Friend or Foe (2 page)

T
hree weeks into the summer holidays, Jack Madigan came face to face with death. It was a beautiful sunny day and all the Ellesmere gang had walked the two miles from Ellesmere Avenue to their swimming haunt on the River Tolka. There was Jack, Ben Walton and his sister Gladys, Joan Lawlor and Emer Davey.

There had been nothing to suggest that it would be anything other than another happy summer day. They had pretended to walk the plank when crossing the lock on the Royal Canal near Broom Bridge, placed a halfpenny on the track of the Great Western line and had it flattened by a passing train, and sung along when Jack led them in the lively music hall song ‘Any Old Iron’. Even Ben’s bitter complaint about the Football Association – which had decided there would be no international soccer next
season because of the continuing war between Britain and Germany – hadn’t dampened their spirits.

While crossing Ballyboggan Road Emer had used the melting tar to smear her initials onto a kerbstone, and even though he disapproved slightly, Jack hadn’t objected, not wanting to spoil the mood. As the son of a policeman Jack had inherited his father’s deep respect for keeping the law. Emer, on the other hand, had a father who was a member of the anti-government Irish Volunteers. She also had a headstrong streak, which Jack’s mother said was indulged because she was an only child. Nevertheless Jack liked Emer and usually avoided conflict with her.

Leaving Ballyboggan Road behind, they had made their way to the swimming hole on the River Tolka. Joan Lawlor led the run to the water’s edge before jumping in with her usual cry of ‘Gang way!’ Despite the summer heat, the river was chilly, and after a few minutes various members of the gang began to swim to the grassy bank and climb out.

Jack had been the last to make for the bank and had drifted a little downstream from the others when he got into trouble. He had been swimming for about a year and had never had a problem before. Unlike Emer, who was a brilliant swimmer, Jack didn’t like immersing his face when he swam, but he had developed a version of the crawl that was reasonably effective.

Now, though, as he went to kick his legs he found his right foot trapped. The unexpected pull on his leg disoriented him, and in crying out in surprise, he swallowed a mouthful of river water.
It had a reedy taste, and Jack immediately gagged. He kicked his right leg to free it, but the clump of weeds holding his foot didn’t give way. He felt a surge of fear. Instinctively twisting his head to see what was trapping him, he swallowed more water and felt the horrible sensation of his stomach filling and liquid going up his nose. Losing his bearings, he thrashed about in panic and found his head submerged. He opened his eyes and could see sunlight filtering down through the water. His chest felt like it would burst, and he flailed about with his arms, desperate to break the surface and to gasp oxygen into his lungs.

His foot was still trapped, but sheer terror gave him strength. He kicked again, harder this time, and his trapped foot finally came free. But he wasn’t out of trouble. Between his panic and the awful sensation of the water suffocating him, he was still disoriented and found it hard to surface.

Jack swallowed more water just as he broke through, and he gagged and felt himself going under again. He had already been tired from swimming when he decided to come ashore, and much of his remaining strength had been spent in the effort to free his foot and stay afloat. Desperately he tried to surface again, then suddenly there was a splashing alongside him, and he felt his head being pulled backwards.

Overwhelmed by the instinct to survive, he continued to struggle, even though his head had been pulled above the water.

‘It’s OK, Jack, I have you!’

Despite his confusion Jack was aware that it was Emer’s voice,
and he thrust out his hand, desperate for her help. He made contact with her arm and grasped it firmly.

‘Don’t pull me under, Jack!’

He felt Emer wrenching her hand free, and from the corner of his eye he saw her swimming around behind him. Sickened from all the water he had swallowed and gasping for oxygen, Jack couldn’t think clearly. He flailed again, fearing that Emer had abandoned him to protect herself.

‘It’s OK, Jack!’ she cried from behind him. ‘I have you, just relax!’

He felt her hand grasping his jaw.

‘Don’t fight me, Jack, just relax!’

His head was spinning, but somehow he realised that he had to be brave. His every instinct was to clutch her for safety, yet that was the very thing that would put them both in peril. His strength was gone, his lungs ached and he was still spluttering, but Jack forced himself to do as his friend ordered and ceased flailing about.

‘OK, Jack, I have you now!’ said Emer. ‘It’s all right, that’s good, that’s good!’

Emer had a firm grip on his chin, and Jack felt himself being towed backwards as she swam towards the bank. Before he knew what was happening, his friends hauled first him and then Emer from the water onto the grassy slope.

‘Roll him onto his stomach!’ cried Emer, and before Jack could react he had been rolled over and Emer was pressing hard on his back. The pressure on his lungs was painful, but he suddenly expelled the water that he had swallowed. It was a horrible feeling,
yet he felt the better for it. Emer sat back wearily on the grass and, still panting, Jack sat up shakily.

‘Thanks, Emer,’ he gasped. ‘Thanks.’

‘My God, Jack, that was touch and go.’

Jack was aware that he could have pulled her under and, still gasping, he looked at her apologetically. ‘I’m sorry,’ he managed to get out. ‘I’m … I’m really sorry for–’

‘It’s fine. Really, I wasn’t complaining. I’m just glad you’re alive.’

‘Not as much as me,’ answered Jack.

‘I thought you were a goner!’ said Joan, her eyes wide with the drama of it all.

‘Thanks, Joan,’ said Jack.

‘No, like, I’m really glad you’re not. Imagine having to tell your da!’

‘If we were Arabs,’ said Gladys seriously, ‘Jack would be Emer’s slave now.’

‘What?’ asked Ben, looking quizzically at his sister.

‘I read in a book that if an Arab saves your life, then you owe him that life. Like you’re his slave for the rest of your days.’

Jack’s breathing was returning to normal now, and he looked at Gladys with a hint of amusement. ‘Just as well we’re not Arabs then.’

‘Pity though,’ said Emer with a smile. ‘I wouldn’t mind having a slave!’

Jack returned her smile, then spoke seriously. ‘I won’t forget this, Emer. I owe you a big favour. Anything you ever want – just ask. Is that a deal?’

Emer looked at him. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘That’s a deal.’

A
ny excuse was a good excuse, Emer felt, when it came to interrupting piano practice. It wasn’t that she had anything against playing, as such, and if she could have done popular tunes like ‘Swanee River’ or ‘You Made Me Love You’, practising might almost have been enjoyable. Instead her mother sent her for lessons with Miss Gildea, who lived around the corner from Ellesmere Avenue in a tall house on the North Circular Road. Miss Gildea slapped her pupils on the knuckles with a wooden ruler, and insisted that the correct piano music for young ladies was by Chopin, Beethoven and Liszt.

Emer had been working her way through a Chopin prelude in the parlour when there was a knock on the front door. She was glad to hear Jack politely greeting her mother, then Mam ushering him into the hall. Her mother did the book-keeping for Dad’s greengrocer shops and would sometimes complain about being distracted if too many of Emer’s friends called to the door when she was going through the invoices. Mam liked Jack the best of all her friends, however, and had returned his greeting warmly.

It was strange, really, because both of Emer’s parents were wary of Jack’s father, Mr Madigan. He was a pleasant, friendly man, but he was also a sergeant in the Dublin Metropolitan Police and therefore
an agent of the government. At present, Ireland was ruled from London. Emer’s father and mother were nationalists: they wanted, at the very minimum, a change to Home Rule – which would mean a parliament in Dublin to deal with local affairs. For preference, though, they wanted an independent Irish republic and a complete break with British rule. Her father, in particular, was on a collision course with the government since he had joined the Irish Volunteers. All of their parents were still very polite to each other as neighbours, but Dad had warned Emer not to discuss the family’s politics with Jack.
As if Jack would snitch back to his father
, Emer thought – although she hadn’t actually said that to Dad.

Now Mam opened the parlour door. ‘Jack to see you, Emer.’

‘Aw no,’ said Emer playfully, ‘just when I’m practising Chopin.’

‘If you’d rather practise, I can call back,’ said Jack with a grin.

‘Well, let’s not be hasty!’

Mam smiled. ‘I’ll leave the pair of you to it,’ she said, closing the parlour door and returning to her book-keeping.

‘So?’ said Emer, swinging around on her piano stool. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘OK. But yesterday was pretty scary.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Emer. ‘When I thought about it last night I got the shivers.’

‘Me too. And I know I thanked you at the time, but I wanted to say thanks properly. So I got you something.’

‘There was no need, Jack. But what is it?’ she added.

He reached into his pocket. ‘Nothing much. I got my pocket
money today, and I know you like jellies, so here.’ He handed over a bag of sweets.

‘Thanks, Jack,’ replied Emer. Although the conversation was light-hearted, she was touched by his gesture. She held out the bag, and they each had a sweet, then she looked thoughtful. ‘I was thinking last night …’ she said.

‘Yeah?’

‘Remember you said how great it was that I knew life-saving? Well, why don’t you join my swimming club? Then you could become a better swimmer – even go on to life-saving if you wanted?’

Jack looked thoughtful. ‘In one way I’d love to.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘I’m not …’ Jack looked a little sheepish. ‘I know it sounds stupid, but I’m not great at putting my face down into the water. And good swimmers have to.’

‘Sure I usen’t to like that either,’ said Emer. ‘But they teach you how to do it. Really, it’s not that hard when you’re taught right.’

‘It’s not just that. There’s my da as well. If I wanted to join a swimming club he might be suspicious and wonder why I’m asking now. And I
really
don’t want him to know what happened yesterday.’

‘Right.’ Emer chewed on her jelly, savouring the sugary taste as she considered Jack’s situation. ‘There might be a way round that,’ she suggested.

‘How?’

‘The Old Reliable, I call it.’

Jack breathed out. ‘OK, I’ll ask. What’s the Old Reliable?’

‘It’s what nearly always sways parents. You tell them that the other parents have agreed to something. Then once that’s persuaded them, your friend tells his or her parents that
your
parents have agreed. Works really well.’

Jack laughed. ‘It’s not bad.’

‘Know how we make it even better?’

‘No, how?’

‘We get the Waltons to join as well. You talk to Ben, I’ll talk to Gladys. Everyone tells their parents that all the other parents have agreed, and the Old Reliable does the trick!’

‘Do you think Ben and Gladys would be on for that?’

‘Yeah, Gladys was dead impressed with my life-saving yesterday, and sure Ben thinks you’re great.’

‘You know … that might actually work.’

‘What am I?’ asked Emer.

Jack pretended to consider the answer. ‘Bossy, headstrong, spoiled rotten …’

Emer punched him playfully. ‘A genius, is the answer you’re looking for!’ She opened the bag of sweets and offered Jack another jelly. ‘So, will we give it a try?’

‘Yeah, why not?’

‘Great,’ said Emer, then she popped a sweet into her mouth, swung round on the stool and loudly banged out a dramatic chord on the piano.

‘Don’t be such a snob, Ma!’

‘I’m not,’ said Jack’s mother, looking up from her embroidery. ‘I’m just saying you don’t want to get in with the wrong crowd in that factory.’

Jack sat in a corner of the kitchen as his sisters Una and Mary argued with Ma about going on a day trip with the other staff of the munitions factory where they worked. At twelve years of age, Jack was the youngest in the family, with four sisters. His eldest sister, Sheila, was a milliner like Ma, and Maureen worked in a shop in town. Una and Mary had grasped the opportunity presented by the war and were earning good money in a factory that produced artillery shells.

Jack half listened now as his mother cautioned Una and Mary about not associating too much with some of the rougher workers. He liked this time, late in the evening, when the family gathered together, even if sometimes there were arguments and different family members were engaged in their own pursuits. Jack himself was following his hobby of fretwork, sawing an intricate pattern around the border of a piece of wood. Sheila and Maureen were out at a concert, and his father read the newspaper as he relaxed in his favourite armchair beside the fireplace.

Jack wanted to ask Da about joining the swimming club, and he had decided to use Emer’s ‘Old Reliable’ tactic when the time seemed right. The near-drowning had actually shaken him up
more than he had admitted to his friends, and he was determined to become a better swimmer – and maybe even get a chance to rescue a life in return for his own – by learning life-saving. Before he got the chance to pitch the idea to his father, however, Da lowered the newspaper and spoke.

‘My God, it’s turning into a slaughter.’

‘What is, Da?’ asked Jack.

‘This war with Germany. They’ve released casualty figures. Three hundred and thirty thousand casualties since last August.’

To Jack, this sounded like a staggeringly high number of people, but the war – which people had said would be over by the previous Christmas – still showed no signs of ending. Russia and France were allied with the British Empire, but Germany and the Austro-Hungarian Empire were united on the other side along with Turkey, where Jack’s uncle Bertie was fighting in a place called the Dardanelles.

‘That’s an awful lot of people, Da,’ answered Jack.

‘It is, son. More than every single man, woman and child on the northside of Dublin.’

Somehow this made the numbers seem more real, and Jack was horrified. He remembered thinking at first that the war was a great adventure, like in the books he read. He had been proud of his mother’s brother Bertie, a Ringsend man who was in the Dublin Fusiliers, a famous regiment in the British Army, and of Mam’s nephew Ronnie from Manchester, who had volunteered at the outbreak of war and was serving in Belgium. Now, though,
Jack felt almost guilty about his earlier attitude, and he prayed every night that his relations would come home in one piece, and that the war would end.

‘Do you think we’ll win soon, Da?’ he asked.

His father breathed out wearily. Usually Da was optimistic, but now his tone was cautious. ‘I’d love to say yes, Jack. But both sides are bogged down on the Western Front.’

Jack knew that the Western Front was the blood-soaked line of trenches that ran for hundreds of miles through Belgium and France.

‘And when we get the upper hand somewhere like Africa,’ Da continued, ‘they get on top someplace else like Turkey.’

‘Right.’

As though aware of his downbeat manner, his father raised his chin and spoke more hopefully. ‘Still, huge numbers of Irishmen have shown loyalty to the Crown by joining up. That should count for something when the Home Rule Bill is reviewed after the war.’

John Redmond, the leader of the Irish Party at Westminster, had urged Irishmen who wanted Home Rule to fight for Britain in her hour of need. But although Jack approved of thousands of Irishmen joining up, part of him was glad that Da was a policeman and safely stationed in Dublin. Even if they brought in conscription – forcing men to join the army to make up for all the losses – his father’s age and job probably meant that he wouldn’t be sent off to the front.

‘Still, the war isn’t all bad, Da,’ said Una now, turning away
from Ma and the argument about not mixing with girls from the factory. ‘I know it’s terrible about the killing and all,’ she continued, ‘but the war’s brought loads of work. Plenty of people who were going hungry are earning a living now.’

‘There is that,’ conceded Da.

Jack hadn’t thought of it that way before, and Una did have a point.
But still
. Thousands of people were being killed and maimed; there had to be better ways of creating jobs than by countries going to war.

Just then Sheila and Maureen arrived home from their concert, and the conversation moved in a different direction. Normally Jack would have been keen to hear about the latest music hall songs, but all this talk of war and his own near-drowning had made him realise that life was fragile, and he continued quietly with his sawing, lost in his thoughts.

He had to approach Da about the swimming club. But the mood wasn’t right tonight, and it would be better to wait than to waste his chance through ill timing. A little disappointed, Jack concentrated on his fretwork, resolving to make his move the minute the time was right.