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Authors: Nicola Pierce
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hungry, dressed in rags, and he had his gardener whip me as if I was a rabid dog.’
The others stared at Michael’s red face. Feeling a littleembarrassed, the older soldier slid his clothes back into place. Lowering his voice, he said, ‘That Englishman told me that I had no business being alive! Has any foreigner said that to you in your own country?’
His question was for Jacques who was struggling to understand the turn in conversation.
Adamant that Jacques concentrated on what was being said, Gerald added, ‘You hear that, Jacques and that’s only one story. There are plenty more! I spent my childhood being walked for miles by Father Nicholas so that he could show me burnt-out churches and graves that had been dug up just because the corpses were Catholics.’
Michael nodded at this, as Gerald continued, ‘People are starving, our people. We’re not allowed to farm our own land because it belongs to England. And when we can’t afford to pay the rent for our homes the English landlord evicts us without a second thought. Babies, old people, sick people, left sitting on the side of the road, hungry and with nowhere to go.’
Jacques shifted on his stool. ‘But we have our poor in France too. Is it not worse that rich French people do not care about their own poor?’
‘Oh!’ cried Michael. ‘So, now we see your true colours.’
‘Colours?’ Jacques scrunched up his features. ‘I do not understand.’
Still stuck on an earlier point, Gerald snapped, ‘And your King Louis is only involved because he hates William of Orange, and for no grander reason than that.’
‘You lot, keep it down!’ yelled the barmaid. ‘No fighting in here or I’ll put you out.’
‘Sure. Why not?’ shrugged Jacques. ‘Louis wants to rule Europe so he uses James to beat William, and James uses Ireland to beat William, while William fights to remain king of all England. So what?’
Gerald’s face was white with rage. Why had he come into this awful tavern? He hadn’t wanted to. He knew his mother and Father Nicholas would be disappointed, not to mention his sister who would despise each and every one of these drunkards.
When he bade his family and tutor goodbye, he thought he knew exactly who he was, where he was coming from and what he was going to do. All he had ever heard from them all was how marvellous Ireland had been in the past.
For Father Nicholas the matter was simply explained: ‘The English have infested our landscape and heritage and the only way to deal with them is to flush them out. Do you understand what I am saying, child?’
And, of course, Gerald did understand because he had been brought up to view the world through the eyes of his family and the priest.
To be sure, things got complicated in his mind when he saw Derry’s skeletal citizens and soldiers guarding her walls, and he could not help wondering if they should not just leave the city to herself.
And hanging that girl and her friend … well, he still doubted the necessity of killing them.
But, here in Drogheda, it was easier to re-arm himself with Father Nicholas’s and his mother’s rage. Hadn’t he just walked along Scarlett Street, so called because it was soaked with the blood of those whom Oliver Cromwell had slaughtered in his God’s name?
Ireland was under attack once more, but this time he was here to fight for her.
Taking a deep breath, Gerard said, ‘James may well be using Ireland to get what he wants, but we, the Irish, are using him.’
His three companions considered this for a moment.
‘I accept that we are all here for different reasons and that some of those reasons might not be as … admirable … as others. But I know why I’m here. I want Ireland and her Catholics, which – yes – includes my family and me, to be free from tyranny.’
Jacques fidgeted at the word ‘admirable’ but did not contradict Gerald. However, he was not going to let the moment pass without attempting some sort of apology.
The others stared at Michael’s red face. Feeling a littleembarrassed, the older soldier slid his clothes back into place. Lowering his voice, he said, ‘That Englishman told me that I had no business being alive! Has any foreigner said that to you in your own country?’
His question was for Jacques who was struggling to understand the turn in conversation.
Adamant that Jacques concentrated on what was being said, Gerald added, ‘You hear that, Jacques and that’s only one story. There are plenty more! I spent my childhood being walked for miles by Father Nicholas so that he could show me burnt-out churches and graves that had been dug up just because the corpses were Catholics.’
Michael nodded at this, as Gerald continued, ‘People are starving, our people. We’re not allowed to farm our own land because it belongs to England. And when we can’t afford to pay the rent for our homes the English landlord evicts us without a second thought. Babies, old people, sick people, left sitting on the side of the road, hungry and with nowhere to go.’
Jacques shifted on his stool. ‘But we have our poor in France too. Is it not worse that rich French people do not care about their own poor?’
‘Oh!’ cried Michael. ‘So, now we see your true colours.’
‘Colours?’ Jacques scrunched up his features. ‘I do not understand.’
Still stuck on an earlier point, Gerald snapped, ‘And your King Louis is only involved because he hates William of Orange, and for no grander reason than that.’
‘You lot, keep it down!’ yelled the barmaid. ‘No fighting in here or I’ll put you out.’
‘Sure. Why not?’ shrugged Jacques. ‘Louis wants to rule Europe so he uses James to beat William, and James uses Ireland to beat William, while William fights to remain king of all England. So what?’
Gerald’s face was white with rage. Why had he come into this awful tavern? He hadn’t wanted to. He knew his mother and Father Nicholas would be disappointed, not to mention his sister who would despise each and every one of these drunkards.
When he bade his family and tutor goodbye, he thought he knew exactly who he was, where he was coming from and what he was going to do. All he had ever heard from them all was how marvellous Ireland had been in the past.
For Father Nicholas the matter was simply explained: ‘The English have infested our landscape and heritage and the only way to deal with them is to flush them out. Do you understand what I am saying, child?’
And, of course, Gerald did understand because he had been brought up to view the world through the eyes of his family and the priest.
To be sure, things got complicated in his mind when he saw Derry’s skeletal citizens and soldiers guarding her walls, and he could not help wondering if they should not just leave the city to herself.
And hanging that girl and her friend … well, he still doubted the necessity of killing them.
But, here in Drogheda, it was easier to re-arm himself with Father Nicholas’s and his mother’s rage. Hadn’t he just walked along Scarlett Street, so called because it was soaked with the blood of those whom Oliver Cromwell had slaughtered in his God’s name?
Ireland was under attack once more, but this time he was here to fight for her.
Taking a deep breath, Gerard said, ‘James may well be using Ireland to get what he wants, but we, the Irish, are using him.’
His three companions considered this for a moment.
‘I accept that we are all here for different reasons and that some of those reasons might not be as … admirable … as others. But I know why I’m here. I want Ireland and her Catholics, which – yes – includes my family and me, to be free from tyranny.’
Jacques fidgeted at the word ‘admirable’ but did not contradict Gerald. However, he was not going to let the moment pass without attempting some sort of apology.
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