Through The Barricades: Winner of the SCBWI SPARK Award 2017

by Denise Deegan

  ‘Most clearly but a girl can fall in love, James.’

  ‘Has she been lying to you about where she’s been going on her days off?’

  Daniel’s mother was reluctant.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It would appear so.’

  ‘Then it is very clear what you must do. Dismiss her without character.’

  ‘She would be unable to find another position!’

  ‘She should have thought of that...’

  ‘She’s a good girl, James, hard-working.’

  ‘A rule is a rule, Elizabeth.’

  Daniel looked up. ‘There’s no work out there, Father. People are starving.’

  His parents turned in surprise.

  His father frowned. ‘Daniel, this matter does not concern you.’

  Feeling the spirit of a green-eyed girl in him, he turned to his mother. ‘Is Mary to be denied love simply because she’s a maid? Could you not reason with her parents?’

  ‘Daniel!’ his father snapped. ‘You do not question my authority.’ He looked at his wife. ‘The girl goes,’ he said then snapped his newspaper open.

  Silence returned.

  Daniel’s mother sneaked a glance at him, then returned her eyes to her magazine. His father began to turn the pages with impatience as though every news report suddenly displeased him. At last, he rose, wound the clock on the mantelpiece and placed the guard in front of the fire. He looked at his wife expectantly.

  She smiled calmly. ‘I will be up presently, James. I’m enjoying this article.’

  ‘Daniel. Have you not yet finished that work?’

  ‘Almost, Father.’

  ‘I hope that you’re not turning into a dreamer.’

  ‘No, Father.’

  ‘Make sure of it.’

  They watched him go.

  Daniel’s mother turned to him, then. ‘Is it true, Danny? Are people starving?’

  ‘Yes, Mother. They are.’

  ‘From the Lockout?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Then we must help.’

  He suggested a charitable donation. Ladies such as his mother did not roll up their sleeves.

  ‘Very good!’ she said. ‘It will be done tomorrow.’

  ‘What’ll become of Mary?’

  ‘I will write to her parents. That rule was put in place when she came to us at fifteen. Mary is a woman now.’

  ‘But what of Father?’

  She waved a dismissive hand. ‘Don’t you worry about your father. I have ways of getting around him.’ She looked at her son for the longest time. ‘You know Daniel, for a boy of your age, you surprise me with your insight.’

  It horrified him how little he had had only twenty-four hours earlier. How a day – and a girl – could change a person.

  In the schoolyard, the following morning, Michael tossed a rugby ball to Daniel.

  ‘Today, I’m going to crucify you,’ he said.

  ‘Not today.’

  ‘Ah, Danny. You don’t mean it. Not two days in a row?’ He fired the rugby ball at him with force.

  Daniel caught it and held on to it.

  ‘Do you want to be dropped from the team?’ Michael demanded moodily. ‘Because that’s what will happen if you keep gallivanting about the place.’

  ‘I know. I know.’ Rugby was Daniel’s life. But: ‘I can’t unsee what I’ve seen.’ And he could not be the person Maggie Gilligan had accused him of being. Neither could he ignore her existence. It was too late for that.

  ‘That girl is trouble, Danny.’

  ‘Most likely.’

  ‘She doesn’t care a toss for you.’

  He laughed. ‘Now, there’s an understatement.’

  five

  Maggie

  When he wasn’t waiting outside her school, the following day, Maggie knew that her first instincts about Daniel Healy had been right. He had not come to the food kitchen to help. He had come as a dare or out of curiosity or because he had thought himself ‘irresistible’ to her. She had put him peeling potatoes to test him. And he had surprised her. Nothing had seemed to put him off – even her frostiness. Was he always so cheerful? She did not know whether she found it annoying or refreshing. It no longer mattered. He’d made his choice, the very choice she had expected him to make in the first place. Her only surprise was the disappointment she felt. Perhaps, she’d hoped that he would be the exception. After all, he had pointed out a class divide in the very place that struggled against it. She sighed. Even he had proven predictable after all.

  Arriving outside Liberty Hall, Maggie glanced at the queue. One face stood out amongst all others. It was a little girl. No more than five, she had hair of pale sunshine and the face of an angel. Her dress was grubby and threadbare and she lacked a shawl. Maggie looked for a mother but there was no mother. How far had she come? And how far must she return with a pint of stew and a loaf of bread in a city with too many starving people for her to be left alone? Maggie had barely the thought out when a man sidled up to the child and began to whisper to her. His cap pulled down over his face, he seemed up to no good. The girl turned from him but he persisted.

  Then Maggie was beside him. ‘Can I help you?’ she demanded.

  He straightened and produced a rat-like smile. ‘You could mind your business. That would help.’

  Maggie gave him a look of absolute disdain, turned her back on him and stooped down to the child. ‘Hello, sweetheart, is this man bothering you?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Then come away with me into the food kitchen.’ Maggie held out her hand and the girl took it.

  ‘Maggie!’

  She turned. It was Daniel Healy, arriving on his bicycle.

  Her stomach knotted with guilt. She had misjudged him.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ he called as though he had witnessed it all.

  Maggie glared at the man. ‘This gentleman was just leaving.’

  Daniel faced him. ‘Make sure that you do or I’ll call the police.’

  ‘On what charge?’ he sneered.

  ‘Go – and stay gone. I’m warning you.’

  ‘Come along, pet,’ Maggie said to the little girl. Her smile of thanks to Daniel was also an apology. Then she hurried the child inside.

  In the basement, Maggie sat her at a table. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I must join the queue,’ she said urgently, looking at it as if the food was about to run out.

  ‘No queuing for you, today. I’ll collect your ration. Have you got your ticket?’ she asked to reassure her. Handing over a ticket issued to strikers meant the receipt of food.

  The little girl immediately produced it.

  ‘What did that man want, anyway?’ Maggie asked as though he no longer mattered.

  ‘For me to go with him but I’m only to go to the food kitchen and directly home.’

  ‘Good girl,’ Maggie said, taking the ticket.

  Daniel arrived in, looking pale. ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘Sit a moment,’ Maggie said to him, guilt mixed with gratitude.

  The child’s eyes widened. ‘I must collect my ration!’

  Maggie rose. ‘I’m on my way.’

  ‘You stay, Maggie. I’ll go.’ Daniel put his hand out for the ticket.

  Maggie smiled, glad not to have to leave the girl. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I won’t be long.’

  Maggie looked at the angel child and wondered how to put her at ease. She remembered the one thing that had always worked when she was little. ‘Do you like stories?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And pirates?’

  Her eyes widened and her nod became ferocious.

  Maggie smiled. Then, with only words, she whisked the little girl away to a far off land of tattooed men and mischievous fairies and a man with a hook for a hand.

  She listened, wide-eyed and silent.

  And then, just as Maggie finished, Daniel returned with the ration. He was also carrying a bowl of stew, which he placed in front
of the child. ‘I thought you might be hungry.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. And ate as though it was her last meal.

  Maggie and Daniel sat with her, watching in humbled silence.

  ‘I’m Maggie and this is Daniel. What’s your name?’

  ‘Lily,’ she said, all caution forgotten now.

  ‘That’s a lovely name.’

  ‘It’s after the lily of the valley, me mam’s favourite flower.’

  Daniel and Maggie exchanged a relieved glance. So there was a mother.

  Maggie helped Lily up onto the saddle of her bicycle. She put the billycan on the handlebar and the loaf in the basket.

  ‘And we’re off!’ she said and began to push.

  ‘Maggie!’ came Daniel’s voice behind them.

  Turning, she saw, following closely, the man that had been bothering Lily. Maggie froze. As did the man. Daniel came running past him, holding up her coat.

  ‘You forgot this!’

  Maggie glared at the man but knew it would take more than a glare.

  ‘Sure, I may as well come with you,’ Daniel was saying. ‘If we put Lily up on my crossbar, we can cycle.’

  The man was on foot. Here, suddenly, was the solution.

  Maggie smiled at Lily. ‘You’re going to get a spin!’

  They transferred her onto Daniel’s crossbar.

  ‘Hold on tight,’ he said.

  Up along the quay they went, the pale sun sparking off the Liffey. They turned right, down Sackville Street, passing Nelson’s Pillar and the tram terminus where women were selling flowers. Lily directed them down unfamiliar streets that narrowed and darkened. Here and there, women begged while children in rags played with hoops. A rat ran along a broken path and disappeared into a cellar. It seemed to get colder, damper, darker as they went. Clothing hanging from windows looked like they would never dry. A man emerged from a backyard of pigs.

  Approaching a row of once grand, now dilapidated, three-storey, redbrick houses, Lily began to climb down.

  ‘Wait ‘til I stop, Lily!’ Daniel said, easing on the brakes.

  Coming to a halt, Maggie scanned the street.

  ‘He’s long gone,’ Daniel said.

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘Of course I knew. Why else am I here?’

  ‘The coat…’

  ‘…was an excuse.’

  How she had underestimated him. ‘Thank you,’ she said, awkwardly.

  ‘Not that you needed me. I’ve seen you punch.’

  She laughed.

  ‘I’ll carry the ration,’ Lily said, reaching up.

  Maggie handed it to her. Lily took off, marching purposefully towards the first building. They followed with their bicycles.

  Maggie looked at Daniel and whispered, ‘He’ll be back, won’t he, to the food kitchen?’

  He grimaced. ‘Well, punching didn’t seem to deter him.’

  ‘You punched him?’

  Another grimace, as though it pained him to hurt another.

  She remembered how pale he’d looked when he came in. ‘Well, you’re full of surprises.’

  ‘For the record, I’m a pacifist.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  ‘He got aggressive, Maggie. There didn’t seem to be an option.’

  She looked into his eyes. ‘Sometimes there isn’t one.’

  They carried their bicycles up the steps of the house.

  Daniel’s face brightened. ‘I know! I’ll ask Michael’s father to scare him off!’

  ‘Since when do the Dublin Metropolitan Police help the poor?’ Maggie raged suddenly.

  ‘They’re here for everyone, Maggie.’

  ‘Tell that to the strikers whose homes they’ve smashed up. Did you know that they’ve been going house to house, breaking every last bit of their furniture to intimidate them out of striking?’

  ‘Where did you hear that?’

  ‘Where I hear everything, in the food kitchen.’

  ‘If the police are committing these acts, then none of them is Michael’s father. I’ve known him all my life. He’s a good man.’

  Maggie raised an eyebrow but said no more.

  They followed Lily through a faded, peeling door on the ground floor. Her home was just one room. There were no drapes, no carpets, no lamps. The furniture consisted of a metal bed in the corner, a plain wooden table and one chair. Paint peeled from the cornice on the ceiling, evidence of former grandeur. The original marble fireplace had been torn out and replaced with a wooden alternative. The floorboards were rotting in places. It was colder in than out. The hearth was empty.

  Lily hurried to the bed. Only then did Maggie see the woman lying in it. Eyes closed, she didn’t move. She was so thin and pale that Maggie stared at her chest, praying for a breath. A harsh, bubbly cough racked her skeletal body, waking her.

  ‘’Tis all right, Mam,’ Lily said, patting a pale limp hand.

  The woman raised her head and smiled weakly. ‘Lily, love, have you eaten?’

  ‘I have.’ She broke a tiny piece off the loaf and put it into her mother’s hand.

  When she placed it to her parched lips, Maggie knew that it was to reassure her little girl. Their mutual concern moved her more than anything she had ever seen. And she had seen much.

  She held back the tears. Trampled down her anger.

  Back out on the street, though, she raged. ‘She’s a little girl, not a mother, not a nurse!’

  ‘We must help,’ Daniel said.

  ‘We?’ She looked at him in his posh uniform.

  ‘Yes, we. You do not have a monopoly on caring, Maggie Gilligan. I know you don’t think much of me but you look at all the wrong things. My father is who he is. He has what he has. But I am who I am. And I want to help.’ Gone was his usual cheer, his usual jollity.

  She blushed. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that people like you…the girls at school….’

  ‘I’m not the girls at school.’

  They looked at each other for the longest moment.

  ‘You think me queer, don’t you?’ she asked quietly. If he didn’t, he soon would, as everyone did – eventually.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do think you queer… and like you all the better for it.’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘No one has ever said a kinder thing.’

  ‘It’s not kindness, Maggie, but a fact.’

  She lowered her gaze. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me. Just let me help.’

  She nodded. ‘We must go to Madame right away. Madame will know what to do.’

  But when they returned to the food kitchen, the man was back, bothering another little girl, older than Lily, but also alone.

  ‘Watch him while I get Madame,’ Maggie said to Daniel. ‘If he touches her, punch him – again.’ She smiled and ran inside.

  ‘I have heard of that trouble maker!’ Madame exclaimed. ‘All right. Time to end this. Wait here, Maggie.’

  The countess ran up the stairs into Liberty Hall.

  She returned in minutes with two men. One was James Larkin! The other was a small, stocky man with a thick black moustache. Neither looked in the mood for nonsense. Madame marched over to Maggie.

  ‘Point this man out to us,’ she instructed.

  Maggie nodded then hurried outside. The man was taking the girl’s hand. Daniel was approaching him, his face bleached of colour. Something inside Maggie melted at the sight of him.

  ‘That’s him!’ She pointed at the man.

  ‘Halt!’ Larkin’s colleague called out in a Scottish accent.

  The man turned. His eyes widened on seeing Larkin and he dropped the girl’s hand.

  Madame hurried to her, said a few words, then picked her up and carried her inside.

  Maggie joined Daniel. They watched – as did everyone in the queue – while Larkin and his companion backed the man up against a wall. She could not hear what they said to him but it was clear from their stance and his fearful gaze that it was a threat.
At last, head down, he scurried away.

  The men began to make their way back to Liberty Hall.

  ‘That’s the last we’ll see of him,’ Larkin was saying as he passed Maggie and Daniel.

  The other man stopped walking. ‘This is what we should be offering the strikers – protection.’

  ‘You’d need an army,’ Larkin said.

  ‘Then we’ll build one – an army of citizens to protect their own.’

  They looked at each other and smiled. Then they carried on into Liberty Hall.

  Maggie turned to Daniel, her eyes alight. ‘Do you know who that tall man was?’

  ‘Larkin?’ he guessed uncertainly.

  ‘Big Jim Larkin, the man who’ll change the plight of the poor.’

  In the basement of Liberty Hall, Madame had reunited the little girl with her weeping mother and was having what looked like a welcome cigarette. Maggie and Daniel approached.

  ‘This country of ours,’ the countess said then blew smoke up into the air.

  ‘Madame, we need your help,’ Maggie said.

  ‘Again?’ she demanded but with a smile.

  Maggie told her about Lily’s situation.

  The countess listened with a growing frown, then dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out with a boot.

  ‘Maggie, collect up two food rations. Daniel, help me gather fuel and blankets.’

  ‘We’ll need a doctor, too, Madame!’ Maggie said.

  ‘Let me see the lie of the land first, Maggie, but if a doctor is required, a doctor we shall get.’

  six

  Maggie

  Maggie and Daniel stood in the dark hallway. In the distance, from behind a closed door, came the sound of a baby crying but from Lily’s door there came no sound. Maggie turned to Daniel.

  ‘The doctor said days. We have days.’ It was herself she was trying to reassure.

  Daniel knocked again.

  A woman dressed in black answered the door, surrounded by four children, none of them Lily.

  Maggie turned to Daniel, eyes wide. Were they too late?

  ‘You must be Maggie,’ the woman said.

  Maggie remembered her manners. ‘I am. And this is Daniel.’