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Authors: Gerard Whelan
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all.’
There was a knock on the door. It was Tommy Doyle. He was wild with excitement. ‘Hello, Mrs Conway,’ he shouted. ‘It’s a great day for Ireland!’
‘Do you think so, Tommy?’ asked Ma. ‘Is your Ma all right? I hope our Josie’s not giving her any trouble.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Tommy. ‘I was out all day watching the Rising.’
While I’ve been sitting here, thought Jimmy.
‘Were you in Sackville Street?’ Ma asked.
‘I just came from there now, to see is Jimmy coming out.’
‘What’s that noise I hear?’ asked Ma. ‘It sounds like it’s coming from there.’
Jimmy had been hearing noises for some time, a growling sound like a lot of voices together. It wasn’t the sound of fighting, but a strange seething sound he’d never heard before.
‘It’s only people,’ said Tommy. ‘Sackville Street is packed.’
This was too much for Jimmy.
‘Please, Ma, can I go and look?’ he pleaded. ‘It can’t be dangerous.’
Ma thought for a minute. ‘Oh, all right,’ she said at last. ‘But come back at the first sign of trouble.’
Jimmy raced down the stairs. Tommy could hardly keep up with him.
‘What’s it like?’ Jimmy asked when they got to the street.
Tommy looked at him with a grin. ‘It’s better nor Christmas!’ he said. He reached into his pocket and took out a handful of sweets. ‘Here! Have them. I’ve loads more.’
‘Who gave you the money?’ Jimmy asked.
Tommy laughed. ‘Money?’ he said. ‘What money?’
Jimmy gaped. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Come and see,’ Tommy said, and he took off down the street with Jimmy following.
Just before they reached Sackville Street Tommy stopped. He turned to Jimmy, grinning wildly, and threw his sweets in the air. ‘Hurray!’ he yelled, as the sweets rained down on him.
Jimmy stared. ‘Are you gone mad or what?’ he asked.
‘Ireland is free!’ Tommy said. ‘And Irish sweets are free too!’
He led Jimmy around the corner. Sackville Street looked as if a herd of elephants had trampled through it. It had been ransacked by a marauding host, out for loot. The host was still there, and it was still looting. This wasthe source of the strange seething sound. It was the great hungry horde of Dublin’s poor.
Wherever Jimmy looked he saw smashed windows: Noblett’s and Lemon’s sweetshops, Dunn’s the hatters, Frewen and Ryan’s, the Cable bootshop – everywhere.
The wide street was strewn with abandoned packaging and bits of glass. Jimmy saw dumped hats, boots, underwear, toys and cakes – a huge litter of expensive things. A street paved with luxury goods, like something from a dream. There seemed to be thousands of people moving restlessly through the street in unruly surges. They must have looted the pubs too because a great many of them were very drunk.
‘It’s great!’ shouted Tommy. ‘You can take anything you like.’
And that’s exactly what people had done. They were wandering around with strange luxury items that would never be of any use to them. Jimmy saw a boy hardly older than himself playing with a set of golf clubs. As each ball arched off down the street he would follow it through a pair of expensive binoculars that were hanging round his neck.
‘That’s Jimmy Murphy. His Da will kill him if he sees them clubs. He’s a mad Gaelic games man,’ Tommy said.
Like many people on the street Jimmy Murphy was wearing a new hat. Others wore two or three different hats at the same time, all crammed on top of each other on their heads.
One boy, a few years younger than Jimmy, was helping a woman who might have been his grandmother to carry big piles of clothes. They’d emerge from the crowd, staggering under huge loads and put them down at a spot in the road close to where Jimmy stood. Then they’d go back for another load. Every time they left, other people would wander over and take most of the things from the pile they’d just brought. Then the boy and the
There was a knock on the door. It was Tommy Doyle. He was wild with excitement. ‘Hello, Mrs Conway,’ he shouted. ‘It’s a great day for Ireland!’
‘Do you think so, Tommy?’ asked Ma. ‘Is your Ma all right? I hope our Josie’s not giving her any trouble.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Tommy. ‘I was out all day watching the Rising.’
While I’ve been sitting here, thought Jimmy.
‘Were you in Sackville Street?’ Ma asked.
‘I just came from there now, to see is Jimmy coming out.’
‘What’s that noise I hear?’ asked Ma. ‘It sounds like it’s coming from there.’
Jimmy had been hearing noises for some time, a growling sound like a lot of voices together. It wasn’t the sound of fighting, but a strange seething sound he’d never heard before.
‘It’s only people,’ said Tommy. ‘Sackville Street is packed.’
This was too much for Jimmy.
‘Please, Ma, can I go and look?’ he pleaded. ‘It can’t be dangerous.’
Ma thought for a minute. ‘Oh, all right,’ she said at last. ‘But come back at the first sign of trouble.’
Jimmy raced down the stairs. Tommy could hardly keep up with him.
‘What’s it like?’ Jimmy asked when they got to the street.
Tommy looked at him with a grin. ‘It’s better nor Christmas!’ he said. He reached into his pocket and took out a handful of sweets. ‘Here! Have them. I’ve loads more.’
‘Who gave you the money?’ Jimmy asked.
Tommy laughed. ‘Money?’ he said. ‘What money?’
Jimmy gaped. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Come and see,’ Tommy said, and he took off down the street with Jimmy following.
Just before they reached Sackville Street Tommy stopped. He turned to Jimmy, grinning wildly, and threw his sweets in the air. ‘Hurray!’ he yelled, as the sweets rained down on him.
Jimmy stared. ‘Are you gone mad or what?’ he asked.
‘Ireland is free!’ Tommy said. ‘And Irish sweets are free too!’
He led Jimmy around the corner. Sackville Street looked as if a herd of elephants had trampled through it. It had been ransacked by a marauding host, out for loot. The host was still there, and it was still looting. This wasthe source of the strange seething sound. It was the great hungry horde of Dublin’s poor.
Wherever Jimmy looked he saw smashed windows: Noblett’s and Lemon’s sweetshops, Dunn’s the hatters, Frewen and Ryan’s, the Cable bootshop – everywhere.
The wide street was strewn with abandoned packaging and bits of glass. Jimmy saw dumped hats, boots, underwear, toys and cakes – a huge litter of expensive things. A street paved with luxury goods, like something from a dream. There seemed to be thousands of people moving restlessly through the street in unruly surges. They must have looted the pubs too because a great many of them were very drunk.
‘It’s great!’ shouted Tommy. ‘You can take anything you like.’
And that’s exactly what people had done. They were wandering around with strange luxury items that would never be of any use to them. Jimmy saw a boy hardly older than himself playing with a set of golf clubs. As each ball arched off down the street he would follow it through a pair of expensive binoculars that were hanging round his neck.
‘That’s Jimmy Murphy. His Da will kill him if he sees them clubs. He’s a mad Gaelic games man,’ Tommy said.
Like many people on the street Jimmy Murphy was wearing a new hat. Others wore two or three different hats at the same time, all crammed on top of each other on their heads.
One boy, a few years younger than Jimmy, was helping a woman who might have been his grandmother to carry big piles of clothes. They’d emerge from the crowd, staggering under huge loads and put them down at a spot in the road close to where Jimmy stood. Then they’d go back for another load. Every time they left, other people would wander over and take most of the things from the pile they’d just brought. Then the boy and the
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