Taking Sides Read online

  ‘If the good pupils don’t do so, who will?’ continued the teacher predictably.

  ‘Sorry, Miss,’ answered Annie politely, even though she was annoyed with Moynihan. She reckoned that the lanky teacher – Beanpole was her nickname – must be at least fifty, so you’d think by now she would know how unfair it was to Annie, or any other pupil, to be singled out as a shining example to all the other girls. Even though Annie was fairly popular most of the time, she could sense the resentment of her classmates when Miss Moynihan made her out to be better than them.

  It was the same with her friends on the street. When she told them she was trying to win a scholarship, one boy had asked her if she thought the local school wasn’t good enough for her. Annie had tried to explain that it wasn’t like that, but that the scholarship was a prize she would be mad not to claim if she could. She had tried to make them understand, but she knew that they felt she was considering herself as different, and that even her old friends mightn’t be all that eager for her to succeed.

  ‘Very well, Annie,’ said Miss Moynihan, ‘you may sit down. So … the principal cities of the Netherlands. Cissy Fanning, what’s the main Dutch port?’

  ‘Rotterdam, Miss.’

  Cissy was the other pupil that the teacher regularly held up to the class and, sitting down again at her desk, Annie was relieved to have the focus taken off herself.

  ‘Well done, Cissy,’ said Miss Moynihan. ‘Now, the biggest Dutch city is Amsterdam, but it’s not the capital. Can anyone else tell me what it is?’

  It was on the tip of Annie’s tongue to say ‘The Hague’ but she deliberately kept quiet. She watched the look of annoyance on the teacher’s face when one of the slower girls in the class cried out ‘Hamburg, Miss?’ Before Beanpole could point out sarcastically that Hamburg was in another country – as Annie knew she would – there was a knock on the classroom door, and Mr Creedon, the Principal, walked in.

  Mr Creedon was a stout man with old-fashioned whiskers and a country accent that was still as strong as the day he left his native County Kerry many years ago. He seemed to believe that the children thought he had a good sense of humour, but Annie felt he was really silly, and so did most of her classmates. Still, they were glad of the diversion whenever he came into the classroom, and so they always laughed at his jokes, however feeble.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Miss Moynihan,’ he said now with the kind of exaggerated politeness that the teachers used when talking to each other in front of the pupils. ‘And sorry, class, for interrupting ye,’ he continued, turning smilingly to the children. ‘I know ye hate anything that halts the lessons, don’t ye?’

  The children laughed dutifully, but Annie couldn’t join in, knowing that the principal had probably come to announce the scholarship results.

  ‘Well, don’t ye?’ he persisted.

  ‘Yes, Mr Creedon,’ they called out in unison.

  ‘I won’t keep ye from the …’ he paused and looked at the writing on the blackboard to see what they had been studying. ‘I won’t keep ye from the geography any longer than I have to. I know ye wouldn’t want that,” he said, trying for and getting another laugh. ‘Well, I have a piece of good news. The scholarship results have just been announced.’

  Annie felt her pulses racing. Obviously a scholarship had been awarded, but was it to her or to Cissy Fanning?

  ‘Sixth class in St Mary’s has a very bright young lady in its midst. She’s brought honour to the school, to Miss Moynihan here, and to herself and her family. And I know she’ll use the scholarship to further her studies to the very best of her ability.’

  Annie felt that her thumping heart must be audible to the girl sitting beside her, but she tried to show no emotion. If Cissy was the winner she would have to congratulate her, and not let her own bitter disappointment show. And if she won she would have to try to be modest, and not make Cissy feel bad by seeming to gloat.

  ‘Being granted a scholarship is a great opportunity, not given to many. But I know this year’s winner will grasp the chance to make her dreams come true.’

  Annie felt her chest tighten with tension as the principal’s words hit home. Because she had a dream. Even though she had never told another soul, in her dreams she imagined going on to college and becoming a teacher. None of her friends, none of her family, no-one she knew had gone to college, and Annie had kept her dream to herself for fear of ridicule. And now her whole future was going to be decided by what Mr Creedon announced.

  ‘Well, I think I’ve kept ye all in the dark long enough,’ he said with a smile. ‘Time to announce the name. This year’s scholarship winner is … Miss Annie Reilly!’

  Peter had a secret that he couldn’t share with his father. His brothers Francis and John had followed the family tradition of dentistry, and Peter knew that he was expected to do the same – but he just couldn’t. Neither of Peter’s sisters had done so, but that hadn’t been a problem. His eldest sister, Anne, was married to a solicitor, and before getting married she had been a school teacher, as was his other sister, Maura, who taught in the nearby Holy Faith convent in Glasnevin. There was a strong tradition, however, of male Scanlons being dentists, and Peter was conscious that he would be the first of his generation to break it. It was simple, really – he was squeamish when it came to blood and drills and other implements that probed into people’s gums. He had even become slightly weak when they had dissected a frog in biology class in school. He hadn’t admitted it to his friend Tommy or any of the other boys in his class, and certainly not to his father. It didn’t make sense to Peter, who was an unflinching rugby player and had no fears about injuries or blood on the playing field. For some reason, though, cutting open people’s gums and drilling into their teeth made him feel really queasy.

  Today being a Wednesday, it was his dad’s half-day from the surgery, and he would soon be heading off for his regular game of golf. Now, though, his father was talking about college, and Peter felt uncomfortable. He sat with his parents at the kitchen table as the May sunshine flooded the room, the summer light dappled by the tall trees that acted as a boundary between the family’s long back lawn and the adjoining grounds of the Botanic Gardens. The fact that their nice house and good lifestyle was all funded by his father’s dental practice wasn’t lost on Peter, but he knew that dentistry as a career wasn’t for him. He wasn’t sure what he did want to do, which made it that bit harder to resist his family mapping out his future.

  ‘So, what’s the plan this afternoon, Peter?’ asked his father.

  ‘We’ve a match at half-three.’

  ‘I meant your study plans. You’ve still Latin and English in your summer exams, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Peter, ‘but I’ll study before I go, and then some more when I get back.’

  ‘Make sure you do. Don’t want to fall at the last fence, eh?’

  ‘No, Dad.’

  ‘Good man.’

  ‘Actually, I might go up and make a start. Can I be excused, Mum?’

  ‘May I be excused, Peter,’ corrected his mother, her tone mildly admonishing.

  ‘May I be excused?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t cut it too fine for getting to the sports grounds.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Peter, then he rose from the table, wished his father good luck with the golf, and left the room. He took the stairs two at a time, entered his bedroom and closed the door behind him. He would have a quick look at his Latin before he left for rugby, but right now he wasn’t in the mood for verbs and grammar. Instead he reached under his bed and retrieved one of his scrapbooks. He took last night’s newspaper from his desk at the window and then picked up the large scissors that lay beside it.

  Ever since the incident with the Black and Tans a year previously, he had cut photographs and articles out of the newspapers for his scrapbooks, and his parents had been happy to indulge it as a harmless hobby that reflected an interest in history. They would have been shocked if they realised that his inter
est wasn’t just in recording events, but that his appetite had been whetted to play a part in them too.

  He looked at the headline of the piece that he was cutting out and read it again. Collins Tries To Prevent Civil War. He had once hero-worshipped Michael Collins, who had led the guerrilla fighters in the War of Independence. But now Collins had negotiated a treaty with Britain to found an Irish Free State. How could he? thought Peter. How could he accept deputies in the new parliament still swearing allegiance to the King? And the six counties of Northern Ireland still being in the United Kingdom? It was no wonder a civil war was looming.

  Already, pro- and anti-Treaty forces had killed each other, with both sides trying to take over barracks and weapons being left by the departing British. But although Peter hated the idea of former comrades now being enemies, he had no doubt about which side was right. The men who had taken on the Black and Tans and were ready to fight again for full independence were his heroes now. And if it did come to war, this time he didn’t want to watch from the sidelines. He wasn’t sure how he could play a part, and he would definitely have to keep it from his pro-treaty family, but somehow he would find a way.

  He took up the article and pasted it into his scrapbook, his mind buzzing with possibilities.

  Annie walked excitedly towards Drumcondra Road. Back at the school she had felt sorry for Cissy Fanning and had tried to be nice to her, but the news about her own scholarship was still brilliant. Soon she would share it with Ma and Da, and in one way she could hardly wait. But another part of her liked savouring it alone, and she was enjoying the walk home and the anticipation of breaking her good news.

  It was hard to believe that she would soon be finished in St Mary’s. She had spent the last eight years at school there, and could still remember vividly her first day as a Junior Infant, and Ma smilingly waving her off when she left her in the care of her first teacher, Miss Delaney. All that would be ending now, and while Annie looked forward to going to Eccles Street, she was nervous too, knowing she would be starting from scratch with new girls, some of whose families would be far wealthier than her own.

  Up to now, she hadn’t given much thought to being either poor or wealthy. She had been the same as all the other children who lived in the narrow terrace of modest houses that was St Alphonsus Avenue, or in the cottages around the corner, that ran down St Josephine’s Avenue to the railway bridge. She knew, of course, that posh people lived in fancy houses not too far away in Glasnevin, and that even a couple of streets away from her own door, well-off families lived comfortably in spacious homes. But then, just a little nearer to the city centre, lots of other families lived in horrible tenements, so Annie had felt that her family, the Reillys, wasn’t doing too badly.

  She crossed the broad thoroughfare of Drumcondra Road, avoiding where the cobblestones were fouled with strong-smelling dung from the horse-drawn milk floats and bakers’ carts that plied in and out of town. She waited in the middle of the road until the city-bound tram clanked past, then she made her way past the entrance to Drumcondra railway station before turning left into the narrow confines of St Alphonsus Avenue. She loved how it was like stepping into another world once you entered the avenue and left behind the noise and the bustle of the busy main road. She greeted Josie Gogarty, who lived across the road from her, then made for her front door. She opened it with the key that she had been allowed to have since her eleventh birthday, and stepped into the hallway.

  The smell of baking wafted out from the kitchen, and even though Annie hadn’t been hungry, she suddenly felt her mouth watering. She loved Ma’s apple dumplings, and it would be a great way to celebrate her good news if that was what they were having tonight. There might even be extra helpings if her brothers Eamon and Sean were working late and eating at work. Although Annie was the youngest of seven, two of her sisters, Gert and Julia, had died as children, and Shay and Mary were married now, so that just left Eamon and Sean to share the house with Annie and her parents.

  She entered the living room and was pleased to see Da sitting in the good armchair and reading the newspaper. Da worked long but irregular hours, driving people around the city in his hackney, a Model T Ford that was his pride and joy. One of the good points of the job, however, was that because he kept the car in a former stable just around the corner, he could often pop home for a quick cup of tea between fares.

  He looked up at Annie now, over his reading glasses, and gave her a grin.

  ‘So, how’s me little scholar?’

  ‘Great, Da. And eh … could we get Ma? I’ve news.’

  Her father took off his glasses and shot a quizzical look at Annie.

  ‘The scholarship?’

  Annie had planned to tell them both at the same time but she nodded happily to her father, unable to keep the smile from her face.

  ‘Maura!’ he called, and her mother came in from the kitchen, still wearing a flour- covered apron.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘Tell her, Annie,’ prompted Da.

  ‘I got the scholarship, Ma! I’m going to Eccles Street!’

  ‘Oh, Annie. That’s … that’s just great. Come here to me!’

  Even though she was twelve now Annie didn’t hesitate, and she ran into her mother’s arms like she used to do when she was smaller.

  ‘Well done, pet … well done,’ said Ma emotionally, and when she finally released her, Annie could see a tear in the corner of her mother’s eye.

  ‘You might as well give your aul’ Da a hug too,’ said her father.

  Annie turned and happily embraced him.

  ‘Well done, chicken,’ he said. ‘I don’t know where you got the brains from, but you got them somewhere!’

  ‘Thanks, Da.’

  Her father had been smiling but now he looked serious and he reached out and placed a hand on Annie’s shoulder.

  ‘The first in our family, Annie. We’re so proud of you. Ma and me, we’re … we’re just so proud.’

  Annie felt a lump in her throat. She had known this would be important to her parents but she hadn’t realised quite how deeply it would affect them. It moved her how much they were pleased for her, especially since she had recently overheard her father discussing money, and telling her mother how it was a struggle to repay the loan that he had had to take out to buy the Model T. She had never talked to her parents about money before – it just wasn’t the kind of thing you did – but now she felt she ought to say something.

  ‘I know…’ she began, haltingly. ‘I know that even with the scholarship … it still costs money to send me to Eccles Street. And I just … I really want to say thanks. Thanks so much for letting me go.’

  ‘Oh, Annie,’ said her mother.

  ‘I won’t let you down, Ma. Or you, Da. I know how hard you work. And I promise … I promise I’ll do my very best to make it worthwhile.’

  Her father looked at her, and now there was a tear in his eye.

  ‘You’re one in million, Annie Reilly,’ he said softly, then he put one arm around Ma and held out the other.

  Annie could feel her own eyes welling up, and she swallowed hard, then wrapped herself in her parents’ arms.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Peter knew that Tommy was going to beat him. He was slightly better than his friend and neighbour at most sports, but today Tommy’s eye was in, and Peter was sorry he had made a bet on volleying with a tennis ball. Tommy’s father was the local vet, and the boys were in the field behind the rambling house that served both as a vet’s surgery and the O’Neill family home. With their tennis rackets in hand they were competing to see who could hit the most volleys against the high boundary wall of the garden, without the ball touching the ground.

  ‘Fifty!’ cried Tommy, surpassing Peter’s best score of forty-nine, then continuing in a relaxed groove and smoothly volleying back and forth.

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Peter with a wry grin, ‘don’t rub it in.’

  ‘Once I get the steel
er.’

  The season for playing marbles was coming to a close, but the big metal marbles known as ‘steelers’ – in actual fact large ball-bearings – were still valuable possessions. Peter regretted his hastiness in betting one on his volleying skills, but there was no point being a bad loser, he thought, and he raised his hand in acceptance. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll drop it over to you after tea.’

  ‘Great.’

  It was late on a warm May afternoon and Peter lay down onto the grass and let the sun shine on his face. Tommy caught the ball cleanly as a final volley rebounded off the wall, then he threw the ball and racket onto the grass and flopped down beside his friend.

  ‘Did you hear the latest?’ asked Tommy.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Dad says the army will have to storm the Four Courts. That they might even use artillery on the rebels.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘God …’

  The anti-Treaty republicans had occupied the imposing buildings on Inns Quay known as the Four Courts, an action that was seen as a direct challenge to the new government. The city was rife with rumours, and Peter had heard a boy in school claiming that Michael Collins was under huge pressure to unleash the army against the republicans.

  ‘What else did your dad say?’ asked Peter.

  ‘That he understands the rebels wanting to fight on, but that it’s pointless.’

  Peter found this really discouraging. He had always sensed that Mr O’Neill was the most nationalist of his friends’ parents. And now even he seemed willing to give up the fight.

  ‘It’s not pointless,’ he argued. ‘People said that about taking on the British, and still we won in the end.’

  ‘But this isn’t the British. This is fighting other Irishmen.’

  Pater sat up and looked at his friend. ‘So do you think it’s pointless too?’

  Tommy continued lying back on the grass and shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Peter. I’m just telling you what my dad said.’