Page 52 of The Missing Sister
‘It’s the chess that’s quite exhausted me,’ he’d said with a smile as she’d left. ‘I haven’t had to exercise the muscle that sits in my head for far too long. I really had to work to win that last game, young lady. You’ve got the hang of it fast, and you’ll be beating me soon enough, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Now in the habit of stopping by her oak tree – almost as if she needed a few minutes to turn from Nuala the nurse at the Big House, to Nuala Murphy, daughter of a fiercely republican mother and father, and member of Cumann na mBan – she sank against the trunk and tucked her arms round her knees.
Of course, she could never tell anyone, notanyoneever, that she’d actually enjoyed the two afternoons she’d spent in Philip’s company. He had said he wasn’t hungry so soon after lunch, and besides, he could always call for more sandwiches if he needed them, so she was to eat as many as she wanted. Today they’d something inside Philip called potted meat, which she decided was one of the most delicious things she’d ever tasted. There’d been scones too, which the two of them had eaten together with cream and jam after the second game of chess had ended. Then they’d gone on to play two more. Philip was still beating her easily, whatever kind words he’d said, but she reckoned if she kept going, she might be able to hold her own in the game for longer. Having to concentrate so hard meant that all thoughts of anything else – which were mostly bad just now – had left her mind, and tonight she felt more relaxed than she’d been since before the bloody Easter Rising in 1916, four long years ago, which had been a watershed to her. It had marked the beginning of the concerted effort of the Irish to free themselves of their shackles, and Nuala had known then that her life would never be the same.
‘But I like Philip, Oak Tree,’ she confided to the thick, heavy branches above her. ‘He’s kind and gentle. And how he’s suffered,’ she sighed.
At least he hadn’t cried today, she thought, as she got back on her bicycle, knowing she must get a spin on for home.
‘It just shows that life’s unfair on everyone, whether they’re rich English or poor Irish,’ she said to the wind as she prepared to tackle the steep hill up to Cross Farm.
‘You’re here at last, Nuala. We thought you might be sleeping over in one of their grand bedrooms,’ Hannah commented as she walked into the kitchen.
‘Jaysus, ’tis only just gone nine.’ Nuala glanced around the kitchen and saw great tureens of vegetables on the table as Jenny and Lily, two women from the Clonakilty branch of Cumann na mBan, cut the ham and served it into numerous bowls.
‘The men won’t be coming in tonight to eat,’ said Hannah, who was taking a cake off the hook over the fire. ‘There was a patrol of the Essexes seen only an hour ago along the lane by the Shannons’ farm.’
‘Now then,’ said her mother, ‘we need to dole out these spuds and veg and get them to our visitors in the barn before they get cold. And yes, Himself has arrived already, Nuala, so I’d be suggesting you run a brush through that wild mane before you serve him his meal.’ Eileen patted her daughter’s hand. ‘Take no notice of that sister of yours,’ she said, lowering her voice further. ‘She’s stubborn as a mule, just like her daddy.’
Nuala made her way swiftly through the kitchen and ran upstairs to use the one pane of mirror in the house that hung in Mammy and Daddy’s room. Brushing her long dark curly hair, that needed a good cut and some time she didn’t have to sort it at the moment, she straightened her cotton dress that she’d had to wash out last night and wear again today. After checking for smudges on her face, she ran back downstairs, her heart banging in anticipation of seeing her love.
Dusk was beginning to fall as the women stepped out of the house to walk across the courtyard with food for the men inside the barn. It was almost fully enclosed, apart from one entrance along the side. Nuala knew there were scouts up above at the top of the hill, keeping watch for any trucks approaching below.
Eileen took the lead and gave the special knock on the barn door. Receiving the coded reply, she opened it and the five women walked in.
It was almost pitch black inside the barn, with only a small area lit by candlelight at one end. Nuala could make out the shapes of men sitting either cross-legged on the floor or on hay bales placed in a semicircle around one in the centre. As the women approached, the men, who had been talking in low voices, looked up. There were faces she knew and some she didn’t. She cast her eyes around the men, all of whom looked thin and exhausted, until her eyes finally settled on one.
‘Hello,’ he mouthed and gave her a slight wave of his fingertips. Nuala went with the other women around the semicircle, handing out the bowls and receiving whispered ‘thank you’s.
‘You’re looking well, Nuala,’ Finn smiled up at her when she reached him. ‘Will we meet afterwards in the usual place?’
She nodded, then left the barn with the other women.
‘Wouldn’t you love to be in there with them, to hear all the news and their plans?’ Nuala commented to Hannah.
‘We’ll be getting them soon enough when we’re sent with messages, or putting on our hooded cloaks to conceal ammunition or guns,’ replied her sister.
Back in the kitchen, the women sat down to eat a hasty supper of their own. ‘Any news of Tom and Pat?’ Nuala asked.
‘Yes,’ said Jenny. ‘I intercepted a telegram meant for Major Percival of the Essex Regiment. The lads have been moved to a hospital in Cork City.’
As Jenny worked in the post office in Bandon, she was a valuable spy for the cause and Nuala sometimes envied her for it.
‘That means they’re seriously hurt, God save them!’ Eileen crossed herself.
‘Be grateful for small mercies, girls,’ Jenny piped up. ‘At least our lads are not in jail and subject to further torture. They’ll be looked after in hospital by our nurses.’
‘I’ve already dropped a message to Florence – she’ll catch the train to Cork City tomorrow and have one of the volunteers take a food parcel in, to see how they both are,’ said Lily.
‘Nuala, you go to the outhouse and bring in that pile of laundry, ready to take to the barn after the meeting,’ said her mother.
Nuala stood up. ‘Are they staying the night?’
‘We’ve some straw pallets for them if they do. At least it’s warm tonight; there’s few enough blankets as it is.’
Nuala walked round to the outhouse and began piling the clean underclothes, trousers and shirts into two large baskets. As she carried one across the courtyard to the house, she stopped for a while, listening. Not a sound emanated from the barn. All was as it would normally be, except plans for guerrilla warfare were being made inside it.
‘Ah, Philip, what would you be thinking of me if you knew?’ she muttered.
