room with refreshments for them all.
‘Are you excited about tomorrow?’ Chrissie asked Rosie, biting into one of the biscuits.
‘A bit. Are you?’
‘No, I’m scared to death.’
‘You only have to do the responses,’ Rosie said. ‘It’s all written down and Sarah can go first if you like.’
‘Oh I’ll probably be all right when I start,’ Chrissie said. She and Sarah were to be Bernadette’s godmothers, and Phelan the child’s godfather, for the baby’s christening the next day. It was to be a lavish affair, with a large party afterwards in the Walshes’ house. With the help of her daughters when they were home, Connie had been baking and cooking almost since the day the child was born.
Rosie was pleased at the fuss being made, although she protested that Connie was doing too much. The next day, as she stood before the altar of the church with the sun shining through the stained glass in the windows to send a myriad of coloured lights dancing in front of them, she felt such peace and contentment. Here she was, beside the man she loved, welcomed so warmly into his family. Her own were in pews behind, together with neighbours and friends, and Rosie felt tears of happiness in her eyes.
She wouldn’t let herself cry, though, not at her own child’s christening, and she passed the baby to Sarah as the priest indicated. If Sarah noticed Rosie’s over-bright eyes she knew she would make no comment about it, for her own voice had been a little shaky when she made the responses.
Rosie wasn’t aware straight away that Sarah was raging about something. She was too busy showing off her baby and accepting the praise and presents of all those friends, neighbours and relatives who’d crowded into the Walshes’ house after the christening.
Bernadette eventually went to sleep and Rosie took her into the room away from the noise and laid her in the cradle. It was on coming out again that she caught sight of Sarah’s face and knew she was in a temper then right enough, for Sarah’s feelings were always portrayed in her face.
The looks she shot across the room to her Sam, who was drinking deep of the beer Matt had bought and talking earnestly to Shay, should have rendered him senseless on the stone-flagged floor. ‘Lover’s tiff?’ Rosie enquired lightly.
‘No,’ Sarah hissed back. ‘It’s that pair, on about the war and places none of us have heard of – Wipers and Gallipoli – and how over two hundred thousand have died now and a good percentage of them Irish men and boys. It’s not the time or place to discuss such a thing, if there is ever a suitable time. I told them straight, but God, there’s no stopping them when they get together. You’d think they were planning a revolution. They’ll be at Danny next, you see if they’re not.’
‘They can try,’ Rosie said. She remembered the conversation she’d had with Danny when war had been declared, just two months before their wedding. In no time at all recruiting officers had toured Ireland, gathering up zealous volunteers and Danny had assured Rosie that he was one man who had no intention of joining that war, or any other war come to that. ‘Why should I help England?’ he’d said. ‘They’ve gone to the aid of Belgium because Germany has invaded them, taking over their country and oppressing the people. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so tragic, for isn’t that the very thing that England have been doing to Ireland for years? If I ever took up arms it would be to gain Ireland’s freedom. And I have no reason to do that, for Ireland will get Home Rule in the end. It’s there, ready to be implemented, and is only postponed because of the war. Eventually, Ireland will be a united country and hopefully without a shot being fired.’
So Rosie was able to say categorically, ‘Danny will never be tempted that way. Particularly now that he’s a family man.’
‘It’s good to be so sure of him,’ Sarah said. ‘And you’re right, of course, Danny has too much sense. At this minute I want to walk up to Sam and hit him across the top of the head with something heavy.’
Rosie laughed. ‘Och, Sarah, don’t mind him. Isn’t it just the beer talking?’
‘I wish it were just that, Rosie,’ Sarah said. ‘But he goes on the same way when he’s stone-cold sober. Of course, Shay encourages him too.’
Connie, who’d been keeping a weather eye on Rosie, for she was still officially lying in, came up to her at that point. ‘Don’t be doing too much now,’ she warned. ‘Or your milk will dry up.’
‘Aye, I know,’ Rosie said. She did feel weary all of a sudden and so she said, ‘I do feel a bit wobbly now you mention it. I’m away for a lie down, if that’s all right.’
Danny saw Rosie detach herself from his mother and sister and followed her into the bedroom. ‘You all right?’ he whispered, mindful of the sleeping baby as he sat down on the bed beside Rosie.
‘Aye, I’m grand,’ Rosie said. ‘Just a wee bit tired.’
‘Bed’s the best place then,’ Danny told her. ‘You get tucked up and I’ll bring you in a plate of goodies and a wee drink.’
Rosie was almost too weary to care about food, but she knew Danny would like to do something for her and with Connie having gone to so much trouble she felt it would be churlish to refuse. ‘Aye, that would be nice,’ she said.
Danny looked at his daughter snuggled in sleep and traced a finger gently across her cheek. ‘Wasn’t she a star today?’ he said. ‘Not a peep out of her. Even when the priest poured the water over her head, she just looked surprised.’
‘Aye,’ Rosie agreed and went on with a smile, ‘One of the old ones told me they should yell their heads off in order to release the devil inside them.’
‘Huh,’ Danny said. ‘Some of those old ones should have their mouths stopped up! Glad to see you’re too sensible to take any notice of it.’ He got to his feet and said, ‘You get yourself into bed, pet, and I’ll be back shortly.’ He kissed Rosie on the cheek and left her.
Rosie ate some of the food Danny brought her without much enthusiasm, though she was grateful for the hot sweet tea and then she settled down for a sleep.
She had dropped off and slept for an hour or so, when she was roused suddenly. She lay there for a moment as the last threads of sleep disappeared. She peered around the darkened room and saw the door swinging: someone must have stumbled against it and made the latch jump. The baby was mewling in the cradle, obviously awakened by the same thing. She wasn’t crying yet, but she would, Rosie knew. She would be too hungry to go off to sleep again.
As she lifted her she became aware of a conversation just outside the door and groaned as she recognised Sam’s voice. ‘You’ve seen nothing like it, man, I was there on the dockside in Dublin and one of the hospital ships was in harbour. The stretcher cases were already gone, but the rest…God, Danny, it would sicken you. There were fellows twitching with shellshock and others stone-blind being led along by a comrade. There were those in wheelchairs with missing limbs, or with their lungs eaten away with gas. ‘Course, they were counted as the lucky ones, for now there will be Irish bodies littering France, Belgium, and now bloody Turkey. Left to rot they are, to be eaten by the carrion crows.’
‘Lord, Sam, no one pretends war is pretty,’ Danny said. ‘Everyone knew some of those valiant men marching behind the British Army would not come back and others would be maimed and crippled. That’s the way of it. You don’t begin a war and expect no casualties.’
‘I know that,’ Sam said. ‘I’m not stupid. What angers me is that they fight for England, for Belgium, for France, yet their own country is oppressed.’
‘He’s right,’ Shay put in.
‘Aye, all right, but every man must do as he sees fit.’
‘You didn’t feel a need to join the British Army yourself?’ Sam asked.
‘I did not!’ Danny