“Any firearms?” A lamp flashed on a pair of khaki legs. “Any firearms?”
asked the man with the lamp again in a feeble attempt at cheerfulness.
I was trying to be cheerful too; but it was the middle of the night and
very cold, and I had lost a husband.
A soft cloud of steam rose from the engine of the train that had just
disgorged me.
All along the platform were weary passengers and flashing lamps. A
silk stocking slid to the platform from my suitcase. The stooping
Customs man bumped his finger on a darning-needle and muttered under
his breath. A little farther along the platform I could see a woman
burdened with a baby struggling to shut an over full portmanteau.
“Why are you going to Ireland?” grumbled the man with the lamp. “Last
place to live in. Right. Next, please. One minute, Paddy. What’s in
that parcel?”
A youth who was trying to slip through the crowd stood sullenly.
I was jostled up a gangway by the moving people, still clutching my
keys.
The boat was crowded. It seemed impossible that any one else could get
on, and there were hundreds to come.
My belated husband had deserted me in the confusion. I picked him up
presently on the boat.
“Have you seen about a berth?” he asked.
I shook my head and penetrated to the women’s cabin. It was the most
uncomfortable place I had ever seen. I struggled past heaps of rugs and
luggage, and stumbled over legs as far as the stewardess, an overworked
woman, who answered me impolitely. There was no berth left, and I
struggled up to the deck again through the descending people with my
heart in my boots. There was nothing but a cold, hard seat and the
whistling wind.
Scraps of conversation reached us in between the noises. People who had
fared as badly as we had stood about in sulky groups. Dour Northerners
clustered together and eyed a party of priests. On the hatches some
Tommies lifted up their voices in song, and round the deck paced
military officers with suffering faces.
It was an evil night.
In the early morning I, who had never thought to see a dawn again,
caught a glimpse of Dublin Bay.
The shattered boatload poured along the platform. I stood by the small
luggage while my husband went to pounce on the rest from the hold. A
long-lipped porter weighed up my wealth.
“What time does the train go?”
“Half-seven.”
“It’s been a choppy night.”
“It has.” An Irishman never says yes or no. I learned that quickly.
“Here’s himself coming back.”
My husband turned up. “You’ve been christened Himself,” I said. “I’m
going to call you that while we’re in Ireland.”
“Do you feel pretty bad?” he answered.
“Awful.” I subsided on an unknown person’s luggage. Himself wandered
about, and the long-lipped porter, having decided we were worth while,
wandered after him doing as little as possible.
I was put into a train, and from that train we emerged at last. Himself
went to get a garry, and once more I did sentinel duty over the luggage.
A youth with a dirty grey cap pulled over his eyes and a trench coat
on eyed me from behind a pillar-box. I stared back and he seemed
to retire. Presently I saw his head round the other side of the
pillar-box. He chewed a small green leaf.
We piled our things up on the garry. The soft clean air curled round my
face and I breathed contentedly.
The jarvey was a cheerful soul, and was prepared to be talkative as we
balanced ourselves on the side of his swaying car. The youth who was
chewing a leaf propped himself against a lamp-post and watched our
departure. I wondered why we fascinated him.
“Sure,” said the jarvey, “I don’t know how I stand at all, at all,
not from one minute to another. It’s this way, mum. First a Shinner
comes along and sez he, ‘Jarvey, did ye drive a military man home last
night?’ ‘Faith,’ sez I, ‘and how should I be after knowing if he was
military or not?’ ‘It’s up to you, jarvey,’ sez he, ‘and mighty quick,
too,’ and out he pulls a bit iv a gun and sticks it in my stomach. And,
mum, what is a poor jarvey to do? Then up comes another man. ‘Jarvey,’
sez he, ‘that was a Shinner you was talking to. What were you after
telling him?’ ‘He was no Shinner,’ sez I. ‘Glory be, how am I to know
his persuasion?’ ‘It’s lies,’ he sez quick like, ‘all lies, jarvey,
and you find the damn truth or it’ll be worse for ye,’ and out comes
another gun and into the stomach of me. Och, it’s bad days, and it’s
not I who be caring how soon peace comes.”
“You don’t like either side, then?”
“Like thim? Now what I’m telling you is true. It was half-twelve the
other night, and I was coming home----”
“After curfew?”
“It was. They let jarveys through. It was half-twelve and I was coming
home, when up runs a man with a gun and on to my car. ‘Drive, jarvey,’
he sez, ‘back along the road you’ve come.’ So I whips me horse and
away we go. We had gone a goodish bit when we sees the light of an
armoured car. Out skips the man. ‘Your life if ye split,’ he sez, and
disappears in the dark.
“The car spotted me at once. ‘What are ye doing at this time iv night?’
sez the officer. ‘I’m going back to me stables,’ sez I. ‘Where are your
stables?’ sez he. ‘Leeson Lane,’ sez I. ‘Then it do be away from your
stables you are going,’ sez he. ‘Get out iv that car, jarvey,’ and all
the guns in the armoured car poked round at me.
“Sure it was two lorry loads iv military by this time. ‘Take him home,’
sez one, ‘and let him go. He’s only a poor old jarvey.’ ‘Poor old
jarvey be damned,’ sez the other, ‘it’s Mike Collins himself maybe.’
‘Have ye seen Mike Collins, jarvey?’ sez the other. ‘How should I be
after knowing him?’ sez I. ‘Who was the fare you put down?’ ‘There was
no fare,’ I sez. ‘I took a party home and was going back to stables and
I fell asleep. The old mare must have turned herself round.’
“They laughed at that, and the Black-and-Tans was all for running me
into the Castle; but the military, God save them, was for me being just
a poor old jarvey, and they stood by me and jumped me into the car
and drove me back to stables to see who I was, and then they took me
back to the old mare and let me go. Och, but it was a night what with
one and another, and it was after curfew when I was home, I was that
tormented with them all. They pulled me up every short way and jumped
me into a car to see who I was and then back again to the old mare.
It’s no time for a jarvey, mum.”
We were rattling along the Liffey. The tide was out and the few
seagulls were investigating the city’s discarded biscuit tins in the
mud on either side of the water. All along the embankment were men--old
men, young men, boys. They propped the walls, they dozed upon the
bridges, they watched the Guinness brewery carts rumbling backwards and
forwards. Some looked at us with blank faces; but the majority looked
into the mud that the tide had left.
Finally we reached the hotel just as I was beginning to understand the
jarvey’s speech.
“How much?” Himself let the coins in his pocket jingle.
“Four shillings.” The reply was given unblushingly. I could see the
hotel porter reckoning his tip.
We had a large room looking down on the main street. A stream of people
passed.
“Give a poor old woman a penny, sir,” I heard a beggar woman whine.
“Mother iv God! a penny for the poor old woman.” She headed a man off,
running in front of him and jerking the head of a wretched baby as she
ran. “A penny for the love of God!”
The man escaped to be waylaid by two others.
“What a lot of fat beggars!” I exclaimed.
The chambermaid walked listlessly to the window and looked out. A man
in well cut clothes had tossed a penny to the ground, and the beggars
had fallen upon it.
“Those men do be spotters,” said the chambermaid for my benefit.
“Spotters? What do you mean?”
“Spies,” she answered briefly.
“How can you tell?”
She sniffed. “They’re not Dublin. They’re military. Will you be taking
your breakfast here or downstairs?”
“Here, thanks. And get me a bath ready. I’ll go to bed for a bit.”
The stream of people increased as I watched. It was a listless stream.
The only thing in a hurry was a lorry of armed soldiers jostling at
breakneck speed through the traffic.
“For the Lord’s sake, let’s get some breakfast!” Himself exclaimed in
the middle of my watch.