Taking Sides

by Brian Gallagher

  He cycled along Ballyboggan Road now, the front light on his bicycle barely illuminating the foggy route ahead. When he had left Glasnevin, the fog had been lighter, but here in the countryside it had grown thicker, and he had to cycle more slowly.

  He rounded a bend, and being familiar with the route, he realised that he wasn’t too far from Cardiffs Bridge. He continued on through the fog and saw faintly visible lights at the next bend on the road. He heard the soft rumble of engines turning over, then the sound ceased as first one engine, then another was turned off. Peter braked at once, immediately on the alert. Lorries travelling at this hour of the evening might very well be taking part in a raid.

  Peter dismounted, then proceeded quietly on foot, anxious to see what was going on. He felt his pulse beginning to race and the thought occurred to him that if the lorries really were part of a raid, it was highly likely that Willow Cottage was the target. The smart course of action would be to slip away now to avoid a trap. But if the lorries really were full of soldiers about to launch a raid, did he not have a duty to try and warn his comrades?

  He stood there a moment, uncertain what to do, then made up his mind. He would find out if the lorries were military vehicles before deciding anything. He switched off his lights and walked gingerly ahead, wheeling the bicycle. He was glad now of the ever- thickening fog and the lack of other traffic on the road at this hour of the evening.

  Drawing nearer, he felt his heart sink. Both vehicles were army trucks. He could faintly make out the outline of a man standing at the cab of the nearest vehicle, then he heard his voice.

  ‘It’s not marked on the map,’ said the soldier, ‘but there’s supposed to be a turn before the bridge.’

  That settled it, thought Peter; the army was preparing to raid the cottage. He stepped back into the fog for fear that the soldier might look up from the map and see him. He knew he had had a near miss and that he should get out of here fast. If he fled now, though, the soldiers would catch Ned red-handed with whatever weapons he had ready for Peter to take away.

  Could he get to the cottage first and warn him? He definitely couldn’t risk trying to cycle past the army lorries. But supposing he ran unseen across the fields? It might be possible to get there ahead of the troops. It was a big risk and there was no telling what would happen if it back-fired and he was captured. Or worse, he could be shot during the raid – things like that happened all the time. The thought of being shot really frightened him, but he hated the idea of slinking off home and leaving Ned to be captured. He weighed up his choices, then acted impulsively.

  Moving quickly but quietly, he wheeled the bicycle back to a gate he had passed. On the other side of the gate were fields that led down to the river, and without hesitating any further, he hoisted the bicycle up in the air and lowered it down on the other side of the gate. He swiftly climbed over the gate and slipped off the bicycle’s front lamp. Then he hid the bike where he could retrieve it later, resting it out of sight behind the hedgerow. The fog was even thicker towards the river Tolka, but Peter knew these fields well from his many picnics here. Using the bicycle lamp to pick out a route, he made his way down the sloping field towards the river as quickly as he could.

  He took care not to shine the light in the direction of the road, and he prayed that the fog would prevent him from being spotted by the soldiers. Despite the cold night air, he was sweating, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end when he thought of what it would be like to get a bullet in the back.

  No shots were fired, however, and to his relief he reached a track that ran alongside the river. Picking up his pace, he ran through the swirling fog. Even with the poor visibility he knew exactly where he was now, and before reaching Cardiffs Bridge he cut left across a pasture, quickly scaled a gate and dropped down onto the road.

  He ran up the lane leading to Willow Cottage, hit the latch on the front door and burst into the living room.

  ‘God almighty!’ cried Ned, as he spun round from where he was sitting at the table.

  The older man had been drinking tea from an enamel mug and some of the tea had splashed onto his shirt with the shock of Peter’s sudden arrival. There wasn’t time for apologies or explanations however, and Peter spoke rapidly.

  ‘You’re going to be raided!’

  ‘How do you know–?’

  ‘The army are just up the road!’ cried Peter, cutting him short.

  Just then the sound of revving engines could be heard.

  ‘That’s them!’ said Peter. ‘Have you got the stuff for me?!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ned, overcoming his initial shock and rising swiftly from the table. He went to a wicker basket full of sods of turf. He reached under the top sods and pulled out a package sealed with sacking and thrust it into Peter’s hands.

  Peter could hear the sound of the trucks changing gear and he knew they were coming down the nearby hill, but he forced himself not to panic.

  ‘Have you anything else they shouldn’t find?’ he asked.

  ‘No, that’s it. You run out the back, through the barn, I’ll brazen it out here.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Good luck, son! Run like the wind!’

  Ned opened the back door of the kitchen, and Peter ran down a passageway, through another door and into the barn. He heard the sound of the trucks pulling into the lane, then skidding to a halt at the front of the cottage. There were shouts and whistles being blown, but he concentrated on finding the rear door of the barn, using the beam from his bicycle lamp. He heard the door of the cottage being kicked open just as he stepped out the back of the barn into the fog-enshrouded night. He was now on the side of the barn furthest from the cottage’s front entrance, but he was still only a short distance away from the shouting soldiers.

  His heart pounded so heavily that his chest felt like it was going to burst, but he resisted the temptation to flee. Ned had said to run like the wind, but that wasn’t possible in the fog. And running through the farmyard might well alert the soldiers, some of whom he heard fanning out around the cottage. Instead, he switched off the lamp and slowly stepped backwards into the shelter of an apple orchard. He eased back as deeply as he could into the apple trees, being careful not to snap any fallen branches. Suddenly, two soldiers burst out of the rear door of the barn, one of them carrying a lantern. Peter could make out their shape in the thick fog, but he hoped that by standing immobile in the dark and the fog he would not be seen.

  He heard angry voices from the cottage, then Ned cried out, presumably having been struck a blow. Peter hoped they wouldn’t mistreat him any further, then his thoughts were turned to self preservation. The soldier carrying the lantern was moving up the yard, drawing closer to Peter’s hiding place. Peter’s every instinct was to draw away, but he knew that any movement would be a mistake. Instead he held his breath, hoping the soldier wouldn’t spot him in the heavy, swirling mist.

  The solder stopped. ‘Here, Paddy,’ he said. ‘Guess what I’ve found.’

  Peter felt his mouth go dry. Was the man playing cat and mouse with him?

  ‘What is it?’ said the other soldier.

  ‘Something that means we haven’t wasted our time.’

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ said the second soldier.

  ‘I can, though.’

  Peter felt his knees trembling and he pressed them together.

  ‘What is it?’ repeated the second soldier.

  ‘Something you find in orchards. Apples!’

  Peter watched in disbelief as the lantern-holder plucked an apple off one of the trees and threw it to his friend. ‘Here,’ he cried laughingly, ‘spoils of war!’ Then he plucked another apple for himself before both men turned away and headed back into the barn.

  Peter felt a wave of relief and he breathed out deeply but silently. Time to get out of here, he thought. He didn’t like leaving Ned with the enemy soldiers, but the older man had said there was nothing else illegal in the house, so he should be all righ
t.

  The soldiers would probably turn the cottage upside down searching for contraband, which meant they would be there for a quite a while. All he had to do now was retreat deeper into the fog and make his way through the fields parallel to the road. Once he was well away from the cottage he would regain the road and run back to where he had hidden his bicycle. All going well, he would be back in Glasnevin before the soldiers had to admit that there was nothing to be found. He breathed out deeply again, his relief giving way to exhilaration, then he grasped the precious parcel for which he had come and disappeared deeper into the trees.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Annie was fascinated to see her friends’ parents in party mood. Peter’s family held a musical evening several times each year, to which friends, neighbours and relatives were invited, and this was Annie’s first time to attend. She loved the festive atmosphere tonight in Botanic Lodge, the Scanlon’s large rambling home. It seemed wonderfully warm and welcoming, through a magical combination of candlelight, roaring log fires, and large quantities of delicious food and drink. The entertainment had been lively too, and Annie had been surprised to discover that Mrs Scanlon was the kind of pianist who could move easily from playing Chopin to accompanying singers who did light-hearted Percy French songs, like ‘Phil the Fluter’s Ball’.

  Annie had always found Mrs Scanlon to be pleasant without actually being warm, but tonight she saw a more relaxed version of her friend’s mother. Susie and Tommy’s father, Mr O’Neill, was performing now, and this too was revealing. Annie had often encountered him around his vet’s surgery while visiting Susie, and he had always been friendly, but tonight he was showing a more dramatic side to his nature. He was singing the ballad ‘Love Thee Dearest, Love Thee’, and was performing full-bloodedly, his hand clutched dramatically to his heart as he sang to Susie’s smiling mother in a strong tenor voice. Annie thought to herself that she now knew where Susie got her outgoing manner.

  Annie had put on her best outfit for tonight and had worn new silk ribbons in her hair. She was glad that she had, because all of the other children present – most of them cousins of Peter’s – were beautifully dressed. None of them had been stand-offish though, and Annie had mixed easily with them, and had even got a loud cheer from all of the children when she had sung her party piece, ‘Are you right there, Michael?’

  She rose now to go to the bathroom, slipping quietly out into the hall without distracting Mr O’Neill, who was working up to a crescendo. Her friends were enjoying the company of Peter’s cousins, and it struck Annie that her absence wouldn’t be noticed for a while. She was tempted by the idea of exploring Peter’s home, having only ever been in the sitting room and the kitchen on her previous visits. The house was really grand compared to her own, and was full of interesting corners. But even though she was curious and could have done a little discreet snooping now without being detected, she told herself that she was a guest and that this would be bad manners.

  Instead she crossed the hallway and entered the downstairs toilet. It was surprisingly spacious and Annie was impressed by the sweet-smelling bowl of potpourri on the window ledge and the tall pink wax candles that augmented the soft gas lighting.

  After using the toilet, she washed her hands with a lavender scented soap and then dried them in a soft, fluffy towel. This is the way to live! she thought.

  While washing her hands she had heard a telephone ringing, and when she stepped back into the hallway, she was surprised to see Peter standing at its far end with his back to her. He had the telephone cradled to his ear and was speaking in a serious, urgent voice that Annie could just make out over the background noise of the party.

  ‘I suppose I could get it now if you really need it,’ he said.

  Annie’s instincts told her that something important was happening, and she stood stock still, wanting to hear more.

  ‘OK, if it’s urgent I will,’ said Peter in answer to whatever the caller had requested. ‘All right, but don’t come down on a motorbike. I’ll meet you at the corner in a few minutes.’

  Annie was intrigued, but worried too. Peter’s allegiances were with the rebels. Was he getting involved in something illegal? It sounded like it, and when he hung up and made for the kitchen without a backward glance, she found herself following him. Annie didn’t know what exactly was going on, but she sensed that her friend was doing something risky, and without thinking it through, she decided to find out.

  Peter opened the French windows and stepped out into the garden. Annie waited a moment, then followed suit. She had no idea where she was going or what she would say if he turned around and caught her. He seemed to be completely intent on what he was about, however, and in the hazy moonlight Annie saw him striding towards the far end of the garden.

  She followed at a distance, confident that she wouldn’t be seen from the house, where the curtains were drawn on all the windows. She saw Peter reaching the boundary wall of the garden. The Scanlons’ house backed onto the Botanical Gardens, and Annie was intrigued when she saw Peter bending down low, lifting away a sheet of wood, then squeezing though a hidden gap in the bars of the boundary wall. So he had a hidden entrance into the Bots! But what on earth was he up to?

  She waited a moment to let him get clear, then quickly crossed to the garden boundary herself. She hitched up her dress, not wanting to soil her best outfit, then she crouched down and silently moved the sheet of wood that Peter had replaced. She squeezed through the bars as quickly as she could, not wanting to lose sight of Peter in the darkened grounds.

  She heard movement up ahead, then caught a glimpse of him in the moonlight as he followed a faintly visible path. Annie looked across the gloomy expanse of the Botanical Gardens and hesitated. On the other side of the gardens was Glasnevin Cemetery, where Michael Collins had been buried just a few weeks ago. It was a really spooky place that still featured watch towers that had been built to discourage grave-robbers. This really wasn’t somewhere she wanted to go. But she was very worried about Peter, and so she forced herself to master her fears and set off along the path after him. She moved as quickly as she could in the moonlight, her night vision improving now that she was away from the lights of the house. Suddenly she stepped on a twig. It snapped with a crack.

  Annie stopped dead and flattened herself against a large tree. Peter must have heard the noise because the faint sound of his footsteps had halted. Annie stood stock still, praying that he would assume the noise had been made by an animal. Would a fox or a badger be heavy enough to snap a twig? She had no idea. Or would he sense the presence of another person, would the hairs rise on his neck the way they sometimes did when you felt you were being observed by someone unseen? Her mind racing, she stood there, holding her breath and dreading the thought of Peter silently backtracking and catching her.

  After a moment, though, she heard him moving off again and she breathed out quietly, then set off after him. As it happened, she didn’t have much further to go, and up ahead she saw Peter going around the back of what looked like a storage shed. Annie suspected that she must be in some sort of maintenance area, then before she could give it further thought, Peter emerged from behind the shed, carrying something in his hands.

  To Annie’s surprise, he didn’t retrace his steps towards the house but made his way further along the path. Keeping as far behind him as possible without losing him from sight, Annie followed. He continued along the path that now veered right, which Annie realised was bringing them back in the general direction of Peter’s house, but towards what must be one of the side entrances to the Botanical Gardens.

  Keeping to the shadows, Annie trailed him, then saw that he was opening a latch on a pedestrian door built into the gate. He swung the door open and Annie saw a dim street light on the far side of the gate. Peter stepped out and closed the wicket gate after him.

  Now alone in the dark, Annie didn’t want to linger, and she quickly made for the wicket gate, waited a moment to allow Peter to have walk
ed on, then opened the gate and stepped out on the street. She gently closed the gate after her and looked ahead, suddenly getting her bearings. They were at the far end of the laneway on which Peter’s house was located, and Peter was striding towards the corner of the much more brightly lit main thoroughfare at Botanic Road.

  Annie could hear a motorcycle engine gently turning over, and she remembered Peter’s telephone conversation. Clearly he was about to deliver the hidden parcel to the motorcyclist, and Annie guessed that the parcel’s contents had to be illegal.

  Peter was about halfway up the laneway when there was a commotion at the corner of the main road. Annie saw several men approaching the motorcyclist, whose engine immediately roared to life. She watched the motorcyclist careening across the head of the laneway and handing off one of the men who had tried to grab him. The motorcyclist mounted the footpath, and Annie caught a glimpse of its helmet-clad rider pushing the other man to the ground, then the engine roared again and the bike sped away.

  Peter froze for a moment, then Annie saw him swiftly moving to the boundary wall of his garden and tossing the parcel over the wall. He turned on his heel, then stopped in amazement on seeing Annie.

  ‘Annie?! What … what are you doing here?’

  ‘I could ask the same,’ she said.

  Peter looked completely taken aback. ‘Let’s … let’s get out of here first,’ he said.

  He indicated the way back to the wicket gate, but before they could walk away, two of the men who had tried to apprehend the motorcyclist started up the laneway.