CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was the biggest crowd that Peter had ever seen. It was as if every man, woman and child in Dublin had spilled out onto the city streets for the funeral of Michael Collins. Peter’s father had spoken to a police officer who said the crowd was estimated at half a million people – a staggering figure, and twenty per cent of the population of the entire country.
The whole city seemed to be in mourning, and throngs of people dressed in black crowded the centre of town when Peter, his parents, and his brother and sister had arrived by tram and made their way to Sackville Street. Peter was a little surprised by his parents’ decision to attend the funeral. There had been a huge outpouring of grief, however, that Collins should be dead at just thirty-one years of age, and for the three days that Collins’s remains had lain in state in City Hall large numbers of Dubliners had filed past to pay their respects. Peter’s parents had originally been against the War of Independence, in which Collins had played a leading role, and Peter thought it showed how much they had changed that they were now mourning the death of the gunman-turned-statesman.
He had never discussed this with his parents – he couldn’t really – but he wondered if their changed stance was mostly about looking after their own interests. Now that the Free State was a reality, it suited people to support the new powers-that-be. It even explained why his parents allowed him to attend the Irish language club, as though by having their son fluent in the Irish language they were showing their patriotic allegiance to the new state.
Or was he being too hard on them? Maybe they were just genuinely saddened, as so many people seemed to be, at the loss of a leader who had paid the highest price for his cause. Peter himself felt a bit confused today. He had been delighted when Finbar had recently made contact again, and he had delivered several secret messages, conveying orders from Mr Mac to rebel sympathisers in various parts of the city. He had also offered to store more contraband in his hiding place in the Botanics if necessary, and Mr Mac had thanked him and said they would let him know. And yet, despite the pride he took in working with the rebels, he couldn’t shake off a sense of sadness to think that his former hero was dead.
He watched the funeral cortege making its approach up Sackville Street. The broad thoroughfare was crowded with onlookers along its entire length, but Peter had managed to work his way a little ahead of his family and had a good view down the street. He could hear the mournful sound of the ‘Dead March’ being played by a brass band, then he saw the funeral carriage coming into view. Six perfectly groomed horses pulled a gun carriage on which Collins’s coffin lay draped in the national flag, the tricolour.
The cortege moved solemnly forward and Peter saw that behind the gun carriage were marching lines of army officers, their boots gleaming and their uniforms resplendent. Further back in the procession was a series of cars, each one laden with countless wreaths of flowers, and further back again there were honour guards of policemen and rifle-bearing soldiers, all marching solemnly and stony-faced behind the horse-drawn carriage.
As the flag-draped coffin drew nearer, people around Peter began to react. Some had tears in their eyes, some blessed themselves, others simply lowered their heads respectfully. Peter hadn’t thought out what his response should be. Collins had, after all, been the commander of the Free State army, and as such was the enemy. But somehow, he didn’t feel like the enemy. And especially not today.
The carriage drew level, and Peter hesitated before blessing himself reverently. Then it hit him that Michael Collins, the youthful, dashing hero that he had once idolised, was really dead. His emotions took him by surprise, and despite everything, tears welled up in his eyes, then rolled slowly down his cheeks.
Annie ran across the beach and plunged into the water with a shriek. It was a glorious day in early September – sunny, warm, and without a hint of a breeze – but still, the waters of the Irish Sea made her gasp. Peter and Tommy followed closely behind, quickly wading out to find their depth, then diving in. The last of the gang into the sea was Susie, who hesitated with the water at waist height.
Annie turned around and called to her. ‘Come on, Susie!’
‘I will, just give me a chance to get used to it!’
No sooner had she said this than Tommy and Peter turned in unison and began to splash her.
‘No!’ cried Susie.
‘Scaredycat!’ said Tommy, splashing her even more.
‘Careful, Susie, you’ll get wet!’ called Peter in mock warning as he splashed her vigorously.
‘I hope you’re both swept out on a current!’ cried Susie, then she launched herself into the water with an even louder shriek than Annie’s.
Annie smiled at the antics of her friends, then did a fast Australian crawl parallel to the shoreline before turning around and floating on her back.
They had gone to the seaside at the Hole in the Wall, a tucked-away beach that was about eight miles outside Dublin and whose sands bordered the sea opposite the scenic island of Ireland’s Eye. Da had suggested it as a location for their day out in the Model T, and as soon as they arrived, everyone had agreed that it was a good choice, and Da had retired to a sand dune to read his Sunday paper.
The trip itself had been difficult to organise, and several weeks had passed before they could find a Sunday that suited everyone. Today, however, had worked out well, what with the glorious sunshine and clear blue skies, and the fact that everyone had needed their spirits lifted after the recent funeral of Michael Collins. They would all be back in school next week, so she had been looking forward to today, knowing it would be the last gathering of summer.
It should have been a great day out, and in some ways it was, but Annie still felt a bit uncomfortable. While Susie had visited her house several times, today was the first time that Da had met Peter and Tommy. The boys had been courteous and friendly to her father, but to Annie’s surprise, Da hadn’t been his normal self. Instead of being relaxed, he had been over-polite and had tried too hard to impress her friends.
Annie loved him the way he was and found it embarrassing when he attempted to put on a front. While chatting to Peter and Tommy he had deliberately tried to use big words, but in a way that sounded unnatural, and Annie sensed that Peter had picked up on it. Peter was too well bred to show that he had noticed, but Annie couldn’t help but wince all the same. She loved her father, and knew it wasn’t Da’s fault that he hadn’t had the education she was getting, which made her ashamed of herself for feeling embarrassed.
Just then, she felt splashing as a swimmer approached, and she lifted her head to see who it was.
‘God, how can the sea be freezing when the day’s roasting?’ exclaimed Susie as she drew near and treaded water.
It was the kind of remark that was typical of her friend, and Annie had to smile. She really should be more like Susie, and spend less time worrying about things. ‘It’s not that bad when you get used to it,’ she answered.
‘Yeah,’ said Susie, ‘it goes from freezing to just being cold! But listen, I’ve a great idea.’
‘What?’
‘I have to get my own back on the boys for splashing me. Why don’t we swim in and hide their towels?’
Annie hesitated a moment, then she remembered her resolve to be more like her carefree friend and she nodded. ‘Good idea. Race you in!’ she cried, then she launched into the crawl again and swam for the shore.
Peter lay stretched out on the grass on the summit of Howth Head, savouring the spectacular view across Dublin Bay. They had spent most of the afternoon at the beach in the Hole in the Wall, then Annie’s father had driven them to the top of Howth Head to have their picnic. Peter had enjoyed sitting in the front seat of the Model T with Mr Reilly, the warm summer breeze blowing in through the car’s open windows as they drove through the fishing village of Howth, and up to the grassy slopes of the summit area, the highest point on the peninsula.
It had been a perfect summer’s day, and now the sun was
low in the sky, bathing the nearby hills and the waters of the bay in soft golden light. The distant mountains were silhouetted against a sky that was a beautiful hazy purple, a colour so striking that it reminded Peter of the lighting effects he had seen onstage when his family had gone to pantomimes in the Gaiety Theatre.
Mr Reilly sat by the car smoking his pipe, and Peter half listened as Annie, Susie and Tommy packed away the picnic things and chatted about popular songs.
“‘Don’t Dilly-Dally on the Way” is a brilliant song,’ said Tommy.
‘Isn’t it?’ said Annie. ‘And I really love “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles”.’
‘Yeah, but it’s kind of stupid,’ said Tommy. ‘Like, why would anyone want to be always blowing bubbles?’
‘It’s just a song, Tommy,’ said Susie. ‘I mean, why would anyone want to dilly-dally for that matter?’
‘There could be loads of reason why you’d want to dilly-dally,’ said Tommy.
‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ exclaimed Susie. ‘You’d argue–’
‘With your toe-nails!’ said Annie, finishing the sentence for her.
‘Well, he would!’ said Susie, joining in the laughter.
Annie looked really happy when she laughed, but Peter suspected that her life was much harder than his own. Meeting her father had been something of an eye-opener. Peter had really liked Mr Reilly, who had been friendly and eager to make the day’s outing special, but it had made Peter realise that Annie’s family were what his mother would call ‘working class’. He guessed that Annie must have studied really hard to get the scholarship for Eccles Street, and he knew that all summer she had put in long hours at the fishmongers to raise cash for her family. It seemed unfair to Peter that dull, lazy children from rich families could just waltz into private schools, while someone bright like Annie had to overcome all sorts of problems. Before he could give it any more thought, however, Tommy called him.
‘Take it easy there, Peter,’ he said sarcastically, ‘we’ll carry the picnic stuff back to the car ourselves.’
Peter had been lost in his thoughts and he realised now that Mr Reilly was beating out the ashes from his pipe and that the others were rising to return to the Model T.
‘A bit of work will do you good,’ Peter retorted lightly, then he got up and took one final look across the bay. The light was even more magical now, and he could see Bray Head, the Sugarloaf Mountain and the Wicklow Hills, their outlines softened by the purple evening light. Gazing down the cliffs he could see the Bailey Lighthouse on a dramatic outcrop of rock, looking like a sentinel guarding the entrance to the waters of the bay. Several small yachts, with white sails, were making for harbour. All in all, the scene was like a picture postcard or a beautiful landscape painting.
Peter had never before seen Dublin Bay looking so peaceful. But the coming weeks and months were not going to be peaceful, and so he stared at the scene now, wanting to store the image in his memory. Then he started after his friends, sorry to have to leave this perfect day behind, and to return once more to real life in the city.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘Half way through, thank God!’ whispered Susie to Annie, as the school bell rang to indicate lunch break.
It was the first day of term in Eccles Street and they were sharing a desk in a bright, airy classroom. How different it was from her old school, St Mary’s, where the floors were covered in worn linoleum and the desk tops bore the carved initials of generations of pupils from the surrounding streets. Apart from the fact that her surroundings now were much nicer, Annie also found that secondary school was very different to primary school, with interesting new subjects like Latin and Science that she had never done in St Mary’s. They had already had one Latin class this morning, and although Susie had bemoaned learning a language that nobody spoke anymore, Annie had enjoyed the class and liked the logical way that Latin worked.
It was good being a student here, she thought. In St Mary’s it had been accepted that most pupils would leave school once they reached the age of thirteen or fourteen, and few people had much ambition beyond that. Here, though, there was an attitude that learning was important in its own right, and Annie was determined to grasp every opportunity the new school provided.
However, it was obvious, even on the first day, that cliques were developing. Several slightly snooty-looking girls who had attended primary school here were already forming a mini-unit in the class. Susie said not to worry about that, and insisted that she and Annie would make lots of other friends and that everything would be fine.
Annie hoped that Susie was right, but she was still aware that the other students were fee-paying, while she was here on a scholarship. She remembered Sister Josephine referring to her as the ‘scholarship girl’ during the open day. She had been nervous meeting their Year Head again this morning, and had hoped that the nun wouldn’t draw attention to the scholarship and make her feel like the odd girl out.
Sister Josephine had greeted her pleasantly, though Annie had felt a bit on edge when the nun said she remembered her from their last meeting. To her relief, Sister Josephine had made no reference to the scholarship, and had simply welcomed her once more to Eccles Street. Annie had told herself not to get obsessed about fitting in, and to just try and relax, like Susie did.
They were about to leave the classroom for the lunchtime break, when Sister Immaculata swept into the room and clapped her hands for attention.
‘One moment, girls, before you have lunch,’ said the older nun, and all of the pupils stopped what they were doing. Sister Immaculata looked around the room, waiting until she had complete silence. ‘All of you will be starting sports tomorrow afternoon,’ she said. ‘Now, some of you will already be familiar with our facility in Shandon Park, but for those who weren’t in our junior school, let me tell you something important.’
Annie listened attentively. Susie had already played quite a bit of tennis and hockey, but Annie had experienced no organised sports in St Mary’s, where there had been just chasing and skipping in the school yard.
‘Once every week you will make your way to Phibsboro, for camogie in Shandon Park,’ said Sister Immaculata.
This sounded good to Annie. Camogie was the girls’ version of hurling, almost like hockey, only more full-blooded. Annie had sometimes played it on the road with her friends, but she looked forward to playing it properly now on a real pitch at Shandon Park.
Sister Immaculata looked from girl to girl as though challenging anyone not to give her their full attention, then she continued. ‘When you travel each week to Phibsboro, you will do three things. One, you will travel in good time so as not to be late; two, you will have your full kit with you, properly cleaned since the last match. And three – can anyone tell me what the third requirement is?’
‘That we won’t arrive drunk!’ whispered Susie.
Annie wanted to smile, but even though Sister Immaculata wasn’t looking their way, she forced herself not to.
‘That we behave like ladies, Sister,’ said one of the snooty-faced girls.
‘Quite so, Ethel,’ replied Sister Immaculata, nodding approvingly to the girl before turning back to the rest of the class. ‘When you travel on the public roads, be it to Shandon Park or to any other sporting fixture, you represent this school. You don’t shout, you don’t scream, you don’t engage in horseplay with your sporting equipment. You comport yourselves like young ladies. Understood?’
‘Yes, Sister,’ answered the girls in chorus.
‘Good. In the event that any girl fails to do so, it will be severely dealt with. Is that also understood?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Very good. Thank you for your attention. You may now break for lunch.’ The nun turned and quickly exited the room.
Susie breathed out exaggeratedly. ‘Whew, bit of a dragon, isn’t she?’
‘Pretty scary all right,’ answered Annie.
‘Do you know the answer to that?’
‘No, wha
t?’
‘Imagine her in her pyjamas,’ said Susie.
‘What?’
‘That’s what my dad always says,’ she answered with a grin. ‘If someone is all cross and important-looking, you imagine them in their pyjamas, and then they don’t seem half as frightening!’
Annie laughed.
‘Well it’s true, isn’t it?!’
‘I think even in her pyjamas she’d be scary!’ answered Annie, but she had to admit that the image Susie had conjured up of the vice-principal in her pyjamas did diminish the nun’s forbidding aura.
‘Come on, let’s have lunch,’ said Susie.
‘Right,’ said Annie and they started for the door. ‘I’m really looking forward to the camogie, are you?’
‘Yeah,’ said Susie, then she lowered her voice and indicated the girl who had answered the vice-principal’s question. ‘And when we get your woman Ethel and her stuck-up friends on the pitch, we’ll hack the legs off them!’
Annie laughed again, then she headed off to have lunch with Susie, pleased with her first morning in the new school, and looking forward to being a pupil here.
Peter felt excited. It was always a thrill to be on a mission, and tonight he was cycling along a fog-covered country road en route to meet Ned Morgan, the owner of Willow Cottage. He imagined that this was what it must have been like serving in the flying columns that used to strike suddenly against the Black and Tans, then disappear into the countryside during the guerrilla warfare of the War of Independence. Guerrilla warfare was going to be the way of the future, now that the main cities had all been re-taken by the army. Peter believed, however, that the rebels could make the country ungovernable. Then they could force the government to re-negotiate the treaty with Britain, and so still acquire a full republic.
This morning he had received a request from Mr Mac to move another consignment of contraband from the cottage to the hiding place in the Botanical Gardens. It was fairly urgent, the schoolteacher had said – breaking his normal rule by calling Peter aside in Belvedere – as the government forces were frequently raiding the homes and farms of suspected rebel sympathisers. Peter had promised to do it tonight, and the timing had been good, with his mother caught up in her Friday bridge night, and his father in Cork at a dental conference. His older sister and brother usually went into town on Friday nights and so Peter had been able to slip out unnoticed.
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