Anyway, now that I'm out In sharing my first story. I hope you guys like it.
Keep Company With The Angels
On a day when his homeland finally feels complete to him, Tom needs to decide whether to side with the old enemy to face a worse threat.
I’d never awoken to so much excitement. Siobhán cooked oatmeal on the rusty old stove while she hummed that Ella Fitzgerald song that she loved and I hated.
“Porridge again?”
“Dún do bheal is ith do bhricfeasta. Once you’re a history professor we can eat like King George.”
“How can I eat at all if my mouth is closed?!”
“Figure it out, clever clogs,” she said, as I hugged her from behind.
“Do you not have an Irish song in you for the day that’s in it?” I asked.
She lifted a skillet to threaten me with. “Listen, Tom Dolan. You’ll have an Irish pan in that massive brain of yours if you don’t get on.” I kissed her quick but full, realising how lucky I was.
We sat at the tiny table and said a prayer of thanks; for the food, for the one-room flat we lived in (for now), for the day when the last seat of colonial power became Irish. Douglas Hyde, Uachtaráin na hEireann, our own President, would take over the Viceregal Lodge.
I was distracted by Siobhán’s swinging hips as we approached the City Centre, missing Clarkey’s words. My mind wandered to the day she said yes, the first time she’d seen me cry.
Ryan Clarke punched my shoulder. He was my oldest friend, and one of the few that hadn’t treated me like a snob when I started my Masters.
“Are you even listening? I said, it looks like this will be news all over the world,” he said.
“Even London?”
Ryan laughed. “Well, never London, unless they can embitter it somehow, but everywhere that counts. I hear old Adolf is looking to pay journalists shillings to pounds for photos from today.”
“Well, he’d do anything to bother the neighbours, wouldn’t he?”
“Indeed” Clarkey said. “They would be a lot less bothered if Chamberlain would stop pandering and stood up to him.”
“Someone should do something about it.”
“Easy Tom,” he glanced around. “People will think you’re off the join the British Army.”
“Are you coming to Dublin Castle tonight?” I asked him, glancing at Siobhán, looking to change the subject.
“Guests of the Provost of Trinity College. No, I’d be mixing well above my station there,” he said. “At least you have Siobhán to make you look good.”
O’Connell Street was thick with the crowd as we approached. People hung from windows and lamp posts. I suggested to Siobhán stopping here as we’d never make the ceremony through the throng. I had to almost howl the words in her ear, shouting to be heard over people shouting to be heard. She stood as tall as she could, grabbed my hand and led us through. I watched with a rising, jealous temper as men fell over themselves to accommodate her, just as I had a decade before. When Siobhán turned and said something to me that I couldn’t hear over the crowd, those men didn’t matter. Seeing excitement in her eyes and the tease of her half-smile, I nodded and followed. We lost Clarkey somewhere along the way.
She manoeuvred us opposite the GPO. I realised that today was the culmination of the Easter Rising that had started on those post office steps 22 years ago. That day was itself steeped in centuries of uprisings, assassinations, and political machinations. History was nothing if it wasn’t bloody.
But today was about democracy, increasingly unique in Europe as it seemed dictator after dictator were rising to power. Today, Ireland stood for freedom and exemplified what Nationalism could look like.
Stepping into the cheers of Dublin, Hyde stepped from the lead car of the motorcade, flanked by Irish Cavalry. He was joined by the Tánaiste, Sean Ó Ceallaigh and an Taoiseach, Éamon de Valera, as they approached the steps of the GPO. A whole city fell into near silent reflection and reminiscence. To most it was moment to remember The Rising. Hyde, I’m sure, was remembering his old friend, Pearse. It was well known they’d disagreed on the use of armed conflict. Hyde was no fan of pointless sacrifice.
I took Siobhán’s free hand, putting my other arm around her waist. I thought of the day we married, the second time she’d seen me cry.
“If you return.”
We used the music as cover for the conversation, standing in a side room in Dublin Castle so as not to be seen arguing by Irish dignitaries.
“I know, Siobhán, but Hitler’s a tyrant, that’s obvious. He didn’t earn power, he took it. Today was how leadership should be. I’m fighting for that.”
“By joining the British Army?”
“You know de Valera won’t fight alongside the English. And Hyde’s wife is German.” She was livid, but hesitant. “Clarkey said if I’m right he’d come with me.”
I could see the anger on her face begin to melt. I knew she trusted Ryan, but I wondered what quiet calculations she was making. She was balancing more in her head than I ever could, for sure.
“It couldn’t last as long as The Great War,” I said. “I’d be home before you know it.”
“That’s what they said before The Great War. ‘We’ll be home by Christmas,’” she paused. “Will it really come to war?”
“I hope not,” I said, “but if I understand history at all, it looks likely.”
“Tomorrow, we pray for peace,” she said, taking my hand and leading me back to the reception hall. Clarkey was right. She did make me look good. She greeted with grace, moving among the highest of Irish society like she belonged, like I hadn’t just told her I was ready to go off to war.
Today would be the third day she’d see me cry, for a love I didn’t deserve.
