Dublin's Girl

by Eimear Lawlor

  Eddie stirred after some time. It was impossible to tell how long they had been in the room, but as the clouds moved across the sky, the moon shadow had shifted. The damp wall glistened.

  Eddie moaned and opened his eyes.

  ‘Eddie, I have to go, Tom and Betty will wonder where I am.’

  ‘It’s fine. Tell Tom you were with me.’

  It shocked her that Tom knew Eddie had escaped and said nothing. She realised there were many things others knew that she didn’t.

  ‘You go home, Veronica.’ He caught his breath. ‘Tell Tom I’m going to Cork for a while to stay with a friend. Go before the patrol comes around again. James will be here soon; he’ll look after me.’

  ‘Why?’ she said, exasperated at the thought of him leaving again so suddenly. ‘And your hand, Eddie, what’s wrong with that?’

  ‘It’s nothing really.’

  Veronica winced, taking Eddie’s hand, turning it over and rubbing her fingers over his displaced knuckle. ‘Eddie, it’s swollen.’

  ‘It’s fine, I’ve no pain, maybe a wee bit crooked.’ He paused for breath. ‘Veronica, it’s the least of my worries. It’s been arranged for me to leave Dublin before sunrise. I’ll stay with some friends. I need to keep away from the authorities.’

  Veronica shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I escaped, Veronica. Mammy doesn’t know. There is a warrant out for my arrest. If they find me, I will be shot.’

  Veronica’s eyes went wide. ‘Surely they wouldn’t!’

  ‘Two other lads who escaped with me but weren’t so lucky and got shot. Veronica, I have to go. Tell Tom I’ve gone to Cork.’

  A knock at the door and James Sheridan entered. ‘James, take Veronica home, and we’ll be off when you get back.’

  ‘Eddie…’

  ‘Go, Veronica, the patrol might be back soon.’

  They hugged, and she left with James.

  Veronica refused to talk to James as he took her quickly through the back streets to Thomas St. She didn’t even thank him when she arrived home, just ran up the steps, slamming the door behind her.

  33

  That night Veronica tossed and turned worrying about Eddie. She woke early to speak to Tom, but her aunt told her he had gone to his cousin’s funeral in Co Meath. He didn’t return until late Sunday night.

  On Monday morning after breakfast, her uncle said he would take her to work.

  ‘I’ve to do deliveries. I don’t mind taking a long way around.’ Tom rose slower than usual, his face wincing with every movement. He looked over to Betty and whispered to Veronica, ‘This unforgiving dampness makes it worse. I’ll be OK when I get moving. At least some spring heat is on its way.’ He half-smiled at Veronica. ‘Love, don’t look so worried, sure, you have yourself to fret about.’

  On their journey, Veronica said, ‘Uncle, you can’t keep going like this. Your hands are crippled, let me take the reins. Haven’t I watched you often enough? Anyway, you know I have driven a car!’

  ‘Really! I suppose times are different. Women do things now they didn’t do a few years ago,’ he admitted, and half flicked the reins.

  Veronica leant over taking the reins from his hands. ‘Sit back and rest.’ They travelled in silence for a while, only broken by her uncle’s coughing. The streets got busier as they passed O’Connell Bridge.

  ‘Veronica, I know you met Eddie.’

  ‘He looked awful, I’m just concerned. He isn’t well, and he has gone off again, I’m beside myself with worry, what if something happens to him and—’

  ‘Veronica, love, he has had a tough time, but he’ll be fine. He’s with James, and they have each other’s back. Don’t you worry about him, they are going to Cork and they will be safe there. Try to get on with things as normal as you can.’

  She sighed. ‘But I can’t help it. Eddie said Mammy doesn’t know he has escaped, and if they catch him, he could be…’ she stopped to inhale and slowly said, ‘… he could be shot.’

  ‘He’ll be fine, and good men are looking out for him. No more talk, Veronica, you’ll be late for work. We’re nearly there, I’ll manage now.’ Veronica handed the reins back to Tom with concern in her eyes.

  ‘I’ll be fine, my hands are OK,’ he said and wiggled his fingers, but they were stiff. Veronica rubbed her numb fingers and blew her breath on them and imagined how much pain the cold caused her uncle.

  Tom dropped Veronica to Harcourt St and left to continue his deliveries of Guinness.

  As she entered the office, the smoke made her eyes water. Now that Michael spent most of his time at his new office, nobody bothered to open the windows in the building.

  At her desk, a note had been left for her to type.

  6 Harcourt St,

  A, Chari,

  To carry effect the Dáil decree, whereby it was decreed that the police forces maintained by the English government in Ireland be ostracised socially by the people of Ireland, you are requested to bring the following to the notice of your Cumann.

  a) Avoid all intercourse with such persons unless where purely business matters make it necessary

  b) Do not salute or reply to their salutations

  c) Do not take part in any social entertainments where they are expected to be guests

  d) Should not be allowed to attend any social entertainments such as dances etc.

  e) Avoid all places they are known to visit such as public houses

  In the term ‘Police forces’, we include all members of the RIC, DMP, both officers and men, detectives and spies where they devote their whole time to detective rules and spying, or disguise themselves in engaging in some ordinary civil occupation.

  Members report to their club on persons who are seen in any social intercourse.

  T Kelly

  H Sheehy Skeffington

  Veronica had to read the letter twice.

  ‘What are you blushing at, dear?’ Mrs O’Reilly asked Veronica.

  ‘Here read this. It’s a letter to be sent to all the Cumann na mBán.’

  Mrs O’Reilly read the letter, colour rising from her neck to her face. Her eyes moved across the letter a second time.

  ‘Well, dear, it had to be said. I heard they wanted the priests to go to the parents of people involved with members of the police and army and tell them to warn their offspring to leave. However, they felt this too risky for the priests.’ Mrs O’Reilly nodded. ‘It could have an effect.’ She handed the letter back to Veronica to continue with her task.

  A familiar voice came into the office. ‘Is Arthur here?’

  ‘He’s upstairs, Michael. It’s great to see you. You’re doing fantastic work,’ said Mrs O’Reilly.

  ‘Open a window to let fresh air into the room. I’m going upstairs to see Arthur,’ he said to Mrs O’Reilly, signalling Veronica to follow him.

  Michael waited for Veronica on the landing. ‘Well, any news?’

  ‘He said they are undermanned and hoping to recruit new men, now the war is over. Also said he would call at the shop; we didn’t have time to talk much after the picture.’ She hesitated. It embarrassed her, not because he kissed her, but because she had responded unexpectedly.

  ‘All right,’ he sighed and placed his hands behind his back. He took a cigarette from his coat pocket but didn’t light it and looked at Veronica. ‘Habit,’ he said. ‘You know they didn’t think we’d get this far and wouldn’t take our Dáil seriously, but now they are listening to us. We’ll get our freedom, Veronica, at any cost. Meet him again. Maybe you could get a few names from him; I know you probably don’t want to, but can you do it, it would be of help to your fellow countrymen?’

  ‘Of course, Michael.’ It was a difficult decision.

  Michael pensively said, ‘Veronica, I hope he doesn’t get suspicious that you are never at the shop when he calls, but we do need you here.’

  *

  ‘He’s right, it’s stuffy in here.’ Mrs O’Reilly opened the window and stuck her
head out to inhale some fresh air. ‘Quick, Veronica, run upstairs and tell Michael I can see soldiers on their way here. Give me any documents you want to put into the safe.’

  Veronica took two steps at a time and found Michael on the landing talking to Eibhlin, ‘Michael there’re soldiers on their way here.’

  He dropped the paperwork and grabbed the ladder leaning against the wall that people used to get up to the skylight. ‘Here, Veronica, hold this and take it away when I am up.’

  Shouts rose up the stairs, and loud heavy hobnail boots followed. ‘Where’s Michael Collins?’

  The steps on the stairs neared, and Veronica whispered, ‘Hurry, Michael, I can hear them.’

  He was nearly at the top of the ladder and pushed the skylight open, but his foot slipped, and he fell back.

  ‘Michael, hurry.’

  He steadied himself on the ladder, then was up and out of the skylight. Eibhlin and Ernest Blythe appeared by Veronica’s side, and Veronica handed the ladder to Ernest. He put the ladder into the hidden cupboard near the toilet, pushing the filing cabinet in front of the door just as the soldiers arrived.

  ‘Where’s the bastard?’

  ‘Who?’ said Ernest, trying to walk past them.

  ‘Michael bloody Collins.’

  ‘Michael who?’

  ‘Don’t be a smartarse with me, if you know what’s good for ye,’ the soldier snarled.

  A sergeant pushed through the soldiers. ‘If ye had moved quicker, we might have caught him.’ He looked at them. ‘Right, Smith, get everyone’s names and details.’ He glanced at the wall clock. ‘Right, make it snappy.’ He handed the soldier a black notebook and pencil.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked Veronica.

  ‘Veronica.’

  ‘Veronica who?’

  ‘Veronica McDermott.’

  Writing it down in the notebook, he said, ‘How old are ye?’ He wasn’t as rough as the younger soldiers.

  ‘Nineteen.’

  He asked everyone their names. He wrote them in the notebook, and then he clapped it closed and said, ‘Lads, downstairs, now.’

  Everybody stood silently on the landing, listening to the soldiers on the floor below in Michael’s old office. A bookcase crashed to the floor, books pulled from the shelves and thrown against the walls. They opened drawers, relieving them of their contents. Mrs O’Reilly’s face was now red, looking like she would explode with anger at any minute. Veronica silently moved to the stairs to see if they had found Michael’s safe.

  As she passed Eibhlin, they gave each other’s hands a small squeeze. A bead of sweat formed on Eibhlin’s forehead. Their eyes locked, trying to communicate with each other. Veronica knew the safe was where Michael kept his files on the DMP and the activities of the English. He had many spies in Dublin Castle who passed information to him regularly.

  ‘Veronica, you go and see if they found his safe,’ Ernest whispered and gave her a gentle shove. ‘Tell them you want to go to your desk or something.’

  She walked soundlessly back down to her office. A few unposted letters she had typed to the Cumann lay on the floor. Mrs O’Reilly’s flowers had been trampled, the blue vase in smithereens.

  On Veronica’s desk lay the pile of letters for the Cumann na mBán.

  ‘Nothing in here, lads, search the other office,’ said a soldier in Michael’s office.

  Veronica walked to her desk.

  ‘Stop! What are you doing?’ a soldier shouted.

  ‘Sorry, what did you say?’ Veronica turned to look at him. The soldier had three stripes on his arm, a sergeant.

  Suddenly there was a thud, and Veronica looked round. Mrs O’Reilly had come into the office and fallen to the floor. A trickle of blood flowed from her forehead.

  ‘Quick help!’

  ‘Are ye all right?’ said a young soldier, handing her a handkerchief and picking her up to sit her on her chair.

  The sergeant said gruffly, ‘She’s grand, leave the Fenian alone.’

  Veronica caught Mrs O’Reilly’s eye, who winked at her. In the commotion, Veronica stuffed the letters to the Cumann under her skirt.

  ‘Come on, lads. There’s nothing here.’ And the soldiers retreated.

  Veronica’s hatred of the English soldiers was increasing daily. She and others left the office to go out to the landing, papers thrown everywhere.

  ‘Right, listen, everybody,’ Ernest said, with remarkable calm. ‘Everything’s fine. Michael escaped through the skylight. When are they going to learn, he always is one step ahead of them?’

  Mrs O’Reilly nodded. ‘You’re right, Ernest.’ She started to pick up the papers. ‘It’s late, we’ll go home when we’re done.’

  34

  Each Tuesday morning, farmers, shop owners, and business people lodged money in the Sinn Féin Bank. The air in Dublin was thick with hope, but also thick with gunfire. The streets were now full of dangers for people waiting to attack British soldiers. People had developed unity and more insidious methods to fight the British. It was said by many that every man, woman and child concealed a gun. Veronica had arrived in Dublin an innocent young girl, and now she was a woman who had experienced more than she ever thought possible.

  More people than ever were joining the Volunteers, and people in the Sinn Féin offices were on high alert as the raids intensified from the soldiers and the DMP.

  On her way home, a familiar voice called out, ‘Veronica, how are you?’

  It was Harry. He looked pale. His once tight uniform now hung a bit looser on him.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Veronica. That purple colour of your coat suits you.’ He hesitated. ‘You look beautiful.’

  Her cheeks burned.

  ‘I’m so glad to have bumped into you. Please accept my apologies for not contacting you, but we are under a lot of pressure. The streets are not the same. My men are under constant attack. The other day some were walking down Dawson St, and a woman pulled a gun out of her pram. Luckily, when she pulled the trigger, it didn’t work.’

  She had to keep him talking. ‘That’s hard,’ she said, thinking fast. ‘How do you feel about the new Dáil? I read about it in the papers. It must be hard especially with the continued attacks on anyone English.’ She carefully watched his face, finding herself wishing he wasn’t wearing that tell-tale uniform.

  ‘I wish it were different. We are so different, our birth, our accents, but yet I feel we’re not. Don’t worry, Veronica, we have our surveillance on people that we expect trouble from.’

  She shivered as she stared into his eyes, but held her resolve, which turned out to be easy, staring at him.

  ‘Do you know what would be lovely, Veronica? Tea in the Shelbourne. Unfortunately, I don’t have another day off until the last Saturday of the month. Will you meet me? At 4 p.m. Please.’

  She nodded, smiling up at him, and he stroked her face. This time she didn’t flinch.

  A young woman, no older than Susan, walked past them in the middle of the road, pushing a black pram and hissed, ‘English scum.’

  An army vehicle tooted its horn behind her. She tried to lift the pram onto the path out of their way but struggled under the weight of her children.

  Without a word, Harry took the pram from the woman and lifted it onto the path.

  She didn’t look at him, or thank him. Turning back to Veronica he lifted his cap and left.

  Veronica stood for a few minutes, watching Harry, the army vehicle and the young mother. She reflected on her reasons for meeting Harry, and feelings to where she was now. Another army vehicle drove slowly by, full of soldiers with the guns pointing at the streets ready for attack, so Veronica didn’t stay long in the street. She needed to contact Michael, and he had moved to his new office.

  35

  ‘Veronica, would you go to Michael’s office? It’s 76 Harcourt St. He sent word that he needs somebody to take shorthand and type the letters for him. Be a dear go, my legs are stiff and swollen today,’ said Mrs O’
Reilly as she rubbed them, hoping to find relief.

  ‘Grand, I’ll make you some tea first before I go. It’s the least I can do for you.’

  Lately, Mrs O’Reilly found it hard to climb the two flights of stairs to the office. In the small kitchen, Veronica made some tea and put it in Mrs O’Reilly’s favourite pink cup and saucer. She managed to find her a few biscuits hidden in the cupboard.

  She carried the tray back to the office past Michael’s old room. The bookshelves had been emptied, the filing cabinet hung open, and three boxes of files were in the middle of the floor. Somebody else was ready to move in. Mrs O’Reilly smiled when Veronica returned with the tea, but Veronica knew it was the biscuits that made her smile.

  ‘Lovely, dear, though you know I probably could lose a few pounds,’ she said, spooning three sugars into her tea. ‘Don’t forget your coat and hat, it’s still cold out there. And take paper; I’m sure Michael will have some but take your own. Always be prepared, Veronica.’

  As she left the building, she spotted four soldiers standing opposite the entrance. They never took their eyes off her while they stamped their finished cigarettes into the ground. She ignored their stares but felt their eyes burrowing into the back of her neck. Looking ahead, she walked to Michael’s office as if she didn’t care about them.

  Few people were on the street and the walk to Michael’s building only took a few minutes. His office was on the second floor. As she passed the closed doors on the way up the stairs, she heard the low murmur of voices behind them.

  The smell of fresh paint lingered in the hallway, and she knocked carefully on Michael’s door as she wasn’t sure whether it was dry. Michael sat behind a mahogany desk covered in loose sheets of paper. The fire blazed, but the windows were wide open.

  ‘Veronica, it’s good to see you.’

  To the left and right of Michael’s desk were large stacks of papers. The bookcase behind was overflowing with books and files. The smell of fresh paint inside the office was a reminder of how her own office at number 6 had the ‘lived in’ look. A lovely smell of turf filled the room, and memories of home pulled her away from Dublin for a minute to Cavan.