Dublin's Girl

by Eimear Lawlor

  ‘I’m fine. I’m just sorry I lost the money.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. You’re fine, that’s all that matters. It’s not a disaster; we have so much money coming in, and we can get by without it.’

  38

  November 1920

  Veronica couldn’t believe it had been two years since women got the vote. Occasionally, Veronica thought about Harry, but she never let the thoughts linger for more than a second or two, pushing them back into the caverns of her mind. It had been over a year since she had seen him. Most of the time, her thoughts were accompanied by anger. He had deceived her, teasing emotions in her that she didn’t know she had, but rescued her.

  On Monday, 22 November 1920, Veronica went to work with a heavy heart.

  ‘It’s terrible, it’s awful,’ Mrs O’Reilly said. ‘Did you hear, Veronica?’ She placed the newspaper on Veronica’s desk, white and ashen-faced, and sat down. ‘Fourteen innocent men shot in cold blood.’

  Earlier that morning on her way to work, at O’Connell Bridge, a paperboy had screamed Blood Bath in Croke Park, Twelve Dead many Injured. A group of men had surrounded the young paperboy, throwing money at him and grabbing their papers.

  She’d scanned the paper, and run the rest of the way to work.

  ‘My uncle told me yesterday evening. It’s all anyone is talking about. So awful, so young, they were just at a football game.’

  Over the last year, the war against the English had intensified. The previous March, England sent ex-servicemen called the Black and Tans to help the weakening RIC. The raids by the IRA were showing success, and many of the RIC were abandoning their stations as the Irish gained increasing control of their country. The Black and Tans were former soldiers from the War in Europe who had been sent to Ireland to help the soldiers and RIC control the Irish. They were rougher than the old British soldiers. Many had been in the trenches in Europe, and the scars of warfare left them with little emotions or no empathy. This was evident in the treatment of anyone they thought was an informer or in the IRA: shooting them in cold blood.

  Mrs O’Reilly sobbed. ‘Veronica look at this, two children killed as well.’ She thumped the desk, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Brutes, those men are nothing more than animals.’

  ‘But, why did they attack innocent people, they were only playing a football match!’

  ‘There had been a raid earlier that morning. Nine British undercover agents had been shot, and this attack on the footballers was in retaliation.’

  ‘But they were innocent people!’ Veronica exclaimed. ‘God this is awful.’

  After lunch, the atmosphere in the building was sorrowful, the building quiet in a mark of respect for the innocent people who had been killed.

  Arthur stuck his head of dishevelled hair through the door. ‘Ladies, you can go home early.’

  The attacks increased on both sides. In December, eighteen Black and Tans were killed in Cork, and in retaliation, the Black and Tans burned half of Cork City.

  *

  Christmas arrived and Veronica made the long journey to Cavan to see her parents, glad to be away from the increasingly tense and often violent atmosphere in Dublin. On Christmas morning, the house was full of smells of the festivities. Veronica snuggled deeper into her soft feather mattress. She could get lost for hours in the calmness of her room and lay on her back, looking up to the ceiling. Thoughts of Harry seeped into her mind. Was he with his wife? Did he have children, or was it just the two of them laughing in each other’s company? Why did that idea disturb her? The smell of turkey and puddings met her on the landing when she finally got up to go downstairs. Susan had been up for hours helping her mother to prepare the feast. Veronica entered the dining room for breakfast, stopping when she saw Eddie before running to her brother.

  ‘Eddie, it’s so good to see you.’ She hugged him, feeling the bones of his rib cage. ‘Look at you. When did you get home?’ She winced a little at his smell.

  Mrs Slaney pushed the door open with her back, holding a tray with a plate of bacon and steaming tea. ‘Sit, Eddie. Eat.’

  ‘Does Mammy and Susan know you are here? Does Daddy?’

  ‘Veronica, whist with your questions and let the boy eat. Of course your father knows, he’s gone upstairs to tell your mother. You know she’d only faint if she saw him like this.’ Mrs Slaney put the tray in front of Eddie, ‘I’ll have a hot bath ready for you after you eat.’

  The door flung open with squeals from Susan, and her mother flapping her arms behind her, ‘Eddie, thank God, your safe.’

  Eddie wolfed his food, eating bacon and buttered bread in between gulps of hot sweet tea and when he finished, he burped and wiped his mouth. ‘Excuse me, sorry, but the food is scarce when you’re on the run. You’re never sure of your next meal. Me and James left Cork four days ago travelling only at night, and our food only lasted two days.’

  ‘Eddie, have some more tea, I’ll go and get Mammy to make more,’ said Veronica, but just as she got up, Mrs Slaney brought more food in. A plate of scones with melted butter dripping off them. ‘Here Eddie, put some jam on them, you will need your strength before you go.’

  Veronica gasped. ‘Oh, Eddie, are you not staying for the day?’ She sat beside him and took his hand, studying it, before pushing up his sleeve, ‘Eddie,’ she shrieked, ‘look at your arms, they’re skin and bone.’

  Eddie yanked his arm back, pulling his sleeve down. ‘Veronica, I can’t wait around much longer. We’ve got a job to do. The Volunteers – that is, the Irish Republican Army – are getting so close to crushing the English. We have taken over all the RIC stations in Cavan and Monaghan and most of them in Leitrim. In the west, most of the stations have been abandoned, but in Cork and Kerry, it’s a different story. We need to push on. At this rate, Veronica, we will be celebrating next Christmas in a different Ireland. But first, we must continue our attacks on the army. They are still putting up a fight, but we are winning more of the battles.’

  ‘Eddie, please stay for the night and get a good rest. Sleeping rough in this weather will give you pleurisy.’

  ‘No, Mammy, I and a few lads have to get going. I know you worry, but we are careful. We have a secure hiding place.’

  ‘All right, let Mrs Slaney get your dinner to take with you, but first, have a bath. And I’ll get some clean clothes,’ she said, her incessant chatter masking her despair at her son leaving. ‘Look, it’s so cold outside and damp.’

  Eddie took both his mother’s hands. ‘It’s fine. We have somewhere warm and dry. It’s better than prison, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I know, Eddie, but if you are caught, you might be shot.’

  ‘Ah, the English will never catch us. They aren’t tough enough, and we are always one step ahead of them.’

  The front door banged open, and their father shouted, ‘Eddie, the Black and Tans are up at James Sheridan’s house. You’d better leave. James has already left and gone towards Murmod Hill. Hurry, Eddie. You don’t want to get caught.’

  An ashen-faced Veronica grabbed Eddie’s coat. ‘Quick,’ she said and wrapped the hot buttery scones in a newspaper before stuffing them into the pocket of his jacket.

  Eddie hugged his tearful mother. ‘Mammy, I’ve to go, I’ll be careful.’ He took the clean coat from Veronica.

  Susan rushed into the room, crying as she said, ‘Eddie, did Daddy say you have to leave? Can you not stay for the day?’

  ‘No, but I’ll promise I’ll be careful,’ he said and hugged everyone.

  ‘Com’ on, Eddie I’ve a horse ready for you. Go across the fields, and follow the stream, you know the way.’

  ‘Eddie, there is food in the Icehouse in the forest. It will keep, so if you need supplies there will be some there.’

  Eddie nodded and left. Veronica suppressed her tears, not knowing if it were the last time she would see him.

  The Christmas joy was cut short with Eddie’s departure, but that was the reality of the times they were in.
Veronica knew many households across Ireland had the same experiences.

  Veronica left Virginia after a subdued Christmas and returned to Dublin in early January 1921 to a renewed feeling that Ireland could get its freedom. Before Veronica returned to Dublin, her father told her he had read in a British newspaper that the reality was the Irish Republic now exists. The bloodbath in the country continued.

  *

  At the end of her first week back in Dublin, she called to see Mrs Sullivan.

  When Mrs Sullivan saw Veronica, a smile spread across her face.

  ‘Veronica, I haven’t seen you for months. Thank you for your letters. How have you been keeping?’

  Veronica loved the soft lilt of Mrs Sullivan’s accent. ‘How are you and Mr Sullivan?’

  ‘Ah, fine, you know with all the trouble on the streets it’s hard. I do love getting your letters. Did Bridget write to you? She’s with child and was very sick, but she’s fine now and due anytime. Willie, my brother, wrote and said it was terrible in Belfast, trouble of all sorts on the streets. I don’t know if it is any worse there or here.’ Mrs Sullivan rushed her words, worry on her face.

  ‘Here, I have something for you.’ She grunted a little as she bent down behind the counter, ‘You know, old age isn’t nice, enjoy your youth while you have it,’ she said and gave Veronica an envelope with Harry’s neat handwriting on the front. ‘He left it the other day.’

  Veronica stood still for a moment, looking at the envelope. Slowly, she pushed it deep into her bag. ‘I’ll read it later.’

  Veronica stayed in the warm shop, chatting and drinking tea, and left before the streets emptied of the workers returning home. ‘I’ll go while there are people still on the streets. You never know who is lurking in the shadows.’

  On her way home, soldiers stood at the top of Abbey St.

  ‘What’s your hurry, love?’ they jeered.

  Ignoring them, she walked briskly, keeping her head low and not stopping until she reached Thomas St. In the quietness of her bedroom, Veronica opened the letter.

  In her room, she kept re-reading the words.

  Wednesday, 12 January

  Can we meet? I have thought about you a lot in the last year and would so love to see you again.

  Please.

  Saturday, 4 p.m. at the corner of Abbey St?

  Harry.

  39

  Veronica didn’t reply to Harry immediately. They arranged to meet four weeks later on Saturday, 12 February.

  That Saturday, Veronica crossed O’Connell Bridge on her way to Abbey St. Harry stood at the corner. From a distance, her heart raced, her mouth dry. ‘Veronica,’ he said slowly and quietly. ‘I didn’t know if you would come.’

  She didn’t speak, her pulse racing. It was hard to ignore the jolt in her stomach as she looked at him, and guilt surged through her that she hadn’t confided in anyone she was meeting him. Now she wished she hadn’t come. It was so risky; she had no reason to meet him and didn’t want to admit that she had wanted to see him.

  ‘I’m delighted you came. Shall we go to O’Shea’s for tea?’

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, and they walked the short distance in silence. She knew it was risky to be seen with a man in uniform. Harry stood aside to let her enter and chose a corner table away from the street view.

  ‘Tea for two?’ a chirpy young waitress asked.

  It would have been no surprise to Veronica if she had refused to serve them.

  ‘Please,’ Harry replied as if everything was normal.

  The tea arrived promptly as the two looked at each other, a little awkwardly. Once their conversation had flowed smoothly, but now, they had little to say.

  Veronica broke the silence. ‘Harry, I have to thank you for saving me that day. It must have been a risk.’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It was only by chance I was in the Castle that night. I heard a soldier say they had captured a pretty young woman with green eyes and I knew it was you.’ He leaned across the table and looked her directly in the eyes, and her pulse quickened. ‘I knew you worked for Sinn Féin. I saw you in the office that day I was there with General Maxwell.’

  It unsettled her that a warm glow rose inside as she looked at him, and averted her gaze.

  ‘Veronica. Veronica, please look at me.’

  Slowly, she lifted her head; she knew what would happen as soon as their eyes met. She was afraid her eyes would reveal she didn’t see anyone else in the tearoom. Now she wished she had told Michael, or even Tom, that she was meeting him.

  He took her hand, and her cheeks flushed. ‘I miss you so much. I can’t eat or sleep. I can’t think.’

  Their eyes met and locked for a moment before she looked away towards the ringing bell over the door as it opened. Veronica pulled her hand back from his.

  Harry whispered as he leaned towards her, ‘It is only an accident of birth that I am English. I didn’t choose that. But meeting you was no accident, that was fate. We are meant to be together.’

  His hand moved towards her cheek. ‘Veronica, my engagement, I told you, it’s a loveless one. I was going to go through with it for my father. But the longer I have spent away from you, the clearer it has become that I cannot marry her. I have broken things off with her.’

  His eyes locked on hers and she felt lightheaded. His words were too much for her. Surprised she could speak, she said, ‘Even so, I am Irish, you are English. A soldier. The enemy! I never told you, but my brother was in prison. Innocent people are being murdered when we only want our freedom.’

  Sighing, he spoke more quietly, ‘I know your brother was in prison. I met him at Crumlin Prison when I was in Belfast. I recognised him straight away and checked his name. You are so similar. I shouldn’t tell you this, but I spoke to the guards, and they weren’t too hard on him. I did ask them to look after him, but well, I don’t know if they listened to me.’

  She couldn’t find any words to thank him.

  ‘Veronica,’ he spoke more forcefully, ‘I am fed up with it. We have lost so many, and we are still losing. It’s just so damn hard, Lloyd George won’t send any more men.’ He sighed and stopped as a woman with a pram passed, trying to quieten a baby.

  ‘Veronica, please can we go out for the day? Please, just one more day, the two of us, and then I’ll leave you. Anyway, our time here in Ireland may be coming to an end.’

  She didn’t reply, thinking, her anger softening the more he spoke. What harm would there be? There was little more she could do for Sinn Féin – why not do something for herself? She was tired, tired of all the fighting – tired of worrying.

  She had not drunk her tea, surprised by his words. Not that Lloyd George thought he was losing the war with the Irish, but that Harry had such feelings for her. She was equally surprised to realise that she wasn’t playing a game anymore.

  40

  She couldn’t believe what she was doing. She had told Harry she would go to Bray on Saturday, telling Betty and Tom that she would be home late as she was going to see Bridget’s new baby. March was not a time to go to Bray, but she thought it would be the only place they would not be seen together.

  On Saturday she arrived at Harcourt St train station to meet Harry. She searched the station platform for him, but it was empty apart from the ticket collector and a tall man in a smart winter coat. When the man saw Veronica, he raised his arm. It was Harry. She exhaled with relief that he wasn’t wearing a uniform; it was already a dangerous game to be playing meeting him. She sat beside Harry, the rhythmic movement of the train soothing as she stared out the window at the passing countryside, soon replaced by the sea. The sea was angry, and the whites of the waves crashed onto the rocks. The weather was turning from bad to worse.

  A cold wind greeted them as they got off the train at Bray. Harry took Veronica’s arm, pulling her into him to shield her from the wind. They strolled along the curved beach, oblivious to the few walkers leaving the beac
h. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The grey-black clouds ominously hung overhead, waiting for another roll of thunder to command them to empty. They walked the arc of the beach, and the waves beat the shoreline and displaced the sand.

  Another roll of thunder was followed by the crack of lightning zigzagging across the sky. That was the cue. Icicles of rain fell on the beach, and Veronica’s hat blew away with a gust of wind. Harry grabbed her hand and ran to the strand, shielding his eyes from the rain to look for shelter. The trees bent away from the sea as the waves crashed against the shore. Veronica couldn’t see, the sheet of rain was like a wall preventing her from lifting her head.

  ‘Veronica, a hotel! Quick, let’s run,’ he shouted. ‘I think I see a light.’

  They rushed into the foyer, and Harry had to push the door against the wind to shut it. A fire burned in the large fireplace, and they both sought immediate comfort in front of the blaze. On the piano in the corner, a newly lit candle burned brightly.

  ‘Hello,’ Harry shouted into the empty foyer.

  A diminutive silver-haired lady appeared from behind a mahogany panel in the wall. She was no more than four and a half feet tall and wore a cardigan that was the most colourful Veronica had ever seen, with every colour of the rainbow – it was also two sizes too big for the lady.

  ‘Look at ye. You’re soaked through. Sit down, and I’ll bring ye tea,’ she commented, and disappeared, returning a few minutes later with a tray of tea and biscuits.

  ‘Get this into ye. It’s a bad one out there, trees down everywhere. Pull that sofa closer to the fire,’ she said and pointed to the two-seater sofa. ‘Make yourself comfortable. I’ll take your coats, and dry them in the kitchen by the Aga. It’ll be a long night. The roads are blocked by trees, and apparently, a tree just missed a train on its way to Dublin.’ She put her hand on her chest. ‘Imagine being crushed in a train by a falling tree, perish the thought. So, you live near?’

  ‘No, we’re from Dublin, down for the day.’