by Jana Petken
Hughes was tied to a stake. He refused to wear a blindfold.
Kevin’s duty now was to pin a piece of white cloth over the young man’s heart. This served two purposes: the first to label the condemned man as a coward and the second to guide the firing squad’s aim.
The chaplain prayed for a moment in front of the stake. Hughes didn’t move, apart from his head, which turned languidly from left to right, up at the sky, and then finally came to rest on the soldiers aiming rifles at him.
Thank God the poor bugger was drugged, Kevin thought. Standing aside, he looked at the six men in the firing line. Palpable disgust and self-loathing sat on every face. He knew from listening to other medical officers that one round in the rifles was routinely blank, so that no soldier could be sure if he had fired a fatal shot. That was a blessing, for what Tommy wanted to live with British blood on his hands.
The young officer gave the order to shoot. Kevin refused to look away. He was not a coward. The explosion of gunfire from the rifles snapped loudly in the early morning air. The young man’s body jerked and shook. Blood spurted from his chest and mouth. His head slumped forward, facing the ground, and his legs buckled.
The officers, and men in the firing line, were silent as Kevin examined Hughes. First he looked into the eyes, and then he felt for a pulse. Bullets had hit the heart, splattering the white cloth bright red with blood. But a couple had missed the target, intentionally or unintentionally, and were embedded in the shoulder. One had inexplicably hit the thigh. Kevin steeled himself to turn around from the dead man, and when he eventually did, he wore a passive expression of neutrality.
“Private Hughes is well and truly dead, sir,” he reported to Major Pratt.
“Very good, Captain,” the major said, before walking away.
That afternoon, Kevin was treating a soldier wounded after being hit by sniper fire. Interrupted by someone calling his name, he looked up to see a corporal in the same medical unit.
“What is it, Corporal?” he asked gratingly.
“You’ve been ordered to report to the colonel, sir. At your convenience, he said.”
Later, Kevin entered the RAMC command bunker. His commanding officer sat with his feet up. His valet was pouring tea from a porcelain pot into a china cup.
“Ah, you’re just in time, Captain Jackson. Will you have a cuppa?”
“I would love one, sir,” Kevin said, eying up a biscuit.
Colonel Browning rose from his comfortable-looking armchair, sighing as though the exertion of the movement was tiring. “I have good news for you. Leave papers. You’re going home to Blighty for a couple of weeks. It seems that those in the know have totted up your time served in Dublin during that damn rebellion and added it onto your combat period.”
Kevin sat on a hard-backed chair, holding the official papers in his hand and unable to wipe the smile off his face. “Thank you, sir. When do I leave?” he asked.
“Read it for yourself.”
His hands shook as he unfolded the paper. There it was, legally written down, certified, unalterable – ten days’ leave, starting three days hence.
Chapter Forty
Four days after Danny’s unfortunate encounter with Dai, he still struggled to walk more than the short distance between the couch and the living room door. Surprisingly, Arthur, who seemed to spend most of his time in the kitchen when he was at home, had not been unkind or disparaging. He had even been good enough to donate a clean shirt, and Danny could not have been more grateful.
Anna’s mother, Edna, was a talkative woman and, in Danny’s mind, generosity personified. He’d been presented with three square meals a day since arriving in her house, and it seemed to him that no sooner had he finished one cup of tea than up popped another.
Thanks to Edna, Danny also had the pleasure of Anna’s company. On two occasions, she had managed to sit with him in the evening for an hour. Dai and Arthur had a habit of going to the local pub for a pint of ale before they had their dinner. Danny imagined it to be a father and son ritual in which they bonded together with male conversation and lewd jokes. He was envious of them.
Danny kissed Anna soundly, and only after they were both spent did he push her gently away. He’d had four painful but happy days, he thought. But it was clear as day that Anna’s father wanted his living room and comfy couch back. This moment might very well be the last time he would hold her and kiss her sweet lips. He could almost feel the joy being sucked out of his heart.
“He’s going to kick me out, darlin’. Will you come with me?”
Without answering, Anna kissed him hard, rose from the couch, and then went out the door without a backward glance or an answer to his question.
Danny heard Dai and Arthur laughing about something or other in the hallway. He tried to picture what was going on. They were probably taking off their coats and caps. He didn’t hear Anna’s voice or her mother’s. They’d be in the kitchen, dishing up dinner.
Arthur and Dai entered the room and went to stand by the window, facing Danny.
“Good evening, Mr Walters,” Danny said, respectfully using Arthur’s surname.
“Edna, Anna! Come in here, will you!” Arthur shouted without answering.
Danny waited. Dai’s eyes bore into his own, as though they were trying to discover some dirty secret. Arthur stared at the door, and when he nodded, Danny turned his head and smiled at the two women as they walked in.
“Edna, I don’t want any arguments. It’s time he was on his way,” Arthur said.
“Don’t be stupid, Arthur Walters. The boy can’t even walk.”
“If you put Danny out, I’m going with him,” Anna said. “I’m eighteen, and the law says I can marry whoever I want, so if you don’t want to lose your daughter, you’ll give us your blessing.”
Danny felt the joy pouring back into his heart by the bucketload, until Arthur’s face turned angry red.
“Now you listen to me, girl. If I have to lock you up for the rest of your life to stop you from making the biggest mistake …”
“I’ll lock you up if you carry on with stupid threats that you know you’re never going to act upon,” Edna said.
Danny had never heard Edna speak with such forcefulness. At that moment, she reminded him of Minnie.
Appearing shocked by his wife’s outburst, Arthur stared at the floor.
Edna continued. “Anna loves this boy, and he loves her, and I don’t think anyone but God has the right to keep them apart, so I am proposing a compromise.”
“What kind of compromise?” Arthur asked suspiciously.
Danny was surprised. Arthur had not exploded in rage or told his wife to shut up. There was hope yet.
“I propose that Danny and Anna be allowed to marry, but only after the bans have been read in our church. I will not allow my daughter to leave this house unmarried. There has to be a proper wedding and a holy blessing,” Edna said.
In the ensuing tense silence, Danny tried to gauge what Arthur and Dai were thinking. He stared at Anna, and excitement rushed through him. She was going to fight for him. He could see that spark of defiance in her eyes.
“That will take weeks, Mam. Danny has a job in London to get back to,” Anna said.
“Well, he can go back to London and return here in time for the wedding.”
“I haven’t agreed yet,” Arthur’s voice boomed.
“But you will,” Edna said. Then looking at Danny for the first time, she asked, “Are you agreeable?”
“I am, but I’m Catholic, Mrs Walters, and I can’t get married in any other faith. I have to honour my dad’s memory.”
“We’re all good Catholics in this house,” Arthur said.
“But you hate us Fenians?” Danny said, quite taken aback.
“I hate what you rebels did to Britain, not the good Lord you worship.”
“My da’s worried that you’ll take our Anna back to Ireland and get her into trouble with the law,” Dai said, speaking for his father.
In a show of further defiance, Anna sat on the edge of the couch and held Danny’s hand. “Danny, say something,” she said.
Danny chose his words carefully. “I give you my word that I’ll stay in London with my mam. I’ll work hard until this war is over, and when I do take Anna to Ireland, I won’t get involved in violence. I listened to a very wise man when I was in Frongoch, and I’ve come to realise that political dialogue is the way forward, not the gun. Having said that, I’ll not lie to you. I will continue to support the Irish struggle for independence.”
Then he told the Walters family about his dad’s horrific death, his professional station in life, and his celebrity. He was sure Robert Carmody wouldn’t mind his good name and untimely demise being used to support his son’s chance for happiness. He finished his story with tears of grief running down his face. That had been the first time he had actually confronted his dad’s death.
“My dad was decent, one of the kindest men you could ever hope to meet. He wasn’t a saint. He did some stupid things in his life, just like we all do, but he was a good father to me, and I’d like to think that I have some of his better qualities. ”
Anna’s eyes were tearing up. “Da, please say yes. I love Danny very much.”
Arthur nodded to Dai. Dai took a piece of paper out of his pocket and held it in his hand.
“Dai, give him the ticket,” Arthur said, waving his index finger in front of Danny.
“I’ve paid for this ticket with my own money. You’re getting on a train bound for London tomorrow morning.”
“Arthur, no!” Edna shouted.
“There will be no more arguments over this, Edna. He’s leaving …”
“Da?” Anna uttered.
Arthur shook his head. “Will you women stop interrupting me and let me finish! Before I take him to the station, we’ll go to St Mary’s and I’ll speak to Father Jenkins about the bans. Providing the good father agrees, boyo here can come back in four weeks’ time for the wedding.”
“I can marry him?” Anna choked.
“I don’t suppose I can stop you?”
“No, Da, but having your permission will make my wedding all the sweeter.”
Danny could almost hear angels singing in his ears. Without thinking, he reached out, pulled Anna to him, and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Will you marry me, my love?”
“That’s a bit backwards, seeing how we’ve just discussed the wedding,” Dai said sarcastically.
Finally, Edna smiled. “It’s time we had our dinner. Arthur, get that bottle of sherry you’ve been hiding for years and put it on the table. Our little girl is getting married.”
Chapter Forty-One
Danny walked into Minnie’s parlour just after six in the evening. Minnie, Susan, Jenny, and Patrick, eating dinner, watched his slow painful movements to a chair, yet no one spoke or rose to greet him. Open-mouthed, they seemed far too shocked at his appearance to utter a sound.
Patrick was the first to get to his feet. “In the name of the wee man, what the hell happened to you?” he asked.
Without saying a word, Danny kissed his mother and granny and then cautiously sat down with a loud grumble. “Jesus, I feel like I’ve been kicked by a hundred wild horses,” he said dramatically.
“Is that all you have to say?” Patrick asked. “Waltzing in here without a by your leave or explanation, looking as if you’ve just been flattened by a tank. You’ve been gone for almost a week.”
“Did you not receive the telegram that Mr Walters sent?”
“About your being ‘delayed’? Is that the one you’re talking about?” Minnie asked. “It wasn’t exactly informative, was it? I thought for a moment you might have been locked up in that terrible prison camp again. My poor heart’s been going through the ringer.”
Jenny giggled.
Danny grinned at her. It was nice to hear her laughing. Looking guiltily at his mother, he said, “Mam, I apologise for leaving without a word. I’ve had a bit of an adventure in Wales. I got run over by a motor vehicle of a substantial size and was laid up.”
“That’s a sorry excuse for an apology, if I ever heard one,” Minnie said, whilst everyone else’s mouths gaped open.
“Are you all right?” Patrick asked, showing infinitely more sympathy than his granny.
“Can you not see the state of me? I’m sore and bruised. I had a terrible journey home. I thought I’d never get here.”
“Oh, Danny,” Susan said.
“Mam, I didn’t plan on staying away for so long. As I said in the note I left you, I had to go. I needed to know if Anna still loved me. I should have told you about her months ago – I really don’t know why I didn’t. Her brother tried to kill me, you know.”
“Jesus! I take it he wasn’t pleased to see you, then.” Jenny smiled mischievously.
Susan said tearfully, “I thought something dreadful had happened to you.”
Patrick, looking perplexed, said, “To be fair, Mam, he did get run over.”
“He looks quite dreadful to me,” Jenny agreed. “Have you seen a doctor, Danny?”
“I did. Nothing’s broken.”
Minnie grumbled, “You’ve probably lost your job – and all because of a Welsh girl you hardly know. What in God’s name did you think you were playing at?”
Danny struggled to stand up, but the effort was too great. He wasn’t going to make the most important announcement of his life groaning and creaking like an old door. He remained sitting. “I’m getting married in Wales on the tenth of January. You’re all invited,” he said. Before anyone had a chance to object, he detailed every part of his journey, his time spent with the Walters, and his wedding plans. By the end of his mammoth story, he was sure he’d pre-empted every possible objection and negative remark that his mam and granny could think of. However, contrary to his fear of an ensuing family debate, all he could see were smiles.
Jenny rushed to kiss him. Patrick shook his hand. Minnie wanted to know if Danny would bring his bride to London, in which case she’d look for a second-hand double bed for the third bedroom. No newly married couple should sleep on a child’s mattress, she said, looking horrified at the idea of it.
Susan, who dabbed her eyes, appeared to be wavering. Danny always found his mother’s well-rehearsed expressions almost impossible to read. He never really knew what she was thinking.
“Mam, are you happy for me?” he asked.
“I don’t know what to make of all this. How can we go to Wales to see you married? Everything is so expensive.”
For an hour, the family spoke about how the money would be raised to buy train tickets for Minnie and Susan. How they were going to be able to feed another mouth was a mystery, Susan kept repeating. Jenny should remain at home. She was still at risk of getting an infection, Patrick warned her, and travelling on dirty trains was not a good idea. Danny promised to go to the packing depot the next morning and beg for his job back. He was convinced that when the supervisor saw the state of his blackened body, sympathy would win the day. He might even get a pat on the back for being so conscientious, he told the others.
During a lull in the conversation, Susan rose from the table and went into the hallway. When she returned, she was carrying a letter addressed to Danny.
“This arrived three days ago.”
Danny looked at the writing and grinned. “It’s from Jimmy Carson. I’d know his childish writing anywhere. What does he say?” he asked Susan.
“How should I know? I don’t read other people’s letters.”
Danny smiled sarcastically. Sure, she’s probably read every word twice, he thought. He looked at the stamp. It had been posted in the north of England, in Holyhead. Jimmy was a clever man. Knowing that letters might be intercepted in Ireland, he always gave them to Bob, the ferry captain. That way he could write about important stuff in more detail.
Everything is moving so slowly here in Ireland. I love living in the countryside, and I still manage to get into D
ublin for the odd republican political meeting. Everyone who attends the gatherings is impatiently waiting for the remaining lads to get out of Frongoch. Real leadership is needed, and we are all wandering about like lost sheep. We want direction on how to proceed, not necessarily to commit any physical action against the government but to maintain a public presence of some sort. There is a rumour that Michael Collins and the others might be released before Christmas. Won’t that be grand?
When Danny got to the last couple of paragraphs, he instinctively turned the angle of the page so that no one could see what was written.
You’ll be pleased to learn that John Grant is being treated like the prick he is. And to think I used to look up to him when we were in Frongoch. Some of the lads are saying that what he did to your Jenny is unforgivable. He’s given the republican political wing a bad name.
When he folded the letter, he found everyone staring at him.
“It’s not often we get news from Dublin. What did Jimmy say?” Jenny asked with pleading eyes.
Danny hesitated. Jenny had a right to know, he thought, but he didn’t want to upset her.
“Go on, will you? Tell us,” she begged playfully.
“It appears that John Grant has been deservedly chastised by all and sundry. The republican political wing wants to ostracize him for what he did to you.”
“Why would they care about all that?” Jenny asked.
“Well, that might have something to do with me,” Danny said. “I was raging at him, so I wrote to Jimmy and told him what John had done and what he’d said to your face. I might have embellished the story a little, but sure, what man should get away with the likes of what he did. I wrote to our church too. I told Father Flynn about John’s un-Catholic-like behaviour and how hypocritical it was that his father published two Catholic newspapers. I also told him that you had taken a turn for the worse because of the carry-on.” Then Danny read a portion of Jimmy’s letter aloud: