she’d been accepted into the family as Jimmy’s sweetheart, despite her father’s misgivings that they would look down on her.
‘Always thought you two would get together,’ Mrs Gallagher had said, as Jimmy and Ellen stood side by side in the kitchen at Clonamurty Farm. ‘Even right back then, when you were knee-high to a leprechaun.’ She’d smiled. ‘You make my lad happy. Thank you.’
Ellen wasn’t happy about Jimmy’s involvement with the Volunteers even though she didn’t know too much about what he did. He’d sometimes say something vague about planning an ambush, moving ‘supplies’ (by which she assumed he meant weapons and ammunition) across the country, hiding from the enemy. She worried constantly that he’d put himself in danger, though this war seemed unlike any other she’d heard of or read about. There were no troops marching along the roads, no battles, no trenches, no cavalry charges. Just occasional reports of someone shot in a remote spot, or a raid by the Royal Irish Constabulary on a house or pub where Volunteers were thought to be hiding, or ambushes by Republicans on motor vehicles carrying British troops.
Since September, the conflict had stepped up a gear. Thankfully the action seemed far away with very little happening in the county of Meath or at least not near Blackstown, a fact for which she was very grateful. Even Carlton House seemed far removed from the acts of war, despite Madame’s involvement.
One fine, bright Saturday in early October Ellen was given the full day off work, in addition to her usual Sunday day off. She was allowed to leave immediately after completing her morning chores, although she had to return to Carlton House by six o’clock that evening. Jimmy was free, and they’d arranged a day out, with a picnic provided by Jimmy’s mother.
Jimmy met her at the end of Carlton House drive. He was holding a basket containing the picnic, with a rug draped over the top of it for them to sit on. It was a cold day but there was no wind and the sky was a glorious blue. They walked towards Blackstown where Jimmy led them to a bus stop.
‘No better place than the Hill of Tara on a day like this,’ he said, as they boarded the charabanc that would take them past the foot of the hill. Ellen smiled happily. She didn’t mind where they went, on such a beautiful day. It was enough that they could spend the day together. She’d been to Tara before, on an outing with her family while her mother was still alive. It had rained that day, and she could remember only wet grass, a ruined picnic, and huddling in the nearby church when the rain fell harder.
When the bus was about halfway to Tara it stopped to take on passengers, and two men dressed in tan uniforms got on and walked down the aisle of the bus, peering at all the passengers.
Jimmy made a quiet sound, and without warning caught hold of Ellen and pulled her towards him, kissing her soundly on the mouth. He’d tugged his cap low over his eyes.
‘Ha, look at these two!’ laughed one of the men in uniform.
Ellen tried to pull away, embarrassed to be caught kissing in public, but Jimmy was holding her too tightly, still kissing as though his life depended on it.
The men passed on down the bus, taking a seat at the back, and finally Jimmy let her go. He slid down in his seat so his head barely showed over the back of the seat. ‘Sorry about that,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t want to show my face to any of those thugs.’
Ellen began turning to look at the men, but Jimmy caught her arm and stopped her. ‘They’re Black and Tans,’ he explained. ‘They don’t know my face, and that’s the way I need it to stay. Ours is the next stop, thank the Lord.’
When the bus stopped again they got off, and Jimmy bent over the basket as if checking its contents, his back to the road, until the bus moved on.
‘Come on. Let’s get going.’ He took Ellen’s hand. They crossed the narrow lane and set off up a track beside a church that Ellen recognised from her visit here as a child.
‘Jimmy?’ Ellen said, when they were part way up, ‘what would have happened if the men on the bus had seen your face?’
In response he put his arm around her and pulled her close. ‘Nothing, my sweet. Nothing at all. I’m not known to the Black and Tans. But it would be wise for me to keep it that way. Can’t be too careful.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Auxiliaries, brought in to supplement the RIC while the conflict is on.’ He sniffed. ‘I’ve heard that most of them fellas were in prison in England, and were asked if they’d rather come over here and shoot Paddies instead of serving out their time. Of course, they jumped at the chance. Thugs, the lot of them.’
She shivered. ‘Keep safe, promise me.’
‘I will.’
They’d reached the top of the hill. The view in all directions was spectacular. Ellen spun around, gazing over the fields and hills and farms that were spread beneath her. ‘It’s as though you can see right across Ireland from here,’ she said. ‘When I came before it was too misty and wet a day to see anything. Now I can see why the ancient kings built their forts up here.’
‘They’d be able to see enemies coming from a long way off,’ Jimmy agreed. He led Ellen over to the mounds of earth that marked where the Iron Age fort had stood, and together they walked around it. A few sheep were up there, grazing contentedly on the short grass. ‘When the old kings had their seat here, Ireland was independent, mistress of her own destiny,’ he said, wistfully. ‘She was beholden to no one, least of all England. Did you know Ireland is the only country in Western Europe that was never part of the Roman Empire? We were free and proud. And so we shall be again.’
‘Come on. Let’s sit and have our picnic,’ Ellen urged him. It scared her when he spoke with such fervour. Although she knew and understood that this was a crucial part of who he was, she found it hard to accept that he would lay down his life for his country, if it was required of him. Would he lay down his life for her? She would never ask it of him, though she knew she would sacrifice herself for him, without hesitation. Was that the difference between men and women? That women loved their man and men loved their country best? How then, did women like Madame Carlton fit in? As a widow perhaps she was free to care more for her country and its future.
They spread the picnic rug on one of the ridges of earth that had once formed part of the Iron Age fortifications, sat down and opened the basket Jimmy’s mother had packed for them. Bottles of beer, hard boiled eggs, cold boiled potatoes, a jar of chutney, slices of ham and thick chunks of soda bread were all neatly wrapped in paper. There were two plates, knives and forks nestled at the bottom of the basket.
‘This looks wonderful, so it does,’ Ellen said. ‘You must thank your mother for me.’ Her own father had muttered in disapproval when she’d told him she was going out with Jimmy for the day. But she was a grown woman, who worked hard all week, and it was up to her how she spent her day off. These days, when they were young and free and able to spend time together, were so precious. Who knew how many of them there would be?
With luck the conflict would end soon, and Jimmy would marry her. Maybe it would drag on for years, keeping them apart, keeping Jimmy in danger. She shook the thought out of her head. Live in the moment, Mary-Ellen, she told herself. Tis all you can do, and tis the best place and time to be.
On impulse she reached for Jimmy and pulled him towards her, kissing him, just as he had done to her on the bus. The kiss was long and deep, and she felt herself melting into him as he pressed himself against her. She wanted him, she realised. They weren’t married, it was wrong, but it felt so right!
