Friend or Foe (11 page)

J
ack loved the contrasts of December; the freezing schoolyard glistened with frost, while the classroom felt cosy, with a roaring turf fire going in the grate. Brother McGill was in a relaxed mood today. Their religious instruction class had consisted of an advent talk, in which he had encouraged his pupils to get into the right frame of mind for Christmas. Earlier he had allowed Jack to share a large box of sweets amongst his classmates, a move that had boosted Jack’s popularity.

The sweets had been donated by the captain of Jack’s swimming club to celebrate their victory in the gala the previous Friday night. Being on the winning team had delighted Jack, and now, as he sucked the last sweet sliver of one of the toffees, he marvelled at how unpredictable life could be.

Less than five months ago he had nearly drowned because he wasn’t a strong swimmer, yet since then he had improved so much that he had won a place on a swimming team. On the negative side, however, his parents had unexpectedly stopped him from performing in Emer’s charity concert, and Emer’s parents had stopped her from taking part in the gala. Then there had been another positive, when the gala outcome had been balanced on a knife-edge and they had won in the final race.

‘All right, lunch break,’ said Brother McGill now as the bell sounded in the schoolyard outside their window. The teacher quickly gathered his papers into his leather satchel. ‘Right, lads, see you all at two o’clock sharp!’ he said and exited the classroom.

The class immediately began to break up, and Gerry Quinn turned to Jack and indicated the departing teacher. ‘Did you hear what Giller keeps in that satchel?’ he asked.

‘No, what?’

‘Whacker Moran in 6B peeked into it when Giller was called out of the classroom last Friday.’

‘What was in it?’ asked Jack, his curiosity aroused.

‘A cowboys and Indians book.
Massacre at Fort Apache
. Imagine Giller reading something like that!’

Jack smiled. Even though it seemed at odds with the teacher’s enthusiasm for all things Irish, somehow he
could
imagine him reading an adventure about cowboys and Indians. ‘He probably pictures himself leading the US cavalry,’ said Jack.

‘Yeah,’ agreed Gerry, ‘laying into the Apaches with
Seán Dubh
!’

Jack laughed, then his smile faded as Phelim O’Connell approached them.

‘Wanted a word, Madigan,’ he said. ‘On your own.’

‘Don’t start anything,’ Gerry warned the other boy.

‘It’s OK, Gerry,’ said Jack quietly. ‘I can handle it.’

‘Fine,’ said Gerry, moving off and leaving Jack alone with Phelim.

Jack wondered what Phelim was planning, and he tensed himself, ready for action if need be. In the weeks since their fight they had stayed out of each other’s way – if anything, Jack felt that maybe Phelim respected him for standing up for himself. Then again, maybe the bigger boy wanted revenge for his split lip and had been biding his time to lull Jack into a false sense of security.

After Da being so understanding about the fight, Jack really wanted to avoid another incident, and so he kept his tone neutral when he spoke. ‘So, what is it you wanted?’

Phelim said nothing for the moment, and Jack realised that he was waiting for the boys nearby to leave. Phelim stared hard at a couple of them, and they quickly got the message.

Jack balanced himself on the balls of his feet, hoping to avoid trouble but ready in case Phelim tried to catch him unawares with a blow.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Phelim.

‘Yeah?’ answered Jack. The other boy’s tone wasn’t aggressive, but Jack stayed on guard, wary in case Phelim tried to trick him. He could see a tiny mark where Phelim’s lip had been split, but he shifted his gaze to his eyes, ready for any hint of an attack.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ repeated Phelim, ‘about what Giller said.’

‘Giller said a lot of things.’

‘About Christmas. And the season of goodwill. And I thought … maybe we should bury the hatchet.’

Jack was dumbfounded.
Could this be some kind of ruse?
He stayed
on the balls of his feet, still ready to react. But Phelim seemed to be speaking sincerely.

‘I’m still against the British Army and the DMP and all that, but … well, I shouldn’t have said what I did about your cousin.’

Jack stared at him, amazed and not knowing what to say.

‘So when Giller said Christmas is a time to right wrongs, I thought … maybe we should just accept we’re on different sides and leave it at that. OK?’

Jack was still wary, but he nodded. ‘OK.’

‘We don’t have to pretend to be pals. But … well, we could try to get along.’ Phelim tentatively reached out and offered a handshake. ‘What do you say?’

Jack hesitated for a moment, then remembering what had been said about goodwill and peace on earth, he held out his own hand and shook Phelim’s. The bigger boy held his handshake for a moment, then nodded in farewell and walked out of the classroom.

Jack stood unmoving. Earlier he had marvelled at life’s unpredictability, but this was the most surprising thing of all. He smiled to himself, wondered what other surprises lay in store, then gathered his schoolbag and left the room with a spring in his step.

‘It’s simply appalling, girls,’ said Miss Clarke, ‘that the Ku Klux Klan has been revived in Georgia.’

It was coming to the end of the history lesson, Emer’s final class
of the day, but as usual the teacher had made the subject so interesting that Emer wanted the class to go on.

‘The Ku Klux Klan is violently opposed to black people, Catholics, Jews and immigrants,’ said Miss Clarke. ‘So what does history teach us about dealing with such a threat?’

Joan raised her hand.

‘Yes, Joan?’

‘That we try to see their viewpoint, Miss?’

‘Normally that would be the case. As, for example, when I went to Emer’s concert that was run by Conradh na Gaeilge. If you don’t mind me using that as an example, Emer?’

‘No, Miss,’ said Emer.

‘As an Englishwoman, I don’t necessarily agree with the stance taken recently by Conradh na Gaeilge,’ continued the teacher. ‘But I went to Emer’s concert – at which, may I say, Emer, you played very well.’

‘Thanks, Miss,’ answered Emer, surprised but pleased that her piano playing had found its way into a history lesson.

‘As I say, I went to Emer’s concert and exchanged views with many people afterwards – some of them moderate Irish nationalists, some of them fervent nationalists. That, girls, is a healthy thing, where people of differing opinions exchange views and try to see each other’s standpoints.’

‘So why can’t we do that with the Ku Klux Klan, Miss?’ asked Joan.

‘Because some things are just so wrong they mustn’t be indulged. You can’t have a reasoned argument with somebody who would
lynch a black man – brutally hang him from a tree – simply because of the colour of his skin. Some wrongs are so blatant they must be firmly rejected.’

Just then the bell rang to mark the end of the school day, and Miss Clarke closed her folder. ‘To be continued, girls,’ she said. ‘Class dismissed.’

There was a flurry of activity. Emer and Joan packed their schoolbags, then left the classroom together and sauntered down the corridor.

‘So what was Clarkie really like at the concert?’ asked Joan. ‘Did your mam and dad think she was mad?’

‘No, actually, they thought she was great.’

‘Really? Even though she’s English?’

‘They’re not against ordinary English people, Joan. Just the ones who rule us.’

‘Right.’

‘It was all very polite, and herself and Dad agreed to disagree about the Volunteers. But she was all in favour of Conradh na Gaeilge promoting the Irish language, so that went down well.’

‘Adults are weird!’ said Joan. ‘You can never tell what they’ll do. Oops, Creeper alert!’

Emer looked up to see Sister Assumpta approaching down the corridor. The two girls courteously greeted the nun, who nodded in acknowledgement as she passed.

‘Look at the face on her,’ whispered Joan. ‘It would stop a clock!’

‘Yeah. Not exactly in the Christmas spirit, is she?’

‘Well, that’s the thing,’ answered Joan. ‘Maybe she
is
, in her own way.’

Emer looked at her friend curiously. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Marie Gogan saw her giving half a crown to a beggar in town.’

‘Really? Half a crown?’

‘Yeah. Marie was shopping with her mother, but Creeper didn’t see her. And there was this old man begging, and he had only one leg. And Creeper stopped and gave him half a crown. So maybe she’s not all bad.’

‘No,’ said Emer thoughtfully. ‘So she makes our lives a misery in here, and she’s dead generous outside. You’re right – adults
are
weird!’

Jack watched carefully as Da filled his pipe with tobacco. He wanted to make his move while Da was relaxed, and he was always at his most approachable when sitting in the armchair by the fire with a good pipe going. Ma and Sheila were at the living-room table, putting the finishing touches to an elaborate hat they were making. Maureen and Mary were out, Una was reading the newspaper, and Jack was carefully painting the railings of his fretwork model of the Custom House.

‘A new cinema has opened on Sackville Street,’ said Una, reading excitedly from the paper. ‘It’s called the Carlton, and it will hold six hundred people.’

‘You’re a divil for the cinema,’ said Da as he struck a match, then he puffed away to get his pipe going.

‘Why not?’ said Una. ‘Myself and Mary work hard. After a week making shells, we’re entitled to some entertainment.’

‘God forbid that you wouldn’t be entertained!’ said Ma, looking up from her hat-making with a grin. ‘I don’t know what I did for entertainment at your age when there were no cinemas.’

‘Times change, Ma,’ answered Una.

‘They do,’ said Da, ‘and not always for the better.’

‘Ah, Da, that sounds like a real old man’s thing to say!’ said Sheila with a laugh.

As the eldest and most sensible of Jack’s sisters, Sheila could get away with saying things that the rest of them couldn’t, and Jack watched now as Da smiled benignly.

‘Sure, I
am
an old man,’ he said. ‘Well – almost!’

The pipe smoke had a sweet, comforting smell, and Jack sensed that now was the moment to make his request. ‘I was wondering, Da,’ he said, putting down his paint brush.

‘Were you now? And what were you wondering?’

‘Ben and Gladys and Joan and Emer are all going down to Monasterevin to a Christmas fair. Emer’s uncle lives there, and they’re going down on the train, staying overnight with the uncle and coming back the next day. Can I go too, please?’

His father took the pipe from his mouth. ‘I don’t know about that, Jack.’

‘Please, Da. This time it’s nothing to do with Conradh na Gaeilge
or the Volunteers, it’s just a Christmas outing.’ Jack suspected that his parents felt bad about refusing him permission to sing in Emer’s concert, and he hoped now that they might balance things out by letting him go.

‘Why would you want to go to Monasterevin?’ asked Una.

‘Because my friends are all going, and it would be great fun.’

‘And what adult is in charge?’ asked Ma.

Jack thought it was encouraging that Ma wasn’t rejecting the proposal out of hand. ‘Mrs Davey will bring everyone to the station,’ he said. ‘We’d travel down on the train, and Emer’s uncle would collect everyone at the station in Monasterevin.’

‘Right.’

‘I’d love to go, Ma. Please, can I?’

His mother looked across to where Da sat at the fireplace and raised an eyebrow in enquiry. Jack held his breath as his father put down his pipe.

‘I don’t want to be a killjoy, Jack,’ he said. ‘But like I told you, our new Inspector is very strict. “Fraternising with undesirables”, he calls it.’

‘In fairness, Da,’ said Una, ‘you could hardly call the Daveys undesirables!’

‘Not as neighbours, no, of course not. But politically …’

‘But politics hardly comes into it, Da,’ said Sheila. ‘It’s just a group of kids going to a Christmas fair.’