Emmet felt his jaw tighten. He didn’t like to be considered a boy. I’m ready to give up my life just as much as anyone else is.
He held his temper, though. Murphy was his leader and due his respect. “Good. Nothing unusual to report.”
Liam had flung himself down on a bench. “We’re parched, though. Anything to drink?”
Pat Heeney lifted an eyebrow. He was only four years older than Emmet and Liam but behaved like he was a generation older. “What did you have in mind?”
Liam grinned. “What’s on offer?”
Emmet shook his head. “A cup of tea would be grand.”
Murphy nodded to the group. “Let’s go in, lads. Mary’ll have something waiting for us by now.” He rested his hand on Emmet’s shoulder as they walked to the house. “You’re doing important work, keeping an eye on what’s happening around the area. Don’t think you aren’t.”
Emmet took the chance to speak his mind. “But we watch day after day and nothing happens. When is it all to begin?”
Murphy nodded. “Soon enough. Soon enough.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I can’t say more, but just stay diligent, my boyo.”
Emmet sighed and followed Murphy into the house to join in the chat about the local hurling team and wondered if the revolution would ever really happen.
Chapter Two
Ashbourne, County Meath, April 1916
The 24th of April was damp, just as most of the month had been so far. The sky was a bruised grey on grey, tinged here and there with purple and yellow. In Ashbourne, it was dull but not quite raining. It was Easter Monday, and Emmet had thought he’d cycle out to visit a cousin who lived in Ratoath.
He pulled himself out of bed, enjoying the extra sleep the holiday had allowed. He pulled on his knickerbockers, slipping the braces over his clean blue shirt and then yawned his way to the kitchen where his mother was stirring the pot of porridge on the big Aga cooker. Her broad back was swathed in a pinny, saving her dress from the cooking and cleaning stains.
She turned, using the wooden spoon to point to him. “I thought you’d have been out long ago, meeting up with all your pals from the Volunteers.”
“Why? I’m allowed a little lie-in on Easter Monday, surely?”
“Your Da and brothers are gone long since to see what’s going on.”
She put a steaming bowl in front of him and filled a cup with fresh milk.
Emmet dug his spoon in, hardly paying attention as his mother went on.
“It seems as though there’s the usual chaos amongst all that gang.”
He paused now between mouthfuls. “What gang?”
“Your lot. The Fingal Volunteers. No one seems sure about what they’re supposed to be doing. There’s a Rising. No, there’s no Rising.”
Emmet jumped up, almost knocking his half-full cup of milk over. “The Rising’s begun? And me sleeping through it? Why did no one call me?”
“Sit down and finish your breakfast. As I said, no one knows if it’s on or not on or what. Michael said he’ll come back and get you as soon as he knows something.”
Emmet gulped down the last of his breakfast and ran back up to his room, taking the steps two at a time. He grabbed his jacket, carefully securing the tin pin on his lapel that he’d received when he joined the Volunteers. He usually didn’t wear it, afraid to lose it, but today was the day. The day he’d been waiting for. He hesitated for a moment, considering whether he should change into his Sunday long trousers instead of the knickerbockers that he and Liam still usually wore. Ah no. I’m comfortable and there’s no time to waste.
His mother called out after him as he flung his leg over the saddle of his bicycle. “Don’t be back late for your tea. Let your Da and brothers know, too.”
He shook his head as he pedalled away, hearing her shout something about a ham. What is she thinking? How can anyone care about their tea when the whole country was rising up?
Emmet was halfway to Murphy’s when he spied Liam trotting along the road ahead. “Liam.”
Liam turned and grinned. “Give us a lift.”
Emmet held the bike steady as Liam balanced himself on the back rack. “What have you heard?”
Liam spoke loudly over the sound of the tires crunching on the road. “Not much. Just that we’re all called out.”
Emmet needed all his breath for cycling with the extra burden, but they were there in minutes. Liam slid off the back while the bike was still coming to a stop. Emmet dropped the bike near the tangle of other bicycles and followed steps behind Liam. They slipped in behind the group of about a dozen men, all calling out comments and questions.
Emmet nudged his way closer to the front and saw Murphy tacking a map to the wooden board on the wall. It looked to be the same map that Emmet had seen a couple of weeks earlier. He was telling the truth. It’s all happening.
Emmet saw his father and two brothers standing on the other side of the group. His Da never spoke about being involved and yet here he was. Emmet felt himself flush when he thought of the times he’d spoken about the drilling and other activities he’d been involved in. They must think I’m just a boy, not to be trusted, the way I’ve blathered on.
Emmet’s oldest brother Michael stood, tall and thin, his shirt collar looking loose around his neck. He had the same large ears as Emmet and his hairline looked like it was already receding even at only twenty years old. He nodded to Emmet and Emmet nodded back. Emmet’s other brother Kevin stood the same height as Da, his thick head of hair a burnished dark copper, his deep-set eyes dark brown. He inherited Da’s cleft chin, and there were always a few reddish bristles on his chin because he didn’t take enough care with his shaving. Emmet knew that Kevin, at eighteen, was popular with the girls at the dances, and even here as he stood completely focused on what Murphy was saying, Emmet could see the small smile that was Kevin’s natural look.
Murphy held up a hand. He was wearing a proper uniform with his Sam Browne belt and strapped bandoliers across his chest. The crowd quieted down.
“You’ll have heard conflicting messages by now.”
A rumble went through the room in agreement.
“It’s true that we’ve had a couple of major blows.” Murphy held up a finger, hands red and hard looking. Farmer’s hands. “One. The German ship bringing us arms has been captured. Casement has been taken away to London.”
A groan of disappointment went through the group, although most of them had already heard this news from two days earlier.
“Two.” Murphy held up a second finger. “MacNeill has put out an order telling us to abort.”
This was news and a louder groan went around the room. Now Murphy held up his hand to silence the barrage of questions and comments being shouted out.
“Now lads. Quiet down.”
Emmet’s father stepped forward and faced the group. “Quiet.” His deep voice cut through the noise and the chattering eased off.
Emmet felt a shiver of pride. Da’s got some say here. He may just be a post office worker, but he’s respected.
Murphy nodded. “Good man, Ryan.” He took a deep breath and Emmet could feel the men holding their breath along with Murphy.
“Despite these setbacks, we’re going ahead, men.”
Ah, this was more like it. Men nodded, and Emmet could see some of them clenching their fists.
Murphy stepped up to the map, but before he turned to it, he pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket. “There was an emergency meeting of the Military Council and the order is to go ahead.” Murphy lifted his eyes from the paper and looked slowly around the room, pinning each man with his gaze. “As we stand here, men, the Dublin Volunteer units have assembled and marched. They are seizing the following key strategic targets.”
There wasn’t a sound in the room now as Murphy intoned one by one the names of the places that the Volunteers were moving on, including the General Post Office and the Four Courts. Emmet himself didn’t often get down into the city of Dubl
in, but he could see that for these men, the names evoked a picture of places they knew and could visualize.
When Murphy finished, the silence held for a moment and then he said, “We pray for their success.” Murphy crossed himself, folded the paper and put it back into his pocket. He nodded to the group and pointed to the map. “Gather close, men, and let’s look at our own targets.”
The men jostled each other to get close to the map while Emmet held back. Liam moved in beside him.
Liam’s eyes were bright, and he blinked rapidly. “Come on. I can’t see from back here.”
Emmet wasn’t sure they were meant to be included. He could see his father through the crowd and his Da nodded at him and lifted his chin as if to pull Emmet forward, closer to the map.
Emmet nodded. “Go. I’m right behind you.”
Liam squeezed through between the burly farmers with Emmet directly behind him until they could see and hear.
Emmet heard someone call out: “Will Thomas Ashe be coming to lead us?”
Murphy nodded. “He’s already on the ground. He and Mulcahy are here, but what they’re doing and where they are is strictly on a need-to-know basis. Listen up now while I take you through our orders.”
They crowded around as Murphy explained how the Fingal Volunteers were being split into four columns. They were part of the fourth column under Joe Lawless.
“So men, go home now. Get whatever weapons you’ve got stashed, put some food in your pockets and we’ll meet back here as quick as you can. Some of you may be deployed to Dublin itself, so be prepared for anything. This is it, boys. The day we’ve been waiting for our whole lives. The day we begin our emancipation from the yoke of the Brits. Godspeed.”
• • •
Emmet joined his father and two brothers cycling home. They burst in on their mother with a clatter of noise.
She wiped her hands on her apron and smiled at Emmet. “You found them all, then?”
Emmet’s father put a hand on her shoulder. “Kathleen, make up some packages of sandwiches for each of us. We’ll be leaving again in a few minutes and I don’t know when we’ll be back.”
She put her hand to her mouth. “It’s not true. You’re not really going to fight?”
“We are. Is there any food ready right now that we could have a quick hot meal?”
She stood with her hand still pressed to her mouth and then glanced over to her youngest son. “Not Emmet as well?”
Emmet felt his chest swell when he heard his father. “Emmet’s old enough to make his own decision.”
She came near him and reached out her hand as though to hold him fast, but Emmet nodded. “Me too, Mam.”
She wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron and then went to the cooker. Her voice was thick with tears and defeat. “The spuds aren’t ready, but you’ll each have a cut of ham on bread with onions and gravy before you go anywhere.”
The plates were on the table, steam rising in a fragrant plume, when Michael and Kevin came back into the kitchen. Michael, carried a shotgun while Kevin clutched a hatchet. They set their weapons down near the door before sitting down to tea. They ate quickly with little conversation, while Emmet’s mother cut more thick slices of fresh bread to make into sandwiches.
As she finished wrapping the lunches for the four of them, Emmet’s father went out to the shed behind the house, returning with a revolver and long knife in a leather holder that he used for skinning rabbits.
“For God’s sake, where did the gun come from, Ned?”
“Shush, woman.” He nodded to the wrapped sandwiches. “Are they ready now?”
Before taking the lunch from his wife, Emmet’s father handed the knife to Emmet. “For Jaysus’ sake, don’t slice yourself with this.”
Each of the men kissed Kathleen as they took their lunch from her. Tears slid unchecked down her cheeks. “Ned Ryan, you bring them home safe to me.”
Ned took one backward glance before lifting himself onto his bicycle. “I’ll do my best, my girl.”
• • •
When they got back to the rendezvous, most of the men had already returned. Emmet sought out Liam standing at the fringe of the group. Liam’s freckled face was flushed and his voice high and animated. “I’ll go to Dublin. Do you want me to go with them, sir?”
Murphy was selecting men to be sent over to join Captain Coleman with orders to march to Dublin City.
“No, I need you here, son.”
Emmet nudged Liam. “You should wait for your orders, not jump in like that.”
Liam frowned. “Why not? I’m ready for the action. I want to get into the thick of it, not hang about here.”
Before Emmet could respond, Murphy turned to the two boys. “I need scouts that can fit in easily and not look threatening. It’ll take courage and you’ll need to be able to think on your feet in case you come face to face with those brave men of the Royal Irish Constabulary.” His voice was thick with sarcasm as he gave the full name instead of just calling them the RIC as everyone usually did.
Liam heaved a deep sigh. “More of the ‘watch and wait’, then.”
Murphy put his hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Seriously now, lad. Men are being lifted everywhere and being thrown in prison for just walking along the wrong road. If the RIC come your way, you’ll need to be convincing that you’re up to nothing dangerous and then get back to your leader as quick as you can with your report. If you or anyone of us ends up being taken, that’s a man down that we can’t afford. Can you lads do that?”
Emmet spoke for both of them. “We can, sir.”
Murphy nodded. “Right, then.”
The briefing went on with men being assigned to various points where the order was to deliver ‘harassing actions’ for the rest of the day. Tomorrow they would reconvene, and new orders issued based on the reports coming in from Dublin and from their own efforts.
Emmet and Liam were each assigned to a different troop. Liam went along to Swords while Emmet went to Saint Margaret’s. Their job was to serve as lookouts and messengers working closely with their leaders. Emmet cycled directly behind his leader, James Lawless. Like the Ryans, Frank Lawless and both his boys were all engaged with the Fingal Volunteers. Frank and the two sons, Joseph and James, were all leaders of sections or columns. Frank wore a bushy handlebar moustache, but the two boys were clean shaven. Joseph reminded Emmet of his own brother Kevin, with his fair hair and mischievous grin. James was dark-haired and sombre, and Emmet was glad to follow him now, trusting him to lead with care. They took the less direct route which took them through Greenogue. When they reached the crossroads at Surgalstown Lawless stopped the troop. He gestured to Emmet who rode up beside him.
Lawless pointed ahead. “Right now, lad. Ride on ahead and make sure there’s no RIC between here and St. Margaret’s. We’ll wait fifteen minutes and if we don’t see you return, we’ll figure the way is safe.”
Emmet’s heart raced as he cycled along the quiet road into the town. The two-and-a-half miles seemed much farther to him, but aside from a black Labrador Retriever running out from a laneway and barking furiously as Emmet passed, the way was quiet. Heavy rain-grey clouds hung over the road as he pedalled through the countryside. High hedges shrouded old stone walls and blocked his view as he wound his way along the road into St. Margaret’s. On the outskirts of town, he passed the entrance to St. Margaret’s Cemetery. He felt a shiver trace along his spine at the sight of the large white-spotted Celtic Cross, looming near the ruins of the ancient church. He pedalled harder until he was past. He knew it was foolish, but he heaved a sigh of relief when it was behind him. He pulled over and stopped to catch his breath. His instructions had been to go into town and cycle all the way through and then back along the side lanes and roads. If he saw anything concerning, his orders were to go back to a farm on Kilreesk Lane, owned by a comrade who would know exactly where to find Lawless. Meanwhile the troop was working on cutting communication lines along several key stretches.
The hours passed slowly for Emmet. He cycled along past St. Margaret’s Church to the end where the houses trailed off, and then circled back. There really was no village to speak of and after the initial excitement wore off, the time dragged. He cycled up to Dunsoghly Castle and sat resting against the centuries-old stone to eat the sandwich Mam had given him. The sun had broken through the clouds. His eyes were heavy, and he closed them for a moment. He was on the edge of dozing off when he heard voices. His eyes sprang open. Jaysus.
Two RIC constables cycled up the pathway towards him. Despite the heat, the hair on his arms rose in goosebumps. He swallowed as his cheese and pickle sandwich threatened to rise in his throat. He sat frozen until one of the constables spotted him. After a muttered word, the two men stopped, dismounted and rested their bicycles against a crumbling wall. One went off around the corner of the old chapel while the other approached Emmet. Emmet stood up. He was the same height as the man sweating in front of him, but the constable’s flat-topped peak-hat made him seem taller.
The constable stroked his heavy black moustache. “What are you up to then, boyo?”
Emmet’s heart pounded at the arrogant tone. “Nothing. Only minding my own business.”
“And what business would that be?”
The other constable came back, still buttoning up his fly.
Emmet glanced at him and then turned back to his interrogator. “Just having a bit of lunch.”
“But why here?” The man turned to his partner. “Take a walk around and see if this fella has any pals lurking.”
Emmet stopped himself from licking his lip, not wanting to look nervous. “Is there a law against it?”
The second constable made a half-hearted stroll to the corner of the tower for a quick look and then came back. “Ah, leave it Joe. There’s nothing. Probably just skiving.”
Emmet breathed deeply through his nose to slow his breathing. He clenched his teeth as the constable hesitated while his partner returned to his bicycle. The black moustache twitched as the man sneered. “I should write you up. I can tell you’re up to no good, but I’m feeling generous today. What’s your name?”
Torn Asunder Page 2