Taking Sides

by Brian Gallagher

  ‘They didn’t get a chance then.’

  ‘But now we’re getting a Free State and the British are leaving. So what’s the point in killing Mr Wilson?’

  ‘The British aren’t leaving Northern Ireland. And Wilson was up to his eyes in what’s happening there.’

  ‘So it’s OK to kill him?’

  ‘He was a soldier all his life. How many people do you think he killed? But nobody calls him a murderer; he just gets medals from the King.’

  Annie could see that Peter really believed he was right, and she didn’t want to fall out with him. But some things were just wrong and she couldn’t pretend otherwise.

  ‘It’s not the same, Peter. Not when there’s the Treaty.’

  ‘The Treaty?’ said Peter derisively.

  ‘It was the best deal Michael Collins could get from the British,’ Susie chipped in. ‘My dad said so.’

  ‘Well, your dad is wrong, Susie,’ replied Peter. ‘Unless he fancies swearing allegiance to the King of England. Well, does he?’

  ‘No’, said Tommy. ‘But still.’

  ‘Still what?’

  Susie and Tommy didn’t have the confidence or the arguments to challenge Peter and Annie felt annoyed on their behalf.

  ‘For God’s sake, Peter!’ she interjected. ‘What about the election? The people just voted by a mile for the new government and the Treaty!’

  ‘Mr de Valera says the majority haven’t the right to be wrong.’

  Eamon de Valera, the leader of the anti-Treaty forces, was held in respect by many people, but Annie felt that this was still a smart-aleck answer.

  ‘So he decides if the people are right or wrong?’ she said. ‘Sure in that case you might as well not have elections at all.’

  She looked at Peter and could see that he was struggling to answer this.

  ‘I don’t care what you say, Annie,’ he said finally. ‘I’m not sorry they killed Wilson.’

  ‘And I don’t care what you say; it still sounds like murder to me.’

  There was a moment’s awkwardness, then Susie broke the silence. ‘Well, we can’t do anything about any of it. So we might as well get on, and all be friends. Amn’t I right?’ she said in an encouraging tone as she looked Annie in the eye.

  ‘Yeah, you are,’ answered Annie, pleased that Susie was offering a way out of the argument.

  Susie turned to Peter. ‘Amn’t I right, Peter?’

  Peter hesitated, and Annie hoped he wasn’t going to continue to argue. Then he gave a wry smile and nodded to Susie. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’

  ‘Good,’ she answered. ‘So, to cheer us all up, why did the cook get arrested?’

  ‘What?’ asked Tommy.

  ‘Why did the cook get arrested?’ repeated Susie.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he beat up an egg!’

  ‘That’s the worst joke I ever heard,’ protested Tommy, but even as he said it he was smiling, and Annie and Peter laughed with Susie, the earlier tension eased.

  They made their way up Dorset Street towards Drumcondra, chatting about their plans for the summer and the new popular song ‘I’m Just Wild About Harry’, that Susie was learning on the piano. Clanking trams ran along the busy thoroughfare, but they were happy to walk, strolling along at an easy pace. Annie was glad that the argument hadn’t been allowed to fester, especially as the Scanlons were about to go on holidays and she wouldn’t see Peter for several weeks. At the same time, she wasn’t sure if things were really all right between herself and Peter or if everyone was just being polite.

  There had been talk earlier in the week of having a farewell gathering for all of them in the Scanlon’s house on Sunday, before his family went away. Now, as they turned into St Alphonsus Avenue, Annie wondered if this would still happen, or if Peter might decide to be a bit cool because of the argument. She found herself feeling surprisingly anxious as they approached her house.

  ‘Well,’ she said, stopping at her hall door, ‘I’ll see you all…’

  ‘Of course,’ said Susie.

  ‘Yeah, ’night, Annie,’ said Tommy.

  Peter looked her in the eye, then said casually. ‘Will we see you on Sunday? About three o’clock?’

  ‘Great,’ said Annie equally casually. ‘See you then.’

  Everyone exchanged waves, and the others set off. Annie breathed a small sigh of relief, then she smiled, opened the door and happily entered the house.

  Peter stopped dead in his tracks. He had been walking up the laneway from his house to Botanic Road with the intention of calling for Tommy when he recognised the figure sitting on the bench at the corner of the main road, a newspaper casually held out before him. It was the gunman he had rescued from the Black and Tans and who had spoken to Mr McMahon at the Irish language club.

  Peter knew at once that the man’s presence wasn’t an accident, and his first thought was that perhaps something had happened to Mc Mahon and the other man was here to tip him off. In that case, stopping dead hadn’t been the cleverest of responses and he immediately resumed walking, keeping his stride as casual as possible. He drew level with the man, who rose from the seat and folded his newspaper.

  ‘Morning, Peter,’ he said. ‘Walk along with me for a minute, nice and relaxed like.’

  Peter nodded in agreement. ‘Right.’

  ‘You weren’t headed anywhere urgent, were you?’

  ‘Just going to call for my friend Tommy.’

  ‘You can see him later.’

  ‘I suppose. Is everything OK with Mr Mac?’

  ‘Sure. But he couldn’t make it today. Step into the Botanics with me, as though we’re having a ramble.’

  ‘OK,’ answered Peter. The gardens would provide good cover, with plenty of Saturday morning visitors entering and leaving by the nearby main entrance.

  ‘Just in case anyone asks, you know me from the Irish club.’

  ‘All right,’ said Peter. ‘What am I supposed to call you?’

  ‘You don’t have to call me anything,’ said the man.

  Peter felt a stab of irritation. This man knew his name, knew his address, even felt free to wait for him coming out of his house, yet Peter knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about him.

  ‘If you can know all about me, why can’t I at least call you something? Even your first name?’

  The man gave a crooked grin. ‘Feisty, aren’t you? All right, it’s Finbar. No need to get into surnames, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  They reached the main entrance to the Botanical Gardens and stepped in through the wrought iron gates. Finbar indicated a pathway that led away from the tall glasshouses, towards which a lot of the visitors were making. They followed the path, then took a turn that brought them to a quieter section of the gardens.

  ‘All right, we won’t be heard here,’ said Finbar as they strolled along. ‘First of all, well done on the messages so far. Mr Mac is impressed with you.’

  ‘Really?’ said Peter, unable to hide his pleasure.

  ‘Oh yes. But I’m not surprised. I knew from that day in North Earl Street that you’re cool in a tight corner.’

  ‘Thanks, Finbar.’

  ‘I’m only telling the truth. But things are changing now – coming to a head.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Our lads in the Four Courts have really made their presence felt. Between that and Wilson being shot, the English are hopping mad.’

  ‘Pity about them,’ said Peter, his views on the shooting unchanged despite Annie’s arguments of a couple of nights previously.

  ‘Absolutely. But they’re putting huge pressure on the new government to come down hard on us. So far, Collins hasn’t attacked the Four Courts, but the heat is coming on.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So that means some of our safe houses aren’t going to be so safe in future,’ said Finbar. ‘Like the one you know – Willow Cottage.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘We have to get stuff out of there in c
ase it’s raided. And we need somewhere secure to store certain items. Mr Mac said your house has big gardens. Any chance you could hide some stuff?’

  Peter hadn’t been expecting this and he hesitated.

  ‘If you can’t, say so. Nobody will think the worse of you.’

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ said Peter, his excitement mounting. ‘I can hide things for you, but I’ve a better place than our garden.’ ‘Where?’

  ‘Here. You can get from our garden into the Bots, and there’re loads of places here where stuff would never be found.’

  ‘Are you sure?’‘Certain. I’ve played hide and seek here since I was small. I know it inside out. It would be way safer than our garden – but I can still get my hands on the stuff in a couple of minutes.’

  Finbar looked thoughtful, then nodded. ‘That might work out well.’

  ‘When do you want to do this?’ asked Peter.

  ‘As soon as possible. Today or tomorrow. We heard that the cottage could be raided early next week.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Find some excuse to cycle back there over the weekend. If the curtains are open everything is fine. If the curtains are drawn just cycle past and don’t stop.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Then hide what you’re given till you hear from us. And thanks, Peter. This won’t be forgotten.’

  ‘You’re grand.’

  ‘One last thing. What’s your phone number at home?’

  ‘Eh … 4827. But my mother often answers the phone.’ ‘Don’t worry, we’d only ever phone if it was urgent.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘OK, that’s everything. Any questions?’

  Peter had countless questions, but he knew that Finbar probably wouldn’t answer most of them. When he didn’t immediately voice any queries, Finbar nodded, as though satisfied at Peter’s discretion.

  ‘Good man. We’ll be in touch. Up the Republic.’

  ‘Up the Republic,’ responded Peter, but already Finbar was moving away. Peter hesitated a moment, slightly thrown by the gunman’s abrupt departure. Then he continued walking, a little scared at what he had taken on, but excited too, and eager for his new, more active role.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Annie hadn’t planned to eavesdrop. But she couldn’t help it if her parents had left the kitchen door open, could she? And besides, it was her they were talking about, so it wasn’t as if she was ear-wigging on someone else’s business.

  It was Sunday morning and earlier the family had dressed up for Mass, then come back for the fry-up breakfast that Da sometimes did on Sunday before he went for a pint in the Cat and Cage pub. Annie was sitting on the end of her bed, the sunlight warm upon her favourite pink candlewick bedspread. The bedroom door was slightly ajar and she had the children’s page of Da’s newspaper open before her. She was wearing her best dress, a dark green velvet one with white lace that Ma had bought her last Christmas, and that Annie felt would look nice and smart for the farewell gathering in Peter’s house later today. Now, though, she listened as her parents argued about her summer job.

  ‘I should have been consulted,’ said Da.

  ‘Mick thought he was doing Annie a good turn,’ argued Ma.

  ‘I’m sure he meant well, but I still should have been consulted.’

  Maybe I could have been consulted, Annie felt like shouting down to them.

  Mick was Ma’s eldest brother, and he had dropped in briefly while Da was at the pub. Although her mother hadn’t called Annie down to tell her, it seemed that Mick had organised a job for her. She had finished primary school the previous Friday, and even though she was looking forward to starting in Eccles Street, she had still felt a little tearful saying her last goodbyes to her classmates in St Mary’s. But there wasn’t time to be sentimental for long, and the sooner she got a summer job, the sooner she could bring in some money to go towards the cost of sending her to Eccles Street.

  ‘Don’t always throw Mick’s goodness in his face,’ said Ma now, in a rare show of irritation with her husband.

  ‘I don’t, Maura,’ said Da, making his tone more reasonable. ‘I just think he could have mentioned it to me before setting everything up.’

  Annie knew that Da didn’t particularly like her Uncle Mick. She suspected that it was partly because of Mick’s cocky manner, but mostly to do with Da’s pride. Mick had been active in the War of Independence and now he had contacts among those who had taken power. It was through Mick that Da had got the job of transporting senior officials and ministers in the new government, and while Da was glad to have the work, it bothered him to be under a compliment to his brother-in law.

  ‘Well he told me to tell you, so what’s the difference?’ said Ma.

  Annie rose from the bed and made for the stairs. She was tired of listening to her parents arguing about who should have been told about this job – she herself had been told nothing! She came down the stairs and entered the kitchen.

  ‘Ah, Annie,’ her father said pleasantly, giving no indication that he had been arguing. ‘The very girl.’

  Annie couldn’t admit to listening to their conversation, so she looked at him innocently. ‘Yes, Da?’

  ‘Your ma and I have good news for you.’

  ‘Great. What is it?’

  ‘Your uncle Mick has got you a little job,’ said her mother, and Annie had to suppress a smile at the way Ma had reclaimed the credit for her brother. ‘You’ll be starting tomorrow.’

  ‘Grand,’ said Annie. She wouldn’t have minded a few days off between the end of school and the summer job, but she wasn’t going to complain. ‘Where will I be working?’

  ‘In town,’ said Da. ‘Only about a fifteen minute walk away.’

  ‘It’s in a shop, our Mick knows the owner.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Annie. ‘What kind of shop?’

  ‘A fishmongers,’ answered Ma. ‘Just off Henry Street.’

  A fishmongers!? Annie didn’t like the smell of fish and she hated their dead-eyed look as the lay on the slab of the local fishmongers. But the money was needed and she didn’t want to disappoint her parents. ‘Great,’ she said. ‘Tell Uncle Mick – tell him thanks a million.’

  Peter was feeling pleased with himself. Yesterday he had successfully transferred a small, sealed sack from the cottage at Cardiffs Bridge to his back garden. From there he had safely moved it to his favourite hiding place under an old slab in a rarely visited corner of the maintenance section of the Botanical Gardens. And now he was in the kitchen, loading a tray to bring bowls of strawberries and cream to his friends in the back garden. All in all, it was turning out to be a good weekend. The one downside was that his family was going on their annual holiday to Carlingford later in the week, and so he wouldn’t be available to do any missions for Mr Mac or Finbar. With tension rising between the pro- and anti-Treaty forces there was every chance of fighting breaking out, but he had to go away, and Mr Mac understood that, so there was no point worrying about what he might miss.

  Peter placed a spoon in each bowl, then covered the strawberries with a generous dollop of cream, resisting the temptation to taste his own portion before joining his friends. He was glad that he had suggested a farewell gathering, especially considering his argument with Annie on Thursday night. He didn’t want to fall out with her, and he was glad that there had seemed to be no lingering coolness when she had shown up today. He was just about to lift the tray when his mother entered the kitchen.

  ‘Strawberries and cream – the taste of summer!’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, it’s brilliant the way they go together,’ answered Peter.

  ‘It will be a nice treat for your little friend.’

  Peter felt a dart of irritation. He hated the way his mother referred to Annie as ‘his little friend’. She didn’t call Tommy or Susie his little friends. ‘It will be a nice treat for all my friends,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, yes, of course,’ answered his mother, as though that was what she had meant all alon
g.

  It wasn’t, though, and Peter knew it. His mother had been unfailingly polite whenever she met Annie, but she could never quite disguise the fact that she was being agreeable to someone she regarded as lower in rank to his other friends. So Annie’s family wasn’t as well-off as his, but why should that matter?

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, nodding slightly curtly to his mother and lifting the tray. He stepped out the back door of the kitchen and into the garden, then crossed the lawn towards where his friends were sitting in deck chairs under the shade of a tall sycamore tree.

  ‘Get a move on, slave!’ cried Susie, ‘We’re tired waiting!’

  ‘How would you like it all over you?’ asked Peter.

  Susie put her head to one side as though considering. ‘Eh, no thanks, I’d prefer to eat it!’

  Peter laid down the tray, indicating for them all to help themselves.

  ‘This is lovely, Peter’ said Annie, smiling enthusiastically as she ate hers.

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’ He smiled back, realising how much he liked her. He was really glad that they hadn’t parted for the summer break on an argument.

  Tommy nodded approvingly. ‘I love the way the cream and the strawberries sort of mush in together in your mouth.’

  ‘You’ve such a way with words, Tommy!’ said Susie.

  ‘Well they do,’ insisted Tommy, ‘it’s a great taste.’

  ‘Well done, Peter, for thinking up a farewell party,’ said Susie. ‘Though I wish we weren’t all going to be split up.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Annie. ‘Where will your family be going, Susie?’

  ‘Same place as always.’ She turned to her twin brother and together they chanted mockingly, ‘Wexford, where the strawberries grow!’

  ‘But isn’t Wexford really nice?’ asked Annie.

  ‘It’s grand,’ said Susie. ‘It’s just that we always go to the exact same place in Rosslare Strand. And I’ll miss seeing you – and even this galoot here!’

  ‘Thanks for that, Susie,’ said Peter sarcastically.

  ‘We should write to each other,’ said Susie. ‘If we send each other postcards it won’t really seem like the gang’s broken up. What do you think?’