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Authors: Gerard Siggins
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‘I’ve never studied as hard as I’ve done this year. I’ve even brought my History project home with me for the mid-term break.’
His mother clasped her hands together in delight, before stepping back and looking at him suspiciously.
‘Is that some sort of punishment …?’
‘NO! I’ve entered the Young Historian of the Year competition and I’m really enjoying it. And Mr Finn says Grandad might be able to help me with it too.’
His mother beamed at him. ‘That’s lovely, he’d really enjoy that. He said he would call up this evening – as soon as he heard you were coming home.’
Sure enough, Dixie was delighted to see Eoin, and was full of questions about life at Castlerock College. He had been a very good rugby player in his youth, but had given up the game in tragic circumstances.
‘Tell Grandad about your project, Eoin. Didn’t you say he might be able to help?’ asked his mother.
‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Eoin.
He explained about the competition, and how he had seen the photo of the old New Zealand team in the Aviva Stadium, and how he hit upon the idea of studying one of their players for the project.
‘And which one of the players was that?’ quizzed his grandad.
‘A man called Dave––’
‘––Gallaher!’ his grandad completed the name. ‘Well isn’t that interesting! And yes, I suppose I can help you with that, in a small way.’
‘How’s that?’ asked Eoin. ‘He died long before you were born?’
‘Well, it wasn’t that long,’ laughed Dixie, ‘maybe twenty-five years or so!
‘No, I obviously never met him or got to see him play,but I met someone who did meet him. It was an old priest who came to see me after your grandmother died. He was a fair age, and we got talking about rugby. He didn’t know much about it, but said he had once met a man who had captained the All Blacks.
‘This priest was a chaplain during the First World War and saw some terrible sights in the trenches. He told me that one day he was visiting a field hospital where he was brought into a tent to give the last rites to a group of men who had been badly injured that day.
‘He told me he was tending to one poor soul who was clearly close to death when he read his dog tags and realised who the man was. The priest said that he prayed over him to help him on his way, and then moved on to the next wounded soldier. ‘Do you know who that is on the next table?’ he asked the soldier. ‘That’s Dave Gallaher, captain of the 1905 All Blacks’. The priest said that he often thought of how sad it was that such an obviously remarkable man had his life cut short by war. He even gave me a copy of a poem that a friend of his, another chaplain, wrote about that very subject. I’ll dig it out for you if I can.’
‘That’s a sad story, Grandad,’ said Eoin. ‘Can I use it in my project? Do you remember the priest’s name?’
‘Of course you can use it – I’ll try to remember a fewmore details – and the priest? Was his name Fitzpatrick? Something like that … Fitz, Fitz, Fitzgerald – that’s who it was. Father Edward Fitzgerald.’
CHAPTER 24
M onday morning was wet and miserable in Tipperary , so Eoin decided to get the project work out of the way so he could have a nice break for the rest of the week. He set out all the information he had gleaned, and wrote up his grandad’s anecdote about the death of Dave Gallaher. He would need to seek out the old player’s ghost again, as he was still missing some parts of his story.
The day went quickly and when the rain cleared away Eoin decided to go out for a run. He jogged down to the GAA club to see if his old pals were around, but the only person to be seen was Barney who was fixing the goal nets.
‘How are you, Barney?’ hailed Eoin. ‘The opposition must have been cracking them in at the weekend if youhave to fix those!’ he joked.
‘Arra, sure, we hammered them. A shower from down the county, wouldn’t know much
His mother clasped her hands together in delight, before stepping back and looking at him suspiciously.
‘Is that some sort of punishment …?’
‘NO! I’ve entered the Young Historian of the Year competition and I’m really enjoying it. And Mr Finn says Grandad might be able to help me with it too.’
His mother beamed at him. ‘That’s lovely, he’d really enjoy that. He said he would call up this evening – as soon as he heard you were coming home.’
Sure enough, Dixie was delighted to see Eoin, and was full of questions about life at Castlerock College. He had been a very good rugby player in his youth, but had given up the game in tragic circumstances.
‘Tell Grandad about your project, Eoin. Didn’t you say he might be able to help?’ asked his mother.
‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Eoin.
He explained about the competition, and how he had seen the photo of the old New Zealand team in the Aviva Stadium, and how he hit upon the idea of studying one of their players for the project.
‘And which one of the players was that?’ quizzed his grandad.
‘A man called Dave––’
‘––Gallaher!’ his grandad completed the name. ‘Well isn’t that interesting! And yes, I suppose I can help you with that, in a small way.’
‘How’s that?’ asked Eoin. ‘He died long before you were born?’
‘Well, it wasn’t that long,’ laughed Dixie, ‘maybe twenty-five years or so!
‘No, I obviously never met him or got to see him play,but I met someone who did meet him. It was an old priest who came to see me after your grandmother died. He was a fair age, and we got talking about rugby. He didn’t know much about it, but said he had once met a man who had captained the All Blacks.
‘This priest was a chaplain during the First World War and saw some terrible sights in the trenches. He told me that one day he was visiting a field hospital where he was brought into a tent to give the last rites to a group of men who had been badly injured that day.
‘He told me he was tending to one poor soul who was clearly close to death when he read his dog tags and realised who the man was. The priest said that he prayed over him to help him on his way, and then moved on to the next wounded soldier. ‘Do you know who that is on the next table?’ he asked the soldier. ‘That’s Dave Gallaher, captain of the 1905 All Blacks’. The priest said that he often thought of how sad it was that such an obviously remarkable man had his life cut short by war. He even gave me a copy of a poem that a friend of his, another chaplain, wrote about that very subject. I’ll dig it out for you if I can.’
‘That’s a sad story, Grandad,’ said Eoin. ‘Can I use it in my project? Do you remember the priest’s name?’
‘Of course you can use it – I’ll try to remember a fewmore details – and the priest? Was his name Fitzpatrick? Something like that … Fitz, Fitz, Fitzgerald – that’s who it was. Father Edward Fitzgerald.’
CHAPTER 24
M onday morning was wet and miserable in Tipperary , so Eoin decided to get the project work out of the way so he could have a nice break for the rest of the week. He set out all the information he had gleaned, and wrote up his grandad’s anecdote about the death of Dave Gallaher. He would need to seek out the old player’s ghost again, as he was still missing some parts of his story.
The day went quickly and when the rain cleared away Eoin decided to go out for a run. He jogged down to the GAA club to see if his old pals were around, but the only person to be seen was Barney who was fixing the goal nets.
‘How are you, Barney?’ hailed Eoin. ‘The opposition must have been cracking them in at the weekend if youhave to fix those!’ he joked.
‘Arra, sure, we hammered them. A shower from down the county, wouldn’t know much
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