Today was Spy Wednesday – a name that Emer loved – and Sister Assumpta had given the girls a really dull Easter talk about Judas and his betrayal of Jesus to the Pharisees. Emer had wondered what made Judas do it, which was the kind of thing that Miss Clarke might have turned into a fascinating discussion. Sister Assumpta didn’t engage in discussion, however, and had simply lectured the girls.
As if to illustrate their differing styles, Miss Clarke now asked the class, ‘Who can give me an example of a recent change that in time will seem historic?’
‘Women in Norway getting the vote, Miss?’ said Joan.
‘Excellent example. Anyone else?’
‘The new rule that says women replacing men in factories must be paid the same rate as men?’ suggested Emer.
‘Interesting choice, Emer,’ said Miss Clarke. ‘But there’s a condition, isn’t there? They get equal pay provided the work is of the same quality as was previously done by the men. Does that seem fair to you, Emer?’
‘Eh, yes, Miss, I suppose so.’
‘And yet when only men did the work, some did it well, and others no doubt did it badly. But they all got paid the same. No-one thought to say that only men doing quality work should get the going rate. So while it is a historical development, maybe it’s not quite as progressive as it seems.’
Emer loved the way Miss Clarke made you question things like this, and she watched with interest as Joan raised her hand again.
‘Cancelling the Olympics until the war is over would count as historic, wouldn’t it, Miss?’ said Joan.
‘Yes, I think so. Are you in favour of that, Joan?’
‘Well, my dad says it’s only right.’
‘A view to which he’s entitled. But what do you think, Joan?’
‘Well … I suppose it wouldn’t be fair on the soldiers to go ahead without them. Not when they’re suffering so much away at the front.’
Miss Clarke and the class discussed the merits of this, and Emer grew reflective. The front to which Joan referred was the Western Front in France and Belgium, but Emer feared that there might soon be a front right here in Dublin. Her father was scheduled for three days of manoeuvres over the Easter weekend, and Emer had picked up on hints from her parents’ conversations that the Volunteers might be preparing for armed conflict. It was exhilarating to think of the Volunteers fighting for Irish freedom, but scary that Dad could get hurt – or even killed – in the process.
‘Emer?’ said Miss Clarke, bringing her out of her reverie. ‘Are we boring you?’
‘No, Miss.’
‘You looked like you were miles away.’
‘No, Miss, I’m really interested in what makes history,’ she said. Then she put the Volunteers from her mind and sat up attentively.
‘Who can tell me what a tercentenary is?’ asked Brother McGill.
Jack looked in surprise at his desk mate, Gerry Quinn, who had raised his hand. Normally Gerry didn’t shine during English class, but the school was breaking up for Easter holidays today so maybe he was feeling perkier than usual.
‘Is it the third anniversary of something, Brother?’ he said.
Brother McGill smiled condescendingly. ‘I think, Mr Quinn, you know more about horses and carts than the English language!’
Some of the boys laughed, wanting to win favour with the teacher, but Jack didn’t join in. Why couldn’t Giller see that it was mean to belittle Gerry on one of the rare occasions when he put himself forward?
‘Anyone else know?’ asked the teacher.
Phelim O’Connell raised his hand. ‘Is it the three-hundredth anniversary of something, Brother?’
‘Maith an fear, Phelim!’ said Brother McGill approvingly. ‘Maith an fear. And does anybody know whose tercentenary falls around now?’
Jack knew the answer, but he was still annoyed at Giller, so he didn’t raise his hand. Although Gerry hadn’t reacted outwardly to the brother’s comments, Jack sensed that his feelings had been hurt. On the other hand Jack was aware that Gerry really disliked Phelim, so anything that undermined Phelim as teacher’s pet would appeal to Gerry. Maybe he should answer before the other boy got a chance to shine again.
Jack raised his hand. ‘Shakespeare, sir,’ he said. ‘He died three hundred years ago this week.’
‘Shakespeare is right, Mr Madigan.’ Brother McGill looked at his pupils and smirked. ‘“The Bard of Avon”, as he’s referred to on our neighbouring isle,’ he added mockingly.
Jack didn’t really like Shakespeare – he found his old-fashioned English hard to understand – but if Brother McGill wanted to be an Irish nationalist, why couldn’t he just take pride in Irish writers, without mocking English playwrights like Shakespeare?
Jack couldn’t risk antagonising his teacher by saying so, but recently he had felt more at one than ever before with the British Empire. His cousin Ronnie had been awarded a medal for the action in which he had lost his leg, and his uncle Bertie was still on active service with the British Army. These facts combined with the news of last month’s Zeppelin air raids by the Germans, in which civilians had been killed, all made him root for an Allied victory and dislike the pettiness of Giller’s nationalism.
The war itself, however, had become terrifying, the losses so crippling that the government had brought in conscription in England. So far it had been resisted in Ireland, but who could tell when that might change? Jack had read in the paper that two million more women were working in the United Kingdom than a year ago, so things could change very quickly, and Da’s job as a policeman was no guarantee that he wouldn’t be called up.
But Easter was coming, and on Good Friday he would go to church and do the Stations of the Cross. He would pray for a speedy end to the war. And if that wasn’t possible, he would pray that Da wasn’t conscripted, that Uncle Bertie stayed safe and that Ronnie continued to recover from his wounds. Buoyed by the thought, Jack gave Gerry a conspiratorial nod, then he pretended to be interested as Brother McGill continued the class.
Chapter Eighteen
Emer’s stomach was tight with tension, and her mouth felt dry. It was Easter Sunday night. Her mouth had felt dry earlier in the day too, when she had gorged on chocolate Easter eggs. Now, though, one part of her was excited and another part frightened as she listened to her father, his voice unusually serious as he gave Mam a series of instructions.
Her parents were talking in the kitchen, but the door was ajar. Emer was eavesdropping unashamedly in the hall, rooted to the spot by her father’s revelations.
It seemed that the Volunteers’ three days of manoeuvres were a ruse to fool the British authorities, and an armed uprising was going to take place tomorrow. Dad had explained that it was originally planned for today but had been postponed until tomorrow morning.
Dad had withdrawn a large sum of money from the bank, on the basis that there might be chaos in the aftermath of an uprising. Now he was giving Mam instructions about closing their two grocery shops for the coming week but paying the staff their wages.
‘How soon will we re-open, Eamon?’ asked Mam, her voice strained.
‘We can review it after a week. If I’m still in action, or taken prisoner, it will be your decision. But if the city is in chaos, stay closed until things calm down.’
‘Right.’
‘And if anything, err on the side of caution.’
‘But you won’t be doing that, will you?’ retorted Mam.
‘Come on, Molly,’ replied Dad gently. ‘Once I joined the Volunteers, we knew this day would come.’
‘I know. But don’t … don’t make a point of being a hero.’
Emer could hear the fear in her mother’s words. She felt frightened herself on Dad’s behalf, but his next words shocked her.
‘These are the tickets,’ he said to Mam. ‘I booked yourself and Emer on tomorrow’s twelve o’clock train to Ennis.’
No! thought Emer. There’s going to be a revolution in Dublin. I can’t miss out on it!
‘Dad!’ she said, suddenly opening the door and entering the kitchen. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing.’ That wasn’t strictly true, but it was no time for splitting hairs. ‘Please, don’t send me away. This is history happening. Mam and I will be safe here. Please don’t send us out of Dublin!’
Dad looked at her, his face deeply serious. ‘What I told Mam is top secret, Emer. Absolutely top secret. Lots of Volunteers know nothing about what we’re going to do tomorrow. Do you understand that?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘Be sure you do. And as for staying here, that’s out of the question.’
‘But, Dad–’
‘No buts! Civilians get killed in wars all the time, Emer.’
‘The war won’t be on our street.’
‘It could spread all over the city. Artillery or machine-gun fire doesn’t distinguish between soldiers and civilians. And even if there’s no fighting round here, maybe they’ll raid the homes of Volunteer officers. Maybe they’ll arrest family members.’
Emer hadn’t thought of that, and she struggled for an answer.
‘It’s for the best, pet,’ said Mam. ‘I don’t want to stay away from Dublin when Dad’s in danger. But it’s better for Dad, and for us, if he knows we’re safe in Ennis with Aunt May.’
‘You want to play your part, Emer, don’t you?’ asked Dad.
‘Yes.’
‘Then free me. Free me to fight for Ireland without having to worry about my family. Will you do that, Emer?’
She looked at her father, and with every fibre of her being she hated what he was asking of her. She imagined herself when she was old and her grandchildren queried what she did in the uprising of 1916. ‘Oh, I missed that. I left Dublin the day it started and stayed down in Ennis!’
‘Emer? Will you do that for me?’ Her father’s eyes bored into her, and she found it impossible to defy him.
‘OK,’ she said.
‘Good girl,’ answered Dad. ‘And like I said – not the faintest hint of this to a living soul. Not to anyone. All right?’
‘Right,’ said Emer, and she nodded in agreement. She was still frustrated at being sidelined but excited at the idea of the coming revolution.
Jack tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep. Even though he loved music, he hated the way a song sometimes went round and round in his head. His sister Mary had earned a lot of overtime at the munitions factory this week, and from her pay she had bought a gramophone record of the song ‘Down at the Old Bull and Bush’. Now its catchy melody played maddeningly in his head and wouldn’t allow Jack to drift off to sleep.
It had been an eventful day. Jack had gone to Mass for Easter Sunday with his family, then played football on the street, before dropping over to Gerry Quinn with a small Easter egg. Jack knew that Gerry’s uncle might not buy him any eggs, and Ma had suggested giving one to Gerry from the collection that Jack and his sisters had accumulated. Gerry had been grateful, and Jack had happily accepted in return a somewhat battered Hotspur annual as an Easter present, knowing that the gesture made Gerry feel more of an equal.
Jack had returned home for a big Easter Sunday dinner – a long-standing family tradition – at which Da made a toast and Ma gave thanks for their good fortune, offering up a prayer for Uncle Bertie’s safe-keeping and cousin Ronnie’s continued recovery from his amputation.
The war was still raging bloodily in Europe, however, and just two days ago the Royal Navy had successfully intercepted a ship off the coast of Kerry that was carrying arms for the Volunteers. The thought of the Volunteers made Jack’s racing mind shift to Emer. Soon they would be swimming again in the Tolka. He was grateful to her for the huge improvements he had made as a swimmer, and for being such a great friend. But while swimming in the river was something to look forward to, Emer’s father was a real source of worry to Jack. Lately Mr Davey had been very active with the Volunteers, and even though the Navy had prevented the recent shipment of arms from reaching them, the Volunteers had other weapons.
What would happen to Da – and other members of the unarmed DMP – if Mr Davey and the Volunteers decided to fight? It was a scary thought, and Jack struggled to dismiss it.
He shut his eyes tight and shifted to his other side, hoping that sleep would come and banish his fears.
Chapter Nineteen
Emer tried not to arouse her mother’s suspicions. What she was about to do would be the most daring act of her life, but she had to control her excitement and make Mam think that she was behaving normally. They were sitting together in the carriage of the twelve o’clock train that would take them from Dublin’s Kingsbridge Station to the safety of Ennis in County Clare.
The train was due to pull out any moment now, but Emer forced herself to sit still and not act too hastily. For her ruse to work she had to time things perfectly, and she hoped that she could pull off the required deceit.
She had decided last night that no matter what her parents said, she had to be in Dublin for the uprising. She made her plans accordingly but pretended to go along with the trip to Ennis. This morning Dad had gone to join his fellow rebels, and she and Mam had bade him a tearful goodbye, their fear for his well-being mingled with huge pride in his playing an active role in the rebellion.
Now Emer glanced out the carriage window at the station clock. One minute to go. She breathed out slowly to try to calm herself, and Mam looked enquiringly at her. ‘Are you all right, pet?’
‘Yes, Mam,’ she answered, striving to keep her voice normal. ‘Just … just excited for Dad, but nervous too.’ This was true, so it made sense to let Mam think that any nervousness stemmed from this.
‘I’m sure Dad will be fine,’ said Mam in a low voice that the other passengers couldn’t hear. ‘I’ve trusted him to Our Lady’s care, and we’ll both pray for him.’
Emer wasn’t as religious as her mother, but she nodded in agreement. ‘I’ll pray for him every day.’
Emer glanced out the window again, willing the clock onwards, but the seconds passed with frustrating slowness. A train guard moved along the platform with a green flag in his hand, and Emer realised that the time had come. She rose as casually as she could. ‘I’m going down to the toilet, Mam. Back in a while.’
‘All right, love.’
Emer felt a sudden stab of guilt, and on the spur of the moment she reached out and squeezed her mother’s arm.
Mam looked at her in mild surprise, but Emer forced herself to give a reassuring smile, then turned away and walked briskly along the aisle. She heard the slamming of carriage doors as the station staff began preparing for the train’s departure, and she realised that she needed to move quickly to deal with the conductor, whom she saw at the end of the next carriage. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a shilling coin and an envelope containing the letter she had written this morning. She had thought about what to write for a long time, but in the end she had kept it really simple.
Sorry to trick you, Mam, but today is a huge day in Irish history, and I have to stay and see it. Please, please don’t come back to Dublin for me – I won’t be staying at home, so there’s absolutely no point. But I will stay safe, and I promise to write to put your mind at ease and to tell you what I know about how Dad is doing. Please don’t be too cross with me, I just had to do this.
Your loving daughter,
Emer
Emer approached the conductor and handed him the letter. He was a gaunt, hungry-looking man, and as she had hoped, he instinctively reached out and took it. ‘Please deliver this for me,’ she said. ‘Two carriages up, the lady in seat twelve. She’s wearing a green dress and a fawn hat.’
The man looked at her in surprise, and Emer spoke quickly, wanting to get off the train before it pulled away. ‘It’s really important that you don’t give it to her for fifteen minutes.’
‘Look, I don’t know–’
‘I’ll give you a shilling,’ said Emer, cutting the man short. It was two weeks’ pocket money for Emer, and eve
n for an adult worker like the conductor, it would be a significant sum. ‘Please. All you have to do is wait fifteen minutes and then hand it to her.’
Emer heard a whistle and she knew the train was about to pull off.
‘What are you up to?’ said the man.
‘I have to leave. Please. Just give her the letter. Have we a deal?’
Emer heard a release of steam, then the train shuddered and she knew it was about to move off. ‘Come on, you’ll never make an easier shilling!’ she urged.
The man hesitated for another second, then suddenly took the money.
‘All right,’ he said.
‘Seat twelve – and wait fifteen minutes!’ said Emer, then she quickly turned to the carriage door and pulled down the handle. The door swung open, and Emer jumped down onto the platform just as the train began to move off.
‘What the hell are you at?’ cried the guard on the platform.
‘Sorry, change of plan!’ answered Emer, then she reached forward and slammed the door shut as the train began to move away.
The guard looked like he was about to protest, but Emer pointed behind him towards the engine. ‘I think he wants you!’ she cried.
The guard turned around, and while he was distracted Emer ran down the platform, then lost herself in the crowds milling about the station. Her heart was thumping, and she knew that eventually she would be in enormous trouble with her parents – but she didn’t care. Revolution was in the air, and she wasn’t going to miss out on it. Moving through the smoke-scented station, she made for the exit, then she stepped out into the bright sunshine and headed for the city centre, eager for her adventure to begin.
‘Have you heard?’ asked Joan, her eyes wide with excitement.
Jack and Ben had been playing with Ben’s cricket bat and a tennis ball at the sunlit corner of Ellesmere Avenue when their friend ran up to them. ‘Heard what?’ Jack said.
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