The Soldier's Song (6 page)

‘I never thought I would say this, but you are a fool, Mr Ryan. An idiot.’

‘Why thank you,’ he answered, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. ‘You’re very welcome.’

‘I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles, you know.’

‘So I noticed.’

Lillian didn’t answer, but looked away for a few moments. She was trying to be angry with him, but she just couldn’t manage it. The people she was really fuming at were Devereux and his thugs. She had half a mind to get up and storm back inside. She would make a show of them if they had to drag her out like a mad woman. Be damned to Mary D’Arcy and her birthday and all her snobby friends. She would give them what for . . . But no, that wouldn’t do. They’d only laugh. She sighed and turned back to Stephen.

‘Let me have a look at that eye,’ she said, and gently turned his face towards the light. The lid was already half closed, and only a thin line of blood red was visible beneath it. ‘Ice. We need ice. That will help, anyway. Though I’m afraid you’ll still have a shiner in the morning.’

Stephen nodded his agreement as best he could, though the whole side of his face was numb. With his good eye directed over her shoulder, he saw the door open and Billy’s head appear, turn from side to side, and then frown directly at him. His face cracked into a broad grin, gave him a knowing wink, and then disappeared inside again.

Much bloody help you were, he thought, but he didn’t really mean it. What could he have done? It was his own bloody fault for picking a fight with Devereux when all his friends were so close at hand. Then again, it hadn’t worked out entirely to the bad. After all, here he was, alone with the girl, and her looking into his eyes and furrowing her brow. The pain wasn’t so bad for the moment, though he had a feeling she was right – he’d know all about it in the morning.

‘Let me see,’ she said, and gently took the hankie away, quickly folding it again to expose the dry parts. ‘Here, hold this again. And tilt your head back. I’ll just pop inside to fetch some ice. I won’t be a minute.’

She got up and walked towards the door. Wild horses? But she couldn’t leave him bleeding. No, she’d go back in and let them stare all they wanted. She was reaching for the handle when the door opened in front of her and her sister was standing there, blinking at her in surprise.

‘Lillie!’ she squealed. ‘What on earth are you doing out here in the dark? You’re after missing all the excitement. There was a big fight and some drunk fella . . .’ Her eye strayed to the bench. ‘Oh.’

‘Be a good girl, Sheila, and bring out a few napkins and some ice. This gentleman is a friend of mine from college. Mr Ryan, this is my sister Sheila.’

‘How do you do?’ Stephen enquired from under the blood-soaked handkerchief. With his head tilted back, all he could make out was a bundle of coral pink silk standing in the doorway. He raised his hand in a sort of wave.

Sheila’s expression changed to one of concern, and she brushed past her sister and bent over him, peering intently. She was shorter than Lillian, and her hair was longer and closer to blonde, but there was no mistaking the resemblance. They had the same cheekbones, and the same bright, intelligent eyes.

‘What’s the matter with him?’

‘His nose is bleeding.’

‘Oh, Lillie! You’re an awful thick. It’s head forward for nosebleeds. Forward, or he’ll choke on the blood. And pinch the bridge of the nose.’

‘Well, how on earth was I supposed to know that?’ Lillian asked. ‘You’re the nurse.’ She shot Stephen an icy look, ‘What are you smirking at, Mr Ryan?’

‘Nothing, nothing. Don’t mind me.’ He obediently tilted his head forward and pinched the bridge of his nose.

‘Keep him like that while I fetch some ice for his eye. I’ll be back in a minute.’

Sheila picked up her skirts and darted back through the door and Stephen sat quietly for a few moments. He could see very little with his head bent down, but he was aware of Lillian sitting down beside him again. ‘She seems like a very capable young lady,’ he said. ‘Is she really a nurse?’

‘By capable, I take it you mean bossy,’ Lillian answered, with affection for her sister showing in her voice, ‘and yes, she is a nurse – or she will be shortly. She’s been training with the Red Cross for the last three months, in case the war breaks out. I think she’ll be quite put out if it doesn’t.’

Just then, an urgent chiming sound came from inside – like a bell, but more clamorous.

‘Is that a dinner gong?’ Stephen asked, frowning. Then they heard Richard D’Arcy’s voice, loud and clear enough to carry out to them.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please.’ He paused, and there was the hiss of the crowd shushing one another.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry to interrupt your entertainment, but I have just received a very important telegram from London. In short, it informs me that since the Foreign Secretary has received no reply from the German Ambassador regarding his ultimatum, a state of war now exists between Great Britain and Germany.’

This statement seemed to drop into a pool of silence. Stephen brought his head up and saw Lillian’s face glowing like a pearl in the light from the doorway. After a few moments she shook her head sadly. But the ballroom exploded in applause, followed by loud cheering. Then the band struck into ‘God Save the King’.

‘Well, it looks like your sister won’t be disappointed.’

‘No, I’m rather afraid she won’t, Mr Ryan,’ she gave him a wan smile and added, ‘God save us all.’

‘My dear Stephen, have you gone completely mad?’

They were walking in Phoenix Park and Billy had stopped, leaned on his cane and given his friend a disbelieving stare. It was the Saturday after the ball and Stephen still bore the scars. His nose was swollen and tender, and his left eye was at the centre of an enormous bruise that was starting to go yellow around the edges.

‘I mean, did that bang on the head knock your wits astray? Or have you actually taken leave of your senses?’

Stephen walked on a few paces and turned around with his hands in his pockets. ‘I’m perfectly fine, Billy. I know exactly what I’m doing.’

He could say that with conviction now, but only because it was too late: it was done. He hadn’t been half as confident yesterday – not after nerves had kept him awake half the night and then caused him to draw blood from his bleary face when he shaved. His everyday suit, which fitted him like a second skin, had felt tight and scratchy and he had a queer feeling in the pit of his stomach as he rode the tram across town. He kept patting his pockets for the letters he had got from the college. One was a deferral, promising him his place would be kept until he returned. The other was a letter of recommendation from Captain Wheeler, the adjutant of the university Officer Training Corps. Wheeler didn’t know Stephen from Adam, but if he was a university man then, by God, that was good enough for him. He’d signed the letter with a flourish and stood up to shake Stephen’s hand. Now that the war had started, Wheeler’s time had come and he was handing out letters like benedictions.

But two letters didn’t feel like much when he stood outside the barracks, feeling dwarfed by the high walls and with the sentry staring at him from his box by the gate. When he eventually managed to explain himself he was directed to the adjutant’s office, but as he walked under the deep archway to the barracks square he was assailed by doubt. Last chance to change your mind, he thought. It’s not too late. He looked out across the quays, at Guinness’s brewery and all the barges and carts milling around the river. Normal life. But damn it, you’ve come this far, he told himself, and took a deep breath, and stepped out into the square.

The enormous space was filled with ranks of new recruits still in civilian clothes. Hundreds of men just like him, clumsily drilling under the merciless eyes of khaki-clad drill sergeants.

‘You call that a fucking straight line?’ one of them screeched, spittle flying, ‘What the fuck are you looking at, son? Did I say “eyes front”? No, I fucking well didn’t!’

The ferocity of that nearly did for Stephen there and then, but he put his head down and hurried around to the adjutant’s office. Here, he found an elderly officer with grey side whiskers sitting behind a desk stacked high with paper, some of which had overflowed onto chairs, side tables and cabinets – not to mention filling most of the floor. The adjutant looked as if he hadn’t slept well either, but he spoke politely:

‘Good morning. Can I help you?’

‘Stephen Ryan, reporting for duty, sir,’ he answered smartly, and handed the adjutant Wheeler’s letter.

‘A university man, eh? Very good.’ He nodded at the headed paper but gave the letter no more than a cursory glance before rooting around on his desk until he found a tattered brown envelope covered with spidery handwriting. ‘I think I can fit you into the Seventh Battalion – the Sixth is already full. How would you like that, eh? What do you say to the Seventh Dublin Fusiliers?’

Stephen had heard of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, but didn’t know one battalion from the other. He shrugged.

‘That would be fine, sir.’

‘Very good. I’ll put you down for the Seventh, then.’ The adjutant made a minute annotation on the corner of the envelope, and asked offhandedly, ‘You wouldn’t happen to own a revolver, would you?’

‘No, sir, I’m afraid not.’

‘No? Well, I’m afraid you’ll have the devil of a time getting hold of one. They can’t be had for love nor money these days. What about a sword?’

‘A sword, sir?’

‘Yes. Didn’t they give you one in the cadets?’

He was on the point of replying that he hadn’t been in the cadets when he pulled himself up short. Not wise with Wheeler’s letter lying open on the desk.

No, sir.’

‘Well, you’ll need one of those as well. Take this chit to the paymaster. He’ll give you your equipment and uniform allowance, and an advance on your pay. You’ll have to make up the rest yourself. Report back when you’ve got yourself kitted out and I’ll write you an order for the Curragh. The Seventh is already forming, so you’ll have to get down there pretty quick.’

‘But you’ve gone and joined the army!’ Billy exclaimed. He stopped at a park bench and they sat down. Billy took off his hat and mopped his brow with a handkerchief.

‘Yes, Billy. I’ve joined the army.’

‘You do know there’s a war on? You realize that you’ll be expected to fight.’

‘Of course I will. As I understand it, that’s what they do in the army. They fight.’

‘Well, after your performance the other night, I’m sure the Kaiser has nothing to worry about on that score. But seriously, Stephen, I do fear for your safety. This is a proper war. People will be killed.’

‘I thought you’d be all in favour of it. Isn’t it going to get us Home Rule at last? Didn’t John Redmond just get up and say every Irish Nationalist should join up, to show Britain that we can be trusted?’

‘Oh, balls to John Redmond! He’s too old to fight. And, besides, the Unionists are joining up in their droves as well – only they’re doing it to make sure we
don’t
get Home Rule. Who wins in that case? The ones who spill the most blood? It’s not a flaming game, Stephen. There won’t be any winners.’

‘Well, I’ve thought it through, Billy. I understand the risks, and I think it’s the best thing I can do right now.’

‘But you haven’t even finished your degree. One more year. Would that kill you? One more year and then you can bugger off and die with a baccalaureate.’

‘Yes, but it’s one more year at the pleasure of the senior fellows,’ Stephen said. ‘That’s the whole point, don’t you see? Look at my face,’ he turned and thrust his wounded eye towards his friend. Billy quailed visibly. It was grotesque to see the bright blue of the iris gleaming out from the middle of all that puffy, bruised flesh.

‘What do you think they would make of that? If I went in front of them next week with my cap in my hand, begging for my sizar-ship. Do you think they wouldn’t notice? Do you think they wouldn’t have heard that I was fighting with Alfred Devereux, of all people? You know very well what they’d say: Brawling in public. Bringing disgrace on the college. I’d be out on my ear!’

But he knew in his own mind that it wasn’t as cut and dried as all that. There were mitigating circumstances: he was a promising student who had never put a foot wrong before, and they had already invested three years in him. They would think twice before cutting him off now – particularly by the time Professor Barrett was finished eulogizing about him. He didn’t need Billy to tell him the merits of his case; there was the fact that he hadn’t struck the first blow, and what followed had been more in the way of a beating than a brawl. And then Devereux’s behaviour was certainly not above reproach. But the fact was he didn’t want to argue. He didn’t want to beg and plead because he didn’t believe it would be worth it. He had looked beyond his degree and all he could see was that grubby little office. Inky fingers, one tedious day after another. There had to be more than that.

Billy sensed it too. ‘So are you telling me that joining the army is your way of atoning for your sins? Pleading forgiveness by fighting for King and Country? I mean, come off it.’

It was a fine day and the sun-dappled grass was dotted with children playing and courting couples enjoying the heat. The war seemed a million miles away, and yet, down the path came two officers on horseback. Their mounts moved at a slow walk but they looked all the more magnificent for that. The high sheen of the horses’ polished coats, the creak of leather and the jingle of spurs as they passed, the stiff, upright bearing of the men.