“Remember, we only have a short window of time for everyone to take their places. The projectionist will be out for a smoke between films. He’ll be sure the door is open for us. You’ve each been told about where you’ll go, but if you’re unsure, ask now. We don’t want to stand around having a chat once we’re on the ground.”
White’s pale eyes surveyed the room. “McAteer and Steele. You’re ready?”
Hugh McAteer held up a roll of paper and waved it as affirmation.
Jimmy Steele patted his pocket and nodded.
White pulled out a revolver, checked it and tucked it back in his belt under his jacket. “I don’t expect trouble, but, like those who have gone before, we need to be ready for anything.”
Maeve felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight of the gun. All around her, men followed White’s lead, checking that their guns were loaded and ready before tucking them away again.
White checked his watch. He took a deep breath and then spoke. “Irish men and Irish women. We’re here today to preserve the spirit of the movement. Let history write that we, here now, were ready to stand up for the freedom of our brothers and sisters still living under the oppressor’s thumb, made even worse by the addition of American troops, here without the permission of the Irish government or people.”
He went on to remind those gathered of the historical parallels of today’s commemoration to 1916. “By going to the Broadway Cinema, today we will honour where the Willow Bank Huts once stood. Where the Belfast Volunteers mobilized in 1916. Just like then, we continue to be engaged in our own war, in the midst of another World War. All around us we see the evidence of British forces. Today we will turn the focus of our people back to our cause instead of foreign wars.”
Maeve joined in with the hurrahs that rumbled around the room.
White gave a thin smile. “The film today is Don Bosco, an inspirational film, I understand. Enjoy it.”
With that, he made his way to the kitchen door and gave each person a word or pat on the shoulder as they slipped out, singly and in twos, into the garden and through the back gate.
Maeve left with a young volunteer named Richard O’Meara. She took his arm, feeling the scratch of his wool jacket under her hand. He was tall and wore a bow tie. He had a thick head of hair combed straight back. In another circumstance she’d find him handsome, but now Maeve couldn’t even speak, let alone enjoy his company. She trembled as they passed an armoured car surrounded by uniformed Royal Ulster Constabulary brandishing rifles.
Richard put his hand over hers. “No need to shake so.”
His voice was low, and with his thick Belfast accent, Maeve had to concentrate to understand him. She tilted her head towards him to hear.
He patted her arm and then let his right hand fall to his side again. “Those boyos are everywhere today. They’ve got the Falls Road looking like an armed camp.”
Maeve licked her lips. “I’m fine.”
He grinned. “Good. We need to look like we’re having fun. Give us a smile.”
She looked up at him and smiled.
“That’s great. That smile might even take me to Dublin some day.”
Maeve forced herself to broaden her grin as they passed a group of patrolling British soldiers. “You’d be very welcome.”
She took deep breaths to control her shaking. Why are there so many soldiers around here? Do they know something?
And then they were passing under the marquee where the word Broadway proclaimed the cinema’s name in large letters.
Maeve had a sudden urge to relieve herself. Her stomach cramped but she knew it was only nerves. Now was not a time to visit the toilet.
She took her seat beside Richard at the aisle end of the row near the back of the room. The dusky light of the cinema fell and when it was dark as night the film began. Maeve couldn’t focus on the story of the warrior priest.
With every spoken word and gesture, with every passing moment, the time crept closer when armed men would take over the cinema, and all hell would break loose. Hell, in which she had a part to play.
In the dark, she felt Richard nudge her. Wordlessly, she followed him as he made his way to the back of the room. She made her way to a door at the side of the cinema that led to the lobby. Her eyes had now adjusted to the light and she saw one of the other volunteers join Richard at the main entrance. They would prevent people leaving and more importantly, from entering.
The flickering images on the screen came to an end. Maeve sensed people begin to shift, pulling on shawls and straightening hats as they waited for the house lights to come on.
Some people rose and moved towards the exits despite the dark, and then Maeve heard McAteer’s voice ring out. “Everyone keep your places.”
Maeve could hear muttering, but people sat back down.
A gasp went around the room. Instead of the lights, a slide flashed on the screen. Voices murmured the words as some people read the statement aloud:
This cinema has been commandeered by the Irish Republican Army for the purpose of holding the Easter Commemoration for the dead who died for Ireland.
The house lights rose, and Maeve saw McAteer and Steele on stage. She swallowed. It was all happening to plan. Two volunteers stood nearby, each holding a man captive. The manager and the projectionist.
Maeve glanced around the room. All eyes were glued to the stage. She felt the constriction around her chest ease. So far, so good.
Maeve was swept up in the words as Jimmy Steele, in full dress uniform, read out the original 1916 proclamation. He began with the words that always made her heart beat faster.
‘Irishmen and Irishwomen. In the name of God and of the dead generations from which she receives her old tradition of nationhood, Ireland, through us, summons her children to her flag and strikes for her freedom.’
Like everyone else in the cinema, she was mesmerized so didn’t see the child slip out of a door halfway along the side wall. That wasn’t her door to guard. She didn’t see him put a pebble in to keep the door from locking behind him. She knew that each entrance was being monitored by the volunteers. She didn’t know that, like her, many were fascinated by what was happening on the stage and distracted from their responsibilities.
Steele took his time and read with passion. He read the last words, slowing to enunciate each one.
‘..by the readiness of its children to sacrifice themselves for the common good, prove itself worthy of the august destiny to which it is called.’
There was a momentary silence and then a smattering of applause.
Hugh McAteer stepped up and read out a statement from the IRA Army Council focusing on the presence of American soldiers, invited into Northern Ireland by Britain. As he came to an end, Maeve had time to think that they had pulled it off. A peaceful commemoration. Da, I wish you were here to see it.
McAteer called for two minutes’ silence to remember those who had died for Ireland. The silence in the room made the sound of the side door crashing open, seem like an explosion.
Richard had locked the front door during the reading of the proclamation, so he and the other Volunteer began to move towards the side door where soldiers were pouring through. They would try to stop the flood coming in to allow the others to escape.
The screaming tore through Maeve’s mind. Escape. The instructions were that everyone should escape as best they could, if the worst should happen, and now the worst was happening. Her eyes searched around the room and saw the stage already empty except for the manager and projectionist who stood with their hands tied, looking bewildered.
She looked over her shoulder. Richard was close behind her. His revolver was lifted. He was going to fire at the oncoming soldiers, but she was in the way. She was frozen, her mind blank.
Richard shouted, “Maeve! Out, out! Open the front door and get out!”
People rushed along the centre aisle now, trying to get to the main entrance. She could mingle with them. Escape, escape. Her fee
t didn’t move.
Maeve’s mind clicked back in. She turned once more to see where the soldiers were. No shots had been fired so far and now the audience poured out through both side doors, stopping any more soldiers from coming in.
A glance before whirling to leave. Is there time to run? Can I make it? A soldier had his rifle lifted. He had seen Richard and was ready to fire.
The eyes. Maeve knew those eyes. Even below the beret of an English uniform, she knew those eyes.
Richard was beside her now, his gun hand lifted, his other hand trying to shove Maeve away.
She sucked in her breath and stepped in front of Richard, hearing him curse behind her. She held her hands before her to stave off the bullet. “Daniel! No, Daniel! Don’t shoot!”
Her cry was a split second too late.
She was aware of a flash of light, and the sharp, sweet tang of cordite filled the air. She felt a push of air as the concussion struck her and then a blaze of pain in her chest that stopped her breath. She felt herself fall back against Richard. Did she hear him say ‘damn you’? Perhaps. Just before the silence engulfed her and the cinema went dark.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Dublin, April 1943
Emmet paced the sitting room. There were no newspapers published in Dublin on Easter Monday. He stood staring out the window, hands behind his back. How can I find out what happened?
He turned to Bridie, who was knitting furiously. “I may go into the office and see if there’s any news come in on the wire.”
The clicking stopped as she looked up at him. “Can you do that?”
Her hopeful expression convinced him. “I can, of course.”
She set aside her knitting and walked over to him, resting her left hand on his shoulder while cupping his cheek with her right. “Go, then. Go now while the boys are out at the hurling match, otherwise they’ll think it strange.”
He took her hand from his cheek and kissed the palm. “I’m sure she’s fine and on her way home.”
Bridie nodded, then turned to get his hat.
Emmet heard her cry ‘oh’ as a knock thumped the door. He was a step behind his wife as she pulled open the door.
A boy stood there. “Telephone call for you at the call box, Missus.”
Emmet pulled a tuppence from his pocket and handed it to the boy. “Thank you, son.”
Not for the first time, Emmet had the passing thought he should have a telephone installed in the house instead of using the public call box down the road like everyone else on the street.
Bridie didn’t even wait to remove her apron. She lifted her skirt and trotted the half block to the public telephone box at the corner of the street.
Emmet wanted to run ahead of her. He wanted to snatch up the receiver and shield his wife from whatever news was waiting at the other end of the line. They knew very few people with telephones. They never received telephone calls, but the one family who did have a telephone in their home was the Carson family in Belfast.
Emmet was winded when he crowded in the call box behind his wife. She already had the receiver pressed against her ear and was shouting into the mouthpiece. “Hello? Hello?”
Emmet strained to listen to the voice leaking through the receiver, but only heard his wife’s voice.
“Yes, yes. This is Bridie and Emmet is here with me.” Bridie nodded towards Emmet as if the listener might see her movement.
“Yes, Mr. Carson. All right, I’ll give Emmet the telephone then.”
Emmet stared at her, raising his eyebrows. She was pale, and the soft faded copper colour of her hair looked stark against her white face.
She shrugged and then shook her head, mouthing the words. “He won’t talk to me. Only you.”
They squeezed past each other in the cramped space so that Emmet could take the handset from her. Now it was his turn to press the receiver against his ear. “Mr. Carson. Good of you to telephone. How is Mrs. Carson?”
He listened to the tinny-sounding voice of Mr. Carson. “She’s well. We’re all getting older and have the aches and pains that go along with that.”
“Yes, of course.” Emmet struggled to keep his voice calm and polite as he spoke to the older man.
“Listen, Ryan. The reason I’m calling.”
There was a silence. Dear God.
It seemed that Mr. Carson had to catch his breath, but now he continued. “There was an incident here yesterday. Perhaps you heard about it on the wireless?”
Emmet swallowed. “I haven’t heard anything. We don’t have a wireless in the house.”
“Ah. Right. My wife thought perhaps you didn’t.”
Bridie was pulling on Emmet’s sleeve. “What’s he saying?”
Emmet shook his head. “Shh.”
The quavering voice continued. “Some of those fellows took over the Broadway Cinema. Some sort of commemoration, apparently.”
“Those fellows?”
“You know. The IRA.”
“Right. What happened?”
“It almost went off peacefully, apparently.”
“Almost?” Bridie was pulling on him again. “Mr. Carson, just let me catch Bridie up with what you’ve told me before she has me pulled to pieces.”
Emmet repeated what he knew so far.
Bridie pulled at his hand holding the receiver. “Let me listen with you.”
Emmet gave in and held the receiver at an angle. “Go ahead, Mr. Carson. You were saying that the commemoration almost went off peacefully.”
“Aye. Then it all went awry when a boy slipped out and tipped off a passing troop of British soldiers. They were on high alert, expecting some sort of trouble, so they didn’t waste time getting into the cinema.”
Emmet waited. They could hear Mr. Carson’s wheezy breath as if he was steeling himself to go on.
Bridie was clinging to Emmet’s wrist, pulling the receiver towards her own ear.
“There was a general rush for the doors apparently. A real melee.”
Silence again.
Emmet closed his eyes, picturing the chaos. His heart thumping, he prompted Mr. Carson. “Was anyone hurt?”
In a rush then, as if in a hurry to get to the finish, Mr. Carson’s voice was stronger. “I’m afraid so. There was a shooting. We didn’t find out until much later you understand, or I would have called sooner. I would have called yesterday, but by the time we were contacted and got the full picture, well, this is the soonest I could call you.”
Emmet was confused. “Why were you contacted at all? I’m sorry. I don’t understand how you came to be contacted. I thought you just heard something on the wireless.”
Mr. Carson’s voice wavered with emotion. “Because our Daniel was involved. It was our Daniel who was one of the first through the door.”
Emmet and Bridie stared at each other. “Daniel. Good God. I thought he was in France or Belgium. I had no idea he was in Ireland. I’m so sorry.” It’s all right. He’s calling to tell us about Daniel because he’s Elizabeth’s son and Bridie would want to know.
Emmet closed his eyes briefly for a wordless prayer of thanks. Even still, he had to ask. “But what about our Maeve? Did you hear anything about our Maeve?”
Emmet had to drop the receiver to catch Bridie as she fainted. After hearing ‘yes’, the rest of the words were lost as Emmet clung to his wife, who slipped through his arms to the wet, winter-grimed pavement.
Chapter Forty
Belfast, April 1943
The darkness receded. Maeve swam to the surface and heard, not the screams of the crowd, but the rubber squeak of soft shoes on linoleum.
She forced her gluey eyes open and immediately closed them again in the white light. She heard a man’s voice calling for help. “Sister, Nursing Sister. I think she’s awake.”
She smelled antiseptic and perspiration as someone bent over her She felt a cool hand on her forehead.
She opened her eyes again to focus on the red cross-encased bosom hovering above her.
Maeve tried to speak, but there were tubes in her mouth and throat. She gave a tiny nod.
“Good girl.”
The nurse squeaked away, and Maeve closed her eyes again. She felt the edge of the bed compress as someone leaned on it. She heard his breathing. She knew it was a man. He wore an unfamiliar aftershave. Not Daddy.
Maeve took an inventory of how she felt. Fuzzy headed. Pain. Big pain in her chest. She wiggled her toes and fingers. All in working order.
She risked opening her eyes again and looked straight into the hazel eyes she had last seen staring from under a soldier’s beret.
Daniel sighed, puffing peppermint and tea into her face. “Thank God. Thank God. Maeve, I..I…” He fumbled and stopped as the white-coated doctor hustled in.
The nurse rested her hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Please wait outside.”
Maeve watched Daniel stand, his dark grey civilian business suit showing a muscled outline, before the beige curtains enclosed her with the doctor and nurse.
The doctor pulled back the starched white sheet and thin green blanket. “Now then, Miss Ryan.” He peered at her over the top of heavy black glasses. “I’m just going to check you over. Don’t be afraid.”
He listened to her heart. With a practiced hand, he loosened the ties behind her neck and slid the gown down to her waist.
Maeve shivered and closed her eyes, feeling herself flush in the chill of her exposure.
The nurse began a soft, stream of words. “Doctor is just going to lift the dressing to check the incision. He had to pull a bullet out of you. It’s a sad day when a wee lass like you is caught up in such things, but you’ll be right as rain again. Don’t you worry.”
The doctor pulled away the medical dressing, the sticky tape peeling off her skin with a faint tearing sound. He pressed and smelled and studied. “Right Sister, you can change this dressing if you please.”
He laid the dressing back down and pulled the sheet back up to her chin. “Sister is quite right. You were lucky. An inch over and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. As it is, I expect you’ll make a full recovery.”
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