the humped back.
‘And you might like it yourself, when the war is over,’ said his father.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said.
Then there was another lengthy silence. Willie stared almost surreptitiously at his father, the big, serious face. Willie jumped when his father fixed his eyes on him suddenly.
‘It’s rough out there, is it, Willie?’
‘Out where, Papa?’ he said. ‘Do you mean out in Belgium?’
‘Aye, I do, aye.’
‘It is,’ Willie allowed.
‘I gather it is, all right. That’s what everyone does be saying.’
Then nothing for a while.
‘I think about it, Willie. I think about it. I think about a great deal of things. I pray for you.’
‘I’ll be all right, Papa.’
‘Of course you will, of course you will.’
‘The only thing I wish you’d get going at is the letter writing,’ he said to Gretta the next morning. He was walking her down to Capel Street where she worked as a seamstress.
‘I haven’t been good at that,’ she said. ‘I will improve now mightily. I do think of you all the time, Willie. I’m tired in the evening when I get home and have to make a supper and then I just sit in my chair like a ghost or fall into the doss.’
‘And I wish I could be in that doss beside you.’
‘Well, some day, maybe, Willie.’
‘If we could get an understanding, between ourselves, a kind of engagement, Gretta, do you know?’
She stopped on the bridge, and stopped him, and turned him towards her, and surprisingly shook a finger at him.
‘We have to wait, Willie.’
‘For what?’ he said, a touch desperately.
‘For the war to be over and you to be home and you to know your own mind. There’s never any sense in a soldier’s wedding, Willie.’
‘I know my own mind. There’s nothing in the world more important than this matter, Gretta. I would like to be your husband.’
‘And I would like to be your wife, of all the lads in Dublin. Of all the lads in Ireland. Leave me here on the bridge, Willie.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want the bossman Mr Casey seeing us. He’s like a bishop when it comes to his women courting.’
‘All right.’
‘Don’t look so sad. I’ll come tonight to the barracks gate and see you in safe, Willie.’
‘I do love you, Gretta,’ he said, feeling glum and unhappy in that moment.
‘And I do love you, Willie,‘ she said, and of course he was happier then, how could he help it?
And she was there that evening, as good as her word, and kissed him under the big Lombardy poplars along the grand canal, where the gates of the barracks were. It was like a brief furlough in heaven, kissing Gretta. Then she drew him back into the deeper dark, till he was aware of bulrushes and the light stink of water. And they lay down together like ghosts, like floating souls, and she drew up her skirt in the greeny dark.
Chapter Seven
It was in the very seam of night and morning, and Willie woke with ease and freshness. His body was warm and his limbs did not ache. It was very odd really.
His brain was merely human nonetheless, and for the first few moments he didn’t know where he was. The long room with its iron pillars stretched away and a fine muslin-looking light pierced in wherever the window shutters were not snug.
The room was full of breathing, those private breaths of human sleep. His comrades lay in the iron beds like prison men. There was a smell of polish and the pleasing murmurs of men dreaming. His pecker was hard and had a powerful desire to piss. If it was not one thing it was another.
Then well he knew where he was. He was in bloody barracks. His leave was over. Back he must go.
He scouted under his bed and fetched out the pisspot and pissed into it.
‘What’s up?’ said a Southern Irish voice, and the soldier in the bed adjacent lashed upright, his travelling Bible falling off his pillow towards the floor, and into the wretched pisspot.
‘Oh, my God,’ said the soldier, obviously disorientated, ‘the Word of God’s in the
‘And you might like it yourself, when the war is over,’ said his father.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said.
Then there was another lengthy silence. Willie stared almost surreptitiously at his father, the big, serious face. Willie jumped when his father fixed his eyes on him suddenly.
‘It’s rough out there, is it, Willie?’
‘Out where, Papa?’ he said. ‘Do you mean out in Belgium?’
‘Aye, I do, aye.’
‘It is,’ Willie allowed.
‘I gather it is, all right. That’s what everyone does be saying.’
Then nothing for a while.
‘I think about it, Willie. I think about it. I think about a great deal of things. I pray for you.’
‘I’ll be all right, Papa.’
‘Of course you will, of course you will.’
‘The only thing I wish you’d get going at is the letter writing,’ he said to Gretta the next morning. He was walking her down to Capel Street where she worked as a seamstress.
‘I haven’t been good at that,’ she said. ‘I will improve now mightily. I do think of you all the time, Willie. I’m tired in the evening when I get home and have to make a supper and then I just sit in my chair like a ghost or fall into the doss.’
‘And I wish I could be in that doss beside you.’
‘Well, some day, maybe, Willie.’
‘If we could get an understanding, between ourselves, a kind of engagement, Gretta, do you know?’
She stopped on the bridge, and stopped him, and turned him towards her, and surprisingly shook a finger at him.
‘We have to wait, Willie.’
‘For what?’ he said, a touch desperately.
‘For the war to be over and you to be home and you to know your own mind. There’s never any sense in a soldier’s wedding, Willie.’
‘I know my own mind. There’s nothing in the world more important than this matter, Gretta. I would like to be your husband.’
‘And I would like to be your wife, of all the lads in Dublin. Of all the lads in Ireland. Leave me here on the bridge, Willie.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want the bossman Mr Casey seeing us. He’s like a bishop when it comes to his women courting.’
‘All right.’
‘Don’t look so sad. I’ll come tonight to the barracks gate and see you in safe, Willie.’
‘I do love you, Gretta,’ he said, feeling glum and unhappy in that moment.
‘And I do love you, Willie,‘ she said, and of course he was happier then, how could he help it?
And she was there that evening, as good as her word, and kissed him under the big Lombardy poplars along the grand canal, where the gates of the barracks were. It was like a brief furlough in heaven, kissing Gretta. Then she drew him back into the deeper dark, till he was aware of bulrushes and the light stink of water. And they lay down together like ghosts, like floating souls, and she drew up her skirt in the greeny dark.
Chapter Seven
It was in the very seam of night and morning, and Willie woke with ease and freshness. His body was warm and his limbs did not ache. It was very odd really.
His brain was merely human nonetheless, and for the first few moments he didn’t know where he was. The long room with its iron pillars stretched away and a fine muslin-looking light pierced in wherever the window shutters were not snug.
The room was full of breathing, those private breaths of human sleep. His comrades lay in the iron beds like prison men. There was a smell of polish and the pleasing murmurs of men dreaming. His pecker was hard and had a powerful desire to piss. If it was not one thing it was another.
Then well he knew where he was. He was in bloody barracks. His leave was over. Back he must go.
He scouted under his bed and fetched out the pisspot and pissed into it.
‘What’s up?’ said a Southern Irish voice, and the soldier in the bed adjacent lashed upright, his travelling Bible falling off his pillow towards the floor, and into the wretched pisspot.
‘Oh, my God,’ said the soldier, obviously disorientated, ‘the Word of God’s in the
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