Friend or Foe Page 4

  ‘Jack is friends with Emer Davey, and her father is in the Volunteers. How come that’s not a problem?’

  Jack was really surprised to be drawn into the row. His mother, however, immediately intervened.

  ‘That’s not the same thing at all, Maureen,’ she said.

  ‘How isn’t it?’

  ‘First of all, Jack’s still a child. Second of all, he’s known Emer since they were toddlers, but it’s only recently that her father joined the Volunteers.’

  ‘It’s only recently that Tommy joined the Volunteers.’

  ‘But Tommy is an adult making his own choices,’ answered Ma reasonably. ‘Emer is a child, and she’s not responsible for what her father decides. It’s completely different.’

  Jack said nothing, aware that Emer shared her father’s nationalist views, but also aware that this was not the time to say so.

  ‘There’s no more to be said, Maureen,’ said Da. ‘Nothing but violence and bloodshed will come out of the Volunteers. So either Tommy leaves them, or you break it off with him. And that’s my final word.’

  Jack knew that when Da said something was his final word, there was no going back. Maureen obviously realised it too, for tears formed in her eyes and she rose from the chair and ran towards her bedroom.

  Jack understood his father’s thinking, but even though Maureen had tried to drag him into the argument, he still felt a bit sorry for her. His earlier high spirits had been banished, and his father’s prediction that the Volunteer movement would end in bloodshed was disturbing. If trouble was coming, would he and Emer end up on opposite sides?

  ‘Milk and a biscuit, Jack?’ asked Ma, in what he felt was an attempt to restore normality.

  ‘Yes, please,’ he answered, but the good had gone out of the evening, and he worried about what lay ahead.

  Chapter Five

  Emer pounded out her favourite rebel ballad, ‘A Nation Once Again’, on the piano in the sitting room, and her parents sang along with her. She loved moments like this. A lot of the time Dad was busy with his grocery shops or out drilling with the Volunteers, and Mam spent many hours doing the book-keeping or helping out with local charities. Occasionally, though, they would have what Dad called a ‘recital’. Emer would start with the classical pieces that Miss Gildea taught her, but it usually ended with a more relaxed sing-song, during which she was allowed to play a few popular songs.

  Dad had a nice tenor voice, and tonight he had performed ‘My Wild Irish Rose’. He had light-heartedly sung some of the lyrics to Mam, and the general atmosphere was affectionate and happy. Now was the time, Emer thought, to raise what might be a tricky topic. ‘I was just wondering …’ she said, looking from her mother to her father.

  ‘What?’ asked Mam.

  ‘It’s great that Irish people are starting to want independence. And I’m really proud of you, Dad, being an officer in the Volunteers and all …’

  ‘I’m waiting for the “but”,’ said Dad.

  ‘But I’d like to be part of it too,’ answered Emer.

  ‘You are,’ said Mam. ‘You’re a fluent Irish speaker, and you know Ireland’s history and all the patriotic songs.’

  ‘But that’s knowing stuff, Mam. I want to do things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’d like to join Na Fianna.’ Na Fianna was a youth wing attached to the Irish Volunteers. As soon as she said the words, Emer saw her father’s face grow serious.

  ‘That’s not possible, Emer,’ he said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s not for girls.’

  ‘Not so far. But couldn’t we start a girls’ section?’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Dad.

  ‘Why not? Paudie Maguire from Phibsboro is in Na Fianna, and he’s an eejit. What can he do that I can’t?’

  ‘Really, Emer!’ said her mother disapprovingly.

  ‘What, Mam? What single thing is he better at than me?’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘Well, what is the point?’

  ‘You’re a girl from a good family. Being in Na Fianna, it wouldn’t be …’

  Emer tried to keep her patience. ‘Wouldn’t be what, Mam?’ she asked reasonably.

  ‘It wouldn’t be appropriate. It wouldn’t be proper.’

  Emer looked enquiringly at her mother. ‘You want a revolution – but it must be proper?’

  ‘Yes, dear, we must stay respectable.’

  Dad nodded in agreement. ‘We don’t want the government writing off the Volunteers as thugs and ne’er-do-wells,’ he said. ‘That’s why we must behave properly at all times. And involving young girls in the national struggle wouldn’t be proper.’

  Emer had been expecting an objection like this, and she had her answer ready. ‘But Countess Markievicz is respectable. And she’s one of the people who founded Na Fianna.’

  ‘But she’s an adult, Emer. You’re twelve years old,’ said her mother.

  ‘I know, Mam. But the boys in Na Fianna aren’t adults, are they? So how is it all right for them to be involved?’

  ‘Well, actually, I’m not sure it is all right for them to be involved.’

  Emer was surprised by her mother’s answer, and she turned to her father. ‘Dad?’

  ‘I’m with Mam, Emer. I’m not comfortable with youngsters getting involved in the struggle.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because in future it mightn’t only be drilling and marching. If the government tries to force conscription in Ireland, or if the Ulster Volunteers revolt against Home Rule, there’ll be fighting. I don’t want to see children – boys or girls – involved in that.’

  Mam reached out and placed her hand gently on Emer’s arm. ‘We especially don’t want our lovely daughter in harm’s way. So please, dear, put this notion out of your head. All right?’

  Emer felt frustrated, even though she knew that her parents meant well. If there was going to be a battle ahead, however, and if youngsters were going to be involved in it, then she wanted to be one of them. But nothing would be gained by arguing any further tonight. Better to go along with them for now, she thought.

  ‘All right?’ repeated her mother.

  ‘All right, Mam,’ Emer answered. ‘All right.’

  ‘Do you know what I’d love?’ asked Joan dramatically as she breathed in the sweet mountain air while climbing Ballymana Hill.

  Jack looked at her. ‘No, Joan, what would you love?’

  ‘I’d love to be on a train that was derailed!’

  ‘Are you mad?’ asked Ben in disbelief.

  The mail train from London’s Euston Station had been derailed the previous weekend, and the newspapers were full of dramatic pictures and articles.

  ‘It’s awful that passengers were killed,’ admitted Joan, ‘but if you were on the train and you weren’t hurt, it would be a brilliant adventure.’

  ‘You’re a nutcase, Joan,’ said Ben.

  ‘Yeah, I’d hate that,’ said Gladys. ‘This is adventure enough.’ She indicated the hillside that the friends were climbing in the hot August sunshine, with the sweep of Dublin city stretched out far below them.

  Emer had told them about a great hike she had done with her family last summer, and they had all persuaded their parents to allow them to retrace the route on a day-long picnic. They had taken the Blessington steam tram at Parkgate Street and alighted near Jobstown, with the intention of climbing over Ballymana Hill, swimming in the River Dodder at Old Bawn and finally making their way home via Tallaght.

  ‘Back me up, Emer,’ said Joan now. ‘Wouldn’t derailing be good?’

  ‘Might be if you’d no ticket and the inspector was about to nab you! Otherwise I’d rather get off at the station.’

  Joan looked appealingly to Jack. ‘You’re my last hope, Jack,’ she said playfully. ‘Don’t tell me you’re chicken as well.’

  ‘Of course not. If I’m on a ship I like it to sink, if I’m on a train I like it to derail, if I’m
on a bike I like it to hit a brick wall!’

  The others laughed, and Joan said, ‘I give up!’

  ‘Like Gladys says, this is adventure enough,’ said Jack, a little out of breath as the steep climb finally brought them to a rolling plateau. ‘So, where do we go now, Emer?’ he asked. ‘The trail seems to end.’

  ‘There’s no proper trail for a while, but if we go along by the forest eventually there’s a track that brings you down to the valley near Stone Cross.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be able to find it?’ asked Gladys.

  Emer nodded confidently. ‘Yeah, over the stile here and make for those trees in the distance.’

  Jack let the others climb the stile, then he mounted it and looked east towards the city. The sky was clear blue, the air was scented with the smell of gorse, and far below Dublin shimmered in the heat. They had chosen one of the nicest days of the summer for their adventure, and he felt in good spirits now after a downbeat start to the day.

  His father had the Irish Independent newspaper delivered each morning, and over breakfast today Jack had seen large advertisements for back-to-school supplies. He hated the way the uniform suppliers and schoolbook companies advertised their wares when it was still just the middle of August – it was like they were wishing away the summer that Jack already felt was too short. But more worrying than the ads had been an article about how the British Army’s campaign at Gallipoli had stalled, with troops exhausted and casualties mounting. Jack had prayed that his uncle Bertie wasn’t among the Dublin Fusiliers who had been killed or wounded, and that the British and Australian troops would eventually defeat the Turks and thus help end the war.

  Jack had left his house a little dispirited, but the combination of the fine weather, the company of his friends and the prospect of an adventure in the countryside had lifted his mood, and now he happily followed the others across the sunlit plateau.

  They were planning to stop for a picnic lunch, and Jack was looking forward to the freshly baked apple tart that his mother had packed with his sandwiches. The shade of the evergreen trees in the nearby forest would make the perfect place to rest and escape the midday sun, he thought. ‘What about having lunch over at the trees?’ he asked the others.

  ‘Stopping to eat always sounds good,’ agreed Joan.

  ‘Yeah, I’m pretty tired,’ said Gladys.

  Emer nodded. ‘All right. There’s a nice little glade just ahead there.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ben. ‘Let me scout it for Apaches!’

  Ben pulled the reins of an imaginary horse and was about to set off when the air was rent with a volley of shots. The sound was so unexpected on the remote plateau that the friends were all startled. Before anyone could speak, more shots rang out. Ben turned to Jack. ‘Is that rifle fire?’

  Still recovering from the shock, Jack nodded slowly. ‘I think so.’

  Another volley of shots shattered the peace of the hillside, the sound a little closer this time. Jack realised that the firing was coming from inside the forest. Then a fourth round rang out, closer still, and Jack swallowed nervously. This sounded very like military manoeuvres, but the army had no firing range or training area here, which left just one likely explanation: rebels. Jack’s pulse started to quicken at the thought that they had stumbled across Volunteers who were training in shooting and skirmishing. Upon hearing a man’s voice calling out an order, Jack stared intently into the forest. There were more shots, much closer this time, and the five friends stood unmoving as a group of seven or eight men came running through the trees, heading in their direction.

  ‘Jack,’ said Gladys nervously.

  ‘Do nothing!’ replied Jack. ‘Do nothing and say nothing!’

  The men had seen them now. Their leader drew nearer, then stopped and pointed his rifle at Jack. The other men followed his lead, coming to a halt and aiming their rifles. The leader had a cold, hostile look in his eyes. There was a really threatening air about him, and Jack found his mind racing wildly. What if these men didn’t want witnesses to their manoeuvres? Or didn’t want witnesses to what they looked like? They were all young and tough-looking, but Jack tried to convince himself that while the Volunteers might be preparing to fight the British, they would hardly kill innocent Irish children. Even so, the leader’s stare was frightening, and his rifle was still pointed at Jack’s chest. Nobody said anything for what was probably only seconds, but seemed like a lifetime to Jack. Then the leader snapped a command to his men.

  ‘Carry on!’ he said, still unmoving and still with his own rifle raised. The other men quickly lowered their weapons and began to move off at speed across the plateau. The leader kept his eyes locked on Jack’s, then raised his finger and tapped his lips in a gesture that signified silence. Jack tried to hold his gaze but felt his pulse racing even faster when the man slowly drew his finger across his throat in a slitting gesture, pointed threateningly, then tapped his lips again. The message was clear – he was warning them not to say anything about the encounter.

  From the corner of his eye Jack saw Emer nodding in agreement, but even though he was scared, he refused to acknowledge the man’s threat. The man held his finger to his lips one last time and pointed threateningly at Jack. Still Jack made no response. There was a stalemate for a couple of seconds, then suddenly the leader turned on his heel and made off after his men.

  ‘Oh my God!’ said Gladys, breathing out in relief.

  ‘Janey,’ said Joan, ‘he looked mad!’

  ‘What should we do?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Emer, her voice a little shaky. ‘Sure what would we do?’

  ‘We could go to the nearest police station or RIC barracks,’ suggested Jack.

  ‘And inform on Volunteers?’ said Emer.

  ‘For God’s sake, Emer, they threatened us!’

  ‘I know, that wasn’t very nice. But even if you wanted to, there’s no point reporting them. It would take forever to get from here to Tallaght – they’d be long since gone.’

  Jack realised that this was true, but he still felt uncomfortable ignoring what had happened.

  ‘Look, there’s no point letting it spoil our day out,’ said Emer. ‘So let’s have our lunch and go for our swim and just enjoy ourselves. OK?’

  Jack hesitated.

  ‘Please, Jack.’

  Jack looked at her, then nodded in agreement. As far as he was concerned this wasn’t over, and he’d give a description of the men to his father tonight. But for now he could see Emer’s point that there was nothing to be gained by spoiling the day. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘OK, then.’

  ‘Here, I’ve a good one for you,’ said Ben as he sat basking in the afternoon sunshine on the banks of the River Dodder at Old Bawn. ‘Why don’t they let elephants swim in Tara Street Baths?’

  ‘Why don’t they?’ asked Joan.

  ‘Because they might let down their trunks!’

  Gladys turned to her brother. ‘That’s a bit rude, Ben.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s funny,’ said Joan. ‘Don’t be a stick-in-the-mud, Glad.’

  ‘I’m just saying,’ protested Gladys.

  Emer didn’t want her friends to start squabbling, so she interjected. ‘Here, I’ve another swimming joke, and it’s not rude. Why did the teacher jump into the river?’

  ‘Why?’ asked Joan.

  ‘She wanted to test the water!’

  The others laughed, then Joan stood up. ‘Talking of rivers, let’s jump in again!’

  ‘OK,’ said Ben, and he and Gladys rose to join her.

  ‘I think I’ll just sit in the sun for a while,’ said Jack.

  Emer had wanted to talk to him alone, and this was her opportunity, so she turned to Joan. ‘You go ahead, I’ll follow you after a bit.’

  Joan gave her usual cry of ‘Gang way!’ then jumped into the river. Ben and Gladys followed her in, and the three of them splashed about.

  Emer was pleased at the progress her friends had made in the three weeks since they had j
oined her club. She turned to Jack. ‘You’ve all done really well. You’re swimming much better now.’

  ‘Thanks. Getting the hang of the breathing really helped.’

  ‘Right.’ Emer looked at him, a little uncertain how to begin. ‘Jack …’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You’ve been a bit quiet since … since earlier with the gunmen.’

  ‘Have I? Sorry I … I didn’t mean to–’

  ‘It’s OK. It’s just …’

  ‘What?’

  Emer hesitated. She really liked Jack, and they had become closer this summer since she had saved him from drowning. She was afraid that what she wanted to say might put their friendship at risk, but she felt she had to speak up. ‘I know normally we don’t talk about … well, my dad being in the Volunteers and your dad being a policeman,’ she began.

  ‘There’s no point,’ answered Jack. ‘Just ’cause they’re on different sides doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.’

  ‘No, of course not. But the thing is … well, friends should be honest with each other. And what happened earlier, it made me think that maybe we’re on different sides too – but I still want us to be friends.’

  ‘How are we on different sides?’ asked Jack.

  ‘You wanted to report the gunmen, I’m on the side of the Volunteers.’

  ‘I understand you being loyal to your dad, Emer. But that man threatened us.’

  ‘I know. It was scary, and he shouldn’t have done it. But apart from that, I believe in what the Volunteers stand for. It’s not just loyalty to Dad.’

  ‘And what do you think they stand for?’

  ‘Irish independence. Or, at the very least, making the British give us Home Rule.’

  ‘My da says lots of people don’t want independence. And the Volunteers – he thinks that’s going to lead to bloodshed and killing.’

  ‘There’s already bloodshed and killing,’ answered Emer. ‘The government is sending thousands of soldiers to die on the Western Front. Dad says one of the things the Volunteers stand for is making sure Irishmen aren’t forced to fight in the British Army.’

  ‘The government says there won’t be conscription.’