She took my arm and led me inside, fussing over me as she put the kettle on. And of course, I did that typical female thing – I’d been pretty calm and collected and in control since I called the emergency services but as soon as I was offered tea and sympathy I cracked. Tears streamed down my face and my shoulders began heaving with sobs.
‘Oh, you poor thing. It’s the shock, so it is. Come on, cry on my shoulder; let it all out, now.’ Janice pulled up a chair beside me and wrapped her arms around me. I clung to her as if I was drowning and bawled my eyes out. It was the realisation the crash could have killed me. It was the way a perfect day had ended so horribly. It was the thought that I could so easily have hit and killed that cow. It was the knowledge that now I had no car, and although the insurance would no doubt pay out, the insurance was in Paul’s name, not mine, and that meant I’d have to tell him what happened.
Chapter 14
Ellen, March 1920
It was the middle of March before a day of fine weather finally coincided with one of Ellen’s days off. Over winter she’d had so many cold and wet walks to Clonamurty Farm, and to her father’s cottage. Not to mention the increasing number of times she’d been sent by Madame Carlton carrying messages here and there. Ellen was a sworn-up member of the Cumann na mBan now, and proud of it. Siobhan wasn’t, and seemed to resent the fact. Knowing Siobhan’s secret about her brother’s involvement with the RIC played on Ellen’s mind – should she break her promise to Siobhan and tell Madame? But Siobhan had declared that her sincerest wish was for an independent Ireland. She wanted the same as the rest of them. It wasn’t her fault that her brother thought differently.
Ellen had been given a new daily task, back in December, of taking a couple of empty milk cans from Carlton House, via the track that led past the stables and out onto a lane, along the lane for half a mile and into a farmyard. There she would hand them over to a man, who was dressed in green tweeds and who never spoke a word to her. He’d take them into an outbuilding, which she assumed was the dairy but in which she never saw any dairymaids, and pass her a pair of full cans to take back, hung from a yoke across her shoulders, the old-fashioned way.
When she was first asked to deliver the cans, by Madame Carlton herself, she frowned. Wasn’t there a pony and cart, or even the tractor with its trailer, which could more easily transport heavy milk cans?
‘There is, Ellen dear, but there are also RIC roadblocks in place. They search every vehicle that passes. But they won’t search a girl carrying milk cans. Not when they’ve seen that girl every day, returning empty cans and collecting full ones.’
‘What else will I be carrying, Madame?’ Ellen was fearful. Who was to say that one day the RIC mightn’t search her anyway? Or that one day the roadblock might be manned by the more thuggish Black and Tans, who’d have no qualms about searching her, and worse.
Madame Carlton smiled. ‘Only the milk cans, Ellen. But they won’t always be empty on your way out. I think that is all you need to know. Smile at the RIC officers. They will doff their caps and let you pass; certainly after a few days when they are used to you, they will.’
The winter was cold and damp, and it was often raining or drizzling when Ellen made her walk over to the farm. Even so, if the roadblock was in place she’d force herself to smile cheerfully at them as she passed, and indeed she was never questioned, never searched.
‘Here she is, the little milkmaid,’ one of them would say, and the others would grin and joke and make deep bows or josh each other as she passed.
On the return trip, if the milk cans were equally heavy, full of milk, she felt more relaxed. But sometimes one of them would be lighter than the other, weighing only about the same as an empty one, and then she’d be on edge again as she passed the soldiers.
‘Messages,’ Jimmy had told her, ‘that’s what you’re carrying. Madame Carlton must suspect her mail is being intercepted. This is her only way to keep in touch with the Volunteers.’ He’d kissed her. ‘I’m proud of you, so I am. Every little act for Ireland’s sake, is an act worth making.’
Once, and thankfully only once, she’d had a near escape. There’d been a different set of RIC guards at the roadblock. The new commander, a hard-faced man with a scar across his face, had stopped her after the others had let her through.
‘Lads, we search everyone who passes,’ he said, gruffly.
‘She’s a girl – we aren’t allowed to search girls,’ protested one of the men.
‘Not allowed to search their person, but we can search what they are carrying. Get on with it, men.’
‘Sir, tis only empty milk cans,’ Ellen said, but they made her put down her load and step back while they unscrewed the tops of the cans and peered inside. She clasped her hands together tightly to stop them shaking, feeling sweat run down her back despite the chill day. She prayed silently that there would be no message inside the cans today. What would she say if one was found? Would she deny all knowledge of it, and try to save herself at the expense of whoever had written the note – possibly Madame Carlton herself? Or would she take responsibility, and try to deflect attention away from those at Carlton House?
It could only have been a minute or two, but it was the longest minute in Ellen’s life. At last the soldiers replaced the tops of the cans. ‘Nothing here, Sergeant,’ they said, and helped her lift the yoke back on to her shoulders. She forced a bright smile to her face and thanked them as she continued on her way. With luck, that would mean this particular company of RIC officers would not stop her again.
She’d reported the incident back to Madame Carlton, of course. Madame had listened gravely to her story. ‘The milk cans will be empty for the next week at least, in case they decide to search you again. Let me know what happens as you pass the roadblock.’
The week had passed without incident. About ten days after being searched, Madame Carlton came to see her off on her regular milk run. She’d laid a hand on Ellen’s shoulder, but said nothing. Ellen had guessed that today she was carrying a message, and felt the familiar pang of fear as she approached the roadblock, but thankfully she was waved through as usual.
Captain Cunningham had recovered, and after a fortnight of nursing had left Carlton House late one night. There had been no other wounded Volunteers brought in since. Ellen had plucked up the courage to ask Madame Carlton why not. She’d enjoyed her nursing duties and helping Captain Cunningham get gradually better. She’d enjoyed too, chatting to him and learning about the background to the war and his hopes for Ireland’s future.
Madame Carlton had answered with a sigh. ‘We are being watched. The RIC suspect Carlton House of being a Volunteers’ headquarters. We must be very careful not to draw any more attention to what goes on here.’
It was on the tip of Ellen’s tongue to tell Madame what she knew of Siobhan’s brother. Was it possible Siobhan was passing information to the RIC? She’d sworn loyalty to the Cause, but was she truly loyal? What would happen to her if the Volunteers suspected her because of her brother’s involvement with the RIC? They’d question her – beat her, no doubt. No. Ellen could not betray her friend. She trusted Siobhan.
Ellen had also noticed fewer comings and goings of serious-looking men at odd hours of the day or night. In her first few months of employment there seemed to be endless meetings and all sorts of people in or around the house, often staying for a few days. Now the house was much quieter. Madame Carlton went out often, but there were rarely any visitors. Less work for her and Siobhan to do in the house, but then her new responsibility of taking the milk cans with their hidden messages to the farmyard took up more time.
One fine day in late March, on her day off, Ellen was in high spirits as she left Carlton House to meet Jimmy. He wasn’t at the end of the driveway where he usually waited for her. But as she knew the house was under observation by the RIC she guessed that would be the reason why, and she pushed on to Clonamurty Farm. He’d be there, no doubt, waiting for her. His mother would have mad
e soda bread, and she’d have a slice of it, still warm from the oven, with a thick spreading of butter and a cup of tea, while Jimmy told her his news from the past week.
She enjoyed her walk to the farm. Lovely to be out in the sunshine, on such a glorious day, without the burden of the milk cans and yoke across her shoulders. Birds were singing, there were daffodils still in bloom along the verges, and blackthorn blossomed in the hedgerows. On the hillsides lambs were bleating for their mothers, while the flatter fields had been ploughed and sowed with wheat and barley. This was rich farming country, and at this time of year there was a feeling of expectancy in the air, as though the earth couldn’t wait to get on with growing the next crop.
At the farm, Mr Gallagher was in the yard, stacking a wood pile. He grunted at her in welcome. His face was red, his lips pursed together, and he was flinging the logs onto the pile, cursing if they rolled off. He was angry about something. Ellen didn’t dare ask what was wrong, and neither did she ask him where Jimmy was. She went to the kitchen door, tapped and entered. In the kitchen, Mrs Gallagher was sitting at the table, a cold cup of tea in front of her, staring at nothing. Her eyes were red as though she’d been crying.
‘Mrs Gallagher? Is something wrong?’ Ellen asked. Oh God, let it not be Jimmy, she thought.
Mrs Gallagher raised her head, sniffed and wiped her eyes on her apron. ‘Jimmy’s upstairs. Go up to him. He’ll tell you what’s up.’
Ellen didn’t waste a minute but rushed out to the stairs. Coming down was Jimmy’s younger brother, Mickey.
‘He’s in his room, so,’ Mickey said. ‘They’re upset because he’s off to blow up a barracks or some such. Won’t tell me, he won’t. Maybe he’ll tell you and you can tell me. Ma didn’t even know he was a Volunteer. She’s furious with him. I’m going to sign up too, soon as I’m old enough. I’d’ve joined the Fianna Éireann if there’d been a group near enough, so I would. Parents won’t send me to Jimmy’s school. They say it put ideas in his head.’
He stepped close to Ellen. Mickey was as tall as her now, even though he was only 13. He whispered the next bit. ‘Same ideas are in my head, Ellen. Jimmy’s doing what’s right for Ireland. They don’t see it, the old man and the ma. They just think it’s dangerous. But if something’s worth having, like freedom, it’s worth really fighting for. I’m right, aren’t I?’
She smiled at his fervour. Now that she too was part of the struggle, seeing him champing at the bit to be allowed to play his part made her feel old. ‘Sure, Mickey, I think you are right. Let me past, now. I need to talk to Jimmy.’
‘Get him to tell you his mission. Then you can tell me. Don’t forget, now. I can keep secrets, sure I can.’ Mickey stood aside to let her past, and she hurried up the stairs and across the landing to Jimmy’s room. She had not been up here since she was a child. Now that they were sweethearts it seemed wrong to go to his bedroom, especially if his parents were downstairs or in the yard.
She tapped on Jimmy’s door. ‘Jimmy? It’s me. Your mammy said I should come up to you.’
He did not reply, and she was about to tap again, when suddenly the door swung open and Jimmy caught her wrist and pulled her inside. There was a fire burning in his eyes, like Mickey’s but oh so much brighter and fiercer! ‘You’re here. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you today. I’ve only a short time before I have to go …’
She noticed then that a kit bag was on the bed, and items of clothing were strewn across the floor.
‘Go where?’ she whispered.
He pulled her across to the bed and gently pushed her down to sit on it, shoving the kit bag out of the way. ‘I have a new mission. A big one. I’ve proved myself now, and they want me to take part in an important mission.’
‘What?’
He was silent for a moment, gazing into her eyes as though deciding whether to confide. At last he shook his head. ‘No. I cannot tell you. It would put you in danger. What you don’t know you can’t confess to, should anything ever happen. You must understand this. I must do what I can to keep you safe.’
She leaned in close to him, breathing in his musky scent, relishing the feel of his strong, broad shoulder beneath her cheek. ‘You want to keep me safe, yet you are pleased and proud that I carry messages for the Volunteers, that I put myself in danger every day passing the RIC roadblock?’
He put his arms around her and pulled her closer still, resting his chin on the top of her head. ‘I am proud, and I am terrified. I love you so much. I want to tuck you away somewhere safe, away from all this, until the war is over. And I want you to play your part, understand the issues at first hand, so that in the future you can look at our proud, independent nation and say, I helped to build that. But I must weigh up every last detail, to work out what is for the best, which risks should be taken and which should be shied away from. In this case, telling you my next mission: my judgement is that it’s too dangerous for you to know.’ He kissed her lips. ‘But I promise you, my darling Ellen, I will take no unnecessary risks. I will carry out my mission as best I can, and then I will return.’
‘How long?’
‘I don’t know. A week. Two. Maybe more. We need to wait for the … for the right opportunity.’
‘Where will you be?’
He smiled, and kissed her again. ‘Ah, my sweet Ellen, that I also cannot tell you, for your own safety. Come on. I have about an hour before I must leave. Let’s not waste a moment of it.’
And then there more whispers of love, and kisses, long and deep, with an urgency about them. Ellen wondered when she would see him next, and what he might have done by then.
Their time was over all too quickly. Jimmy glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece in his room and leapt to his feet, stuffing clothes and personal items into his kit bag. From under the bed he pulled out a gun and tucked that into his belt. Ellen made no comment, but shivered to think she’d been sitting on the bed while such a lethal weapon lurked beneath it. A weapon that Jimmy was trained to use, and probably would, to end someone’s life.
When the bag was packed, he opened a drawer and pulled out a small box and handed it to Ellen. ‘I want you to have this.’
She stared at him, and opened the box. Nestling inside was a chain on which hung his silver First Communion medallion, engraved on the back with his name and the date he took Holy Communion. ‘I can’t, this is your …’
He waved away her protests. ‘I’d give you a ring, only I haven’t one, so perhaps this can do instead. Tis the only thing I have of value.’
‘A ring? Do you mean …’
He caught her and pulled her close. ‘When this is all over, I hope we can be married, Ellen, my sweet, precious colleen. I want you to keep this as a sign of my love, and my commitment to you.’ He kissed her, and she tucked the little box into the pocket of her skirt. It may not be of any significant value, but to her, it meant the world. It was the most personal thing he could have given her.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘best go down now. It’s time.’
She followed him downstairs and into the kitchen, where his family and another man were waiting.
Mrs Gallagher took him in her arms. ‘Be careful, now,’ she told him. ‘Send me word when you are coming home and I’ll roast a leg of mutton for you.’
‘Will do, Mammy,’ he replied.
He shook his father’s hand, but then Mr Gallagher pulled him into a hug too, saying nothing. Ellen noticed tears in the old man’s eyes.
‘If I can borrow your bicycle, I can join the Fianna over at Navan,’ Mickey said.
‘You’re too young, Mickey,’ Mrs Gallagher cut in.
‘Another year, kid,’ said Jimmy, ruffling his brother’s hair. ‘Then you can join them, if Mammy and Daddy agree.’
‘Ready?’ asked the stranger.
Jimmy turned to Ellen and hugged her one last time. She tried to imprint every inch of him on her mind, knowing if she never saw him again this last embrace would be the one she’d remember him by. Tears came to h
er eyes at the thought. No. This would not, could not be the last one. He’d return, safe, triumphant, and ready, perhaps, to leave the Volunteers, settle down and take her as his wife.
‘I’m ready,’ he said. He picked up his kit bag, followed the man out of the house and climbed into the sidecar of a motorcycle that was parked in the farmyard. It sped off in a cloud of dust, the roar of its engine mingling with the roar of fear inside Ellen’s head. Please Lord, let him come home safely, she prayed, silently.
Chapter 15
Clare, May 2016
Janice insisted on staying with me until nine p.m., making sure I’d eaten, asking over and over if I’d like to go and stay with her for the night. ‘I’d stay here with you if I could, but the kids … you know,’ she said, with a grimace. ‘I’ve only a blow-up bed to put in the sitting room but it’s comfortable enough. I’m not sure you should be on your own tonight.’
I hugged her. ‘I’ll be fine. Thank you so much for everything. I guess I needed a little cry.’ It had been, I realised, the first time I’d cried properly since coming to Ireland. Since leaving Paul, and our twenty-five-year marriage.
‘Little cry? It was like a dam had burst! I’m drenched.’ She laughed. ‘Well, if you’re sure, I should get off home now. I’ll come and see you tomorrow afternoon after the school run.’
She was a good friend. I was glad to have met her.
The next day I awoke stiff and sore, with some impressive bruises blooming across my chest and shoulder where the seatbelt had restrained me. I hauled myself out of bed, made myself breakfast, then called the insurance company. I wasn’t sure how these things worked, but at least I knew which company Paul had insured the car with, and was able to find a number for them online. I didn’t have the paperwork or policy number, but they were able to look it up using the registration plate and Paul’s name and address.
The Forgotten Secret Page 13