Friend or Foe (16 page)

‘Ennis, in County Clare. I was supposed to go there with her, but I hopped off the train without telling her.’

‘Yeah? I’d say you’ll be killed.’

‘I just had to do it. And anyway, I’m more worried for Dad than about what Mam will say.’

‘Do you know where your father is fighting?’

‘It could be Dublin Castle, it could be City Hall.’

‘Right.’

‘I’m dead proud of him, Gerry. But I’m really scared that he’ll be hurt.’

‘Well, loads of people are going to be hurt.’

Emer had been hoping for words of consolation, but instead Gerry had spoken truthfully.

‘No use fretting about that now, though,’ he added. ‘So eat up, get a good night’s sleep and worry about tomorrow when it comes. That’s what I do.’

‘Yeah,’ said Emer. Then she returned to the food and tried to put from her mind the horror of what could happen to her father.

J
ack sped down the hill on his bicycle. The Phoenix Park was fresh and green in its spring foliage, and the sweet-smelling air swept his hair back as he rose in the saddle and accelerated down the incline.

It was Tuesday morning now, and he was making for Kilmainham to try to find out what had happened to Da. Although his mother had expressly forbidden such a journey, there had been no word from his father, and Jack couldn’t take the uncertainty any longer. Ma would be frantic with worry if she knew what he was doing, so he had quietly sneaked his bike out and told only Mary where he was going. Mary had tried to dissuade him, but Jack insisted that for everyone’s sake they had to enquire about Da. He warned Mary not to tell Ma about his expedition unless it was absolutely necessary.

It felt good to be doing something at last, but the closer he got to Kilmainham, the more worried Jack was about Da’s absence. He could hear gunfire in the distance, and the city was rife with rumours of killings and general mayhem. There was talk of artillery being brought to bear on the rebel strongholds. Neither Dublin Port nor the city’s two main railway stations were in rebel hands, and British Army reinforcements were said to be on their
way. The Volunteers and the Citizen Army had chosen strategic locations, however, and were laying down gunfire to prevent easy access of more troops into the city. Jack had avoided the quays near Kingsbridge Station, taking the safer route to Kilmainham through the Phoenix Park.

He turned left at the base of the Magazine Hill, then exited the park and made for Islandbridge. Looking back towards town, he could see thick smoke rising into the blue April sky, and the sound of machine-gun fire carried on the breeze. And this was just a day after the uprising had begun. What sort of slaughter would take place if thousands of troops poured into the city – and if they began using artillery? Jack tried to dismiss his negative thoughts and told himself that whatever happened, Da would come through. He rose into the saddle again and cycled hard up the slope towards Kilmainham.

‘My God, Gerry!’ said Emer. ‘What have you done?’ She had stepped from the bedroom of the cottage into the kitchen and now stood in shock, looking at the goods on the cracked wooden table.

Exhaustion had set in the previous night, and she had slept soundly despite the strange surroundings of Gerry’s bedroom. Then a few minutes ago she had been woken by Gerry’s uncle clattering off in the horse and cart. His absence meant she could enter the sunlit kitchen, where she saw all the food and clothing
spread out on the table, still in their shop wrappers.

Gerry didn’t seem perturbed by her question. ‘I done what everyone was doin’. I helped myself.’

Emer was taken aback, and despite her gratitude to Gerry for letting her stay overnight, she couldn’t keep the disapproval from her voice. ‘You were looting?’

‘I went into town this morning. Other people were helping themselves, why shouldn’t I?’

‘But … but what about the shopkeepers?’

‘They’ve been rich all their lives. With their big stores and their fancy clothes and more food than they can eat. This was a chance for poor people to come out on top, just for once.’

Emer could understand Gerry thinking like this, but she still felt uncomfortable with the idea of looting. ‘You could have been arrested,’ she said.

‘No chance,’ answered Gerry. ‘The DMP have been pulled back to their barracks.’

‘Why?’

‘The rebels shot a few of them, so they’re off the streets.’

‘Really? Gosh, I hope Mr Madigan is all right.’

‘Yeah. I don’t like the peelers, but Jack’s da sounds decent enough.’

‘So what’s it like in town?’ asked Emer.

‘Mad. The rebels have taken Boland’s Mills, Stephen’s Green, the South Dublin Union, Jacob’s factory, the Four Courts and loads of other places.’

‘Did you hear anything about Dublin Castle or City Hall?’

‘They say the rebels never took Dublin Castle, and the army’s taken back City Hall.’

Emer felt her stomach tighten. ‘I really hope Dad’s OK,’ she said.

‘He might have escaped. Or he could just be taken prisoner. You could always go down there and check it out.’

Emer considered this.

‘Forget the police,’ continued Gerry. ‘They’re cooped up in their barracks, so you needn’t worry about them raiding your house or stopping you in the street.’

Emer suspected that Gerry was right, and that both the police and the army had too much to contend with now to be raiding the houses of Volunteers. It meant that she could move back to her own home, but it still left the worry of her father.

‘Want my advice?’ asked Gerry.

‘Yes.’

‘Your clothes have got a bit messed up since yesterday. Go home and change into your best outfit, then go to City Hall and ask about your da.’

‘Why my best outfit?’

‘’Cause if you look posh, officers and people in charge take you seriously.’

Emer hadn’t thought of that before, but it was probably true.

‘Whatever has happened your da, has happened to him. Right?’

Emer didn’t want to think like that, but she nodded in reply.

‘So you might as well be smart about it,’ said Gerry. ‘Have a bit of breakfast, then go home and freshen up. Change into your
best clothes and go and ask the officer in charge at City Hall about your father. OK?’

‘OK …’ said Emer haltingly. ‘OK.’

‘I’m sorry, Jack, but I’ve bad news.’ The policeman on duty at the desk was a colleague of Jack’s father’s called Sergeant Kirwan, whom he had met several times, and the man looked uneasy. The DMP barracks was bustling with activity: officers were barricading the windows with sandbags as reports came in of looting and rebel activity all over the city.

Jack was oblivious to everything around him as the man’s words struck home. He dreaded to hear the worst but forced himself to ask. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Your father … your father is missing.’

‘Missing?’

‘He’s not on any casualty list, that’s the good part.’

Jack felt a sense of relief, but it didn’t last long; this could still mean that his dad was dead, with his body not yet found. ‘When was he last seen?’ he asked.

‘Yesterday afternoon. It’s possible … he may well have been taken prisoner.’

‘Why would they want to hold a policeman prisoner?’

‘He could have tried to stop them doing something. We’ve a definite report of an officer being held prisoner in the GPO.’
The sergeant reached out and laid a large hand reassuringly on Jack’s shoulder. ‘If he’s a prisoner, he’ll be all right.’

‘How will he be? Haven’t two DMP men been shot dead – even though the rebels know they’re unarmed?’

The policeman didn’t answer, and Jack saw that he was unshaven and his eyes looked bloodshot.

‘That’s true, son,’ he said now. ‘But from what we hear, most of the rebels are behaving honourably.’

‘Could they win?’

The policeman shook his head at once. ‘Not a chance. In a few days they’ll be outnumbered ten to one. And they’ve no artillery, no heavy weapons. It’s a hopeless cause.’

‘If Da was taken prisoner, where could he be held?’

‘Any of the rebel garrisons, I suppose.’

‘Where’s the most likely?’

‘Well, the nearest fighting to here is the workhouse complex at the South Dublin Union. It’s a huge place, and fierce battles are going on there – so he could be somewhere in the Union.’

‘And when will the army retake it?’

‘Impossible to tell. It’s turmoil out there.’

‘You have our address, Sergeant,’ said Jack. ‘Please, promise me the minute you hear anything, you’ll tell us?’

‘You have my word, Jack.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And keep your chin up. God is good.’

Jack thought this was a silly thing to say less than twenty-four
hours after two unarmed policemen had been shot. He said nothing in reply but nodded in farewell, then made his way for the door, more worried than at any time since the Rising had begun.

‘Excuse me, sir!’ said Emer, trying to make her voice sound assured as she addressed the officer supervising the British troops strengthening the barricades at City Hall.

Earlier in the day Emer had taken Gerry’s advice and gone home to change into her best clothes, then made her way into the war-torn city centre. Now as the British officer looked at her, she could see his surprise. He was a man of about forty, and something about the expression in his dark-brown eyes made Emer sense that he might be kind.

‘May I ask you a question, please?’ she said, speaking confidently and clearly, glad for once of her elocution classes.

‘Allow me a question first,’ replied the officer in what Emer recognised as a cultured English accent. ‘What’s a young lady like you doing out on your own? The city centre is dangerous.’

‘I’m here because … I’m here because I fear for my father’s life.’

‘Is he an army officer?’

‘Yes, sir, he’s a captain. But … but not in your army.’

‘Ah,’ said the man.

‘I’m told he was fighting here at City Hall. Can you tell me, please, if he’s been captured or wounded, or … or what might
have happened to him? His name is Captain Davey.’

The man hesitated, and Emer looked at him appealingly. ‘Please, sir, I’m worried sick. I’m asking you, as a gentleman, to help me. I just want to know if he’s been taken prisoner.’

The man held her gaze, then nodded almost imperceptibly. He opened the pocket of his tunic and took out a list.

‘Davey, you say?’

‘Yes, sir, Captain Eamon Davey.’

Emer held her breath as the officer read the list, then he lowered it and looked at her.

‘He
was
here.’

‘Was?’

‘But I’m sorry to have to tell you that he was shot.’

Emer felt like her world was falling apart. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘No …’

‘He’s not among the dead,’ said the man sympathetically. ‘He’s just listed as wounded.’

‘Oh, thank God for that! And … was he badly wounded?’

‘I don’t have that sort of detail.’

‘Do you know where he’d be now?’

‘Under guard in hospital, I should think.’

‘Which hospital, sir?’

‘Afraid I wouldn’t know that. But he’ll be properly treated. Meanwhile you should get off the streets, miss. This is no place for a girl like you.’

The man went to move off, but Emer called out. ‘Sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you.’

The officer nodded, then returned to his men.

Emer walked away, her head spinning. It was a relief to know that Dad hadn’t been killed. But he was wounded, maybe seriously. Somehow she had to locate his hospital and find out how he was.