by Orna Ross
The room was cold for the wake, I remember that. No central heating in those days and, anyway, you don’t heat a room that holds a corpse. I remember the smell of wax from the candles on either side of the bed and the taste at the back of my throat as I stared at what was left of my father. My first taste of death. I remember the look of Maeve, her young eyes hollowed out by shock, as my own must have been. And I remember Mrs D., sitting in her chair opposite, watching us watching him.
1922
Diary 10th July 1922
The days of our triumph are over already. As soon as news reached Dublin that we had the main towns occupied, a Stater Army column was dispatched from there. Down the Wexford road it snaked, a convoy of 22 lorries bearing 230 men and 16 officers, taking Blessington first, then Arklow, then Gorey, then Ferns and, at about three in the afternoon, they advanced on Enniscorthy. They approached the town in two strong lines, one up Nunnery Road, the other up Wafer Street, to converge in Market Square.
Our lads left, took to the fields and to Vinegar Hill, where freedom fighters had hidden in the 1798 rebellion. What else could they do, when the enemy was protected by more artillery and hardware than Ireland had ever seen before? Five armour-plated cars, two Lancias, more than 150 rifles, four Lewis guns. And an open “bird cage” into which they rounded us up, for their cronies to look on and jeer at us like we were animals in the zoo.
In each town along the way, the streets were thronged with town and country people both, cheering wildly and waving their hats and handkerchiefs. The press, now also an arm of our “National” government, is full of stories about these flag-waggers. Not a mention of those who stayed home with their heads in their hands, unable to believe what we’ve come to.
After taking Enniscorthy, the column moved on to Wexford. They took more than 100 prisoners, but plenty escaped and, before evacuating, we made sure to do as much damage as we could – setting fire to the courthouse and barracks and any other buildings that might be used to house soldiers, felling trees and digging trenches in the roads and bridges, to hamper progress as much as possible. So it’s back on the run for Barney and the boys. The flying columns that won the Tan War for us are forming as I write. We beat the British once with such tactics, and can surely beat them again, even if they have Irishmen sent out this time to do their dirty work.
And dirty it will be, with 20 of their men to each one of ours, and every weapon and luxury that an army can have at their supply, while we’ll have to make do with neither barracks nor base. This will leave us very unpopular as we’ll have no option but to requisition goods and provisions from the shops.
But we must not despair. The challenge now is to carry the truth to the people in the face of falsification and censorship. The people must be woken from their slumber.
We know their vote was a vote for peace and, knowing all they have suffered, we can understand why. But the fact is, the Republic exists — and destroying it, trying to vote it away, cannot bring peace. With all the men on the run, the women will be needed to get that message across.
* * *
Diary 22nd July
Norah came down to our place for a few minutes this evening, her first time out of the house since we came back from Enniscorthy, a full four weeks ago now. Her mother sent her to the priest’s house for a Mass card and she was under orders to go straight there and straight back. They say she’s locked in her bedroom, let out only to help with cooking or washing. She sneaked up to our place, coming up the back way from the strand and tapping on the back door. Mammy was in the kitchen and tried to get her to come in but Norah wouldn’t, asking if I could come outside to her instead.
You could see she was frightening herself with her disobedience, the way her eyes were darting about the place, ready for the off. But she looked better than the last time I saw her, on our way back to Mucknamore from Enniscorthy. That evening, she’d been sick with dread. The sight of her disappearing up the road to her house, head bowed to the wind, back bent over the handlebars, face pale as candlewax… it nearly made me ill, myself to see her so.
Her disappointment tonight when she heard Barney was still away with the boys was deep. She had been counting on him to give her comfort and I thought how nice it must be to have your own boy you could lean on like that. Whatever their troubles, at least they have that in each other. I was near envious for a minute but then I caught myself on, remembered all that I have myself, and the awful things that Norah endures up at home, things I can only be guessing about.
“Has it been terrible?” I asked. She said she hoped the worst was over. I’m afraid to think what that might mean. She talked a bit about some of the things we did in Enniscorthy and I asked her had she any regrets. “No,” she said, so vehement I jumped. “I’d do it again tomorrow.”
I got little consolation from the words, the way she said them was so intense and strange. As if her life is already over and Enniscorthy was the high point, everything before leading up to it, everything after a downfall. As if she were already an old lady looking back on her childhood.
Her job is gone, for definite. Everyone in Wexford knows why she left Furlong’s that day and, since the Staters reclaimed the towns, Republicans are next door to dirt in the eyes of the business community. So no job and no prospects of one. It’s desperate to think of her confined to the house, with nothing to do but assist her mother. She’s far too bright for that. I was lucky myself that the call to fight came during the school break or I too could have been facing unemployment. Father John grows ever less delighted with my activities but it’s easy enough to avoid him during the holidays.
We said nothing about Dan and the ferocious things he has been doing and saying against us. He is firmly back in the enemy camp and even Barney is sickened by his duplicity. On Wednesday, he made a speech that’s being quoted in all the Wexford papers, saying the country will not be “held to ransom by a crowd of blackguards masquerading as soldiers”. So much for drunken ráméish about friendship.
With all the fretting Norah did about being caught, the few snatched minutes she had were hardly worth her while, though she said she felt the better for it. We have worked out a way to keep in touch. Going to the church to pray is the one thing her family won’t disallow so we will leave notes for each other under a loose stone around the back of the chapel. I said I’d get a letter to Barney if she wants to write and leave it there. This should, I hope, prove some comfort.
* * *
Diary 3rd August
Mucknamore was honoured today with a visit from a great lump of a Lancia military motor. It came sweeping down the village street at around eleven o’clock, driven by — who else? — Mr Dan O’Donovan. He’s got himself a promotion and is to appear in a photograph in the Wexford Weekly next week alongside the big-wigs from Dublin, newly appointed Brigadier-Generals and the like.
When the Lancia arrived in the village, and people saw who was driving it, they trooped out onto the road like a herd of cattle to have a gawk. Even some of our own customers got off their stools and went out for a look. He sat off in it, taking in the compliments, letting the children climb all over the seats. After basking in the attention for a while, he drove on up towards his own place and we saw no more of him until the afternoon, when we heard the sound of the engine roaring down the road again. As he passed our place, he let a loud honk on the motor-horn. The nerve of him. We ran to the window and nearly fainted with surprise when we saw who he had in the passenger seat beside him: Norah! She looked tiny in the big front seat, shrinking down into the leather with her hand on her hat to keep it from blowing off, the look on her face speaking her humiliation.
Off down the road he drove, then he must have turned at the cross because in less than no time he was back, parading past our place again, blaring on his motor-horn once more, rubbing our noses in it, as well as Norah’s. Up and down he went – fifty times if he did it once – until he made sure everybody in the village saw and heard him. We ignored the comm
otion that attended his passing and took good note of those who could hardly contain their glee at the insult to us.
* * *
Diary 8th August
In the paper today, a half-page picture of six Stater military men, including ‘Lieutenant’ O’Donovan, the six of them sitting up on the same motor Dan drove out here the other day. He is leaning back on the fan of leather that folds up like a squeezebox at the back and staring straight into the camera, his peaked military cap at an angle, but the face beneath as blank as the opening into a cave.
They all have the same look on them, the six army men in this photograph, with their strutting heads, their polished guns and self-appointed titles (Dan O’Donovan a lieutenant, Martin Hayes a captain!). They think they awe us with it all but it’s the opposite. Their finery is English-bought and, for all their swaggering, you can see the knowledge of that in their eyes. They know their own perfidy and they have to live with it. Give me a battered trench coat any day, for the heart that beats beneath it.
* * *
Diary 12th August
Barney and the boys captured a barracks tonight, in Donore. We’ve been planning the strike for a week and they set off from here after tea aiming to get there around nine. It was after midnight before we got word of how it went. Daddy and I were counting the day’s takings when the knock came to the bar window. We looked at each other and, putting the cash away in the strong box, he gave me the nod to answer it. I slid open the big bolt on the door and there stood Tipsy, all excited, the way he gets. “What are you doing out there?” I said to him, sweeping him in before he was seen. “Would you not go round the back?”
I knew by the look of him though that things had gone well. “Success?”
“Defin-I-tely,” he replied, pronouncing the “i” in the middle as “eye” one of his little sayings.
“Come in, lad,” Daddy said urgently. He made the offer of a drink, which — needless to say — Tipsy didn’t refuse and we sat to hear how it went. Like clockwork, apparently. Barney opened the attack just after dark, firing at the two sentries on the bridge, two sensible men who lost no time in retreating inside the post. That brought the number inside to about fifteen, Joe Latimer commanding. They had a Lewis gun which they used to reply to our offensive and we focused our attack on that. More of our lads were arriving all the time, word having got out and, before long, we had over thirty, Tipsy said. By firing from four points, they soon gained access to the yard and from there it was an easy matter to lob in Mills bombs.
All the time, the enemy was sniping only half-heartedly, waiting for reinforcements from Wexford. What they didn’t know was that we’d lined up Ballymolane Company to fire on Wexford barracks, keeping the soldiers there occupied. That was my idea and it made the whole thing work, Barney insisted I was to be told so. Once the Donore boys realised they were not going to be rescued, they didn’t take too long about surrendering. Up went the white flag on the roof and that was that.
Barney took the surrender and complimented Latimer on the good fight he had put up. The whole procedure took only two hours with no casualties either side. We captured the Lewis gun, which is faulty now but not beyond repair, some rifles and a fine haul of ammunition. Unfortunately, though, we had to release the men we took. Nothing hampers our work more than this inability to hold prisoners. All those men are now free to fight another day but if their side take any of our lads, it’s inside with them to be interred in one of the old jails. Indefinitely. Without trial.
Oh yes, Mr Michael Collins and his followers have learned their English lessons well.
All the same, it was a sound evening’s work. We’ll sleep well on it tonight.
* * *
Diary 13th August
The Army sent a massive contingent today to clear Dunore outpost, led by none other than Lieutenant O’Donovan. We were apprised of their intentions in advance and our boys gave consideration to staying put and fighting it out but we knew we’d be outgunned and outnumbered so decided to get out in advance to spare bloodshed.
We cleared it of as much ammunition as we could on the way out and Barney, Pat Connors and Roller were still at it when the Staters arrived with a contingent twenty strong. Barney started shooting like mad while trying to get away and somehow made it over a high wall. He ran like hell until he came to a brake of bushes and hid there. Pat and Roller got caught. No-one stayed to put up a fight, which was sensible tactics as there was no point in causing unnecessary bloodshed. They’ve been taken prisoner and are in Wexford gaol.
So Dunore is in Free State hands again for the moment. The soldiers they have put in place are very jumpy, knowing they haven’t seen the end of us. Several times a night, a mobile patrol is sent out from Wexford to provide backup, in case we decide to make a return call. As far as we can make out, the fools do it on the hour, every two hours. So punctual you could set your clock by them, according to Lama White. Can they really be that stupid?
Barney has sent a message that Molly and I are to go up there and find out. So we won’t be long about setting up a welcoming committee for them. Let’s see how Lieutenant O’Donovan likes that.
* * *
The back road over the mountain to Dunore was the one they’d decided to take. It was longer and harder than the other two routes but it was the most isolated and thus the safest. Walking was far from comfortable for Peg. She had a canvas sling of ammunition around her waist and a bomb held in place by strips of an old torn sheet tight against her skin. The bomb was the bulkiest item, between the size of an orange and a small cabbage. The belt that held the pair of guns strapped down along her two sides also dug into her flesh. But the discomfort was like crown and robes to her.
It was a joy to be doing such work for Ireland. The stuffy worlds of home and school, rules and duties, were far away today. Today was about comradeship and adventure and she was going to allow nothing to be vexatious.
Since last week and the passing of the Emergency Powers, to be caught walking the roads in possession of a gun or ammunition was as good as walking into Wexford Gaol. Anyone convicted of possessing firearms or ammunition or explosives, of making any attack on “the National Forces”, of destroying property, private or public – in short, anyone who believed in the Republic and was prepared to do anything to defend it – would get a spell in prison, guaranteed. And might be chosen for execution by firing squad.
In short, they were right back under the same martial law they had suffered under His Majesty’s Government, only this time it was Irish men putting their heels on Irish necks.
It was Peg herself who suggested she should be used to carry the bomb to Dunore. If they were to be stopped by the army on their way to or from the job – a high possibility – there was a better chance that soldiers wouldn’t search a girl. Barney had resisted the idea at first, said he was unwilling to involve her in danger, but she would have none of that. She was in as much danger any day of the week in their own house, she said, whenever the Staters came calling to raid the place, considering all the despatches and incriminating items she held there. Her brother argued it was quite possible the army’s morals had degraded to the level of doing a close search on a female, but they all knew if one of the boys was caught, the game was up for certain. If he didn’t want to use her, then they might as well to call it off altogether. “And wouldn’t that be an awful pity, not to use those nice Mills bombs we got from the munitions raid, they being just the perfect size and type for the job?”
She persisted until he gave in. Bother to his reluctance, was what she thought. The men had had it all their own way for too long in Ireland. A new day was dawning now. The 1916 proclamation made Ireland the first nation in the world to proclaim the equal rights of women and men. The subjection of one sex to the other was a foreign institution, another inequity foisted on the Irish by the English. Unsurprisingly, it was the only iniquity accepted, you might even say cherished, by Irish men.
Now things were going back to the way
they were in more equal, pre-English days. The time of Maeve and the Brehon laws that allowed women to own property and rule as well.
So on went the bombs and the guns, strapped to her body beneath her larger undergarments and an extra vest and cardigan for disguise and on top of all, her mother’s old coat, too big for her normally but with her added bulk, almost too tight to close around the middle. Looking down at herself, she had a premonition of how her body might look twenty years hence.
“I’m like Ten-Ton Tessie,” she’d said to Molly, who helped her dress.
“It’s not that obvious, not really,” Molly had said. “Just walk easy, else you might blow up.”
The walk to Donore was a nice and easy one and for miles they didn’t meet a soul. Clouds raised a little as the day progressed, seeming to promise a clearance, only to lower themselves and spill over again. The rainfall of the past week had had a terrible effect on the roads and, in places, they found themselves near ankle-deep in mud. At Hayestown, they heard the clop-clop-crunch of a donkey and cart coming up behind them, a farmer with a load of beet. He raised his cap without looking as he passed, his wheels throwing up dirt behind. They watched him pull ahead, the cart swaying left and right like the rump of some exotic beast, getting smaller and smaller as it pulled away, disappearing into what was ahead, giving her a strange sense of significance.
After that, many more miles of nobody and nothing. They walked mostly in silence, Barney with steady deliberation, something weighing down his steps. Norah, more than likely. Why couldn’t he lighten himself on that? All that was asked of him was a bit of patience, you’d think the girl was dead and in her grave, the way he carried on. God made them and God matched them, the pair of them so intense.