Taking Sides

by Brian Gallagher

  Peter was about to argue further but he stopped himself. He didn’t want to fall out with Tommy. They were good friends who played rugby and tennis together, went to school together – even went together to an Irish language club. You couldn’t say Tommy wasn’t up for the republic, or that he was cowardly. In fact he was as a brave a scrum-half as Peter had played rugby with – but he was a follower rather than a leader, and Peter knew that he wouldn’t change.

  Besides, it might be wise not to show his own hand too much. If he was going to pursue his plan to get involved in the conflict, maybe it would be better to keep some things to himself. But how could he get involved? He had thought of going down to the Four Courts and asking to talk to some of the men occupying the buildings, but they would almost certainly treat him as a kid and not take him seriously. He would have to think of something, but for now it might be best to keep things normal with Tommy.

  ‘Will we go down to Nugent’s Field and light a fire?’ he suggested. ‘I can get some sausages.’

  ‘Great!’ said Tommy, sitting up enthusiastically, the conversation about the rebels already put behind him.

  Peter was glad he hadn’t taken the argument further with his friend. Tommy always avoided conflict, but other people had much stronger views, and as they made their way across the sunlit meadow, Peter knew that serious trouble was brewing.

  ‘I heard a good school joke,’ said Annie.

  ‘What is it?’ queried Josie Gogarty.

  They were standing under a lamppost with a group of other girls, waiting their turn to skip with a long rope that was tied to the post. The sun was beginning to go down behind the cottages on St Josephine’s Avenue, but the evening was still balmy and Annie felt relaxed.

  ‘Did you hear about the cross-eyed teacher?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ said Josie.

  ‘She couldn’t control her pupils!’

  The other girls laughed, and Annie was glad that she had memorised the joke, which she had seen in the children’s page of Da’s newspaper.

  Josie was still smiling but now she turned to Annie. ‘You won’t have to worry about that, will you?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ asked Annie.

  ‘In your new school. Easy to control those kids – yis would all be too posh to act up.’

  A couple of the girls smiled at Josie’s retort, and Annie was taken aback. The shift from laughter at her joke to being singled out as not one of the gang had come out of the blue. In one way, she wasn’t all that surprised at Josie; even though she lived just across the road they had never been close friends. But nobody had come to Annie’s defence, no one had said, ‘Don’t be silly, Annie’s not stuck-up, she’s one of us.’

  Annie sensed that how she handled this would be important, and she thought for a moment, then looked Josie in the eye. ‘You’ll be working in the sewing factory when you leave school next year, won’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, what’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing, because that’s what you want,’ said Annie, keeping her voice calm. ‘Just like I’m going to secondary school because that’s what I want. It doesn’t make me posh or stuck-up. If you can do what you want, why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Do what you want then,’ said Josie dismissively before turning back to the skipping.

  No one else said anything further, and the skipping game resumed, but Annie sensed that the mood was with Josie. It seemed unfair to be criticised in advance for possibly making friends in her new school with wealthier girls. Annie had always thought it was silly the way the children from better-off families didn’t play with children of their own age who lived only a few roads away. But now she saw that her own friends were just as set in their thinking as the stuck-up kids that they didn’t like.

  Then it was her turn to skip the rope, and she stepped forward eagerly, knowing that she mustn’t let the others think that she was rattled. She jumped enthusiastically while the other girls sang a skipping song. But even as she skipped she couldn’t help thinking that winning the scholarship was going to be more complicated than she had imagined.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Peter sang at the top of his voice, even though he wasn’t a good singer. It didn’t matter though, ‘Peigín Leitir Móir’ was the kind of song that it was fun to roar out even if you couldn’t stay in tune. He was at the Irish language club that Tommy and his sister had joined at the suggestion of their father, Mr O’Neill, and it hadn’t taken much persuading from Tommy to get Peter to join too.

  The club was held in the drawing room of a big Georgian house in Gardiner Street. It encouraged children to speak Irish and provided opportunities for singing, drama, table tennis, chess and occasional outings. Apart from the club being fun, Peter was also attracted by the idea of learning to speak Irish more fluently. The vast majority of Dubliners spoke English as their native language, but many people who learnt Irish did so as a form of resistance to British culture, and it had been this notion that had made Peter suspect Mr O’Neill of being a secret nationalist.

  His own parents had never been nationalists, but now that there was going to be an Irish Free State even people like Mam and Dad were having to adapt, and Peter had convinced his mother that it made sense for him to become fluent in Irish.

  The next chorus of the song started, and Peter shouted out the catchy tune, winking at Tommy as they revelled in the rowdiness. He could see Mr McMahon, the club supervisor, smiling at their enthusiasm. Mr McMahon taught geography and maths in Belvedere, where he was seen as a tough but fair teacher; but in the Irish language club he was more relaxed. He looked around now, as the door to the room opened, then he nodded in greeting as another adult approached him.

  McMahon had closely cropped ginger hair and was a heavily built man of about fifty. The second man was well built also, but much younger, probably in his late twenties. He approached Mr McMahon and shook hands, then discreetly handed him a large envelope. Peter had been singing along with gusto, but now he stopped abruptly. He stared at the younger man in disbelief. Then the man looked up, almost as if he sensed Peter staring, and their eyes met. Peter swallowed hard. There was no mistake. This was the gunman he had saved from the Black and Tans a year earlier. The man held his gaze for a second, then looked away.

  Peter felt his pulses racing and he watched as the man spoke briefly to Mr McMahon, then made for the door. Peter waited to see if the man would look round at him again, but he didn’t, leaving the room without a backward glance. It had all happened really quickly, but Peter was in no doubt. It was definitely the gunman. And what was more, the man had recognised him. He was certain of it.

  The song came to an end, and Mr McMahon announced free time. This was when there was no organised activity, and the club members chatted with each other before everyone was served a glass of milk and a bun, and the club finished for the night.

  Peter took a breath, willing himself to act. For ages he had dreamed about playing some part in fighting for a full republic, and this was his chance, if he could get up the nerve to go to Mr McMahon. The club supervisor must surely be a secret rebel if he was getting correspondence from a gunman, and Peter knew that he had to approach him. But McMahon was an adult, and a teacher in Peter’s school, and he was nervous of confronting him. What was he going to say – I know you’re with the rebels? The older man might get really angry. But if he didn’t act now he might never get a chance like this again.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he said ‘back in a minute’ to Tommy, then started towards the teacher, walking quickly before he lost his nerve.

  ‘Peader,’ said Mr McMahon, addressing Peter by the Irish version of his name.

  ‘Mr McMahon,’ said Peter, for once ignoring the Irish-speaking rule of the club, knowing that what he had to say would be difficult even in English. ‘I know… I know who that man was. And what he is…’

  McMahon raised a hand to interrupt him, but Peter ploughed ahead in a low voice, knowing that if he didn’t spill it
out now he never would. ‘I know what you’re doing, sir.’

  McMahon looked taken aback, and, sensing that he had the teacher on the back foot, Peter continued, ‘I know what’s going on - and I’m on your side. Your friend will tell you how I saved him from the Tans. I want to help again. I know I’m too young to do the fighting, but I’ll carry messages, I’ll smuggle ammo, I’ll be a runner. Please, don’t just say no. You might be really glad of someone who can get through checkpoints as a schoolboy. Talk to your friend, sir, he’ll tell you what I did.’

  McMahon said nothing, his expression thoughtful, and Peter decided to go for broke, even if it involved a hint of blackmail.

  ‘I want in, sir. And I don’t mean to be rude, but I won’t take no for an answer.’

  Annie badly wanted to look like she fitted in, but she wasn’t sure if she actually did. She was wearing her Sunday clothes, which she had always thought were really nice, but lots of the girls around her were more smartly dressed as they attended the welcome day in the assembly room of Eccles Street convent. It was a Saturday in early June, and she wouldn’t be attending classes until the following September, but the nuns had arranged today’s event to introduce all the incoming first years. Already some girls had looked at Annie appraisingly, and she couldn’t help but feel that in their eyes she didn’t quite pass the test. It was obvious, too, that girls who attended junior school here were at an advantage, and Annie had seen sub-groups forming of girls who clearly knew each other and were at ease.

  The school itself looked imposing to Annie – bigger, more elaborate in its furnishings, and far better maintained than her local primary school. The corridors in Eccles Street all seemed to be highly polished and smelling of beeswax, and sunshine flooded in through spotless window panes. It was very impressive, but also a bit scary in that it appeared to suggest that anyone coming here had better be as perfect as the surroundings.

  Annie’s nervousness wasn’t helped when a nun swept in, went to the top of the room and clapped her hands loudly.

  ‘Your attention, girls,’ she said in a commanding voice, and immediately all conversation stopped. ‘I’m Sister Immaculata, the Vice Principal of the school, and I’m here to welcome you all to Eccles Street.’

  Annie was sitting about half way down the room, and she looked closely at the squat, middle-aged nun. Even though she was welcoming them, Annie reckoned that Sr Immaculata wasn’t someone you would want to cross.

  ‘I bet she’s dead strict,’ whispered the girl sitting next to Annie.

  ‘I’d say so,’ whispered Annie in return, and they exchanged a quick conspiratorial smile.

  Annie had nodded in greeting when the girl had sat beside her a moment ago, but Sr Immaculata had come in before they could chat. Now, as the nun lectured them about the school’s history and traditions, and how they would be expected to maintain the high standards of former pupils, Annie took in the other girl’s appearance. She had shiny black hair that fell in curls, and dark brown eyes, and she wore a blue velvet dress with matching ribbons that Annie knew must have cost a lot of money. Suddenly the nun stopped speaking, and with a sense of panic Annie looked up, fearful that Sr Immaculata might have spotted Annie glancing at her neighbour.

  To her relief Annie saw that she hadn’t, and she realised that the nun had paused for emphasis, before continuing. ‘You’ll enter a different world when you come here in September,’ she said. ‘Your days as primary school children will be over, and you’ll be taking the first steps on the road to becoming well-educated, well-mannered and pious young ladies. I should add that besides being Vice-Principal I’ll also be taking some of you for the subjects of Religious Doctrine and Mathematics.’

  ‘Pray it’s not us,’ whispered Annie’s neighbour again, and Annie wanted to smile, but held it back in case the nun might spot her.

  ‘I’m sure at that stage we’ll get to know each other better,’ concluded Sr Immaculata. ‘Meanwhile, we’ll now have a tour of the school. Following the tour we shall reconvene here, at which stage I’ll introduce you to Sister Josephine, who will be your Year Head. Form pairs, please, then follow me.’

  Annie turned to the girl beside her. ‘Will we be a pair?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. What’s your name?’

  ‘Annie.’

  ‘I’m Susie.’

  Annie remembered her manners, and how Ma had told her to behave if she was introduced to anyone. ‘How do you do, Susie?’ she said, offering her hand.

  Susie shook her hand and grinningly replied, ‘How do you do, Annie?’ then they looked at each other and suddenly laughed at the formality.

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Susie. They rose to follow Sister Immaculata, and Annie felt relieved that however intimidating Eccles Street was, it seemed now like she might get to face it with a friend.

  ‘Couldn’t you just eat lemon cake till you burst?’ asked Susie happily.

  Her mouth full, Annie nodded in agreement, for there was no denying that the home-made confectionery served by the nuns after the tour was delicious. They were back in the assembly room now, enjoying tea and cakes, having being shown round the school. Annie was more impressed than she had expected – the school even had its own chapel, a building that Annie thought was beautiful.

  Attending Eccles Street was going to be very different from her old national school, with its leaking roof and smelly toilets, and Annie was excited about starting here in September. It would still be pretty nerve-racking being a new girl in a big school, but at least now she had chatted with several other girls during the tour, so she would know a few faces that first Monday morning.

  And then there was Susie. The two girls had hit it off at once, and within minutes Annie had learnt that her new friend lived in Glasnevin with her parents and her twin brother Tommy, who attended Belvedere College. Susie attended primary school in the Holy Faith convent in Glasnevin, but her mother was sending her to Eccles Street next term because of a disagreement with the nun in charge of finance at the Holy Faith.

  ‘It was gas!’ Susie had explained. ‘Mummy ran a bazaar to raise funds for the school, but Sister Regina – everyone calls her Muttonhead – fell out with Mummy over not paying the suppliers’ bills fast enough.’

  ‘Right. And don’t you mind having to change schools?’

  ‘Not really. Muttonhead would have had it in for me, so I’m well out of it. And Belvedere is only round the corner from Eccles Street, so I can travel each morning with Tommy – it’ll be fun.’

  Annie had sensed at once that Susie’s family must be well off, but she decided to be honest with Susie from the start and not to pretend that her own family was any better off than it was. So she had told her new friend about living in St Alphonsus Avenue, and about Da driving the hackney, and Ma working part time as a milliner, and her two older brothers who lived at home and worked in the Hammond Lane foundry. If Susie was aware of the gap between their backgrounds it didn’t seem to bother her, and in fact she had been dismissive of the haughty looking girls who were already forming their own little groups.

  ‘Pity about them!’ Susie said, when Annie had pointed out that some of them seemed a bit stuck-up.

  ‘So, who have we got here?’ said a soft country voice, and Annie turned round to face the speaker.

  It was the other nun, Sr Josephine, who had been presented as their Year Head.

  ‘I’m Annie Reilly, Sister.’

  ‘I’m Susan O’Neill, Sister. But everyone calls me Susie.’

  ‘Do they? Then Susie it will be,’ said the nun with a smile. ‘I presume, Annie, that’s what everyone calls you – Annie?’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  ‘Right. Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up,’ said Sr Josephine, and Annie noticed how her eyes seemed to twinkle when she smiled. It was hard to tell how old the nun was because she wore a full habit that exposed only her face, but she was younger and friendlier than Sr Immaculata, and Annie was glad that she was going to be their Year Head.


  ‘And where do you live, Susie?’

  ‘Brookville Lodge, Sister – in Glasnevin.’

  ‘Very good. And you, Annie?’

  ‘St Alphonsus Avenue, Sister.’

  ‘Ah … yes. I have you now, you’re the scholarship girl.’

  Annie experienced a sinking feeling. She had thought that Sr Josephine was going to be nice, with her smiling eyes and lilting country accent. Instead, the nun had made her feel different, like a charity case. She felt her cheeks colour and wasn’t sure what to say. There was a brief awkwardness, then Susie bridged the gap.

  ‘Annie is the brainbox all right,’ she said cheerily, ‘not like half the rest of us!’

  Annie felt a surge of affection for her new friend, then she looked again at Sr Josephine, and to her surprise realised that the nun looked slightly uncomfortable.

  ‘There’s room for everyone, Susie,’ said the nun, then she turned and looked directly at Annie. ‘And every pupil is welcome. Very welcome indeed. I hope you’ll be happy in Eccles Street. And I look forward to meeting you both in September.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister,’ replied the girls, then the nun moved off.

  ‘I’d say she might be OK,’ said Susie.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Annie, feeling that the nun had consciously tried to make up for embarrassing her.

  ‘But we don’t have to wait till September.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘To see each other,’ said Susie enthusiastically. ‘I’ll ask Mummy if you can visit – I know she’ll say yes. It’s not that far from Drumcondra to Glasnevin.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘And we can play in our garden, or down in Nugent’s Field with the boys. Say you’ll come?’

  ‘I’d … I’d love to – if I’m allowed.’

  ‘Tell them it’s to do with school. That we’re … that we’re comparing booklists or something. Grown-ups always love you doing anything to do with school or classes.’