of influence in the Volunteers. He is Director of Organisation and also part of a secret Provisional Committee within the Volunteer Corps.
The Committee consists of members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood. Professor MacNeill does not belong.
I’m not supposed to know this. But when I went to the Ardmháistir’s office this afternoon, looking for Willie, I saw a packet of papers on Mr Pearse’s desk with a slip of paper on top. On the paper is written ‘ Faoi rún ’, which means ‘In confidence’ in English.
No one was in the office. A person who was not meant to see those papers could have walked in and read them, and I was sure Mr Pearse would not like that. So I carefully put them away in the top drawer of his desk – after I took a quick look through them myself.
I shall never tell a soul what those papers contain; not ever. But I’m thankful I can read Irish now.
The plans for the uprising are much farther along than I thought. After New Year’s there will be a meeting to set the actual date. Companies of Volunteers down the country are eagerly awaiting more weapons. Once those arrive they will be ready to march. Auxiliary organisations such as Cumann na mBan are waiting to support the men in the fieldwith first aid and a constant flow of supplies. The Fianna, too, will play a strategic part.
Strategic means we boys are absolutely necessary to the success of the uprising!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WINTER 1915
I wish I could tell someone what I know, but I can’t. A secret is not a secret if you tell. Besides, the Pearses trust me and I will never betray their trust.
With Christmas approaching, I am growing anxious. It is too much to hope that my father has forgotten about me. This year surely he will demand I come home, and if he does, Mr Pearse will have to let me go.
Roger is going to leave the school a few days early to spend more time with his family. ‘The holidays will be awful,’ he moans, ‘with James still at the front and Donald …’ He can’t finish the sentence.
‘At least you have both your parents,’ I say consolingly . For a wild moment I’m tempted to ask if I can gohome with him. But how could I explain? I have not told anyone but the Ardmháistir about the things my father does, and I never shall. The years of beatings and the fear that never goes away – those are my secrets.
Yet in spite of them, I can never betray my father.
Sometimes I wonder if all fathers are like mine. Maybe they are. And their children never tell.
To my relief, my father has asked that I be kept at the school for the holidays. Mrs Pearse just gave me the news. She seems genuinely puzzled, both by the request and my cheerfulness about it.
The explanation I give her is, partly, the truth. ‘My father works in Dublin Castle and they’re terribly busy right now. There is no one at home to mind me, so I’m happy enough to stay here if it will make things easier for him.’
She gives me a little hug. ‘You are a brave and understanding lad, John Joe. But I do think the man could make arrangements to spend at least a few days with you. Even the Castle shuts down for Christmas.’
Actually that’s not true. There is a possibility that conscription will be announced within a matter of weeks, and the lights are burning late in government offices. If conscription does go through English men will be shipped off to the Great War whether they want to go or not. Can Ireland be far behind?
Mary Brigid comes home to the Hermitage for the holidays and every evening we are treated to a harp concert in the family dining room. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend it’s my family dining room, with my mother and my brothers and sisters around me.
Later I lie in my bed and wonder how my father is, and what he’s doing. Is he lonely? Should I not be with him?
Part of me feels awfully guilty.
To my surprise, one afternoon Aunt Nell comes out to the school to spend a few hours with me. She has tea with us and
The Committee consists of members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood. Professor MacNeill does not belong.
I’m not supposed to know this. But when I went to the Ardmháistir’s office this afternoon, looking for Willie, I saw a packet of papers on Mr Pearse’s desk with a slip of paper on top. On the paper is written ‘ Faoi rún ’, which means ‘In confidence’ in English.
No one was in the office. A person who was not meant to see those papers could have walked in and read them, and I was sure Mr Pearse would not like that. So I carefully put them away in the top drawer of his desk – after I took a quick look through them myself.
I shall never tell a soul what those papers contain; not ever. But I’m thankful I can read Irish now.
The plans for the uprising are much farther along than I thought. After New Year’s there will be a meeting to set the actual date. Companies of Volunteers down the country are eagerly awaiting more weapons. Once those arrive they will be ready to march. Auxiliary organisations such as Cumann na mBan are waiting to support the men in the fieldwith first aid and a constant flow of supplies. The Fianna, too, will play a strategic part.
Strategic means we boys are absolutely necessary to the success of the uprising!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WINTER 1915
I wish I could tell someone what I know, but I can’t. A secret is not a secret if you tell. Besides, the Pearses trust me and I will never betray their trust.
With Christmas approaching, I am growing anxious. It is too much to hope that my father has forgotten about me. This year surely he will demand I come home, and if he does, Mr Pearse will have to let me go.
Roger is going to leave the school a few days early to spend more time with his family. ‘The holidays will be awful,’ he moans, ‘with James still at the front and Donald …’ He can’t finish the sentence.
‘At least you have both your parents,’ I say consolingly . For a wild moment I’m tempted to ask if I can gohome with him. But how could I explain? I have not told anyone but the Ardmháistir about the things my father does, and I never shall. The years of beatings and the fear that never goes away – those are my secrets.
Yet in spite of them, I can never betray my father.
Sometimes I wonder if all fathers are like mine. Maybe they are. And their children never tell.
To my relief, my father has asked that I be kept at the school for the holidays. Mrs Pearse just gave me the news. She seems genuinely puzzled, both by the request and my cheerfulness about it.
The explanation I give her is, partly, the truth. ‘My father works in Dublin Castle and they’re terribly busy right now. There is no one at home to mind me, so I’m happy enough to stay here if it will make things easier for him.’
She gives me a little hug. ‘You are a brave and understanding lad, John Joe. But I do think the man could make arrangements to spend at least a few days with you. Even the Castle shuts down for Christmas.’
Actually that’s not true. There is a possibility that conscription will be announced within a matter of weeks, and the lights are burning late in government offices. If conscription does go through English men will be shipped off to the Great War whether they want to go or not. Can Ireland be far behind?
Mary Brigid comes home to the Hermitage for the holidays and every evening we are treated to a harp concert in the family dining room. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend it’s my family dining room, with my mother and my brothers and sisters around me.
Later I lie in my bed and wonder how my father is, and what he’s doing. Is he lonely? Should I not be with him?
Part of me feels awfully guilty.
To my surprise, one afternoon Aunt Nell comes out to the school to spend a few hours with me. She has tea with us and
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