Friend or Foe (17 page)

‘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 for 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?’

‘No, I haven’t seen them. What’s happened?’

‘Da was taken prisoner. It looks like he’s being held by the rebels in the South Dublin Union.’

‘God,’ said Emer, lowering her untouched glass of milk. ‘I’m really sorry to hear that, Jack.’

‘Thanks. I wanted … I wanted to ask you a big favour.’

‘Anything, Jack.’

‘You mightn’t say that when you know what it is.’

‘So, what is it?’

Jack hesitated, then took the plunge. ‘I have to try and get Da out of the Union. The army and the rebels are battling it out there – he could wind up getting killed. But I need your help to do it.’

‘What can I do?’

‘I want to pretend to be a Fianna runner. It’s the only way I could get to Da and try to free him. Will you back my story if I pretend I’m a runner for the rebels?’

Emer looked taken aback. ‘Do you … do you know what you’re asking, Jack?’

‘For you to go against your beliefs. It’s an awful thing to ask, and I hate doing it – but Da’s life is at stake. I promise I won’t involve you any more than I have to. I swear I won’t do anything against the rebels, I won’t betray them in any way. I just want to get in, free my da, and get out again.’

Jack could see that Emer was in a quandary. He looked her in the eye, then spoke softly again. ‘I know it’s not fair asking you. But I have to. So, will you help me?’

T
he roar of exploding shells carried on the warm morning air as the rebel positions came under a barrage of fire. It was Wednesday, the third day of the Rising, and British artillery based at Trinity College unleashed lethal salvoes, while the gunboat
Helga
had sailed up the River Liffey and was bombarding the city centre. Emer could hear the explosions as she and Jack made their way along James’s Street, and she silently gave thanks that her father wasn’t on the receiving end of the shellfire raining down upon the rebels.

Dublin was being wrecked, with soldiers and civilians getting killed and maimed, and Emer wondered how she could ever have thought that war could be a glorious thing. She still believed that the Volunteers were brave, and that they were right to fight for Irish freedom. Seeing Dad with his leg shattered, however, and knowing that men on both sides would die agonising deaths, had made her see that warfare was anything but glamorous.

She passed the Guinness brewery, where huge metal boilers were being commandeered by the army, drilled with rifle holes, mounted on wheels and turned into makeshift armoured cars. It was as if normal life had stopped, to be replaced by a world in which everything had been turned on its head. Last night, her
own loyalties had been abruptly challenged by Jack’s request, and even now, as she walked alongside him, she wasn’t certain she was doing the right thing.

Her father had insisted that their family’s role in the Rising was over and that she was to keep her head down until Mam got back from Ennis. Yet here she was, making her way with Jack towards the South Dublin Union, where she was going to pretend that he was a fellow rebel and Fianna runner. She trusted Jack when he said he wouldn’t betray the rebels in any way, and that he just wanted to rescue his father, but she still felt uncomfortable. It had been really tough to choose between her loyalty to the rebel cause and her loyalty to Jack as a friend. In the end she had been swayed by the memory of her fear for Dad when she heard City Hall had been captured. Clearly Jack felt the same way about his father, and Emer’s gut instinct was to help him, even if it meant telling lies to people on the rebel side.

Her thoughts were broken now by a burst of machine-gun fire, and Jack nodded in the direction of the South Dublin Union.

‘Getting close,’ he said.

‘Yeah.’

He stopped and looked at her seriously. ‘Are you ready to do this?’

Emer paused, took a deep breath, then nodded. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go.’

Jack dropped from the top of the boundary wall and hit the ground with a thud. The impact sent a wave of pain up through his feet, but he ignored it and turned back to the wall. Emer was poised to drop too, and Jack moved quickly towards where she was likely to land, to catch her and help cushion the fall.

He was hugely grateful to Emer for agreeing to his plan, and he admired the plucky way she had committed herself to the rescue once she overcame her qualms. Now he helped to break her fall as Emer dropped from the wall and landed inside the grounds of the South Dublin Union.

‘All right?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, fine.’

The Union’s buildings were spread over a sprawling site between James’s Street and Rialto. In addition to the workhouse, there were two churches, various residences, an infirmary, a nurses’ home and a bakery. Jack and Emer crouched down low as they got their bearings, the air around them resounding with gunfire.

Jack took in his surroundings carefully. He needed to figure out which areas were in rebel hands, and to discover where Da might be held. And then what? He wasn’t sure – his plan only went so far, and after that he would have to improvise. His thoughts were interrupted by a bout of sustained rifle fire. Jack saw British troops in the distance raining a hail of bullets at a tall, grim-looking stone building, from which the rebels were returning rifle and small-arms fire. Presumably the building was a rebel stronghold, and Jack pointed it out to Emer.

‘The Volunteers seem to be holed up in there. If we skirt around the boundary wall, we could approach it from the rear.’

‘If it’s that easy, why aren’t the army doing that?’

‘Maybe that route can be fired on from another rebel stronghold.’

‘Maybe it can be fired on by the army too.’

Jack considered this, then nodded. ‘You could be right. But there’s fighting all over the place; there’s no completely safe way of doing this.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

Jack felt a stab of guilt, and he looked his friend in the eye.

‘Look, I could go on by myself at this stage, Emer. And you could–’

‘No,’ she interjected firmly. ‘I said I’d help you, and I’m not backing out now.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive. We’re in it together.’

‘OK. Let’s stay low and skirt the wall then. All right?’

‘Yeah.’

Further away in the complex a machine gun opened up, but Jack ignored it and looked at Emer. ‘On a count of three?’ he said.

‘All right.’

‘One … two … three!’ he counted, then they rose from the ground and sprinted along the perimeter wall.

Emer heard a scream, and she realised that some of the bullets flying through the air had hit their target. The cry came from a low building whose ground-floor windows had all been shattered, but Emer and Jack didn’t stop to investigate and instead continued running along the inside of the wall.

She thought of how outraged her father would be if he knew she was putting herself in danger again. But in spite of what Dad had said – and her own unease at tricking his comrades in the Volunteers – she couldn’t deny the loyalty she felt towards Jack.

Even if they got safely inside the rebel stronghold, however, there was no guarantee that Mr Madigan would be easily found. In such a large complex as the South Dublin Union, he could be anywhere.
Or he could already be dead
. It was a frightening thought, and she prayed for Jack’s sake that his father was alive and well.

They reached a turn in the boundary wall, and Jack halted and dropped down in a crouch. Emer joined him, glad to catch her breath.

‘Look,’ said Jack, pointing. ‘They’re going to use bayonets.’

Emer looked across an expanse of open ground and saw a patrol of British soldiers attaching bayonets to their rifles. Clearly they were expecting hand-to-hand fighting, and it brought home to Emer how territory held by both the army and the rebels was in a state of flux. The sooner she and Jack made their move, the better. She turned to him and indicated the building whose rear they were now facing.

‘OK, that’s where we want to get. Time to become a Fianna runner.’

Emer reached inside her coat and pulled out an old, side-brimmed military hat of her father’s that she had found at home. It was the same type of hat as was worn by Fianna members, but it was a little big for Jack, so she pulled it down tight on his head. ‘Ready to make a run for it?’ she asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

‘Yeah, the army don’t seem to be firing on this side.’

‘OK, then. Let’s do it!’

Jack ran flat out, not wanting to be exposed in the open for a second longer than he had to be. He could hear Emer sprinting right on his heels as they made for the rear door of the grim stone building. ‘Fianna despatches!’ he cried out loudly. ‘Don’t shoot, Fianna despatches!’

Jack and Emer reached the door, and he immediately tried the handle. The door was locked, and Jack pounded on it and again called out, ‘Fianna despatches, don’t shoot!’

There was movement at a nearby window, then he heard a shouted command. The bolt of the door was loudly undone, and it swung open.

‘Where the hell did you come from?!’ asked a red-haired man with thick stubble on his chin. He was dressed in a soiled
Volunteer’s uniform and held a Mauser pistol that was pointed at Jack.

‘We’re runners from HQ! Let us in before we’re shot!’ cried Jack.

The man ushered them in, and immediately they encountered another Volunteer – an older man carrying a rifle that was trained on Jack’s chest.

Jack had decided that the best way to carry off his deception was to sound completely confident, and to behave as though his presence here was entirely plausible. ‘You can lower the rifle. It’s enough being shot at by the Tommies!’

The man slowly lowered the weapon but looked quizzically at Jack. ‘What’s she doing here?’ he asked, indicating Emer.

‘I’m from this area,’ she answered. ‘I know every back lane, so I offered to be a runner.’

The man raised an eyebrow, but Jack was pleased that Emer was following his lead by responding confidently. ‘You needn’t look down your nose!’ she said. ‘I’ve been risking my life since Monday!’

‘Sorry …’ said the man slightly sheepishly.

Jack decided to go for broke while they seemed to have the upper hand. ‘Where’s the police prisoner being held?’

‘Why do you ask?’ queried the red-haired man.

‘We’ve orders about him from Padraig Pearse,’ answered Jack, reasoning that the name of the commanding officer of the Volunteers would carry some weight.

‘Yeah?’ said the older man.

‘Yeah. Where can we find him?’

‘He’s in the annexe. It’s a white-roofed building in behind the next block,’ said the man, indicating the direction.

Jack felt a surge of elation. ‘Right,’ he replied.

‘The Tommies are trying to take that area. You want to be really careful.’

‘We will,’ answered Emer.

‘OK, let’s go then,’ said Jack. ‘Thanks for your help,’ he added to the two men as he turned for the door.

‘Not so fast, son.’

Jack thought that he had carried off the deception, but the red-haired man’s words chilled him. He looked around, praying that his fear wasn’t obvious. There was no telling what these men might do if they discovered he was on the side of the enemy, but if he dwelt on that he would lose his nerve. ‘What is it?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

The red-haired man looked him in the eye. ‘We’ve been pinned down here for nearly two days. What’s the latest news from the city?’

Jack was glad that the man wasn’t suspicious after all, but he made sure to hide his relief. ‘Mixed news,’ he said. ‘The army retook City Hall, and they’ve artillery at Phibsboro and Trinity College. But we’re holding out in the Four Courts and the Mendicity Institute, so they can’t get their reinforcements down the quays.’

‘And the troops that landed in Kingstown are pinned down at Mount Street Bridge,’ said Emer, ‘so the fight goes on!’

Jack didn’t want to delay any further, and he thought this was a good note on which to depart. ‘So, up the Republic!’ he said.

‘Up the Republic!’ answered the Volunteers, as Jack and Emer made for the door.