Danny Boy. Anne Bennett

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СКАЧАТЬ she felt it would be churlish to refuse. ‘Aye, that would be nice,’ she said.

      Danny looked at his daughter snuggled in sleep and traced a finger gently across her cheek. ‘Wasn’t she a star today?’ he said. ‘Not a peep out of her. Even when the priest poured the water over her head, she just looked surprised.’

      ‘Aye,’ Rosie agreed and went on with a smile, ‘One of the old ones told me they should yell their heads off in order to release the devil inside them.’

      ‘Huh,’ Danny said. ‘Some of those old ones should have their mouths stopped up! Glad to see you’re too sensible to take any notice of it.’ He got to his feet and said, ‘You get yourself into bed, pet, and I’ll be back shortly.’ He kissed Rosie on the cheek and left her.

      

      Rosie ate some of the food Danny brought her without much enthusiasm, though she was grateful for the hot sweet tea and then she settled down for a sleep.

      She had dropped off and slept for an hour or so, when she was roused suddenly. She lay there for a moment as the last threads of sleep disappeared. She peered around the darkened room and saw the door swinging: someone must have stumbled against it and made the latch jump. The baby was mewling in the cradle, obviously awakened by the same thing. She wasn’t crying yet, but she would, Rosie knew. She would be too hungry to go off to sleep again.

      As she lifted her she became aware of a conversation just outside the door and groaned as she recognised Sam’s voice. ‘You’ve seen nothing like it, man, I was there on the dockside in Dublin and one of the hospital ships was in harbour. The stretcher cases were already gone, but the rest…God, Danny, it would sicken you. There were fellows twitching with shellshock and others stone-blind being led along by a comrade. There were those in wheelchairs with missing limbs, or with their lungs eaten away with gas. ‘Course, they were counted as the lucky ones, for now there will be Irish bodies littering France, Belgium, and now bloody Turkey. Left to rot they are, to be eaten by the carrion crows.’

      ‘Lord, Sam, no one pretends war is pretty,’ Danny said. ‘Everyone knew some of those valiant men marching behind the British Army would not come back and others would be maimed and crippled. That’s the way of it. You don’t begin a war and expect no casualties.’

      ‘I know that,’ Sam said. ‘I’m not stupid. What angers me is that they fight for England, for Belgium, for France, yet their own country is oppressed.’

      ‘He’s right,’ Shay put in.

      ‘Aye, all right, but every man must do as he sees fit.’

      ‘You didn’t feel a need to join the British Army yourself?’ Sam asked.

      ‘I did not!’ Danny said emphatically. ‘I might not go around shouting about Home Rule like you two, but I have no great love for England and I wouldn’t put my head on the line for it.’

      ‘And would you for Ireland?’

      ‘What sort of question is that?’

      ‘An easy one to answer, I’d say.’

      Danny sighed. ‘Essentially, I’m a man of peace,’ he said. ‘I’d fight if anyone belonging to me was threatened, but…’

      ‘And don’t you think they will be? When this damned war is over, England will renege on her promises of independence and Home Rule like she’s done so often before.’

      ‘Maybe,’ Danny said. ‘But if it’s on the statute book they must debate it sometime and with so many men giving their lives for England, they must feel they owe us something.’

      ‘Oh aye,’ Shay put in. ‘And will that stop the nonsense with Ulster and make Ireland properly united?’

      ‘Ulster can only opt out for six years.’

      ‘Danny, will you listen to yourself?’ Sam almost roared. ‘You’re as brainwashed as the rest of them. Six thousand years opt out, more like.’

      Sam’s shout had caused Bernadette to jump on the breast where she was feeding and Rosie took her off and fastened her nightgown up, intending to close the door and help cut the noise out.

      ‘Even so…’ Danny put in.

      ‘Even so, even so,’ Shay mocked. ‘Don’t be so mealymouthed, Danny. Now, with England’s forces and energies directed at Germany and the rest of Europe, now is the time to take up arms and fight for independence.’

      No-one noticed Rosie in the doorway, the men were sideways on to her and before them were Phelan and Niall – Shay’s young brother. The two lads were looking into Sam’s and Shay’s faces, hanging on their every word.

      ‘What we want to know, Danny, is are you for us, or against us?’ Shay demanded. ‘There is no middle way here. When the call comes for Ireland’s freedom, will you answer that call?’

      Rosie pushed the door to before she heard Danny’s reply, but not before she saw the patriotic zeal burning in both of the young boys’ eyes. She returned to the bed a worried woman.

      

      Everything settled down after the christening and Rosie told herself, whatever Sarah said, it had been the beer talking with the men that night. Shay had always been a hothead, but it was just talk, surely to God. She mentioned the reactions of Phelan and Niall to Danny, but he told her not to fret. ‘They’re but boys,’ he said, ‘not long out of the schoolroom altogether and boys that age love looking up to someone, having someone to admire.’

      ‘So you don’t think it’s anything to worry about?’

      ‘No,’ Danny said. ‘But best not say a word to Mammy anyway.’

      It wasn’t long after this that Phelan began arguing with his parents. It was mainly because he wanted to go out at night and didn’t always want to say where he went or what time he would be back. Danny told his parents to go easy on him. ‘He works hard enough through the day and this is his leisure time,’ he told them. ‘It’s a stab at independence, I mind I was the same at his age.’

      ‘You never went far,’ Connie said.

      ‘Well, how far can Phelan get in the two or three hours he’s out? He’s probably at a neighbour’s house. He can’t go much further away, I mean, no harm will come to him.’

      Danny saw no cause for concern and Rosie, who did, told herself she was making a mountain out of a molehill. The nights were still light enough through August and what could be nicer than walking the hills and dales of Wicklow on a balmy summer’s evening?

      By the end of August it was the harvest, and that meant all hands to the pump. There was little time to blow one’s nose, never mind go out for a wee stroll, and Phelan was as tired as the rest at the day’s end and just as anxious to lie in his bed as his elder brother and father.

      With the harvest safely in, there was the bog turf to cut and stockpile for the winter. Matt kept his youngest son hard at it beside him, mending fences, whitewashing the cottage and barn, repairing thin areas of the thatch, and any other jobs he could think of.

      If Matt was hoping to tire Phelan out by his actions, he was mistaken, for Phelan was toughened by his СКАЧАТЬ