The Guns of Easter

by Gerard Whelan

  ‘Let her sleep,’ Ma said. ‘I’ll give her something later.’

  She stood up and rubbed her eyes. She still looked tired. She went over to the table to pour some tea, and then she saw the tins.

  ‘Jimmy!’ she said. ‘Where did these come from?’ Her voice wasn’t sharp or suspicious, only surprised. Faltering, Jimmy explained. His face grew red, and he stopped several times during the story. But Ma didn’t give out to him when she heard it; instead, she hugged him close. ‘Oh, Jimmy!’ she said, ‘you’re a brave lad and a good one.’

  ‘I didn’t know what to do,’ he said. ‘I knew it was wrong to take it, but it was wrong to leave you here with no food too.’

  ‘Hush!’ Ma said, hugging him tighter. ‘You were brave, Jimmy. Brave and good.’ She tried to explain. ‘Jimmy,’ she said, ‘you know it’s wrong to shoot at people.’

  Jimmy was puzzled. ‘Yeh,’ he said.

  ‘But your father is in the army, and he shoots at people. And now Mick is out fighting, and maybe he’ll have to shoot at people too.’

  ‘But that’s different …’ He stopped. It was a complicated matter. He didn’t have the words to express himself.

  ‘Sometimes,’ his mother said, ‘taking things that aren’t yours is the same. It’s wrong. But you knew it would be more wrong to leave us with no food while this lay thrown away in the street.’

  Jimmy saw that she understood. He nodded enthusiastically. Ma stood up, laughing almost gaily. Jimmy knew that she was doing it to reassure him. She made a great show of reading the labels on the cans.

  ‘Excellent pressed tongue, indeed! Maybe we won’t be eating much for the next few days, Jimmy,’ she said, ‘but we’ll be eating very fancy stuff.’

  ‘I’ll bring one of these tins up to Mrs Doyle,’ she went on. ‘She has a bit more food than we do, but she has our Josie up there as well as her own.’ She examined the tinned food again. ‘We’re not too badly off at all.’ It was a lie, but Jimmy knew that Ma thought keeping his spirits up was more important.

  Jimmy, though, wasn’t cheered. A few cans of food and a couple of stale sandwiches from Mick wouldn’t last long, and there was no way of knowing how long it would be before they would get anything else.

  So far the British had made no serious effort to force the Volunteers out of Sackville Street, but that wouldn’t last. The army would attack and the rebels would fight. When that happened, Jimmy and his family would be in the middle of a battlefield.

  Things couldn’t be like this all over the city. He was sure of that. There didn’t seem to be a huge number of rebels. They would defend the places they’d taken over, but other parts of Dublin might be calm. Shops might be open and people able to move around in safety.

  Jimmy thought about his aunt Ella. He would bet on it that there’d be food in Ella’s house. But Mick had warned him not to go there. If the rebels did attack the barracks at Beggar’s Bush, then Northumberland Road where Ella lived would indeed be dangerous. But thinking about Ella, about the four pounds that she had kept, made Jimmy angry. It made him so angry that danger didn’t seem to matter very much. It would be dangerous here too, when the army finally attacked the Post Office.

  There were only two things that could be done, Jimmy thought. Either his family must get away from here, or they must get money or food from Ella. Getting away was impossible: Sarah couldn’t be moved. Besides, they’d nowhere to go. With money they might find lodgings in some safer part of the city, but without money it would be hopeless. Certainly there was no question of them going to Ella: Charlie Fox would have no pity on them. Ella would hardly welcome them either – she’d never even asked them to tea.

  The only thing to do was to go to Ella’s for money or food, and if someone had to go to Ella’s, then that someone must be Jimmy. But Ma would never agree. There was only one thing for it. He’d have to deceive her. Nothing could be worse than the position that his family was in now. Anything that helped them had to be right.

  Jimmy’s mind was made up.

  PART THREE: THE CITY AT WAR

  12

  THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING JIMMY WOKE EARLY. He heard no movement. In the half-light he saw that Ma and Sarah were still asleep, their heads on the same pillow. Sarah had slept through most of yesterday, but had woken for long enough to eat some soup from one of Jimmy’s tins. It was the first food she’d had for days, a sign that her fever had lessened.

  Jimmy got up quietly now. He heard no sounds outside. He didn’t hesitate: he was afraid that if he did he wouldn’t go at all. He’d feel too guilty, thinking of Ma’s worry. He wished he could leave her a note, but they had no pens or pencils and he couldn’t think what he might say.

  He crept to the door and turned the handle. It made no noise. As soon as the gap was wide enough he squeezed out through it and closed the door quietly behind him.

  It wasn’t fully light. The hall and stairs were still dark. There was a drunk asleep on the landing, but Jimmy skipped over him lightly and continued on his way. Outside he saw no-one, just one more huddled form snoring by some railings.

  Jimmy looked mistrustfully at the sky. It had rained yesterday evening, and he hoped it wouldn’t rain again today. The thin, worn jacket that he was wearing was his only coat. His head felt a bit odd, and he hoped that he hadn’t caught Sarah’s fever. That would be a disaster.

  Sackville Street was deserted. Most of the roadway and pavement were covered with broken and abandoned loot. It made a thick layer that had been soaked by the rain and then trampled underfoot.

  ‘What are you doing here, boy?’ The voice came from behind him. Jimmy jumped in fright and whirled around.

  A Volunteer carrying a rifle was looking at him from the recess of a shop doorway. The man’s face was white, his eyes rimmed with dark circles. He looked exhausted.

  ‘Well?’ the Volunteer demanded. ‘Are you deaf? I said what are you doing here? Looking for something to steal, is it? You’re too late, your mates have already taken it all.’ His voice was sour under the tiredness.

  ‘I’m doing nothing,’ Jimmy said. He swallowed. ‘I just came to see what was happening. I was afraid the British might be here.’

  The young Volunteer smiled, but it was a bitter smile. ‘They are,’ he said. He gestured up Sackville Street with his rifle. ‘Look for yourself. They haven’t started shooting yet, but they’re here all right.’

  Jimmy stared up Sackville Street. There were figures moving about near the Parnell Monument at the top of the street. Jimmy could just make out the khaki of their uniforms.

  ‘They came during the night,’ the young Volunteer said. ‘It’s swarming with them up there – and down the other end too, beyond the river. They took our positions around the City Hall.’

  ‘City Hall? I heard there was shooting down that way yesterday.’

  ‘There was plenty of that. I’m sure the Citizen Army gave them a lot to worry about.’

  ‘I’ve an uncle in the Citizen Army,’ Jimmy said. ‘He’s in the Green.’

  The young Volunteer’s face softened. ‘An uncle, eh?’ he said. ‘And are you proud of him, boy?’

  ‘’Course I am,’ Jimmy said without hesitation.

  The man nodded in approval. ‘The Green is empty now,’ he said finally. ‘The British brought machine-guns up yesterday. Mallin took the men into the College of Surgeons. There’s nobody now in the Green but the dead.’

  The dead. The words hit Jimmy like a slap in the face. Was Mick one of those dead in the Green? Was he lying there now, with his arms stretched out like the young Lancer in Sackville Street on Monday?

  ‘I have to get across the river,’ he said to the young rebel. ‘Would I get over O’Connell Bridge?’

  The young man pondered. ‘No,’ he said. ‘The shooting will start in earnest soon. They’ll attack today.’

  ‘And … will they drive you out?’ Again Jimmy blushed, aware that his question was two-edged. He did not want th
e British to drive them out, but if the army did dislodge the rebels from Sackville Street then the fighting would move somewhere else and his family would be safe.

  The Volunteer pointed towards the Post Office. ‘Look at that place,’ he said. ‘It’s like a fortress. They’d need artillery to get us out – that or a very hard fight.’

  He seemed to come to life now. He put the butt of his rifle on the ground, and leaned on the barrel. ‘If you have to cross the river,’ he said, ‘it might be safer down at Tara Street. You can cut down by the quays. Don’t go near Amiens Street, though; the British are there too. See what’s going on around Liberty Hall. If it’s quiet there you’ll be grand.’

  ‘But won’t the army attack Liberty Hall?’

  ‘They can if they like, but there’s nobody there.’

  He stretched and yawned. Jimmy wondered if he’d been keeping watch from the doorway all night.

  ‘I must go,’ said the Volunteer. He reached into his pocket and felt for something. He held out a slab of chocolate. ‘Here,’ he said.

  Jimmy took the chocolate. He’d had nothing to eat since yesterday. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered.

  The Volunteer walked carefully to the corner and looked up and down Sackville Street. He gave Jimmy a last smile. ‘Good luck, son,’ he said, and ran out into the street.

  Jimmy watched the young man go. He didn’t run in a straight line, but zigzagged after every few yards. Jimmy heard several flat cracks that must be rifles. They sounded different from the rebel guns.

  None of the bullets hit the young man. He crossed Sackville Street safely and disappeared into Prince’s Street.

  Jimmy looked again towards O’Connell Bridge, then back up towards the army. He would try Butt Bridge, as the Volunteer had suggested. It was the next bridge downriver. All Jimmy had to do was avoid the larger streets as he worked his way towards it. That would be simple enough; he knew the backstreets and alleyways like the back of his hand.

  With a last look at the Post Office, Jimmy went back down Abbey Street. It was time to enter enemy territory.

  13

  THE BRITISH ARMY

  NORMALLY IT WASN’T MUCH MORE than a five-minute walk down Abbey Street to Beresford Place, where the bridge crossed the Liffey between Liberty Hall and the mass of the Customs House. Today, though, it took Jimmy more than twice that long to get there. He went slowly and very carefully, all the time feeling that he was being watched. He couldn’t see anybody, but there might be Volunteers in some of the Abbey Street houses. The British were close by as well; maybe they too were sending men into houses, closing in on the rebel positions.

  Jimmy didn’t like feeling watched, so he took to the backstreets. After a few steps into Old Abbey Street he saw an overcoat lying in the gutter. It was a bit stained from lying in the street, but otherwise it seemed brand new. Maybe someone carrying a bundle of stolen clothes had dropped it without noticing.

  It looked as if it had come from the boys’ department of some fancy shop. Jimmy took a quick look around him, but saw nobody. He bent and picked up the coat, and quickly put it on. It was too big for him, but fitted better over his jacket. He decided to keep it. He might be away for a long time, and the coat would keep him dry if the rain came again.

  Just behind Liberty Hall, Jimmy walked carefully out into Beresford Place. He saw nothing moving on either side of the river. To his left was the great bulk of the Customs House. Ahead was the river itself, the Liffey, crossed here by Butt Bridge and the overhead railway bridge.

  The whole area was unnaturally quiet and empty. Jimmy was suddenly afraid, for no good reason that he could see. Maybe it was just the idea of crossing the river. He stepped out into Beresford Place, heading for the bridge.

  Movement on the river caught his eye, and he looked down the Liffey. A boat was steaming up towards the bridge. Jimmy quickened his pace. The sooner he got across the river, the better he would feel.

  Every step across the bridge seemed to take a very long time. He swung his arms by his sides. He wanted it to be clear to anybody looking that he was just a defenceless boy minding his own business. He had no gun. He wasn’t dangerous. There was no reason for anyone to shoot him.

  In the still morning air he heard a clatter of metal on stone from behind him. He looked casually over his shoulder, and suddenly noticed men looking out from the roof of the Customs House. They wore military caps and carried rifles. They were the British army and he was walking right under their guns!

  ‘You there!’ roared a voice. ‘Boy!’ For the second time that morning Jimmy’s heart skipped a beat. He stopped, uncertain, then looked over to Burgh Quay on the other side of the river, where the call had come from. A man was staring at him. He had a very red face.

  ‘Get off that bridge, quick!’ he roared at Jimmy. ‘Come on! Get over here!’ The man had a Northern Irish accent. There was urgency as well as command in his voice, and Jimmy found himself obeying. He ran towards Burgh Quay, his eyes fixed on the red face.

  The man’s eyes glared at him. ‘Come here!’ he ordered. He was a soldier. He reached out and grabbed Jimmy’s arm, and flung the boy to the ground.

  ‘What have we here, then?’ he growled. ‘A little rebel spy, is it?’ He was a big man and he wore sergeant’s stripes. Two soldiers were with him. The sergeant gripped Jimmy’s arm tightly and he gasped with pain.

  Fear and pain made Jimmy dumb. He shook his head, helpless. Then came the most frightening sound that he had ever heard in his life. It was a great, roaring boom, as though all the fireworks in the world had gone off at once. It came from close by, and was followed almost immediately by a huge metallic shrieking clang. Jimmy heard himself whimpering in terror. The soldiers, even the sergeant, had flinched too.

  One of the younger soldiers looked down the quay, and someone down there shouted something to him. ‘Stupid swine,’ said the soldier amiably. ‘They hit the railway bridge.’

  The sergeant swore. ‘Trust the bloody navy,’ he said bitterly.

  Jimmy felt himself grow suddenly cold inside. It was no longer just fear for himself. He knew now what was going on: the boat on the river was a British Navy boat. The British were shelling Dublin city!

  The sergeant pulled Jimmy up until his face was only inches from his own. The sergeant’s face was hard and rough, with a scar high on one cheek. His bright blue eyes bored into Jimmy’s.

  ‘Well?’ he said. ‘What’s your business here?’

  ‘Please, sir,’ said Jimmy. ‘My Ma sent me out to look for food. There’s none on the northside.’

  The sergeant still stared suspiciously into Jimmy’s eyes. Jimmy almost whimpered again. This man, now, did look like an enemy.

  ‘Oh, come off it, sergeant,’ said one of the other two soldiers. ‘He’s just a kid. He’s no rebel – anyone can see that.’ The soldier also had an Ulster accent, but his voice was soft and kindly.

  The sergeant grunted thoughtfully. His face relaxed. His grip on Jimmy’s arm relaxed a little too. ‘You say there’s no food up there, eh?’ he asked.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Jimmy quickly. ‘Not a scrap. The shops were all looted. My sister is sick and my Ma is afraid to go out and leave her.’

  ‘Looting, eh?’ said the third soldier. ‘Damned rebels!’

  Jimmy wanted to shout at the small, thin-faced soldier that it certainly wasn’t the rebels who’d been looting, that the Volunteers had actually tried to stop it. But he kept silent, afraid of giving his sympathies away. Help came, though, from an unexpected quarter.

  ‘You ever been in them slums up there, Proctor?’ the sergeant asked.

  ‘No, sergeant,’ said the thin-faced soldier.

  The sergeant grunted in scorn. ‘Then, you don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘They’re the filthiest slums in Europe – even worse than the ones you come from, Proctor. It’s a disgrace to make people live like that.’

  The thin man’s face flushed, but he said nothing.

  ‘If the
re was looting,’ the sergeant said, ‘then it was them poor people up there that did it – and more power to them, I say. I’m only surprised they never did it before.’

  There was another tremendous boom that caught all of them by surprise. It was followed almost immediately by the sound of rending masonry, and by a loud cheer from many voices.

  ‘That sounds a bit better,’ said Proctor, who seemed glad to change the subject.

  ‘Please, sergeant,’ said Jimmy. ‘Where are they shelling? My family is back there.’

  The sergeant looked at him, tight-lipped. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Well, if the navy can shoot at all then your family should be fine. They’re firing at Liberty Hall.’

  ‘But it’s empty!’ Jimmy exclaimed. His words were drowned out by a rattle of machine-gun fire. The sergeant peered out over the top of the crate he was using for shelter.

  ‘Here, Martin,’ he said. ‘Get this kid out of here. We can’t have children wandering around with a fight about to start.’

  Private Martin smiled at Jimmy. ‘Right, young fellow,’ he said. ‘You come with me.’

  ‘Get him a cup of tea or something,’ said the sergeant gruffly. ‘He looks as if he could do with it.’

  Jimmy’s efforts to think of these men as enemies were beginning to weaken – enemies didn’t give you cups of tea.

  Martin beckoned Jimmy to follow him and moved across the road, crouched down and running. Jimmy almost told him not to worry, that there was nobody shooting at him. But the world had turned so strange that he was afraid to tell anyone anything.

  14

  THE FRIENDLY ENEMY

  WHEN HE FOLLOWED THE DODGING SOLDIER into Tara Street Jimmy got yet another shock. There was a mass of khaki figures by the fire station at the bottom of the street. He would have seen them from the bridge if the sergeant hadn’t distracted him.

  ‘What’s your name, lad?’ Martin asked. He was walking upright now that they were out of danger from the imagined guns.