‘All right but once you reach the Rotunda stay put. It’ll get worse before it gets better.’
‘I will. Thank you.’
She hurried across Dame Street and immediately down one of the cobblestoned alleyways that led to the river.
Reaching the quay, she made for the Ha’penny Bridge only to see a crossing civilian come under fire. She looked right to O’Connell Bridge. It was even more exposed. Removing her coat to ensure her Red Cross apron was on full display, she took a deep breath and left the protection of the shadows. She walked smartly towards the Ha’penny Bridge where she had once witnessed a slaughter so appalling that she had become a rebel.
She had almost crossed without incident when she was startled by the sound of smashing glass. Up ahead, on the quay, a hoard of women and children had broken a shop window. Now, they swarmed in through the resulting hole. In under a minute, they began to pour out again, their arms laden with looted goods. Two children fought over something too small for Maggie to see. Then flames came lapping out through the shattered glass.
Reaching the quay, Maggie disappeared up back streets she knew like old friends. A woman scuttled past, a bunch of bananas poking out from under a rough shawl. Two men pushed a piano along the pavement. It was as though she had stepped into a nightmare.
At last, she arrived at the back of the General Post Office. There, suddenly, was James Connolly. Despite his lectures on street fighting, he was out in full view not taking cover but rallying his troops as though unafraid of bullet or enemy.
He spied her then and hurried her inside rebel headquarters.
She rooted for the dispatch but her hands were shaking. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Take your time, Maggie. Catch your breath. How is it out there?’
She looked up, breathless. ‘The City Hall has been taken!’
He nodded. ‘We heard.’
‘On the quays, people are looting! It’s as if the city has gone mad.’
He looked sad. ‘They’re looting on Sackville Street too. There’s no stopping them. We tried.’
She found the dispatch and handed it to him without delay. ‘From Commandant Mallin.’
He read in haste, frowning in concentration. He tucked the note into a pocket of his uniform.
‘Thank you, Maggie. You’ve done well.’ He ushered her into a great room at the front of the building. Rebels manned windows barricaded by piles of weighty ledgers. One had threaded rosary beads through fingers that held his weapon. Commandant Pearse was walking about, reading words of encouragement to the men. Maggie imagined him at the head of a classroom. She wondered if he had taught Tom or David. Then she scanned the room urgently for Tom. Behind Pearse, Michael Collins was rolling his eyes as if to say, ‘Ireland would be better served by bullets than words’.
James Connolly turned to Maggie. ‘Go on upstairs to the canteen and have yourself some food and rest. I’ll have another dispatch ready for you shortly.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Upstairs, a chef was preparing food with the help of British Army soldiers being held captive. Maggie’s eyes fell upon a whole salmon, laid out like a work of art. She remembered Lily’s favourite story – and her own. On a whim, she touched the edge of the fish with a thumb, then slipped it into her mouth. She glanced up to find the chef looking at her.
‘You got there before me,’ he said with a smile.
She smiled back. They were ordinary people. They were all just ordinary people who wanted fairness.
Maggie scanned the canteen for Tom but there was no sign of him. Two men in Volunteer uniforms were dining at a table. Maggie approached them with her tray.
‘Would you mind if I joined you?’ she asked.
They looked up in surprise. ‘We’d be delighted,’ they said together.
‘Are you with Cumann na mBan?’ one asked.
‘Citizen Army,’ she said.
They raised their eyebrows. ‘Fair dues.’
‘Would either of you boys know a Tom Gilligan by any chance?’
They looked at each other.
‘Would we know a Tom Gilligan?’ one asked the other.
Then they laughed again like a comedy duo.
‘Anyone in the Volunteers would know Tom Gilligan. He’s one of our best.’
‘Where is he garrisoned?’ she rushed.
Two hands fell heavy on her shoulders. She jumped and swiveled around.
‘Tom!’ She leapt up and threw herself at him.
He laughed, looking more alive and happy than she had ever seen him. And bigger too. Gigantic.
‘I’m so glad to see you!’ she said with such relief.
‘And you. How are you, Maggie?’
‘Better now. I was hoping I’d get to see you and say a proper goodbye.’
‘We won’t be needing goodbyes, Maggie Mae.’ He winked.
‘Another of your women, Gilligan?’ one of two comedians asked.
It occurred to Maggie that there was so much she did not know about her brother.
‘This is my sister, McCarthy. Show some respect.’
‘Women, no less?’ Maggie teased him.
‘Dreamers, those two. Here let me get some food and I’ll join you.’
Less than a minute later, he was back with a tray of food. He looked down at his salmon then up at Maggie. ‘I’m hoping it’ll give me some brains.’
‘God knows you need them, Gilligan,’ one of the duo said.
Maggie marvelled at how normal everything seemed right in the middle of a revolution.
‘Where are you garrisoned, Maggie?’ Tom asked.
‘Stephen’s Green but now the College of Surgeons.’
‘How is it up there?’
‘Quiet now but we’re low on food and ammunition. Commandant Mallin sent me down with a dispatch.’
He nodded. ‘And how was everyone at home when you left? How’s Mam?’ he asked with uncharacteristic softness.
‘I couldn’t tell her, Tom.’
‘I was the same. Couldn’t do it to her, like.’
‘So I told David and warned him not to let her or Lily near the city.’
‘Good girl.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I’ve always been a bit distant. I didn’t want ye to feel attached, you know, in case…’
Maggie wished they had spent more time together. ‘You should write letters.’
‘Ah, I’m not a man for notes. You tell them… if the worst comes to the worst.’
‘It won’t,’ she said but they both knew the numbers.
He stood. ‘I had better get back.’
She stood with him. ‘Mind yourself, Tom.’
He tugged a holy medal out from under his shirt. ‘Sure, haven’t I my lucky charm?’
‘I thought you hated the church!’
‘I’ve never been one for the middleman. That doesn’t mean I’ve a problem with the main man. Come here.’ He put his arms around her and then ruffled her hair before pulling back. ‘Be safe.’
‘You be safe.’
He winked, then turned and strode towards his destiny.
‘We’re lucky to have him,’ said one of the pair.
‘That’s the truth,’ said the other.
Then they rose together as though synchronised.
‘Best of luck, Tom Gilligan’s sister.’
‘And the best of luck to you too.’
James Connolly’s dispatch was taking an age. Maggie rose and returned her tray. Then she approached the chef.
‘Would you like a hand until I have to go?’
He looked surprised. ‘Only if you want to lend one.’
She smiled. ‘I’m restless.’
‘Ah.’ He smiled back. ‘Aren’t we all?’
But she was more than restless. She was desperate to talk to the prisoners. They were Royal Dublin Fusiliers. Perhaps they were up from the Curragh.
The chef handed her an apron and grimaced. ‘How good are you at peeling potatoes?’
‘I’ll giv
e it a try,’ she said, recalling the time she had asked the same of Danny. Where was he? She longed to know. Not leading his men into an ambush, she prayed. How could she fire upon any British Army soldier now, knowing that Danny was one of them?
The prisoners, struggling with the vegetables, were glad to see her.
‘Hard luck on getting caught,’ she said quietly, to get on their side.
‘Rather in here with these potatoes than out there firing upon our own people,’ one of them said.
‘I have a fiancé with the Royal Dublin Fusiliers.’
They looked automatically at her finger.
‘Still waiting for the ring.’ She smiled. ‘Daniel Healy. Do you know him?’
‘No, Miss.’
‘He was in the Curragh, training to go back to the front. Would you have any idea where in the city he might be?’
‘Ah, he could be anywhere, Miss. I’m sorry. We’re only just back from France ourselves on leave.’
‘Some leave,’ the other grumbled.
‘Hopefully, you’ll all see the wisdom of your ways and surrender. You haven’t a hope in all fairness. It’s not a country you’re up against but an empire.’
On that sobering note, she heard her name being called. The dispatch was ready.
‘Good luck,’ she found herself wishing the enemy. This revolution was becoming stranger than she had ever imagined.
‘And to you, Miss. I hope you find your man and happiness.’
Maggie tucked the tiny note into her boot, hurried into her coat and heaved a bag of food and medical supplies over her shoulder. She stood at the back entrance while James Connolly checked the street outside.
‘Go, Maggie,’ he ordered.
She shot out, walking fast. The further away she got, the safer she would be. Turning down a back street, she heard footsteps behind her. Heart racing, she darted into an alleyway. Still the footsteps. She glanced behind. It was a group of women in shawls, every one of them looking at her – and her bag. She did not know which she feared most, the British Army or the people she had risen for.
Head down, she took an immediate left onto a street leading to the quay. She quickened her step.
‘Get her!’ one of them called.
Hearing them break into a run, she reached for her revolver to warn them off but, before she could produce it, a section of British Army soldiers appeared around a corner, a hundred yards ahead.
She heard a woman’s voice startlingly close behind her now.
‘Hand me the bag and I won’t shop you to the Brits,’ she whispered.
Maggie knew that she would do it. So she turned and held out the bag.
A small, rat-like woman snatched it. Quickly, they all scurried away.
‘Halt!’ a soldier ordered.
They scurried faster.
A shot was fired.
They stopped and raised their arms. The bag fell to the ground.
The soldiers reached Maggie.
‘Were these women harassing you, Miss?’ an officer asked.
‘Miss, me arse!’ one of the women shouted. ‘That slip of a thing is no more Red Cross than we are. In and out of the GPO with dispatches, she is. She’s just come from there now.’ She spat on the ground. ‘Dishonouring our boys overseas, the lot of them!’
‘You, there! Bring that bag here,’ the officer ordered.
She looked at her partners in crime. They nodded. Grudgingly, she obeyed.
The officer snatched the bag from her. ‘Now clear the street this minute or I shall order my men to open fire,’ he said in an English accent.
The women looked at each other. Admitting defeat, finally, they turned and scurried away.
The officer approached Maggie. ‘What is your business on the streets of Dublin?’
‘I’m returning to Red Cross headquarters with supplies from the Rotunda.’
‘Who would send a woman out on the streets in the middle of a revolution?’
‘We did not imagine it was as bad as it is. And I insisted.’
He raised a dubious eyebrow. ‘Tell me, why would those women lie?’
‘They wanted my bag.’
He peered inside it. Maggie thanked the Lord that James Connolly had no ammunition to spare.
‘Why does it contain food?’ the officer demanded.
‘Supplies are running low,’ she said simply.
He squinted at her. ‘You wouldn’t be the first rebel to hide behind a Red Cross uniform.’
‘I’m not a rebel and the longer you delay me here the more wounded soldiers who will suffer. We are understaffed-’
‘Then let us accompany you to Dublin Castle where you can introduce us to your colleagues at the Red Cross. I’m sure they will be delighted to confirm your identity.’
‘I don’t need to be accompanied.’
‘Oh, I think that you do,’ he said. ‘Guard her, men.’
Two soldiers flanked her.
‘Are you arresting me?’ she demanded.
He smiled. Then he turned to one of his unit. ‘If she proves not to be Red Cross – as I suspect she shall – I want her searched. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Lieutenant.’
He ordered the unit to march.
How would she get rid of the note and revolver?
fifty-one
Daniel
Tuesday
Daniel woke to the sound of distant gunfire. He was lying in a hospital bed, his shoulder bandaged. He thought only of Maggie. He had to get out, get to her. More shots in the distance and he was calling for a nurse.
‘What is the time, nurse?’ he asked when she came.
‘Four in the afternoon.’ She pressed a note into his hand. ‘I’m Nurse Joyce,’ she said loudly as though she wanted others to hear. ‘You’ll be having surgery shortly on your shoulder.’ As she settled his blanket, she whispered, ‘Don’t open it now. Ask to go to the lavatory.’ Aloud, she said, ‘Let me fetch you some water. You must be parched.’
His eyes followed her to the door. Guarding it were two soldiers. Neither was particularly huge but both were armed and looking at him. He closed his eyes as if unable to do otherwise. From the bed beside him came the heavy breathing of sleep. Another man groaned. Daniel was sharing a ward with rebel prisoners.
Nurse Joyce returned with the water. Daniel drank with genuine thirst. He refused pain relief in favour of his senses and asked to use the lavatory. The nurse turned to the guards. One stood and left his post, arriving beside Daniel.
‘Be quick about it,’ he snapped as though irritated by having to get up.
Daniel moved slowly, exaggerating his disability. Leaving the room, he looked right and left as though crossing the road. In reality, he was searching for an escape route.
‘Straight ahead,’ the guard ordered.
Daniel shuffled forward.
‘You’re worse than the lot of them back there. Turncoat!’
Daniel kept walking.
‘In a matter of days, my friend, you’ll meet your maker. If I were you, I’d be working on what to tell Him.’
It was true – and also ironic – when Daniel was well enough, he would be tried for treason and inevitably shot.
At last, the lavatory door shut behind him, Daniel hurried to open the note. It had been wrapped around a key. He smiled as he read.
Healy, you old fool, you’re a magnet for the bullets! This is a key for the door at the end of the corridor. It’ll get you into the courtyard outside where I’ll be waiting for you. Look out for a distraction. But be patient. It may take a while. Your old pal.
Daniel ate the note, slipped the key into his pocket, then remembered to piss.
‘What took you so long?’ the guard barked.
‘Shoulder,’ Daniel said.
‘That is the last of your worries.’
They made their way back in silence, Daniel watching out for the door to the courtyard.
He heard her before he saw her.
‘People are i
n need of my help! This is time-wasting!’
Then there she was, rounding a corner, under guard. She was alive, unharmed and as feisty as ever! He had an urge to laugh. Then their eyes met and her face was like an explosion of emotion – joy, relief, love. He could read it all. He wanted to run to her and take her in his arms. But they were both prisoners.
‘Sergeant Healy!’ she called out in an exasperated voice. ‘This officer does not believe that I work here! Can you credit it?’
‘I cannot.’
Nurse Joyce emerged from the ward. Only she could save Maggie.
‘Nurse Joyce,’ Daniel called. ‘Please reassure this officer that Nurse Gilligan works here. There seems to be some misunderstanding.’
Nurse Joyce looked from person to person. At last, she turned her very beautiful face to the officer.
‘Officer…?’
‘Smyth.’
She smiled delightfully. ‘Officer Smyth, Nurse Gilligan is one of our best nurses.’
‘Oh. Well. Good,’ he stumbled. ‘Then I am returning her safely to you. Best not to send her – or anyone else – out on the streets again. It is a war zone out there.’
‘Indeed. We were desperate, I’m afraid.’
The officer turned on his heels and marched up the corridor as if aware that female eyes were on him.
The guard turned to Nurse Joyce.
‘What’s going on? I’ve never seen this person before.’
‘Lord God, O’Neill, but you’re the height of suspicion. Nurse Gilligan has been working different shifts to you,’ she said, laying a hand on his arm.
He seemed to float a little.
‘We had better get you ready for surgery, Sergeant Healy,’ Nurse Joyce said cheerfully. ‘We must have you right as rain for your court martial.’
The colour drained from Maggie’s face.
fifty-two
Maggie
Tuesday
She had to get him out, get him to safety. It was all Maggie could think of.
‘Come,’ Nurse Joyce said to her. ‘Let me give you a full report on our patients.’
‘Prisoners, Sabha, prisoners,’ O’Neill corrected.
‘Of course, Gregory. You’re right, as always.’ She produced another of her magical smiles.
Through The Barricades: Winner of the SCBWI SPARK Award 2017 Page 28