Friend or Foe Read online

  Emer had been hoping for words of consolation, but instead Gerry had spoken truthfully.

  ‘No use fretting about that now, though,’ he added. ‘So eat up, get a good night’s sleep and worry about tomorrow when it comes. That’s what I do.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Emer. Then she returned to the food and tried to put from her mind the horror of what could happen to her father.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jack sped down the hill on his bicycle. The Phoenix Park was fresh and green in its spring foliage, and the sweet-smelling air swept his hair back as he rose in the saddle and accelerated down the incline.

  It was Tuesday morning now, and he was making for Kilmainham to try to find out what had happened to Da. Although his mother had expressly forbidden such a journey, there had been no word from his father, and Jack couldn’t take the uncertainty any longer. Ma would be frantic with worry if she knew what he was doing, so he had quietly sneaked his bike out and told only Mary where he was going. Mary had tried to dissuade him, but Jack insisted that for everyone’s sake they had to enquire about Da. He warned Mary not to tell Ma about his expedition unless it was absolutely necessary.

  It felt good to be doing something at last, but the closer he got to Kilmainham, the more worried Jack was about Da’s absence. He could hear gunfire in the distance, and the city was rife with rumours of killings and general mayhem. There was talk of artillery being brought to bear on the rebel strongholds. Neither Dublin Port nor the city’s two main railway stations were in rebel hands, and British Army reinforcements were said to be on their way. The Volunteers and the Citizen Army had chosen strategic locations, however, and were laying down gunfire to prevent easy access of more troops into the city. Jack had avoided the quays near Kingsbridge Station, taking the safer route to Kilmainham through the Phoenix Park.

  He turned left at the base of the Magazine Hill, then exited the park and made for Islandbridge. Looking back towards town, he could see thick smoke rising into the blue April sky, and the sound of machine-gun fire carried on the breeze. And this was just a day after the uprising had begun. What sort of slaughter would take place if thousands of troops poured into the city – and if they began using artillery? Jack tried to dismiss his negative thoughts and told himself that whatever happened, Da would come through. He rose into the saddle again and cycled hard up the slope towards Kilmainham.

  ‘My God, Gerry!’ said Emer. ‘What have you done?’ She had stepped from the bedroom of the cottage into the kitchen and now stood in shock, looking at the goods on the cracked wooden table.

  Exhaustion had set in the previous night, and she had slept soundly despite the strange surroundings of Gerry’s bedroom. Then a few minutes ago she had been woken by Gerry’s uncle clattering off in the horse and cart. His absence meant she could enter the sunlit kitchen, where she saw all the food and clothing spread out on the table, still in their shop wrappers.

  Gerry didn’t seem perturbed by her question. ‘I done what everyone was doin’. I helped myself.’

  Emer was taken aback, and despite her gratitude to Gerry for letting her stay overnight, she couldn’t keep the disapproval from her voice. ‘You were looting?’

  ‘I went into town this morning. Other people were helping themselves, why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘But … but what about the shopkeepers?’

  ‘They’ve been rich all their lives. With their big stores and their fancy clothes and more food than they can eat. This was a chance for poor people to come out on top, just for once.’

  Emer could understand Gerry thinking like this, but she still felt uncomfortable with the idea of looting. ‘You could have been arrested,’ she said.

  ‘No chance,’ answered Gerry. ‘The DMP have been pulled back to their barracks.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The rebels shot a few of them, so they’re off the streets.’

  ‘Really? Gosh, I hope Mr Madigan is all right.’

  ‘Yeah. I don’t like the peelers, but Jack’s da sounds decent enough.’

  ‘So what’s it like in town?’ asked Emer.

  ‘Mad. The rebels have taken Boland’s Mills, Stephen’s Green, the South Dublin Union, Jacob’s factory, the Four Courts and loads of other places.’

  ‘Did you hear anything about Dublin Castle or City Hall?’

  ‘They say the rebels never took Dublin Castle, and the army’s taken back City Hall.’

  Emer felt her stomach tighten. ‘I really hope Dad’s OK,’ she said.

  ‘He might have escaped. Or he could just be taken prisoner. You could always go down there and check it out.’

  Emer considered this.

  ‘Forget the police,’ continued Gerry. ‘They’re cooped up in their barracks, so you needn’t worry about them raiding your house or stopping you in the street.’

  Emer suspected that Gerry was right, and that both the police and the army had too much to contend with now to be raiding the houses of Volunteers. It meant that she could move back to her own home, but it still left the worry of her father.

  ‘Want my advice?’ asked Gerry.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your clothes have got a bit messed up since yesterday. Go home and change into your best outfit, then go to City Hall and ask about your da.’

  ‘Why my best outfit?’

  ‘’Cause if you look posh, officers and people in charge take you seriously.’

  Emer hadn’t thought of that before, but it was probably true.

  ‘Whatever has happened your da, has happened to him. Right?’

  Emer didn’t want to think like that, but she nodded in reply.

  ‘So you might as well be smart about it,’ said Gerry. ‘Have a bit of breakfast, then go home and freshen up. Change into your best clothes and go and ask the officer in charge at City Hall about your father. OK?’

  ‘OK …’ said Emer haltingly. ‘OK.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jack, but I’ve bad news.’ The policeman on duty at the desk was a colleague of Jack’s father’s called Sergeant Kirwan, whom he had met several times, and the man looked uneasy. The DMP barracks was bustling with activity: officers were barricading the windows with sandbags as reports came in of looting and rebel activity all over the city.

  Jack was oblivious to everything around him as the man’s words struck home. He dreaded to hear the worst but forced himself to ask. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Your father … your father is missing.’

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘He’s not on any casualty list, that’s the good part.’

  Jack felt a sense of relief, but it didn’t last long; this could still mean that his dad was dead, with his body not yet found. ‘When was he last seen?’ he asked.

  ‘Yesterday afternoon. It’s possible … he may well have been taken prisoner.’

  ‘Why would they want to hold a policeman prisoner?’

  ‘He could have tried to stop them doing something. We’ve a definite report of an officer being held prisoner in the GPO.’ The sergeant reached out and laid a large hand reassuringly on Jack’s shoulder. ‘If he’s a prisoner, he’ll be all right.’

  ‘How will he be? Haven’t two DMP men been shot dead – even though the rebels know they’re unarmed?’

  The policeman didn’t answer, and Jack saw that he was unshaven and his eyes looked bloodshot.

  ‘That’s true, son,’ he said now. ‘But from what we hear, most of the rebels are behaving honourably.’

  ‘Could they win?’

  The policeman shook his head at once. ‘Not a chance. In a few days they’ll be outnumbered ten to one. And they’ve no artillery, no heavy weapons. It’s a hopeless cause.’

  ‘If Da was taken prisoner, where could he be held?’

  ‘Any of the rebel garrisons, I suppose.’

  ‘Where’s the most likely?’

  ‘Well, the nearest fighting to here is the workhouse complex at the South Dublin Union. It’s a huge place, and fierce battles are going on
there – so he could be somewhere in the Union.’

  ‘And when will the army retake it?’

  ‘Impossible to tell. It’s turmoil out there.’

  ‘You have our address, Sergeant,’ said Jack. ‘Please, promise me the minute you hear anything, you’ll tell us?’

  ‘You have my word, Jack.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And keep your chin up. God is good.’

  Jack thought this was a silly thing to say less than twenty-four hours after two unarmed policemen had been shot. He said nothing in reply but nodded in farewell, then made his way for the door, more worried than at any time since the Rising had begun.

  ‘Excuse me, sir!’ said Emer, trying to make her voice sound assured as she addressed the officer supervising the British troops strengthening the barricades at City Hall.

  Earlier in the day Emer had taken Gerry’s advice and gone home to change into her best clothes, then made her way into the war-torn city centre. Now as the British officer looked at her, she could see his surprise. He was a man of about forty, and something about the expression in his dark-brown eyes made Emer sense that he might be kind.

  ‘May I ask you a question, please?’ she said, speaking confidently and clearly, glad for once of her elocution classes.

  ‘Allow me a question first,’ replied the officer in what Emer recognised as a cultured English accent. ‘What’s a young lady like you doing out on your own? The city centre is dangerous.’

  ‘I’m here because … I’m here because I fear for my father’s life.’

  ‘Is he an army officer?’

  ‘Yes, sir, he’s a captain. But … but not in your army.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the man.

  ‘I’m told he was fighting here at City Hall. Can you tell me, please, if he’s been captured or wounded, or … or what might have happened to him? His name is Captain Davey.’

  The man hesitated, and Emer looked at him appealingly. ‘Please, sir, I’m worried sick. I’m asking you, as a gentleman, to help me. I just want to know if he’s been taken prisoner.’

  The man held her gaze, then nodded almost imperceptibly. He opened the pocket of his tunic and took out a list.

  ‘Davey, you say?’

  ‘Yes, sir, Captain Eamon Davey.’

  Emer held her breath as the officer read the list, then he lowered it and looked at her.

  ‘He was here.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘But I’m sorry to have to tell you that he was shot.’

  Emer felt like her world was falling apart. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘No …’

  ‘He’s not among the dead,’ said the man sympathetically. ‘He’s just listed as wounded.’

  ‘Oh, thank God for that! And … was he badly wounded?’

  ‘I don’t have that sort of detail.’

  ‘Do you know where he’d be now?’

  ‘Under guard in hospital, I should think.’

  ‘Which hospital, sir?’

  ‘Afraid I wouldn’t know that. But he’ll be properly treated. Meanwhile you should get off the streets, miss. This is no place for a girl like you.’

  The man went to move off, but Emer called out. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The officer nodded, then returned to his men.

  Emer walked away, her head spinning. It was a relief to know that Dad hadn’t been killed. But he was wounded, maybe seriously. Somehow she had to locate his hospital and find out how he was.

  ‘I hate being the bearer of bad tidings,’ said Sergeant Kirwan, ‘but I promised Jack here I’d let you know one way or the other.’

  The family were all in the parlour, with everyone hanging on the words of the policeman from Mr Madigan’s station. Jack had been reprimanded for his trip to Kilmainham, but his mother had been so worried to hear that her husband was missing that Jack’s cycling to the barracks paled into insignificance.

  That had been this morning, and the family had been on edge all day, praying for Da’s deliverance and listening to every rumour as Dublin descended into war. Now it was early evening, and martial law had been declared by the government – the British Army officially ruled the city.

  ‘There’s no doubt, it was definitely my John who was abducted?’ asked Ma, her face ashen.

  Sergeant Kirwan nodded solemnly. ‘A local who knows him saw John being taken prisoner outside the workhouse. I’m sorry it’s taken till now to be able to tell you, but we’ve only just got the man’s statement.’

  ‘Did they injure Da?’ asked Maureen.

  ‘No, just marched him off at gunpoint.’

  ‘Into the South Dublin Union?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What are you doing to get him back?’ said Mary.

  ‘The army is trying to recapture the grounds. But it’s a huge complex, and the rebels are fighting hard. I don’t want to mislead you by pretending it’ll be easy.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ said Ma, her voice cracking. ‘That … that we should prepare for the worst?!’

  ‘No, absolutely not,’ said Sergeant Kirwan. ‘I know you’ve heard about Michael Lahiff and James O’Brien being shot. But since then no other DMP men have been killed, and the rebels seem to be acting properly and observing the rules of war. I’m sure they won’t mistreat John.’

  But with battles raging through the South Dublin Union, he could easily get shot, thought Jack. He half listened as the policeman tried to reassure his family, but his mind was racing. And then a plan formed. He swallowed hard, knowing it would be difficult to pull off – and dangerous. But he couldn’t let anything happen to Da. Whatever it took, he had to save him.

  ‘For the love of God, Emer! What the hell got into you?!’

  Emer recoiled from the venom of her father’s words. He was rarely angry with her and never used language like this. He was lying in a hospital bed on a crowded ward, his wounded leg heavily bandaged and his face pale and drawn. The unexpected harshness of his words, coming after all the fear and uncertainty Emer had felt as she tried to find him, was too much. Unable to stop herself, she burst into tears.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she sobbed. ‘I … I’m sorry.’ She slumped down in the chair beside her father’s bed, the air heavy with the smell of antiseptic. The ward was busy, with nurses tending to the many patients wounded and injured in the fighting, and nobody paid attention to Emer as she tried to gather herself.

  It had been a long, stressful day. It took her hours to find the hospital in which her father was being detained, and she had had to plead with the soldier on guard duty to allow her a few minutes with him. She had been frightened to see her father looking weakened and vulnerable in his hospital bed, and when he snapped at her for staying in Dublin for the Rising, suddenly it all overwhelmed her.

  She felt her hand being squeezed now, and through her tear-filled eyes she saw that her father’s expression had softened.

  ‘It’s all right, love,’ he said gently. ‘It’s all right, don’t cry.’

  Emer felt better on hearing his words, and she dabbed at her eyes.

  ‘It’s a foolish thing you did,’ said her father. ‘But the reason I was angry is because you mean so much to Mam and me. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  ‘Good girl,’ he said, giving her hand another squeeze.

  ‘And, Dad, are you … are you going to be all right?’

  ‘Of course I am. My leg was fractured by a bullet, so I might be left with a bit of a limp, but I’ll be grand.’ He tried for a grin. ‘Sure it’s hard to kill a bad thing.’

  ‘But … will they send you to prison, Dad?’

  ‘I don’t know, love. I suppose it depends on how the Rising goes.’

  ‘I don’t think we’re going to win, Dad. Everyone says thousands of British troops are heading for Dublin.’

  ‘Then so be it. But we’ve made a stand for Ireland, and the whole world will see that. If I’m a prisoner fo
r a while, that’s a price we’ll pay.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But that’s enough of a price for our family. You don’t get involved again, Emer. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  ‘So you go home, keep your head down and write to Mam and tell her I’m being looked after. The army will be taking over the trains to move troops, but I’m sure Mam will get back as soon as she can. All right?’

  Things weren’t really all right, thought Emer: the Volunteers were outnumbered and ultimately doomed, Dad was wounded and a prisoner, and Mam was trapped a hundred and fifty miles away in Ennis. But her father was alive, and he would be easier in his mind if she sounded positive.

  ‘All right, Dad,’ she answered brightly. ‘All right.’

  Jack knocked nervously on the Daveys’ front door. Earlier he had met Joan, who told him about Emer’s dramatic departure from her mother on the train and about Mr Davey’s capture at City Hall. He hoped Emer would be at home now, yet he dreaded asking her the question that he had come to pose.

  Biting his lip, he listened intently, then heard footsteps in the hallway. The door was opened by Emer.

  ‘Jack,’ she said. He picked up at once on her weary tone and serious expression.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ he said. ‘Can I come in for a minute?’

  ‘Of course.’ Emer ushered him into the hall and led the way to the kitchen. ‘Do you want a glass of milk? I’m just having one.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ answered Jack. ‘You go ahead.’

  Emer indicated for him to join her at the kitchen table, and Jack sat down.

  ‘How’s your da?’ he asked. ‘Joan told me about him being wounded.’

  ‘Bad news travels fast.’

  ‘Well … at least he’s alive.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Emer. ‘His leg is badly injured, but the doctors told him he’ll be OK.’

  ‘I’m glad. Because … because things aren’t so good with my own da.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Ben and Gladys didn’t tell you?’