The office door opened, and Veronica welcomed the cold breeze as the smoke-filled room had made her nauseous. The office was not only filled with Sinn Féin people, Veronica didn’t recognise a lot of the people who tried to enter.
They waited for Michael to come from the Castle with the results. Men wrung their caps in their hands, and people walked away from their conversations mid-sentence. Mrs O’Reilly got up and sat down. ‘Oh, Veronica, this is more than I can bear. Maybe I’ll just go for a walk.’
‘Make room,’ a small bald man shouted, ‘Michael’s back, people make way for him. Quick, he’s coming up the stairs.’ A hush descended upon the crowd as Michael entered, his serious face giving nothing away. Nobody moved or spoke. They waited for him to speak.
Suddenly, everybody in the office cheered and hugged each other. Mrs O’Reilly’s round body was squashed between two men. Veronica mouthed over to her, ‘What did he say?’ But she couldn’t understand her. A man stood beside Veronica and shook a woman’s hand on his other side. She tugged his sleeve. ‘What did he say?’
‘We won. Seventy-five seats.’
Another cheer.
Out of one hundred and five seats, Sinn Féin won by a comfortable majority.
‘We won’t go to Westminster. We’re Irish, not pawns to make rules somewhere else. We will set up our own parliament here in Dublin, and rule ourselves,’ Michael said.
The men nodded.
There were nods of agreement. Home Rule was dead and gone and with that it was decided Sinn Féin would set up an Irish parliament: Dáil Eireann. To extract themselves entirely from the English parliament the elected MPs refused to call themselves MPs and adopted the name Teachta Dala, or TD. It was also a great day for women. Constance Markiewicz was the first woman TD for Ireland.
*
Over the next few days after work, Veronica called into Mrs Sullivan’s regularly, but there was no note from Harry. Christmas was nearly upon them, and the day before she left to go to Cavan, Veronica called into Mrs Sullivan’s shop to give her a small present. The smell of simmering Christmas pudding wafted down from the rooms over the shop. It made her long for the comfort of her own home.
‘Hello, dear, are you all set for Christmas? I’ve put some holly up in the shop. This morning I took the bus to the Phoenix Park and took a few bits. Oh, I’ve to get something in the back of the shop for you.’ After a few minutes, she returned, holding a parcel of red paper.
‘And here is a small present for you, it’s just a way of saying thank you.’ Veronica handed Mrs Sullivan an embroidered handkerchief tied in a purple ribbon.
‘Ah, dear, there was no need.’
‘Of course, there is. I enjoy our chats,’ she said, and that was the truth. ‘Embroidery is not my strong point. Just a way of saying thank you,’ Veronica said.
‘It is lovely, dear. And look,’ Mrs Sullivan bent to the shelves below the counter arching her back into a stretch as she got back up. ‘I’m so damned stiff sitting here all day. Here you go, love.’
The pale-yellow envelope had Harry’s writing on it, a beautiful curve to the V.
Veronica,
I am so sorry. I had hoped to see you even for a few minutes, but I had to return to Shropshire. I will return to Dublin in January and hope to see you.
Harry.
Mrs Sullivan lifted the lid on the shop counter. ‘Here, love, he also left this for you.’ Mrs Sullivan gave her a package she had stored in the back, a yellow ribbon tied around it with a perfect bow. ‘He told me to tell you to open it on Christmas Day and said he would think of you. Go on, now, love.’
Veronica took the parcel and letter, putting them in her coat pocket. She didn’t know what to think about the present; the only man that had ever given her a gift before was her father. She felt she should offer some explanation to Mrs Sullivan, but before she could speak Mrs Sullivan said, ‘You had better go, love, the curfew is soon.’
Veronica ran back to Thomas St, ignoring the shouts from the soldiers yelling at her to stop, running as fast as she could in case they fired at her. This wasn’t supposed to happen; he wasn’t supposed to give her presents. She threw the parcel on the bed. Letters were fine, but gifts were different. The package sat ominously on her bed. She sat and traced her finger around the edge of it. Her anger that he was English evaporated; he was so different than James Sheridan, who had mockingly laughed at her.
The next day, Veronica finalised her journey back to Cavan for Christmas. Before she left Thomas St, Betty grabbed her hand. ‘Veronica, I’m so glad you came to us. Even though Padraig has gone, and I feel I have lived in a vacuum the last couple of years, you’ve helped me wake up. The capital has a new future, and us as well.’
They hugged, and Tom brought her to Broadstone train station to return home for Christmas. People on the train were full of chat. She disembarked at Oldcastle to meet her waiting father on the crowded platform.
‘Veronica, isn’t it a great time for Ireland?’ he said. ‘And you helped, I’m so proud of you. We’d better move, it looks like rain, and I’ve had to bring the pony and trap. Petrol for a motor car is too expensive. The war may be over, but we still have to be frugal,’ he said, handing her a blanket. ‘Here, wrap this around you.’
‘Will we go to see Eddie?’
With that question, her father appeared to age about ten years.
‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘He isn’t allowed visitors over Christmas. And don’t mention him to your mother, she will only start crying.’
There was no snow this year, and the birds’ nests were low in the trees, which meant stormy weather was on the way.
Once home, her mother greeted her at the front door. ‘Veronica, you look awful, you’re so thin. You must rest. If I’d known Dublin would be so hard on you…’ Her mother went on and on, but Veronica didn’t listen.
‘I’m fine, Mother. In fact, everything is great.’
‘But what about all that violence I am reading about in the newspapers?’
‘Mammy it’s very safe in Dublin,’ Veronica lied. ‘I’m going up to unpack.’
In her bedroom, she unpacked her suitcase. In amongst the pile lay the present Harry had left for her. Sitting on the bed, she picked it up to examine it more closely and shoved it under her pillow when Susan stomped into the room. ‘Veronica, you’re home! Thank God, I’m sick of housework.’
Veronica threw her eyes upwards and smiled, enveloping her sister in a hug. ‘Lovely to see you as well.’
‘Come and help me. We have so much to do. Mrs Slaney will unpack for you.’
Christmas Day. Veronica lay in bed listening to her mother in the kitchen banging pots and pans starting to get the food ready for the family for the day. Her mother would have put the turkey on at 6 a.m. They would eat Christmas breakfast after Mass.
Veronica pulled Harry’s present from under her pillow. Wrapped with soft blue paper, and yellow bow tied perfectly – her favourite colours.
Susan stirred. ‘Is that you, Veronica?’ she asked, her voice full of sleep, and pulled her blankets up to sleep a little longer.
Veronica held the present for a few moments, and carefully undid the ribbon, watching Susan in case she woke again. It was a book. Pride and Prejudice. Her favourite book. Staring at it for a moment, she slid it under her pillow, and lay back in bed thinking of Harry, wondering what he was doing at this exact moment. Her thoughts were warm before guilt consumed her, thinking of Eddie in a cold cell.
31
Jan 1919
After the Christmas break, Veronica returned to Dublin. From the minute she stepped off the train in Broadstone, she sensed a change. This was a new Dublin, one of hope. Maybe she imagined it, but the people on the streets walked with new vigour and confidence. There was going to be a change, and she had been part of it. The last of the Fusiliers were coming back from the war.
Two events happened on 21 January 1919 in the Mansion House. The Fusiliers went there to be celebrated for
their efforts in the war and, as they were leaving, the newly elected, Sinn Féin MPs entered. And so, the first parliament called the Dáil, sat in Ireland.
The morning of the meeting of the Dáil, Veronica helped to prepare the Irish speeches for Fr O’Flanagan. When she was done, she handed it to Mrs O’Reilly, saying, ‘I do wish I had been better at Irish in school, the nuns made it so boring.’
Mrs O’Reilly laughed. ‘I know what you mean. I’d better get going, a big crowd is expected. It’s a great day, Veronica. You do know that? We’ve waited for this day a long time.’ Mrs O’Reilly stood in front of the window using the reflection as a mirror and straightened her matching blue hat. ‘Are you not coming, dear? There will be lots of young men there. Surely it would be nice to have some company, and I’d love an excuse for a day out,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye.
Veronica laughed, ‘I’m fine on my own, Mrs O’Reilly. I need a rest from men.’
Mrs O’Reilly frowned. ‘Tired of men, I never saw you with anyone!’
‘Don’t worry, I’m meeting Bridget – you know my friend from secretarial school – and we’ll go to the Mansion House together. I’m really looking forward to seeing her. We haven’t met for ages; in fact, I can’t remember when I last saw her.’
The door opened, and Mrs O’Reilly said, ‘Ah, that must be Mrs Moore, we’re going together.’
But it wasn’t Mrs Moore. It was James Sheridan. Veronica turned away from him, her blood boiling. She hadn’t seen him since he had tried to kiss her.
‘Michael wants a word,’ he said in a mocking voice, and he motioned her to follow him.
Veronica tightened her fist. Everything about James annoyed her. Michael’s office was as usual thick with the smell of cigarettes. She handed him Fr O’Flanagan’s speech.
‘Thanks, I’ve only a few minutes, Veronica. I’m late. Has the soldier been in contact with you?’
‘He was. I got a letter just before Christmas, and he said he was in Shropshire.’
‘Well I got word he is back, so contact him again, make up some excuse. I hope today goes calmly.’ He took his pocket watch from his waistcoat, grabbed his jacket from the coat stand and hurried to the door. ‘Contact him as soon as possible, I don’t know what will happen after today.’
Veronica nodded, thinking about the book Harry had given her. She went back to the office, thankful James had left with Michael.
Bridget had written to Veronica asking to meet her at ten o’clock.
‘That’s that, Veronica, all finished. Will you clear everything up?’ Mrs O’Reilly threw a log onto the fire. ‘We could be gone for a long time, so it’ll be nice to have the place warm when we get back.’
Veronica quickly put away the paper and tidied up the office before she left to join the people on the streets, making their way to watch the speeches at the Mansion House.
At ten, she spotted Bridget standing at the main gates to St Stephen’s Green. ‘Bridget, over here,’ Veronica waved and shouted.
They hugged and linked arms, holding on to their hats in the blustery January wind.
‘Bridget, you look so happy. Have you news?’
‘I got a job at Clerys in the office. There are five secretaries. It’s so lovely to have a real job finally.’
‘No more news?’
‘Look, Veronica, come on, the crowd is moving.’
They moved with the people towards the Mansion House. The crowd swelled as a continuous stream of people poured from the houses onto the streets. They pushed, shoved and laughed, all united in a new hope, all striding forward in a common purpose.
A paperboy in a flat cap shouted at the passing crowd, ‘Two RIC policemen shot dead in Tipperary by Volunteers.’ Veronica paid little attention to the news the boy shouted as he waved his paper in the air, her only thought was he should go home and put on a coat. Few wanted newspapers today. People wanted to witness history as Sinn Féin and the Lord Mayor made speeches initiating the Dáil, the new Irish government.
Even though it was dry, the cold still bit their cheeks as they turned the corner onto Dawson St, and they welcomed the sight of the Mansion House.
When they neared the Mansion House, Bridget whispered to Veronica, ‘Those men are so brave, refusing to go to Britain and making a stand to have our parliament here. You are so lucky to be involved with them. I am only working in Clerys.’
‘Bridget, that’s a responsible position. Isn’t it great that women are working now?’
Bridget laughed, the infectious laugh that had drawn Veronica to Bridget on the first day in the secretarial school.
A hush suddenly descended upon the crowd. Veronica and Bridget squeezed each other’s arms, standing on their tiptoes to peer over the sea of heads while the Lord Mayor spoke on a stage surrounded by men with serious faces, clapping and nodding as they hung on to his every word. Distance prevented the girls from hearing most of his words, but when people clapped, they joined in.
‘Who’s that man, Veronica?’ Bridget asked, pointing to a slim man clean-shaven, much younger than the rest of the men beside the Lord Mayor.
Veronica stood tall peering over the heads of the crowd. ‘I think that’s Terence MacSwiney. He’s from Cork.’
Terence MacSwiney spoke next. The tall man’s voice boomed over the crowd. ‘This is our first step to our own governance. We will get our country back. Our new Dáil President Eámon De Valera sent word from prison that Ireland is a new republic.’
The crowd cheered and clapped.
Bridget tugged Veronica’s coat. ‘Can you hear what they are saying? This is so exciting, but I can’t hear with all the noise.’
‘I think they are reading out the Proclamation.’ She put her hand to her ear and leaned forward, straining to hear over mumbles of people passing the speech onto the people behind them. ‘He is saying something now about a “Message to the Free Nations”.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Bridget, did you hear that? He said, “we are now at war with England”.’
‘What? Sure, aren’t we already? In our way, we are. How many lads do you know involved in the Volunteers?’
Tears came to Veronica’s eyes, and her heart dropped, wondering when Eddie would ever get out.
‘Look, Veronica, how can anything change?’
When the speeches were over, the crowd started to disperse. The girls walked with the crowd, but Bridget stopped and took hold of Veronica’s hand. ‘Veronica, I’ve to tell you something. I’ve met someone.’ Her blue eyes glistened.
Veronica waited for more.
‘A man.’
‘I assumed you meant a man! So that’s why I haven’t seen you at Mrs Sullivan’s. Where did you meet him? What is he like?’
Bridget’s smile widened, her blue eyes dancing. ‘He is two years older than me; he is an apprentice mechanic. Oh, Veronica, he is lovely. You’d like him.’
Veronica hugged Bridget.
‘But Mammy doesn’t like him. His daddy is a drunk, and his mother is no better, so me and Sam have been keeping it a secret. I’m meeting him in a few hours. Do you mind if I don’t spend the rest of the afternoon with you?’
Veronica threw her head back to laugh, and her hat got caught in a gust of wind and flew, falling a few feet away from the girls’ feet. ‘God, no, not at all,’ she said as she retrieved her hat before it was carried away again by the wind. She was happy for Bridget.
‘Bridget, we’ve to meet again soon. Now you are in Clerys I can meet you at lunchtime.’
‘Veronica, why have you not met someone?’ Bridget’s face was now serious.
‘I’m busy at work.’
‘Go to the dances and meet someone, you don’t want to end up an old spinster like my Aunty Mary.’
Bridget and Veronica hugged one more time, Bridget promising she would meet soon and tell her all about Sam.
Veronica watched Bridget weave through the dwindling crowd, disappointed to be alone, and slightly dejected.
When Veronica arri
ved back at Harcourt St, people were filtering in and out of the building, some she knew, and others strangers. She knew this was a momentous day for Ireland. If the elected Sinn Féin TDs were effective as the new Dáil Eireann, maybe Ireland could finally get its freedom.
Mrs O’Reilly back in the office smiled at Veronica when she entered and took off her coat. ‘I’m glad you left the fire on,’ she said as she stood in front of the flames rubbing the cold from her hands.
‘With the election success, you know there will be more people working here.’
‘But where? The building is full as it is, it’s not big enough,’ Veronica said.
‘Michael said yesterday he is to move down the street to number seventy-six. Did you hear he will be appointed the Minister of Finance?’
‘No, I was with Bridget, and we were too far away to hear all the speeches. Well, that’s great. Finally, we are getting somewhere. The English will have to sit up and listen to us now – maybe even leave us alone.’
‘I don’t think so, Veronica, they are sending more soldiers over. They will try their best to prevent us ruling ourselves. They have been here too long to let us go without a fight, and Michael is their biggest threat now, since Éamon and his men are still in prison in England.’
‘So just because Michael is at a different address, it won’t stop the soldiers annoying him?’
Mrs O’Reilly nodded, sighed and sipped her tea, then opened the top button on her blouse. ‘I’m exhausted, the excitement is too much for me,’ she said as she fanned herself with a piece of paper.
‘I was thinking, won’t Éamon be let go? I mean they have no reason to keep him in Wales.’
‘Veronica, he’s not in Wales anymore; they sent him to Lincoln’s prison in Lincolnshire.’ Mrs O’Reilly stood up now she had got her second wind. ‘Do you know Ernie Reilly? He is one of the new young men who work in the bank. You must have noticed him? Very handsome? He comes here on a Friday to collect the wages.’
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