When Maeve finished, Emmet stood and gave his daughter a hug. “That was lovely.”
Bridie rose and put her arm around Maeve. “Thank you, sweetheart. That was very special.”
Maeve hugged her mother in return. The words her mother spoke may not have been gushing, but the hug said it all.
Bridie released her daughter and then gave her a gentle push towards the door. “Right now. Get your glass of water and then back to bed.”
Uncle Liam called out. “Thank you for the songs. You have a true feeling for the music of Ireland.”
Maeve went to bed humming.
• • •
Uncle Liam left the next morning but in the days that followed Maeve remembered his shouted words. They’ve banned us.
At school, she asked the nun who was her teacher about what it meant that the IRA was banned by the government.
Sister Mary patted her on the shoulder. “It’s good news, Maeve.”
Maeve wrinkled her forehead. “Is it?”
Her teacher smiled. “Definitely. It means that those violent troublemakers are now marked as the criminals they are.”
Maeve took her books and left the classroom, closing the door behind her.
She scowled when she came into the hall to find a tall freckled girl standing in the hall, hands on her hips. “Are you listening in on private conversations Emer O’Reilly?”
The girl narrowed her eyes, leaned forward and poked a finger hard at Maeve’s chest, just under the collarbone. “Why are you asking about the IRA? Your Da is one of them hooligans. I heard my mammy say so.”
Maeve felt herself grow hot. “He’s not a hooligan. You take that back.”
Emer stabbed Maeve with her finger again. “I won’t. He writes all those stories that glorify murder.”
Maeve recognized that her tormentor must have heard those words from someone else. “You O’Reillys never stood up for anything in your life.” Maeve drew herself up, dropped her books on the floor and shoved the other girl who stumbled back against the wall.
Emer’s eyes widened, her face went from white to a deep red. She dropped her book sack and leaped on Maeve, yanking the yellow ribbon out of her hair.
Maeve shrieked “Give that back!” She made a grab for the ribbon, the heel of her hand thumping against Emer’s nose.
A spurt of blood shocked both girls into jumping apart, the ribbon dangling, forgotten, from Emer’s hand.
“Ahhhh!” Emer’s wail brought the teacher running into the hall.
“What in the world is going on here? I thought there were banshees shrieking.”
Emer had dropped the ribbon and pulled her handkerchief from her pocket. “Maeve Ryan attacked me!”
Sister Mary lifted the handkerchief from Emer’s nose and dabbed for a moment. “All right Emer, calm down. You’re going to be fine. I’m sure your nose isn’t broken.”
She turned to Maeve who stood wide-eyed looking at the bloody handkerchief. “She started it, Sister. She called my Da names.”
Muffled by the sodden handkerchief, Emer mumbled. “I only said the truth.”
Sister Mary sighed. “Whatever it was, I don’t want to hear any more about it. You can be sure that the headmistress with be speaking with both of your parents. Maeve Ryan, I’m very surprised at your behaviour,” she turned to pin Emer with her gaze, “whatever the provocation was.”
Maeve straightened her shoulders. “I had to stand up for what’s right, Sister.”
“Go home now, the both of you. You haven’t heard the last of this.” She stooped to pick up the ribbon. “Is this yours, Maeve?”
“It is, Sister.
She handed over the ribbon. “Go on away home now, Maeve. Emer, you come with me and we’ll wash some of that blood off your face first.”
Maeve gathered up her books and trotted out into the fresh air. Her friends had gone on without her, but that was fine. Maeve wanted to think.
Uncle Liam is a criminal. That’s not right. He doesn’t seem like a bad man. And what about Daddy? Uncle Liam clearly said ‘us’.
When Maeve got home, her mother was busy peeling potatoes. Maeve sat down at the kitchen table, fussing with her books.
Her mother turned to study Maeve. “Why the long face?” She narrowed her eyes. “Maeve Katherine, what’s happened?”
Maeve bit her lip. “Mammy, is Uncle Liam a criminal?”
Her mother wiped her hands dry on her apron and took the chair beside Maeve. “Now what makes you ask that?”
“My teacher said that anyone in the IRA is a criminal and it’s good that the government has banned them.”
Bridie sighed. “It’s all rather complicated, Maeve.”
Maeve sat patiently, waiting for more.
“The IRA, the Irish Republican Army, had a purpose when we were fighting to get out from under British rule, but many people believe that their purpose has now been served, so the time has come for them to disband.”
Maeve nodded. “So Uncle Liam isn’t a bad man, then.”
“No, he isn’t. He just believes very passionately in a united Ireland.”
Maeve hesitated. “What about Daddy?’
“What about him?”
“Is he in the IRA?”
Bridie stood and went back to the potatoes. “Maeve, you know very well that Daddy works as a journalist for the Irish Press. And before that he was with the Dublin Opinion, so that’s the end of any talk of Daddy and the IRA.”
“Emer O’Reilly said he’s a hooligan.”
Her mother turned to Maeve again. “What?”
“She did, Mammy. And I had to defend him, didn’t I?”
Again, she put down the potato and wiped her hands. She stared at Maeve. “Tell me what happened.”
The story spilled out, but Maeve kept her chin held high. “I did the right thing Mammy, didn’t I?”
“Oh, Maeve. You should have walked away. This isn’t your fight.”
“I’m not sorry.”
“I suppose we’ll be hearing from the Head. Oh dear.” She shook her head. “It’s done now. Run up and change out of your school clothes. You can help me heel and toe the beans.”
Maeve’s heart was less heavy, but as she changed into her daily dress, she thought about her mother’s explanations. It does seem complicated. Uncle Liam seemed really angry at the government, but other people, like her teacher seem happy with the way things were being run. Who’s right?
Maeve studied her father at supper as he talked to her mother about work. She could tell that Mammy hadn’t told him about her fight. She’d probably wait until after the boys were in bed.
Emmet speared a potato and then held it poised while he continued to talk. “I miss Gallagher. Of course, I do. He was the first editor the paper had, and he was great at it.”
Her mother prompted. “But?”
“But the scope has broadened. We aren’t just a mouthpiece for de Valera and Fianna Fáil anymore. Just look at this series that we’re working on now.”
Bridie pointed to the potato. “Your supper’s getting cold.”
Emmet ate a few bites and then resumed. “The slums in this and other cities in Ireland are truly shocking. The government spends more effort on rural constituents and less on urban. Bridie, you should see some of the photos that have been taken of these tenements.”
Bridie tilted her head. “So, are you happy that the paper is now targeting Fianna Fáil?”
Maeve listened, eyes wide for his answer.
Emmet finished eating and pushed his plate aside. “I think that Dev has fallen into the same trap that so many politicians fall into. He’s complacent and forgotten the goals he fought for. Remember, I helped raise money for Dev, but it wasn’t so he could let politics get the better of him.”
Maeve spoke without thinking. “That’s what Uncle Liam thinks, isn’t it?”
Emmet started, as if he had forgotten that the children were still at the table. “Uncle Liam and I agree on many thing
s but not everything.”
Maeve swivelled her gaze from her father to her mother when Bridie snorted.
Emmet frowned. “What’s that for?”
Robert took advantage of the distraction between his parents and kicked Maeve under the table. Rather than cry out, Maeve glared at him to keep him quiet. She was all ears.
Bridie stood and picked up the bowl with a few crumbly potatoes at the bottom. “We’ll save these bits of spud. No money to waste in this house. Not when you continue to refuse to take the pension.”
This was the old argument that Maeve had heard before. It was one of the few things about which her parents argued. The pension. She wanted it and he didn’t. That’s all Maeve knew.
Emmet shook his head. “Not this again. You know that the pension is nothing more than a government bribe.”
Bridie stood at the counter and then spun to face her husband again. “Liam takes it. It doesn’t mean he compromised his beliefs. He’s just pragmatic enough to take the money that’s offered.”
Maeve just couldn’t help it. “Why is the pension a bribe, Daddy?”
Emmet looked at Bridie and then back to Maeve. “It’s offered to anyone who had service in the Civil War.”
“Well, that’s you, isn’t it?”
Maeve’s mother made a satisfied hmmph sound. “Out of the mouths of babes.”
Emmet sighed. “Yes, that’s me. I believe, though, that by taking the pension, I’m as good as agreeing with them about the way things are.”
Maeve nodded. “You mean that we don’t have a united Ireland?”
“Exactly.”
Maeve frowned. She opened her mouth to speak again, but her mother was quicker.
“Maeve, please clear the table. Boys, please go and get your workbooks and Daddy will look over your lessons.”
• • •
After the boys were in bed, Maeve hovered at the top of the steps to listen to the muffled sound of her parents arguing in the kitchen.
Finally the door opened and her father called for her. “Maeve, get down here.”
I’m for it now.
She crept into the kitchen and stood beside the table. Her father was seated in his normal place and Mammy stood leaning against the worktop with her arms folded across her chest.
Daddy frowned at her. “I’m quite shocked at your behaviour, young lady.”
Maeve stared down at her shoes as tears slid down her cheeks.
“Look at me, now.”
She forced her eyes up to her father’s. “I’m sorry Da, but I was defending you. I had to stand up for what’s right. Isn’t that what you always do?”
Her father’s ears reddened. Maeve saw her mother shoot a look at her father. “I never imagined uh, um.” He coughed. “There’s a big difference in standing up for a grand cause and getting into a brawl in the school hallways like a street urchin.”
She looked back down to her shoes.
He sighed. “I’m sure your heart was in the right place.”
Her mother took over then. “Tomorrow morning you and I will go early to school, so you can apologize to the Head, and then to Sister Mary and finally to Emer.”
Maeve scowled and looked at her mother. “But she started it.”
Mammy snapped. “And you continued it.”
“Yes, Mammy, Maeve’s bottom lip quivered.”
Mammy pursed her lips as she pierced Maeve with her look. “Now, up you go and get out your Bible. I want you to read all of Matthew, chapter five and then go to bed and meditate about turning the other cheek.”
“Yes, Mammy.”
Her father murmured as she turned to leave. “Goodnight love,” and then her heart didn’t feel quite so broken.
Chapter Thirty
Dublin, June 1939
On the 11th of June, when Maeve was 16, Emmet took her to watch the quarter-final match between the Gaelic football teams of Wexford and Longford at Croke Park.
Robert and Malachy had complained mightily about Maeve going alone with him, but Emmet promised to take them to the Finals of the Leinster Championship in July.
Robert continued to protest, even as Emmet and Maeve put their jackets on to go. “She doesn’t even like football. Why does she get to go?”
Bridie stood with a hand on each shoulder of her two sons. “Don’t whinge, Robert. We’ll walk out in a little and find the ice cream man.”
Emmet pulled the door closed behind him and they set off to walk the half-hour journey to Croke Park.
As they walked along North Circular Road, Maeve touched her father’s sleeve. “Da?”
“Yes, lovey?”
“Why are you taking me to the match?”
He smiled at her. “Are you not glad to be going out with your old Da?”
She linked his arm. “Of course, I am, but I would have been just as happy going out for tea or something.”
He patted her hand resting on his arm. “Years ago, I told you that one day I’d tell you more about some of my experiences. Now that you’re sixteen, that’s what I’m doing.”
She nodded. “I loved hearing all about how when you were my age, you went with Papa, Uncle Michael and Uncle Kevin to fight in the War of Independence. It was exciting to hear all about the Battle of Ashbourne. What does football have to do with it, though?”
“It’s not football so much, as Croke Park. I haven’t been back there in many years because it was just too hard for me, but now, with you by my side, I’ll take you to where I was on Bloody Sunday.”
He told the story of what he had gone through in 1920 and the loss of his friend Sean.
By the time they were close to the stadium, Maeve was in tears. She released her father’s arm to root about in her red embroidered bag for her handkerchief.
They sat in the same section in which Emmet and Sean had sat. The events were still clear, years later as if they had happened recently. By the time the match started, Emmet was drained with the retelling. “I haven’t been back to Croke Park since then.”
The teams were out now and warming up. Maeve blew her nose and put her handkerchief away. “Thank you for telling me about Sean and what happened, Da.” She touched his cheek where his own tears dried. “Now it’s our time. Let’s make a new memory.”
He blinked and smiled. “Yes. That’s right. It’s behind us now, but I promised I’d tell you and now I have.”
They turned their attention to the match, and although Emmet knew that Maeve had little interest in sports, he grinned to watch as she cheered on the Longford team. She chose that team because he cheered for Wexford and although he had to explain the rules of the game, she seemed to enjoy the afternoon.
On the walk home, they were confronted by a group of men and women carrying signs that read Boycott British Goods.
Maeve shifted closer to Emmet. “Da, there’s even a nun with a sign.”
Emmet nodded. Yes, lots of people are passionate about this.”
“We didn’t see these people when we went in to the match. How come they’re all here now?”
“Since so many men will go to the pub now, they want to remind everyone not to buy Bass ale.”
“Do you drink Bass ale?”
“Good Lord, no. I don’t need reminding. This is still the same fight we’ve been having all these years, Maeve.”
“So even now, people stand up for what’s right.”
“They do. It’s good to see.”
Emmet and Maeve waved at a group of women holding signs, and the women smiled and waved back.
Maeve was quiet for most of the walk home and Emmet was content to let her be alone with her thoughts. He knew that his afternoon with the boys at Croke Park would be very different than this had been. His daughter was the only one interested in the history, and Emmet suspected that even when his sons reached sixteen years of age, he wouldn’t have a day like this with them.
As they walked in companionable silence, Emmet thought about his dreams for his daughter.
/> Maybe she’ll be a writer, with her love of the history. Not a journalist like me. My words are here today and wrapping up the fish tomorrow. Maybe she’ll be a Joyce or O’Casey.
He smiled to imagine it and was content.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dublin, Summer 1941
Eighteen-year-old Maeve was having a serious talk with her brother Robert, who, at fifteen, was excited about the German bombing. He didn’t seem at all upset or sympathetic about the damage done.
Maeve waved her finger at Robert. “No. Do not take Malachy to see the damage. These are people’s homes we’re talking about. Mammy will throttle you if you two go down there.”
Robert was sullen, and Maeve could tell he regretted telling her that they planned to cycle down to North Strand to see where the bombs had fallen a few days ago.
“Sure, we’ll be back before lunch. Mammy doesn’t even have to know.” He looked meaningfully at his sister. He kept her secrets often enough.
Maeve had a sudden change of heart. “Oh, go on then. Who am I to tell you? I’m not giving you permission, mind. I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Maeve decided to walk down to the newspaper offices where her father worked. She would take him a flask with tea.
When she walked into the offices of The Irish Press, the staff all greeted Maeve warmly. “Hiya, Maeve. How’s it going, Maeve?”
Her father looked up from his desk when she walked in. “This is a lovely surprise.”
She handed over the flask. “A cup of tea for you.”
“Ah, you’re a darling.”
She looked at the notes and clippings on his desk. “What are you working on?”
“Lambasting the government for not yet sending a formal protest to the German government for the bombings.”
“Why are they bombing us? We’re neutral.”
Emmet shrugged. “It might just be pilot error.”
“Might?”
Emmet pushed back in his chair and poured out a cup of tea from the flask. “No. I don’t really think that, but it’s what the public explanation is. I say might because it may also be a warning to us, the Republic.”
“What sort of warning?”
“To stay out of the war. After de Valera’s speech in April about the bombings in Belfast, there are rumours that the Germans weren’t best pleased.”
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