Read Online The 13th Apostle: A Novel of a Dublin Family, Michael Collins, and the Irish Uprising by Dermot McEvoy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dermot McEvoy
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of his children.
Eoin was keeping a close eye on the comings and goings over at Westland Row, because a lot of the rebels in the Frongoch prison compound in Wales had been granted amnesty for Christmas and were arriving home in Dublin. He had run into Arthur Shields the other day, and it had been a grand reunion. Arthur was picked up by his brother Will, also an actor over at the Abbey, who went by the stage name of Barry Fitzgerald. Eoin was about to make a run over to tip-rich Fitzwilliam Square with a delivery when he saw the solitary figure in the early winter twilight standing in front of the depot, his cheap cardboard suitcase—which a good soaking would disintegrate—at his feet. He was a big man, and Eoin’s heart began to pound as he ran up the street to see if it was who he thought it was. “Captain Collins!” he called out.
The man turned quickly and searched for the source of the voice calling his name.
“Eoin? Is that you?”
“Welcome home!” said Eoin as he shook Collins’s hand and was surprised by the hearty embrace.
“I don’t believe my eyes,” said Collins, surveying the youngster. “You’re beginning to look like a man.”
“You’ve gained weight,” lied Eoin, poking Collins in his flat belly. “Looks like the Brits overfeed their Irish rebels in Wales!”
“You must be jokin’,” said Collins, clearly delighted to be in Eoin’s company. “How’s the arse?”
“The envy of all the girls!” replied Eoin. “I’m in fine shape.” He looked at the lonely suitcase. “What are you doing for Christmas?”
“Going to see my family in West Cork,” said Collins. “Unfortunately, I think I missed the last train at Kingsbridge Station. I’ll try for the first one in the morning.”
“Why don’t you stay with us tonight, and then you can catch the first train in the morning? We’re not that far from Kingsbridge.”
“I’d be delighted,” said Michael Collins, happy to be back in Dublin and itching for action.
13
E OIN’S D IARY
S ATURDAY , 23 D ECEMBER 1916
“ I ’m famished,” Captain Collins said to me as we headed for home. “I could do with a fry up,” he said, dragging me into a butcher’s shop in Cuffe Street. He ordered up sausages, eggs, rashers, black and white puddings. He paid for it with a crisp pound note, taken from a roll of pound notes. It was obvious that Mick had a knack for making money .
We burst into the scullery and took the whole family by surprise. I introduced Captain Collins to everyone, and he insisted they all call him “Mick.” “Jaysus,” said Mick, looking around, “it’s colder in here than outside.” He surveyed the water running down the kitchen wall. “You,” Collins said, tossing a half-crown at Frank, “go find some coal.” Then he added, “Get some paraffin oil, too.” Frank snatched the horse figure of a coin out of the air and held it in his fist by the side of his leg, as if mesmerized by Collins. “Quick!” commanded Collins, and Frank scooted out the door.
Mammy heard the commotion and left her bed. As she stood in the doorway, bracing herself on the doorframe, she meekly said, “Hello.” I told her that Mick—it’s still strange calling Captain Collins “Mick”—was my boss in the GPO. “Thanks for taking care of my dear son,” she said, moving closer to Collins. She looked deathly, but that didn’t stop Collins. He embraced Mammy, calling her “Mum,” and gave her a big hug. “This is the kind of man who will make Ireland free some day!” he said, ruffling my hair.
“I’ve asked Mick to stay the night with us so he can catch the first train at Kingsbridge station in the morning.”
“And I’ve brought provisions!” said Collins, hoisting the rashers and sausages into the air like a trophy as Frank returned with the coal and paraffin. “Where’s me change?” he asked Frank. Frank drove his hand into his pocket and came up with the lone half-crown. “How did you pay for
Eoin was keeping a close eye on the comings and goings over at Westland Row, because a lot of the rebels in the Frongoch prison compound in Wales had been granted amnesty for Christmas and were arriving home in Dublin. He had run into Arthur Shields the other day, and it had been a grand reunion. Arthur was picked up by his brother Will, also an actor over at the Abbey, who went by the stage name of Barry Fitzgerald. Eoin was about to make a run over to tip-rich Fitzwilliam Square with a delivery when he saw the solitary figure in the early winter twilight standing in front of the depot, his cheap cardboard suitcase—which a good soaking would disintegrate—at his feet. He was a big man, and Eoin’s heart began to pound as he ran up the street to see if it was who he thought it was. “Captain Collins!” he called out.
The man turned quickly and searched for the source of the voice calling his name.
“Eoin? Is that you?”
“Welcome home!” said Eoin as he shook Collins’s hand and was surprised by the hearty embrace.
“I don’t believe my eyes,” said Collins, surveying the youngster. “You’re beginning to look like a man.”
“You’ve gained weight,” lied Eoin, poking Collins in his flat belly. “Looks like the Brits overfeed their Irish rebels in Wales!”
“You must be jokin’,” said Collins, clearly delighted to be in Eoin’s company. “How’s the arse?”
“The envy of all the girls!” replied Eoin. “I’m in fine shape.” He looked at the lonely suitcase. “What are you doing for Christmas?”
“Going to see my family in West Cork,” said Collins. “Unfortunately, I think I missed the last train at Kingsbridge Station. I’ll try for the first one in the morning.”
“Why don’t you stay with us tonight, and then you can catch the first train in the morning? We’re not that far from Kingsbridge.”
“I’d be delighted,” said Michael Collins, happy to be back in Dublin and itching for action.
13
E OIN’S D IARY
S ATURDAY , 23 D ECEMBER 1916
“ I ’m famished,” Captain Collins said to me as we headed for home. “I could do with a fry up,” he said, dragging me into a butcher’s shop in Cuffe Street. He ordered up sausages, eggs, rashers, black and white puddings. He paid for it with a crisp pound note, taken from a roll of pound notes. It was obvious that Mick had a knack for making money .
We burst into the scullery and took the whole family by surprise. I introduced Captain Collins to everyone, and he insisted they all call him “Mick.” “Jaysus,” said Mick, looking around, “it’s colder in here than outside.” He surveyed the water running down the kitchen wall. “You,” Collins said, tossing a half-crown at Frank, “go find some coal.” Then he added, “Get some paraffin oil, too.” Frank snatched the horse figure of a coin out of the air and held it in his fist by the side of his leg, as if mesmerized by Collins. “Quick!” commanded Collins, and Frank scooted out the door.
Mammy heard the commotion and left her bed. As she stood in the doorway, bracing herself on the doorframe, she meekly said, “Hello.” I told her that Mick—it’s still strange calling Captain Collins “Mick”—was my boss in the GPO. “Thanks for taking care of my dear son,” she said, moving closer to Collins. She looked deathly, but that didn’t stop Collins. He embraced Mammy, calling her “Mum,” and gave her a big hug. “This is the kind of man who will make Ireland free some day!” he said, ruffling my hair.
“I’ve asked Mick to stay the night with us so he can catch the first train at Kingsbridge station in the morning.”
“And I’ve brought provisions!” said Collins, hoisting the rashers and sausages into the air like a trophy as Frank returned with the coal and paraffin. “Where’s me change?” he asked Frank. Frank drove his hand into his pocket and came up with the lone half-crown. “How did you pay for
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