Love Me Tender

Bridie shrugged. ‘Might as well. We won’t see the pair of them till closing time.’

We might, Kathy thought, if you moaned less about it, but she said nothing.

Rose was already at the Sullivans’ house when Kathy arrived with Bridie and the children, Sean having gone with the other men. ‘They called for Michael,’ Mary said. ‘And that bloody Maggie’s slipped out somewhere.’

Only Carmel was left, and she suddenly looked very young and vulnerable. ‘All right?’ Kathy said.

‘I suppose,’ Carmel said uncertainly, with a slight shrug, and then she asked, ‘What’s it all mean, Kathy, will there be bombs and things?’

‘Maybe,’ Kathy said. ‘But don’t worry, you’ve got a stout cellar like ours. We’ll be fine.’

How easy it was, thought Kathy, to reassure children. Not so easy to reassure adults, and she noticed for the first time that her mother’s jet-black hair that she’d passed on to her three daughters and her youngest son was liberally streaked with grey, and deep lines scored her face.

There were tears in Mary’s eyes and Kathy was shocked, for she’d never seen her mother cry before. ‘Ah, Mammy, don’t upset yourself.’

‘What’s the use of crying over it at all?’ Eamonn said, almost roughly. ‘Wasn’t the last one supposed to be the war to end all wars, and what did I get out of it but buggered-up lungs and a partitioned Ireland?’

Kathy felt a lump in her throat. She’d heard this before, but it had never seemed to mean that much. All men of her father’s time would probably feel betrayed, she thought, all those who had fought through the carnage, the blood and the mud of the trenches to make a land fit for heroes. As for the Irish, who had fought in order to obtain home rule for their country, it was even worse, because at the end of it all they’d only gained control of twenty-six of the thirty-two counties.

Disillusioned, and with no wish to return to his native soil, for his home in Beleek, Fermanagh, was still under British rule, Eamonn Sullivan and his wife Mary had settled with their two sons and one daughter in Edgbaston, Birmingham. His chest had a constant wheeze and rattle and he could do little without getting breathless. Kathy had never worried much about it; it had been like that all the years of her growing up. Once she’d asked her mother what was wrong with her daddy and had been told that the unit he was in had been gassed in the war, and that it had wrecked his lungs.

Mary knew that Eamonn, fit only for light duties, would have found it hard getting a job in that bleak time if it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d saved an officer’s life in France in 1915 by dragging him across the sludge of Flanders to the relative safety of a dugout. The injured officer had proved to be the son of the owner of a small button factory, based in Duddeston, a Mr Charles Sallenger.

Sallenger had sent five sons to the front, and one by one they’d all died, except for the youngest, Henry, saved by the young Irishman. The man’s gratitude was sincere and touching, and when Henry explained about Eamonn’s lungs, eaten away with gas, he was given a light job and knew he was set for life, and all because he’d been in the right place at the right time.

Now, however, Eamonn felt old and tired, and he looked it. Kathy was quite worried about him. Like Mary, his hair – or at least the bits he still had at the sides – was grey; the only trouble was, his face was the same colour, and he had deep pouches under his eyes, while the skin on his cheeks and around his mouth had begun to sag.

‘Didn’t you fancy a pint, Daddy?’ she asked softly.

‘No, child, I’d be no company for anyone this day,’ Eamonn said sadly. ‘I let the young ones go.’

‘Don’t need much of an excuse, do they?’ Bridie said with a nod at Kathy. ‘Any excuse for a drink.’

‘They’ll be talking over the declaration from this morning,’ Kathy said. ‘It’s what they always do, you know that.’

‘Talking, my arse. Tipping it down their necks, more like.’

‘Oh, Bridie, give over,’ Kathy said. ‘We’ve a lot to be thankful for in our husbands.’

‘Speak for your bloody self.’

Stung at the implied criticism of her favourite brother, Kathy snapped, ‘Pat’s a good man and a good provider. I don’t know why you’re always on at him.’

‘Oh, of course, you won’t hear a bloody word against him, will you?’ Bridie said. ‘Bloody saint, your Pat.’

‘That will do!’ Eamonn said. ‘Haven’t we enough troubles facing us without turning on one another?’

‘I’ll make a drop of tea,’ Mary said. ‘Sure, the news is enough to make anyone a bit edgy.’

Kathy glared at her sister-in-law, but didn’t reply. She wished Maggie was in, and wondered where she’d gone, for between them they could have lightened the atmosphere that grew stiffer and stiffer as they sat together, almost in silence. Carmel was too young and her father too saddened by the news.

None of the children had spoken, and Lizzie had sidled up to Carmel. She liked to have someone at her back when Sheelagh was in the room, or in fact anywhere near her at all. Sheelagh put out her tongue as she passed and Lizzie elected not to see it, though her hands tightened into fists. If she ever hit Sheelagh again, she thought, she’d make a better job of it and really hurt her, and she reckoned it would be worth having the legs smacked off her afterwards.

Mary had just come up the cellar steps with the tray when the front door opened and the men almost fell into the room. At first Kathy thought they were drunk, but there was no smell of alcohol and she realised it was a forced gaiety, and yet she could also feel the exhilaration flowing through them all. Suddenly she knew what they’d done and understood the look that had passed between Barry and Pat earlier that day. Yet still she asked, ‘What is it?’

‘We’ve enlisted.’

‘You have, begod!’ The exclamation was torn from Eamonn. Mary stood with the tray in her hands, staring at them.

‘We wanted to be together,’ Barry exclaimed, and crossed to Kathy. ‘I’m sorry, love, we agreed between ourselves to say nothing till it was done.’

Kathy felt the tears in her eyes, but held them back. She knew they didn’t have to join up at all, being Irish citizens, but all she said was, ‘It’s probably better this way.’

‘Not Michael,’ Mary said, and she turned to her youngest son. ‘Not you?’

‘Aye, me and all, Ma.’

‘But you’re not eighteen yet, you’re too young.’ Mary’s complaint was almost a moan.

‘I’ll be eighteen in January, Ma,’ Michael said. ‘Ah, don’t cry, I had to do it.’ He crossed to his mother, took the tray from her and placed it on a table, then put his arm around her shaking shoulders.

‘We’ll look after him, Ma,’ Pat promised. ‘We’re all in the Royal Warwickshire Fusiliers and we can look out for one another.’

‘You knew what they’d do,’ Eamonn said. ‘They made no secret of it.’

‘Course they didn’t,’ Bridie snapped. ‘They couldn’t wait to get into uniform and be given guns to play with.’

‘Shut your mouth,’ Eamonn snapped, and the family was shocked into silence, but it was to Bridie he spoke. ‘You know nothing about it,’ he said, ‘and I hope you never will, but there’s no playing in war.’

Bridie said nothing. Eamonn had never spoken to her like that before and she was shaken. Perhaps she might have retaliated, but before she had a chance Pat said, ‘Someone else enlisted with us today too. He’s waiting outside.’ He opened the door and Maggie came in, leading Con Murray by the hand.

‘He enlisted, Daddy, like he said he would,’ Maggie cried. ‘Like he would have got a decent job if there had been any to be had. Now will you let us bloody well get married?’

Eamonn looked at the man before him whom he’d previously dismissed and refused even to talk to, and liked what he saw. Con’s face wasn’t exactly a handsome one, but it was open and, for all his shady dealings, looked trustworthy and honest. His eyes were clear blue and his hair was almost blond, he had a wide mouth and a determined set to his jaw, and one hand was holding Maggie’s as if it belonged there. Certainly, Eamonn thought, the fact that the lad had enlisted put a different complexion on matters. ‘Well, young man?’ he said.

Con stepped forward and grasped Eamonn’s hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, sir, and I hope you will allow Maggie to become my wife.’

Mary had tears in her eyes again, and the room was so blurred she couldn’t see, but she knew from Eamonn’s voice that he was moved, as he said gruffly, ‘Well now, I see no reason why not, but it will have to be done speedily. We must remember that your time is not your own any more, so we’ll have to see about it without delay.’

Con swept Maggie into his arms and a cheer went up from the men. ‘Stupid bloody sod,’ Bridie said, but only Kathy heard; everyone else was too busy congratulating the young couple and welcoming Con to the family, while Maggie was kissing her parents and expressing her thanks.

Eventually Eamonn said, ‘I have a bottle of ten-year-old malt put away for just such an occasion, and we’ll drink a toast to the young couple and a speedy outcome to the God-awful mess the world is in.’

‘I have tea,’ Mary said.

‘Ach, tea, what good’s that, woman?’ Eamonn said. ‘Sure, this is a celebration.’

As the glasses were raised a little later, Kathy’s silent prayer was, ‘Keep them safe, God, please, bring them all home safe,’ and she caught her mother’s eye and knew her sentiments would be exactly the same.