Page 61 of The Missing Sister
‘You’re being kind, Nuala, but let’s neither of us delude ourselves. I’m a freak show, not fit to go out in public. I’ll spend the rest of my days exactly where I am now. Anyway, I’m glad to see you happy, and I apologise if I appear maudlin. In truth, I can’t help but feel envy for...’ – Philip checked himself – ‘for the fact that such a normal rite of passage has been denied me. Now then, I’d imagine you’re quite exhausted today. So I thought I’d add in a little relief from the chessboard and teach you to play backgammon. The box is in the same cabinet as the chess pieces.’
‘Whatever you wish,’ replied Nuala, as she went to the sideboard to retrieve another beautifully turned wooden box full of small round black and white counters. She thought of Finn at home in their tiny cottage and, for the first time, resented being here with Philip.
Nuala would always remember those precious first few weeks after she and Finn were wed as the happiest of her life. She spent most of them in a dreamlike state of bliss; she’d wake in Finn’s arms and stay there for a good while longer after they’d woken. Down they’d go for breakfast before Finn would cycle off to help her father and his neighbours with their harvests, as the new school term hadn’t begun yet. Then she’d deal with the IRA men’s laundry that her friend Florence delivered to the little outhouse. Having hung it out to dry in the small courtyard at the back of the cottage, she’d bake bread and make a cake for their tea before cycling off to the Big House to spend the afternoons with Philip. Returning in the evening, if Finn was home and not on volunteer duties, she’d find he’d already set out their evening meal. They’d sit together eating in the candlelight, before he’d take her hand and lead her upstairs to bed.
He’d shown her a way of lessening the chances of babies arriving too, assuring her it was only a small tweak to the usual procedure and not at all foolproof, and therefore not against any laws that God sent down to his Catholic servants on earth. Guiltily, she celebrated when her monthlies appeared, even though her mother began to cast her glances when she and Finn joined them at Mass at Timoleague church on Sundays. As was the family tradition, they all went afterwards to pray at the tiny graves of her mother’s four lost babies; those souls that in another life would have grown to be her siblings. Nuala shuddered at the thought of birthing a babe only to have it die in her arms, and decided that for now, she and Finn were doing the right thing.
And all along, the fight against the British rumbled on. One night in September, Finn, now back to work at his school, which was just across the street, took her hand over the little table they used to eat on.
‘I’ve been asked to attend a training camp, so I’ll be gone from Friday till late next Sunday night,’ he said.
‘I... where? How? What about the school?’
‘The “where” is the O’Briens’ place up at Clonbuig; the “why” is as I told you: although we’ve fought hard, we need to get our men into better shape if we’re going to prevail against the British and now your Auxies—’
‘They’re notmyAuxies, Finn.’
‘You know I didn’t mean it like that. ’Twas heaven-sent that we were prepared for these monsters. They’ve only just arrived – one hundred and fifty of them, with more to come, I’m sure – and they’re already terrorising ordinary Irish folk. Even though they’re stationed up at Macroom, seems to be they’re intent on coming down here. They’re sending in their lorries to villages, then ordering everyone out of doors and firing shots. They’re lining everyone – including our sick and elderly – up against the walls, poking them with their revolvers and beating the men with ammunition belts.’ Finn put his head in his hands. ‘These men are animals, Nuala. They’re fully trained servicemen, used to battle, and they’re here to destroy the Irish by any means they can. With the Black and Tans, the Essexes and now these new lousers, if we’re even to begin to compete,wehave to have some training. Tom Barry’s going to be running the camp.’
‘You’ll be away for the whole week then?’
‘Yes. HQ in Dublin want an elite Flying Column, with only the finest volunteers picked for it. That means that we won’t be working in a specific brigade or company, we’ll be more flexible and can be deployed as and when we’re needed.’
‘But, Finn, you’re a schoolteacher! Not a soldier.’
‘That’s the point. Ineedthis training if I’m to be of use. You know I’m fit as a flea, strong and able to give and take orders – I can make a difference to the cause. I’ll leave by night and on Monday morning, you’re to walk to the school and tell Principal O’Driscoll I’ve some vomiting sickness and I’m not able to work. Then you’re to come home and close every one of those curtains you’ve made. If anyone knocks to ask after me, you’re to say I’m in bed and still sick.’
‘What if these Auxie fellows, or the Tans, come and raid our village? If they’re taking everyone outside their houses and lining them up, people will notice you’re not here.’
‘Then you’ll simply say I’m too sick to be moved and pray your pretty smile will win the day, so they don’t come inside after me.’
‘What if they hear about the camp?’
‘’Tis only those going and the women of the Kilbrittain Cumann na mBan that know.’
‘Then I’ll come there next Sunday and help out, so.’
‘No, Nuala, you’ll go to Mass with your family as always and tell everyone that I’ll be recovered enough to start school again the next morning. Try to remember that we’re not suspected of any wrongdoing and we’ll be wanting to keep it that way, not only for us, but for our families and the other men and women who are risking their lives for Ireland.’
‘Oh Finn.’ Nuala bit her lip. ‘What’ll I do without you in an empty house?’
‘Sure, you’ll manage, but while I’m here, will we go upstairs and have an early night?’ he smiled.
‘You look a little pale today, Nuala,’ Philip observed as she sat down on the sofa.
‘Ah, ’tis nothing, Philip. Finn has caught some vomiting sickness and I was up half the night minding him,’ she answered as calmly as she could.
‘The perfect wife, eh? Is he all right to be on his own?’
‘It started last night and he was finally sleeping when I left. I doubt he’ll be needing his tea tonight, though.’
‘I had it once in the trenches – a can of tinned meat that had gone off. I was awfully sick for a few days – mind you, it earned me some good nights’ kip inside the medical tent.’ He shook his head as if dispelling the memories. ‘It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?’
‘It is, yes, and I was thinking ’tis just the day to go out for a walk. Will you, Philip? Please?’
‘I...’
‘If you don’t do it the once, you’ll never do it. And you’re a brave fighting man, and ’tis just a ride downstairs in the lift and out into the fresh air. Please, Philip... for me.’
