‘Here’s another one that wants the Pals,’ the officer announced to no one in particular as Michael stepped forward.
Thank God for the rugby, Daniel thought as he watched Michael stand erect before the officer. He had, at least, the body of a man. His face, though, could have done with a little hair. Daniel had to turn around to avoid a smile; Michael too was studying medicine.
Seconds later, they were reunited.
‘The Royal College of Surgeons,’ Michael whispered. ‘You big eejit.’
Daniel smiled. ‘You should have gone first. You’re a better liar.’
‘I won’t argue with that.’
They completed the forms, ageing a year in the process, boys to men. Pens poised, ready to sign, they looked at each other.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’
They signed together.
They looked at the queue of men lined up to be poked, prodded, explored and questioned by a military doctor with a scar through his eyebrow.
‘You go first,’ Daniel said.
‘No, you.’
Daniel shrugged, then obliged.
Stripped to his underwear, he coughed when asked to, raised his arms when asked to, and answered questions that intrigued him. At last, the doctor removed the cold metal disc of a stethoscope from Daniel’s chest and the earpieces from his ears.
‘If only they were all as fit as you,’ he complained.
Michael, too, passed the medical. But it was only when they were handed tickets for a train to the Curragh Camp that Daniel and Michael truly realised that they had got their wish.
They were Pals.
Michael punched Daniel’s arm in silent celebration. Daniel punched him back.
‘No going back now,’ said a man beside them.
They were sobering words. There could be no change of heart, no leaving now. To do so would be to desert. And to desert would mean court-martial and execution.
Daniel looked out at a steam-filled station. One by one, the doors of the train were banged shut. A whistle blew. Slowly, the train of new recruits began to move. Daniel and Michael exchanged a glance. All their lives, they had been assured of the familiarity of the next day. This was a train to the unknown. All about them, conversations were being struck up, introductions made, hands shaken, cigarettes passed around. Someone produced a hip flask. Out of nowhere, Daniel’s father’s words returned to him. ‘Go live in your precious tenements.’ His stomach churned. Turning to the window, he rubbed himself a circle out of newly formed condensation and watched a wet and rainy Dublin slip away.
The flat land of The Curragh made for the largest expanse of sky Daniel had ever seen. The clouds deserved their name. They were magnificent and monstrous, and as Daniel and the others approached the barracks on foot, they proved just how much rain they could hold.
Their first meal as Tommies was tea, bread and jam. Then their sergeant showed them to their quarters, a barrack room of sixteen narrow beds called biscuits, tightly packed together. With his bag, Michael claimed one by a wall. Daniel took the one next to it.
‘Not a sound out of you lot after Lights Out,’ the sergeant barked. ‘Should you wish to relieve yourselves, use the piss pot.’ He pointed to the centre of the room. Then he looked at a chap with an open and friendly face. ‘What’s your name, Private?’
‘MacDonald, Sergeant.’
‘Well, MacDonald, you can have the pleasure of emptying it tomorrow.’
MacDonald made his first military error. It was a grimace.
‘Given your obvious delight at the task, MacDonald, not only will you empty said piss pot, but you will clean it with a toothbrush until it shines like a baby’s bottom. Should it fail, on inspection, to shine like a baby’s bottom, MacDonald, you will be on piss pot detail for a month. Do I make myself clear, Private?’
‘Crystal, sir.’
They stood to attention as the sergeant left. Then they released a universal breath.
MacDonald collapsed onto his biscuit. ‘Jesus, Mary and sweet Saint Joseph. What was that?’
‘Your very own personal welcome to the British Army.’
‘That was a rhetorical question, Wilkin,’ MacDonald said miserably.
Washing in a room full of men who played sport at national and international level did nothing for Daniel’s confidence. Rugby, at least, had given him muscle. Compared to these athletes, though, it was baby muscle. Daniel guessed that Michael was feeling equally as inadequate once he began to joke.
‘Don’t forget to take a leak, boys,’ he called to the general assembly.
‘You imagine that we could?’ Wilkin asked.
They all looked at MacDonald.
‘Got your toothbrush, MacDonald?’ Michael asked.
‘Feck off, Hegarty.’
With laughter came relief.
Maybe, Daniel thought, that was how they’d get through this. Laughter. Well, laughter and letters. Already he longed for one. And he had all of five minutes to write three. He’d promised Niall and Maggie but he owed his mother. And so he began with her.
Dear Mother
I am sorry for leaving without goodbye. I have joined the war effort. I am with the 7th Royal Dublin Fusiliers or The Pals, as we are known. It is a unit of rugby and football players so Michael and I feel at home. Yes, Michael is with me. Please do not worry. The war will be over by Christmas.
Your loving son, Daniel
He had not been able to admit to Niall that he was going to war. Now he must. Once his mother knew, it would be family news. Daniel tried his best to be gentle.
Dearest Niall
I am training to be a soldier. It’s like school only with more rules! Michael is here with me, with his usual jokes, so all is well. I have always thought of you as a little man, never a boy. Take care of Mother for me. Some day, you might send me one of your drawings or a few words so that I know how you are getting along. I will write often. Look after yourself and stand tall, as always.
Your brother, Danny
And now the person he would find it hardest to be without:
My dearest Maggie
I am sorry for the shock. I hope you can forgive me. All is well. I’m a Private with the Pals, The 7th Royal Dublin Fusiliers. I have been sent to the Curragh Camp for training. Michael is here with me. I’m rushing this letter for it will be Lights Out in less than a minute and if I have learned anything today it is that orders must be obeyed. I hope that I will have time for a longer letter tomorrow. I long to hear from you.
Your dearest, darling, Danny
He worried that ‘darling’ was too much. He’d never used such words with her yet it was how he felt. Crossing it out would make it worse, as if he didn’t think she was his darling after all. In any case, he had time left only to place the letter in an envelope and scribble the address. With seconds to spare, he took out her photograph. That is what he was looking at as the lights went out. He decided that, for as long as he was in the army, this is what he would do – look upon her face as he fell asleep.
seventeen
Maggie
Maggie beat her mother to the post. She rifled through it, then silently passed the bundle to her.
‘Give him time,’ her mother said gently.
‘It’s only that I need his postal address.’
Her mother cupped Maggie’s face in her hands. ‘Occupy yourself.’
‘I know!’ Lily said. ‘Knit him something!’
Maggie eyed the little girl who had come to be better than Maggie at mostly everything. ‘I’m hopeless at knitting.’
‘I’ll teach you,’ Lily said immediately, grabbing her by the hand and dragging her into the drawing room.
Maggie looked at her in admiration. ‘Perhaps I could manage a scarf, if you started me off.’
‘A scarf would be simple.’
‘Simple for you.’
‘Practice makes perfect.’
Maggie smiled. ‘Are you six or sixty, Lil?’
But Lily wasn’t listening. She was on a mission. Rummaging through her knitting basket, she produced a pair of needles. She looked up. ‘What colour wool do you want?’
Maggie thought about that. ‘Do you have any green?’
‘Green for Ireland?’
She nodded. ‘So he doesn’t forget.’
‘How could he forget the country he’s fighting for?’
‘Hmm,’ was all Maggie said. She sighed.
The knitting was impossible. The tension was, in places, too tight, in others too loose. Then there were the dropped stitches. Maggie threw it down in frustration.
‘Give it here to me,’ Lily said.
Maggie was humiliated. And relieved.
Lily started her off again. ‘Now, watch.’
Maggie tried to concentrate but there were too many questions racing through her mind. Where was he? What was he doing? Had he, at least, a good rifle? Did he miss her?
Lily was handing the knitting back to her.
‘Ah, knit me up a few lines, Lil, will you? So I’m certain.’
Lily gave her a look that began as bossy but softened on seeing the worry in Maggie’s eyes. She put her hand out for the knitting. Then she was off again, flying.
At length, she stopped, looked up and held it out to Maggie. ‘Now, you do some.’
‘Aw, Lil.’
‘You’re the one knitting the scarf for Daniel. ’Tis you that should be pouring the love into it.’
Maggie took it back, grumbling, ‘You should be a politician.’
‘Maybe I will,’ Lily challenged.
And there it was suddenly, all the possibility offered by a new republic.
A girl, like Lily, could become a politician, could have a say. This was why Maggie could never give up on her dream.
Arriving at Na Fianna, Maggie felt lost without Danny. She’d had to force herself to come. Looking around the hall, it was hard to miss the drop in numbers as more and more boys answered Redmond’s call. Soon there would not be enough rebels to rise. She shoved her hands into her pockets and kicked at a tiny pebble that must have come off someone’s boot.
‘Boys!’ boomed Patrick’s voice from the top of the room.
Maggie looked up.
‘It is good to see you here, lads. You’ll have heard, no doubt, that many of those Volunteers…’ He said it as though it was a dirty word. ‘…have gone off to fight with the Brits. We’ve even lost a few of our own.’ He paused. ‘Do you think that that is going to stop us? Do you think that that is going to change a thing?’ His voice rose.
The energy in the room lifted.
‘No!’ they called.
He put a hand to his ear. ‘What? What did you say? I didn’t hear you.’
‘No!’ they roared, smiling now and exchanging glances. This was what they had needed.
‘Well, let me tell you something, boys. This Great War is great news for us, great news for Na Fianna Éireann. Why? Because it’s going to keep the Brits well and truly occupied. That’s why. They’ll have their eyes on the Hun. They’ll be looking east not west, lads. And they won’t see us coming.’ He raised his eyebrows.
The entire assembly cheered.
‘England’s difficulty is Ireland’s opportunity!’ Patrick shouted, raising a fist in the air.
They roared.
‘While they are otherwise engaged, we’ll be sharpening our tools. We’ll be sharpening our wits. And we’ll catch them with their pants down. What’ll we do, lads?’
‘Catch them with their pants down!’ they yelled in delight.
‘Boys, I give you Con Colbert.’
Con Colbert stirred things up even further until the boys were tripping over themselves to get to the basement.
Maggie followed, alone. The speeches had cheered her as much as anything could. The fact remained; her refusal to give up Na Fianna had sent Daniel to war.
‘Where’s Daniel tonight?’
She looked up to see Patrick. The words stuck in her throat.
‘Daniel, your brother?’ he teased.
She closed her eyes. ‘He signed up.’
‘Ah, feck.’
She bowed her head. ‘I know.’
‘Our best shooter.’
She looked up suddenly. ‘That was not my first concern, Patrick.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He cleared his throat. ‘What regiment did he join?’
‘The Pals.’
‘Of course. The toff.’
‘Shut up.’ She’d had enough of him, of everything. She just wanted to go home.
‘Ah, Ruairí, sure, I didn’t mean it.’
‘One more remark like that and I’ll clock you, Patrick Shanahan.’
He smiled as though admiring the fire in the tiny boy before him. ‘If it’s any comfort, you’re not the only one. Hasn’t me old man gone and joined the 2nds?’
She stared at him. ‘Is he a Home Ruler?’
‘He believes himself to be defending Ireland,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘As does Danny.’ Her every breath, now, seemed a sigh.
‘It’s hard to credit, isn’t it?’
‘Sometimes, I could kill him for going.’
‘You may not have to,’ he joked.
She took a swipe at him but he caught her fist. Smiling fondly, he let it go.
‘Why am I even talking to you?’ She marched off.
He came after her. ‘I’m sorry, Ruairí. He’ll be grand. They both will.’
She saw it, then, the worry. He was as bad as she was. The jokes were to get him through.
‘They will,’ she said but thought, If only he’d write.
Days passed. Maggie thought she would go out of her mind if she did not hear soon. Then two letters arrived together. She tore open the first. It was hurried and brief but contained the words, ‘My Dearest Maggie’ and ‘Darling’. Eyes closed, she held it to her heart. Then, like a gift, she had a second. This she read very slowly, tracing a finger under each word.
Dearest Maggie
Finding time to write is harder than I ever imagined. They fill every minute, if not with drilling, then marching or learning. We must complete certificates of education – just when we thought we’d escaped school! Any spare moment is occupied with cleaning – our kit, our barracks, ourselves. That doesn’t mean that you’re not in my thoughts. Today, I was dreaming of you and missed a command. I was made to run around the drill square with a rifle over my head fifty times with full kit on. I was glad of the punishment, though, for it was time alone with you in my head. Your picture and lock of hair are no substitute for you.
Yesterday, as a punishment for failing to clean his weapon ‘on-the-double’, Michael was ordered to cut the grass with a pair of scissors. He has been trying to remove grass stains from his breeches ever since. If you have any advice on that front, do let us know!
There is nothing if not togetherness in The Pals, Maggie. A nicer bunch of Irishmen you could not meet.
With my fondest love, always, Danny
PS The first time you called me Danny my heart leapt with joy.
He was training! Not at war! He was still in Ireland and not that far from Dublin even! She hurried the letters upstairs where she read them over and over till she knew each word by heart. In that way, she could carry him with her wherever she went. She took out pen and paper and began to write.
Dearest Danny
I’m glad to be in your thoughts. You are constantly in mine. Patrick’s father signed up with the 2nds and we moan about you, together! Why did you join, Danny? I will never understand it.
It’s intolerable going to school with you preparing for war. You occupy an adult world now while I am still in childhood. It is as if we are building up to a great explosion in our lives. Do you feel it too? I am impatient, Danny. I want it all to be over and for you to be back safely with me.
All my love, Maggie
She ran downstairs, questioned her mother, then raced back up and added
a postscript: Mam says try vinegar on the stain – if you can get your hands on any.
eighteen
Daniel
Curragh Camp
Daniel and Michael struggled. In drills, steeplechases and marches, they were invariably last and out of breath – at times, close to vomiting. Wilkin regularly dropped back to keep them company.
‘Take it handy, boys. No prizes for coming first.’
Daniel smiled but wondered what kind of soldiers they’d make. They were getting fitter but remained boys in the company of men. And he wasn’t alone in noticing.
‘I’m thinking of growing a moustache,’ Michael said, one evening, examining his reflection in the washroom mirror.
‘A thick and luxurious moustache would be a sight to behold, all right,’ Daniel agreed.
‘That settles it.’ Michael looked at his friend. ‘How about you?’
‘I’ll see what I can produce.’
‘We’ll live in hope,’ Michael said.
One week later, Michael was back at the mirror, fingering his upper lip in frustration. ‘Is there anything at all that might stimulate hair growth?’
‘If I knew I’d be using it myself,’ Daniel said.
‘I’ve heard that a few drops of urine applied twice a day will result in a fine moustache in weeks,’ MacDonald volunteered. You could not have a conversation in the army without being overheard. ‘Probably best to use your own.’
They laughed.
‘It’s only what I’ve heard,’ he said in that innocent way of his. ‘Here, sure, ask Gregor.’
They looked automatically to the chap with the blackest, thickest moustache known to man.
‘Feck off,’ Gregor said.
It was the banter that kept Daniel going in a life of orders, the banter and the letters – from Maggie, his mother and Niall. He tried not to think of his father.
Weeks passed with no talk of action. With their first pay came an air of celebration. As the men around them cheered and made plans, Daniel and Michael looked at each other in silent wonder. It was as if they had been handed their manhood.
Through The Barricades: Winner of the SCBWI SPARK Award 2017 Page 12