A Long Long Way by Sebastian Barry Page B

did the Irish ever do?’
    Willie laughed. There was a bitter tincture to that laugh.
    ‘Lost a lot of lads at Mons, that’s what,’ said Willie. ‘And Ypres, and the Marne. Loads and loads of young lads. That’s what we Irish did, lately.’
    There was good hot water fetched in now, and he was setting-to to lather his own cheeks, and have a decent shave for himself.
    ‘Well, then,’ said Private Kirwan, very pleasantly, ‘that’s my answer.’
    Now the doors were rattled and the shouts went up.
    Private Kirwan was still looking now and then at Willie Dunne, as if he was thinking on what had been said to him.

    The girls of Dublin were out in force again at any rate, just like the year before, waving little Union Jacks. The soldiers in the transports were laughing and shouting at the talent on offer.
    Willie Dunne strained above the heads of his taller fellows to see if he could catch a sight of Gretta. It would be difficult to see her among the crowds, but she had told him exactly where to look for her, if she managed to concoct an excuse to get away from her work. The bossman Mr Casey was a pious bastard and if he thought she was going to wave off a soldier there’d be no chance at all.
    His new pal Jesse Kirwan had somehow got himself on the same lorry but he didn’t seem to want to be gazing out much on the passing sights. He was hunkered down against the side of the lorry, not even perching his bum on the rough benches.
    ‘Won’t you look out at old Dublin?’ said Willie Dunne.
    ‘Ah, it’s not my town.’
    ‘Can’t you take a gander at it even if it isn’t? There’s rakes of girls just as pretty as anything.’
    ‘Are there now?‘ said Jesse Kirwan, and hauled himself up after all, and peered out across the planking. ’Well, by God and all, Willie, you’re right there.‘
    ‘Now, see, you were missing the sights,’ he said.
    ‘I was, boy. How are you, girls?’ Jesse Kirwan called out. ‘Never mind these Jackeens! Don’t you know the better thing when you see it? Up Cork!’
    But there was little chance such raillery could be heard above the engines of the transports. Black smoke as ugly as death belched from the fretting engines. The transport boys were notorious for letting any type of engine out of the garages.
    Well, Willie saw no one he knew. Of course, his father had told his sisters not to risk coming down to see him off. These were different days, he said. The spring sun ran along the river like a million skipping stones.
    Then he saw her, just where she had said, on the steps that led down to the ferryboats. Gretta, Gretta! He waved like a maniac now, screaming her name, Gretta, Gretta. My God, she looked everywhere but at his transport, everywhere, and he was sick at heart suddenly to think she wouldn’t spot him.
    ‘Look, look,’ he said to Jesse Kirwan, ‘there’s my girl!’
    ‘Where, where?’ said Jesse. ‘Give us a look, boy!’
    ‘There,’ he said, ‘there, your one there with the yellow hair!’
    But it was no damn good, they were past, she hadn’t seen him, and Jesse hadn’t seen her either. Oh Jesus, he thought, strike him dead. But just as she nearly vanished from sight, she saw him, and jumped up and down in her drab blue coat, maybe calling, he couldn’t tell, but he waved again, he waved and he waved.
    But happiness was general. There was a happiness in the new men, who had been released from what were truly the dull repetitions of the camps. Now they had the elation of actors on a first night, all hope and effort in their faces. Willie Dunne smelled the spit and polish on their boots, their uniforms in many cases just cleaned and ironed by careful mothers, their chins shaved whether requiring shaving or not, their different-coloured hair all sleeked and ready for the adventure. Many of these men had been born and raised in these very streets, played marbles along these very gutters, kissed those very girls maybe.
    Gretta had come out to see him go, and