Rugby Warrior

by Gerard Siggins

  Dave sat down on the rock beside Eoin, and the schoolboy could feel a chill in the air.

  ‘It’s hard to talk about it even now, but you’re a bright kid, and I suppose it could do some good if it helps people understand how horrible war can be.

  ‘The terrible thing was how young they all were. I was a grown man, nearly forty-four, but everyone in my company was half my age or younger. Some of them were younger than the senior boys in your school I saw playing rugby yesterday. I even met a few lads from rugby clubs who had joined up together as if it was some exciting away game they were going to.

  ‘I didn’t see much action, as I was mortally wounded on the second day of fighting, but I still saw some terrible sights.’

  Dave went on to tell Eoin the grim story of his last day on the battlefield, and about all the friends he saw die in the misery of the trenches.

  ‘And all those young lads, every one of them cried out for their mother as they died,’ he sighed.

  By the time he had finished, his ghostly eyes were wet and rimmed with red. Eoin, too, fought with his emotions.

  ‘Have you enough there, son?’ asked the Anzac hero.

  ‘I think so, thank you very much for telling me all about it. It’s a very sad story,’ replied Eoin.

  ‘It is indeed, and I don’t think anyone learned from our sacrifice either,’ he added, with a grimace. ‘Since then, the world seems to have been full of war and misery …’

  CHAPTER 22

  Castlerock won their first four games of the season quite easily, and Mr McRae’s hunch about switching Eoin and Richie proved to be a stroke of genius. Both players upped their game and already Mr McCaffrey was licking his lips about some more silverware heading for his trophy cabinet.

  ‘I’ve been very impressed with your tactical kicking, Eoin,’ the headmaster told him one day in the playground. ‘You are blessed with a fine right foot, but even more importantly you seem to know just when a kick is what is needed. Keep working at it and you will become a very good rugby player indeed,’ he beamed.

  Eoin, who never knew how to accept praise, felt himself turning pink, especially when Rory and Alan came up alongside.

  ‘I was just telling Madden here that he has a splendid knack as a kicking out-half, as well as off the ground,’ said Mr McCaffrey. ‘But that’s enough about rugby; how are your projects coming along gentlemen?’

  The boys all muttered ‘fine’, but the headmaster pressed Eoin further.

  ‘I’m fascinated by your choice of subject – something like that could well appeal to the judges in the competition. I do hope you all work at your projects as it could bring enormous glory on yourselves, as well as the school. And of course that marvellous prize …’

  Mr McCaffrey was called away and the boys sighed in relief.

  ‘You don’t seem to be able to do anything wrong at the moment, Eoin,’ grinned Rory. ‘A foss-inating choice of sob-ject,’ he chuckled, impersonating the headmaster.

  ‘Leave it out, Rory, it’s not my fault he finds my project so excellent,’ sniggered Eoin. ‘It’s certainly better than “Road signs of South Dublin, 1950-2000”, or whatever it is you’re doing.’

  Rory looked sheepish. ‘Ah look, history isn’t my subject at all – and I found a deadly website that has done all the work on it.’

  ‘You’d better not get caught,’ Alan warned. ‘Mr Lawson doesn’t seem to be much crack, and if McCaffrey finds out you’ll be in serious trouble.’

  ‘Ah sure, I’m only doing it because I have to,’ laughed Rory. ‘I don’t expect to get picked to go to the RDS. I don’t want to be spending all my time there stuck at a stand answering boring questions – I want to be around the hall having the crack with the young ladies.’

  The boys wandered back to class.

  ‘Is Dylan still blanking you?’ Eoin asked Rory.

  ‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘But I’m not too worried.’

  ‘Ah, look, he’s not a bad lad at all,’ said Eoin. ‘He’s a bit chippy, but he’s decent. I hope you can sort it out.’

  ‘It won’t be sorted until I break my leg and he gets my No. 9 shirt,’ said Rory. ‘I’m not bragging, but I’m playing really well this year and there’s no doubt the extra competition is the reason why.’

  Eoin agreed, and took his seat for Mr Lawson’s history class.

  The teacher handed Eoin some print-outs about Dave Gallaher and they discussed how his project was going.

  ‘Photographs are important too, and any memorabilia you can lay your hands on,’ he told Eoin. ‘That’s not going to happen easily with a subject from the wrong side of the world and nearly a hundred years dead, but have a look on the internet for some pictures anyway.’

  He addressed the whole class. ‘Next week is half-term, and I don’t expect you to spend all your free time working on the project – but I do want to see some progress when we meet again on Monday week. Spend an afternoon or two on it, and you won’t be rushing as the deadline approaches.’

  As they left the classroom, Eoin caught up with Dylan.

  ‘Hi, Dyl, how are you getting home tonight?’ he asked. ‘My dad is collecting me and he’ll be on his own so there’ll be plenty of room. I rang him last night and he said it would be OK.’

  Dylan looked at him with darkened eyes.

  ‘I’ll be fine, Madden, don’t you worry about me,’ he snarled.

  Eoin backed off. ‘OK, I just thought you might be stuck. The bus would be no fun tonight in this weather.’

  Dylan turned his back on Eoin and stormed off towards the dormitory.

  CHAPTER 23

  Eoin’s dad was a bit surprised to hear that Dylan wasn’t taking a lift home to Ormondstown, but decided to lay off the subject when he saw Eoin’s reaction.

  On the way down they discussed how the term had gone, and Eoin explained about his history project.

  ‘Gosh, that sounds very interesting. It’s funny, I’ve never been that interested in rugby, but Dave Gallaher is a name I do remember hearing,’ said his dad.

  ‘Well Mr Finn said that Grandad knew something about him. I’ll have a chat with him over the weekend,’ said Eoin.

  As they neared Ormondstown, Eoin decided to broach the subject of his classmate once again.

  ‘Dad, have you ever heard anything around town about Dylan or his family. He’s blanked me recently for no reason, and he refused to take a lift tonight. There’s something not quite right there – he’s not a bad lad at all, but he flies off the handle when he doesn’t get his way …’

  ‘I’m not sure, Eoin,’ replied his father, ‘Families are funny things at times, and I’m not sure Dylan’s is the happiest. I’ll try to get to the bottom of it, but remember – it isn’t something he’d thank you for getting involved in. You should seek him out this week for a kick-about and see what comes of it.’

  Eoin’s mum was outside the house when the car pulled up. She hugged her son and fussed over him as she helped him carry his bags inside.

  ‘You’ve lost weight, Eoin. Are you eating properly? I hope you’re not training too hard.’

  ‘Ah, Mum, I’m fine,’ he shrugged. ‘I’ve never studied as hard as I’ve done this year. I’ve even brought my History project home with me for the mid-term break.’

  His mother clasped her hands together in delight, before stepping back and looking at him suspiciously.

  ‘Is that some sort of punishment …?’

  ‘NO! I’ve entered the Young Historian of the Year competition and I’m really enjoying it. And Mr Finn says Grandad might be able to help me with it too.’

  His mother beamed at him. ‘That’s lovely, he’d really enjoy that. He said he would call up this evening – as soon as he heard you were coming home.’

  Sure enough, Dixie was delighted to see Eoin, and was full of questions about life at Castlerock College. He had been a very good rugby player in his youth, but had given up the game in tragic circumstances.

  ‘Tell Grandad about
your project, Eoin. Didn’t you say he might be able to help?’ asked his mother.

  ‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Eoin.

  He explained about the competition, and how he had seen the photo of the old New Zealand team in the Aviva Stadium, and how he hit upon the idea of studying one of their players for the project.

  ‘And which one of the players was that?’ quizzed his grandad.

  ‘A man called Dave––’

  ‘––Gallaher!’ his grandad completed the name. ‘Well isn’t that interesting! And yes, I suppose I can help you with that, in a small way.’

  ‘How’s that?’ asked Eoin. ‘He died long before you were born?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t that long,’ laughed Dixie, ‘maybe twenty-five years or so!

  ‘No, I obviously never met him or got to see him play, but I met someone who did meet him. It was an old priest who came to see me after your grandmother died. He was a fair age, and we got talking about rugby. He didn’t know much about it, but said he had once met a man who had captained the All Blacks.

  ‘This priest was a chaplain during the First World War and saw some terrible sights in the trenches. He told me that one day he was visiting a field hospital where he was brought into a tent to give the last rites to a group of men who had been badly injured that day.

  ‘He told me he was tending to one poor soul who was clearly close to death when he read his dog tags and realised who the man was. The priest said that he prayed over him to help him on his way, and then moved on to the next wounded soldier. ‘Do you know who that is on the next table?’ he asked the soldier. ‘That’s Dave Gallaher, captain of the 1905 All Blacks’. The priest said that he often thought of how sad it was that such an obviously remarkable man had his life cut short by war. He even gave me a copy of a poem that a friend of his, another chaplain, wrote about that very subject. I’ll dig it out for you if I can.’

  ‘That’s a sad story, Grandad,’ said Eoin. ‘Can I use it in my project? Do you remember the priest’s name?’

  ‘Of course you can use it – I’ll try to remember a few more details – and the priest? Was his name Fitzpatrick? Something like that … Fitz, Fitz, Fitzgerald – that’s who it was. Father Edward Fitzgerald.’

  CHAPTER 24

  Monday morning was wet and miserable in Tipperary, so Eoin decided to get the project work out of the way so he could have a nice break for the rest of the week. He set out all the information he had gleaned, and wrote up his grandad’s anecdote about the death of Dave Gallaher. He would need to seek out the old player’s ghost again, as he was still missing some parts of his story.

  The day went quickly and when the rain cleared away Eoin decided to go out for a run. He jogged down to the GAA club to see if his old pals were around, but the only person to be seen was Barney who was fixing the goal nets.

  ‘How are you, Barney?’ hailed Eoin. ‘The opposition must have been cracking them in at the weekend if you have to fix those!’ he joked.

  ‘Arra, sure, we hammered them. A shower from down the county, wouldn’t know much about hurling down there,’ the old groundsman replied. ‘How are you getting on up in Dublin? I heard you were getting good at the rugby.’

  ‘Ah, where did you hear that Barney?’

  ‘Well now, your grandfather comes down to me nearly every day for a chat. He’s very fond of you, you know. He said you remind him of how he used to play the game. He was a bit of a rugby player himself, I think.’

  ‘He was indeed. He could have played for Ireland, they say,’ replied Eoin.

  ‘And sure maybe you will some day,’ said Barney ‘Unless you stick with the football and hurling of course!’

  Eoin laughed and jogged away, happy to see one of the characters of his hometown. It was people like Barney that he missed when he was away. The faces and places he took for granted while growing up were precious now he was living in Dublin for most of the year.

  He was shaken out of his thoughts as he turned the corner into the main street, because there standing outside the newsagents with two other boys was Dylan.

  ‘Howya, Dyl. Did you get down OK that night?’ he asked.

  Dylan stopped talking to his pals and turned towards Eoin.

  ‘I was fine. What’s it to you?’ he replied.

  ‘All right, have it like that if you want,’ Eoin came back, ‘but you have no argument with me. Give me a shout if you want to sort it out. I’ll be down the Gaels in the morning.’

  He jogged off up the street, still perplexed as to why Dylan had such a problem with him. He wasn’t too impressed with the company he was keeping either. The Moylan brothers were the cause of most of the trouble in Eoin’s primary-school class before he left for Dublin.

  When Eoin got home, his mum and dad were waiting for him. His dad had a serious face, and Eoin suddenly felt concerned when he sat down.

  ‘What’s wrong, is it Grandad?’ he asked.

  ‘No, no, nothing like that at all,’ his mother said. ‘Your dad met one of his fishing pals today and he had some interesting information to tell him.’

  ‘My fishing pal is the local Garda Superintendent during the week,’ explained his dad. ‘I asked him about Dylan and he was telling me that he has come to their attention recently.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Eoin. ‘But how? He’s been in Dublin since September …’

  ‘He’s not in any trouble,’ said Mr Madden, ‘well not with the Guards anyway. It seems Eoin’s father is a “major gangland figure” as they say on the television news. His mother is a good woman, however, and she walked out on him one day and took Dylan and his little sister with her. He has one older brother who has already been in prison and his mother was terrified that Dylan would join him there. Dylan isn’t even his real name, and nor is Coonan. They’ve been moving around, trying to keep one step ahead of the father who is very keen to have him back.

  ‘Now, you must never breathe a word of this to anyone, and certainly don’t let on to Dylan that you know,’ warned his father. ‘But I think it would be the right thing to do to make up with him and try to be his friend. He’s had a hard life and he needs good pals.’

  Eoin was stunned at this news, which certainly explained some of Dylan’s behaviour and that strange phone conversation in the dormitory. He agreed that he would try to sort his differences with Dylan.

  CHAPTER 25

  Eoin didn’t bump into his classmate around town all week; on Friday afternoon he decided to call around to his house. He knew the street Dylan lived on, but didn’t know the number, so he called into the newsagent on the corner.

  ‘I’m sorry, do you know where the Coonans live, please?’ he asked.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ replied the assistant, suspiciously.

  ‘I’m in school with Dylan,’ Eoin replied.

  ‘Up in Dublin?’ she countered.

  ‘Yeah. I play Gaelic with him as well …’

  ‘OK, you must be Eoin Madden so. They’re in number six, two doors down. Knock twice on the window and then on the door,’ she told him.

  Eoin was a bit surprised at the rigmarole involved in calling to Dylan, but slowly realised it might have been something to do with what his father had learned.

  He did as the shop assistant had said, and the door was opened by a girl a little bit younger than him with red hair. She looked him up and down and asked him his name.

  ‘Eoin Madden,’ he replied. ‘I’m in school with Dylan.’

  ‘Ah, I’ve heard a bit about you. He’s upstairs on the computer. I’m Caoimhe.’

  She called up to her brother, and shrugged her shoulders when he grunted his reply.

  ‘Have you any sisters?’ Caoimhe asked Eoin.

  Eoin was a bit taken aback. ‘Eh, no,’ he spluttered. ‘No brothers either.’

  ‘I was just wondering,’ she replied. ‘I know nearly all the girls in the convent school and there’s none called Madden.’

  ‘How do you like the school?’ he asked.


  ‘Ah, it’s all right,’ Caoimhe replied. ‘I’d talk to anyone, but some of them are a bit snooty. There’s a good library there though. I prefer books to kids most of the time.’

  They chatted for a couple of minutes more before Dylan finally came down stairs.

  ‘All right, Eoin, what’s up?’ he asked.

  ‘Howya, Dylan, you want to go for a run?’ asked Eoin.

  ‘Nah, I’m busy,’ said Dylan.

  A woman came into the hallway. ‘Come on now, Dyl, you’ve been up there for hours. A bit of air will do you good. I need milk and bread, too.’

  She handed Dylan a five euro note and held open the front door. ‘OK, Mum,’ he growled.

  The boys wandered down the street silently, before Eoin eventually broke the ice.

  ‘Look, Dyl, I had nothing to do with you not being picked, but you can choose not to believe that if you want. I’m not your enemy, and I even thought I was your friend. That school can be a rough place for a new boy – I had a few problems myself there last year – but it’s a lot easier if you’re hanging around with a good bunch of lads.’

  ‘I am,’ said Dylan. ‘Richie and his crew are decent enough.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t see much of that myself, but even so it’s pointless to keep blanking the rest of us in the dorm.’

  Dylan stayed silent for another minute, before he stopped and turned to look at Eoin.

  ‘OK, I’ve been a bit of a brat, I suppose, but it’s hard to fit in there,’ Dylan started. ‘You’re such a legend already in Castlerock. I know I’m a good scrum-half – and I’m probably better than Rory – but because I’m new I have to be twice as good as everyone else to get a look in.’

  Eoin nodded. ‘I know, and I had a bit of that myself last year. But acting like a spoilt brat only reduces your chances of getting in. You need to work at it, maybe even switch positions – there might be a slot on the wing now Shane has a dodgy ankle.’