Read The Guns of Easter for Free Online Page B

empty fireplace. He couldn’t even play his thinking game. If he looked at the face of the old clock now all he saw in his mind was the faces of other boys jeering at him, calling him a braggart and a liar.
    By the weekend even Ma’s sympathy had started to turn to annoyance. Sarah had got sick on Saturday. She had a fever, and there was no money for a doctor. Ma sat up with her till late on Saturday night and then all night on Sunday, when the fever was at its worst. This morning Ma was exhausted, and the sight of Jimmy sitting there whitefaced, healthy and grieving in the chair was too much for her tired nerves.
    ‘I can’t look at you there any more with that long faceon you,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘Go out and play. Go out and let me get some peace.’
    If she’d sounded angry he might have pleaded or cried, but her voice just sounded more tired and sad than Jimmy could ever remember. It frightened him. He took his cap and went out.
    At first he thought he would run away and hide, but that was pointless. He couldn’t hide forever. His friends would think he was at Fairyhouse now. Sooner or later someone would see him, and then it would all come out. He’d be revealed as a boaster and a liar. He’d never again be able to hold up his head in their company. His life was ruined, and there was no way of avoiding it.
    So Jimmy, for more than an hour now, had been walking in Sackville Street waiting for the inevitable. As time passed, and he met nobody he knew, he started almost to wish that the inevitable would hurry up and arrive. Even the jeering, when it came, could be no worse than this waiting.
    Normally on a Monday Sackville Street would be full of passing traffic: carts and carriages, horsemen and motor cars, cyclists and lorries. But this was Easter Monday and today it was drab and half empty, and few fashionable people were to be seen. They had better ways to spend the holiday.
    It was a fine spring morning, but Jimmy didn’t notice. He was walking blindly, not caring where he was going.He was heading down the street past Nelson’s Pillar when he almost bumped into a small knot of people who had stopped short in front of him.
    ‘There they are,’ sneered a haggard old woman in a black shawl. ‘The great heroes! The Kaiser’s friends!’ Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
    Jimmy stood at the corner of Henry Street, just beyond the Post Office. Following the old woman’s glare, he saw them coming out of Abbey Street – Volunteers, lots of them. And the Citizen Army men were with them! Was that why Mick had betrayed him, for a stupid march? Surely it couldn’t be true. You couldn’t give up Fairyhouse for a march with a let-on army!
    As he too glared at the oncoming men, Jimmy became aware of a strange air about this particular parade. There were a lot of men marching, Volunteers and Citizen Army men together. Behind them trundled an odd collection of slow-moving vehicles – Jimmy noticed a cab, some carts, and a sporty-looking motor car. Men and vehicles were heavily loaded with guns and other equipment. Other traffic paused to let the procession pass as it swung out into Sackville Street.
    It was the three men leading the procession who drew Jimmy’s eyes. Although they walked just in front of the main body, something set them apart. It was as if they were walking in a world of their own, as blind to the real world around them as Jimmy had been.
    He knew two of the men by sight. In the middle was James Connolly, the trade unionist. The headquarters of his union were down by the river in Liberty Hall, quite close to Jimmy’s house. Everyone in the slums knew Connolly. His fight for workers’ rights had made him a hero to many of the poor. He walked along now in the dark green uniform of the Citizen Army, his thick moustache bristling.
    On either side of Connolly strode two men in the lighter green uniform of the Volunteers. One of them was a tall, thin young man wearing glasses. Around his