Through The Barricades: Winner of the SCBWI SPARK Award 2017

by Denise Deegan

  There would be no tram for Maggie tonight. She would walk home and think about all that her new leader had said.

  She strode over O’Connell Bridge, swinging her arms. All was quiet until she turned onto D’Olier Street. Up ahead, a group of Na Fianna boys poured out onto the street after a meeting. She slowed, a great loneliness growing in her chest. They had been her brothers. Did they all think her deceitful now? She caught her breath and stopped automatically as Patrick emerged directly in front of her, head down, deep in thought. She recognised, in the back of his dipped head, the loss of his father; he carried it still. Here was the one person she had shared a war with. Despite everything, she called out to him.

  Turning, he seemed confused.

  ‘It’s Maggie.’

  Coldness replaced confusion. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Returning from a route march with the Irish Citizen Army. They take women.’

  ‘Did you lie to get in there too?’

  ‘I dressed as a boy, Patrick. It was the only way I could join. There’s no need to make it personal to you.’

  ‘I thought we were friends.’

  ‘We were.’

  ‘Friends don’t lie.’

  She stared at perhaps the toughest boy she knew. ‘What would you have done had I told you the truth? What would it have been your duty to do?’

  He considered that. At last he admitted, ‘I’d have reported you.’

  ‘And I thought we were friends.’

  He smiled grudgingly. ‘Why couldn’t you simply have been a boy?’

  ‘I’ve asked myself the same question many times.’ And each time she had reminded herself of the best reason to be a girl: Daniel Healy. ‘How are things?’

  He shrugged moodily. ‘You’re missed.’

  ‘Oh? By whom?’

  He grew flustered. ‘You were our best shot.’

  ‘We can stay friends, Patrick. It is possible. Despite me being a girl.’ She widened her eyes at the horror of it.

  He made a face. ‘Look at you. You have hair. You’re old.’

  She lifted the wig. A man walking his dog, stared in disbelief, and then tripped.

  ‘I haven’t changed, Patrick. I can still throw a punch and knock a can off a wall with a groany old Mauser.’

  ‘That sounds more like you.’ He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down. ‘So. What’s the Citizen Army like?’

  She brightened. ‘They mean business, Patrick! You should join! You’ll be too old for Na Fianna soon. And you don’t want to be a Volunteer.’

  ‘I don’t?’

  ‘The Citizen Army are ready to rise. They’d go out alone if they had to. I’m sure of it.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Was something said?’

  She grew alert to him. She should have been more careful. ‘It’s only what I feel.’

  ‘There is a concern that Connolly will go off half-cocked without the rest of us.’ He sounded like someone high up, connected.

  ‘The rest of who?’

  ‘The other rebel groups. We must all rise together – with the Citizen Army. Only then will we have a hope.’

  Maggie grew ever more cautious. ‘I’m only new. Don’t listen to me.’ She began to rub arms that had grown increasingly cold the longer she’d stood still. ‘I should go.’

  ‘How are you getting home?’

  ‘I had planned on walking but I might take the tram. It’s getting cold.’

  ‘I suppose you’ll need seeing onto it so – now that you’re a girl.’

  ‘I need no such thing.’

  He laughed. ‘’Tis on my way.’

  They began to walk in silence.

  Then he turned to her. ‘I still can’t believe you killed off Ruairí.’

  ‘You killed off Ruairí.’

  ‘What choice had I?’

  ‘Silence?’

  He looked surprised as if that option had never crossed his mind. ‘Duty is duty,’ he said at last.

  A cab passed, horses’ hooves clicking on cobblestone.

  Patrick turned to her abruptly. ‘Is Daniel even your brother?’

  She had kept enough from him. ‘We’re engaged to be married, Patrick.’

  He stopped, staring at her in disbelief. ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since before he left for Gallipoli.’

  When he recovered it was to say, ‘You two always were as thick as thieves.’

  She remembered with sadness. ‘We were, weren’t we?’ She reminded herself that Daniel’s letters had brightened since he’d heard that Michael was alive. That was something to be happy about, at least.

  Patrick’s eyes softened. ‘He’ll be all right.’

  She sighed and began to walk again.

  ‘I imagine he’s the best sniper they’ve got.’

  She turned to him. ‘For all the difference it’ll make. You said yourself that the Irish are cannon fodder.’

  ‘Sure don’t be listening to me. I only get angry sometimes.’

  ‘Are you saying they’re not cannon fodder?’

  ‘No more than anyone else.’

  ‘Then why did you say it?’

  ‘I was angry.’

  ‘The worry you put on me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He halted once more and then spoke to his shoes in a mumble. ‘I needed my father’s death to be the fault of the British Army. Otherwise, it would have been mine. I should have stopped him from joining. If I’d stopped him, he’d be alive.’

  ‘He was your father. How could you have stopped him?’

  ‘I could have tried.’

  ‘Could he have stopped you from joining Na Fianna?’

  He looked at her in surprise. ‘I never thought of it like that.’

  ‘Isn’t it just as well you bumped into me so?’

  He looked at her for a long time. ‘Maybe it’s not entirely bad that you’re a girl.’

  ‘Is that right?’ She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘No one ever suspects girls,’ he rushed. ‘And skirts are great places for hiding things.’

  ‘Patrick Shanahan, you truly know how to flatter a girl.’

  They laughed.

  ‘So do you forgive me?’ she asked.

  He hesitated.

  ‘It was never about you, Patrick. It was always about Ireland.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I want the same as you do,’ she continued.

  ‘I see that now,’ he said with what sounded like regret.

  They arrived at the terminus just as a tram was arriving.

  ‘Well, good night, Patrick,’ she said cheerfully.

  ‘Good night.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Maggie.’

  ‘You’ll get used to it.’

  He smiled then. ‘I suspect I will.’

  She boarded, found a seat and looked out.

  He was still standing there, waiting for the tram to pull away.

  Surprised, she waved.

  He saluted.

  And she was so glad not to have lost this gruff old friend.

  Days later, Maggie attended a lecture on street fighting given by James Connolly. She loved how everyone shushed when he stood before them. She loved his voice. Most especially she loved his directness. There was no sugarcoating with James Connolly, no dreamy talk of a poet.

  ‘When we rise for Ireland we will be outnumbered two thousand to one.’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘Our biggest weapon will be our wits. And we will use them.’

  We had better, Maggie thought, reeling from the figures.

  ‘The key will be to catch them unawares.’ He looked around the room. ‘And how do you think we will do that?’

  ‘Street fighting,’ someone volunteered.

  ‘Aye, exactly. The British military receive no training in street fighting. Spring it on them and the result will be mass confusion. Now, what is the key to street fighting, comrades?’

  ‘The element of surprise,’ someone said.

  ‘Aye, and?’

&
nbsp; Silence as people thought.

  ‘Cover,’ James Connolly said. ‘We will be hidden in the buildings. They will be out in the open. We will let them get close, very close, then we will let them have it.’ He smiled. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Ambush.’

  As just described, Maggie thought. Some people simply wished to sound clever.

  ‘Aim for the officers,’ Connolly said. ‘Properly covered, one rebel can upset an entire battalion by targeting those giving the orders. And, yes, we will ambush them right, left and centre.’ He paused. ‘And if we’re surrounded?’

  Another silence.

  ‘We tunnel through walls,’ Connolly said, ‘the walls between houses. We move from house to house without ever going outside until we’re away – away to fight again.’

  Maggie wanted to cheer. He had thought of everything.

  ‘And why will the people let us through their homes, breaking down their walls? The best reason in the world, comrades: to restore justice to this fine country. That is why.’

  James Connolly did not look like Maggie’s father. He did not rage like her father. And yet he reminded her very much of her father. It was his unshaken sense of justice, his desire for a better life for all and his willingness to sacrifice everything for it. He would make a difference.

  thirty-seven

  January 1st 1916

  Daniel

  Daniel opened his eyes. He was laying on his back, above him, his friends the stars. All was calm. A face looked down on him. He smiled at the padre, a great man for arriving with a fag or a swig of rum or a comforting word when you were at your lowest, a great man to have around, in general, with his soft, sad face and kind eyes. He was mumbling but Daniel could not make out the words over the ringing in his ears. It had the intonation of a prayer, a prayer that Daniel had heard many times. And then he had it. The padre was offering the Last Rights – to him!

  ‘Is that how it is?’ he asked. He felt no pain.

  ‘You’ll be grand. The prayer is only insurance.’ But there was pity in his eyes and Daniel knew that he was done for.

  He gazed beyond the priest. ‘Look at those stars.’

  The padre glanced briefly up, returning his eyes swiftly to Daniel’s as if fearful he might slip away, alone.

  ‘Was it a shell?’ Daniel asked. A man should know what finished him off.

  ‘It was a bombardment of them.’

  He nodded and now pain shot every which way. ‘I knew they’d get me in the end.’ He smiled.

  ‘You’re not done for yet, Sergeant.’

  The rank surprised him, still. ‘My men?’

  The priest lowered his gaze.

  ‘All of them?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Daniel dropped his head back.

  ‘Here come the stretcher-bearers, now,’ the padre said, looking up along the trench and raising an arm. ‘Over here! Quick, boys.’

  Daniel struggled to retrieve the photograph of Maggie from his pocket. Her face was the last thing he saw.

  thirty-eight

  Maggie

  Maggie woke with a start. The room was in darkness. In the bed beside hers, Lily breathed softly. Maggie told herself that it was her imagination. Daniel was fine. But she knew otherwise. She felt it in every part of her being; he needed her.

  And she couldn’t help.

  She paced the room, her arms wrapped about herself. She needed to be there, to hold him and tell him over and over that she loved him. She needed him to feel it. And so she sent the words to him, willing them through the night air so that he would hold on: for her.

  The sun rose, unconcerned.

  Maggie returned to bed not to sleep but to be with him in her mind – and to pray – all day – for one more day.

  ‘You do feel feverish,’ her mother said, resting the back of her hand against Maggie’s forehead. ‘And you do look pale. All right, stay in bed, pet.’

  ‘I’m sick too, Mammy,’ Lily said.

  ‘What a coincidence.’

  She closed her eyes dramatically. ‘I’m dying, Mammy.’

  She smiled. ‘You’ve a very healthy colour for someone’s who’s dying.’

  Lily groaned.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘All right. I give up. You’ll be the death of me, the lot of you.’ But she said it affectionately, as if she was happy for them to have a break from the seriousness of life.

  Lily waited until she was gone and then jumped from the bed. ‘I’ll mind you, Maggie.’

  Maggie never uttered a word of her fears yet Lily seemed to understand. She fixed her hair and pulled the blankets up to her chin. Then she sat on the side of the bed and told Maggie a story – about a bird that flew beyond the stars.

  The dreaded telegram did not come. Maggie dared to hope. Perhaps her prayers had worked. Perhaps her love was seeing him through.

  Every day, she continued to send it.

  After a visit from the doctor, her mother shooed her back to school, which seemed the most pointless place in the world.

  Then it occurred to Maggie: Michael may have heard from him!

  She called to his house only to discover that he was at school.

  ‘School?’ she asked in surprise.

  His mother lowered her eyes. ‘He did it for me, Maggie.’ She looked up again, almost pleadingly. ‘I only want him to have a normal life, to finish his education.’

  Maggie smiled for her, knowing the sacrifice this would mean for Michael, facing hundreds of boys looking as he did. ‘I’ll find him, there. Thank you.’

  She waited outside the school gates, ignoring the curious and often admiring looks of the uniformed boys that poured out. Though many were her age or older they seemed so young to her as they shoved each other about and acted the maggot.

  At last, she saw him emerge alone, all around him a great gap of air. Behind him three boys were goading him. She understood only too well how he felt. She wanted to knock their heads together. And then, the leader was down. Michael had turned suddenly and flattened him with a punch. She smiled as his thuggish friends hurried to his aid.

  Then Michael saw Maggie. He grimaced.

  She smiled.

  At last he reached her. ‘It seems I may have picked up some of your bad habits.’

  ‘You haven’t joined a rebel organisation, have you?’

  ‘Eh, no.’ He looked at her sheepishly.

  ‘Then you’re probably safe enough.’

  He smiled then.

  ‘Can we walk for a bit?’

  ‘As long as you don’t mind keeping company with...’ he widened his eyes, ‘…a Freak Of Nature.’

  ‘I have a particular affection for freaks of nature.’

  As they strolled away from the school, boys stared as if they could not believe that a girl like Maggie had time for Michael. So she ripped off her wig and glared at them. Unfortunately, her hair had begun to grow so the effect was not as dramatic as she’d hoped. Still, at least Michael laughed.

  ‘I forgive you, by the way,’ she said.

  ‘That is welcome news.’

  ‘You meant well, I suppose.’

  ‘I did. Fighting’s a messy business.’

  ‘I’ve joined the Irish Citizen Army.’

  ‘Ah, Maggie.’

  ‘Don’t you “Ah Maggie” me. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you, Michael Hegarty.’

  He sighed wearily. ‘Couldn’t you be passionate about tapestry or flower arranging or something? Why does it have to be this country of ours?’

  She stared at him. ‘Tapestry or flowers before a country? Are you insane?’

  He smiled then. ‘I may have to imprison you, lock you up in a tower or something.’

  ‘You could try.’ She was smiling, too, now.

  ‘I always said that you were trouble.’

  ‘Being trouble is exactly what I wish to be.’

  He looked at her wistfully. ‘Will we be forever at each other’s throats, do yo
u think?’

  She regarded him with a fondness she did not understand. ‘I suppose we could try not to kill each other.’

  ‘Only I’m running low on friends. I’m all aloooone. Nobody loooves me,’ he said in a tiny voice.

  ‘Aaaall right,’ she said, trying not to smile. ‘As long as you know that I’m driven by pity alone.’

  He laughed.

  And then she remembered why she was there. She turned to him. ‘Michael, I’m worried about Danny. I haven’t heard from him in three weeks. Have you heard anything?’

  He looked at her in concern. ‘No. Nothing. I thought you might have.’

  ‘It’s never been this long.’

  He frowned. ‘Well, he hasn’t appeared in the casualty lists. Every day, I check for friends.’

  She knew how hard that must be. ‘Me too – or at least David, my brother, does.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s easily explained: a letter going astray, his regiment moving…’

  ‘Thank God his name hasn’t appeared.’

  Michael nodded.

  A silence fell between them, each lost in thought.

  ‘Did he ever tell you?’ he asked, suddenly. ‘Your scarf was carried into battle as an Irish flag!’

  ‘It was not!’

  ‘It absolutely was.’

  The thought of Irish patriotism in the British Army warmed Maggie’s heart. She stopped walking and looked at him with such hope. ‘He’ll come back to us, Michael, won’t he?’

  ‘Perhaps if we will it hard enough. Two is better than one, as Danny used to say.’

  She touched her heart. ‘He said that?’

  ‘All the time.’

  Her eyes welled with tears. Then she linked her arm with his and leaned into him. ‘Together we’ll get him home.’

  Days later, Maggie arrived at Liberty Hall to pandemonium.

  ‘He went to lunch and never returned,’ a young woman said of James Connolly. ‘Madame is going out of her mind with worry. We all are.’

  The countess was pacing the room, holding her head. When she saw Maggie, she stopped.

  ‘Maggie Gilligan, come with me! We are going in search of him!’