knew Connie spoke the truth for the farm work was usually split between Matt and his two sons. Matt was out from dawn till way past dusk each evening and his face was often grey with fatigue.

And yet she understood his need to know, to do something other than sit there and wait. It was killing her too. Someone had to go to Dublin Town and see what had happened to Danny. Phelan could jump into the Liffey for all she cared, yet she knew that Connie would want news of him too. She was also becoming fast aware that she was the only one who could go, for she could hardly expect an older woman like Connie to do it and Elizabeth and Sarah had jobs to go to.

But Rosie had gone nowhere all her life except Blessington village. She was not a seasoned traveller who could nip onto a tram with ease as if she’d done it every day of her life, and now the thought of visiting that war-ravaged city filled her with dread. She remembered the pictures in the paper, the shattered and burned buildings and the ground around littered with the bodies of soldiers and felt a shudder run through her. When she spoke, however, her voice was firm and determined so no-one could guess at her true feelings. ‘I’ll go,’ she said suddenly. ‘That is, if you’ll mind Bernadette – I can’t take her with me.’

‘Oh Rosie! Dear God. Don’t do this,’ Connie said.

‘I must, Mammy,’ Rosie said firmly. ‘Danny means the world to me. If…if he’s dead, I have to know, I’d want him brought home and buried decently.’

‘But it’s dangerous.’

‘No more, Mammy,’ Rosie said. ‘And don’t tell me you don’t want to know what has happened to Danny and…and Phelan?’

She had trouble even saying the young boy’s name. She knew if Danny died, she’d not forgive Phelan for as long as she lived. But maybe he lay dead too. She couldn’t go on like this. She’d have to go and find out, but for all her brave
words to her mother-in-law she was terrified of what she’d see and hear there.

She didn’t allow herself to think of it any more though. Instead, she said, ‘I shall go on Monday morning if you’ll see to Bernadette.’

‘Ah cutie dear, do you have to ask?’ Connie said. ‘I’ll look after her and welcome, if you are determined.’