Shadow of a Century: An Irish Love Story by Jean Grainger

Author:Jean Grainger [Grainger, Jean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-06-03T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

Mary wondered if she would ever be able to hear properly again. The volume of noise inside the now decimated General Post Office was relentless and deafening. The cacophony of continuous shellfire, gunshot, explosions, cries of agony and barked orders had been going on twenty four hours a day. She and Eileen were exhausted, their uniforms filthy and encrusted with dried and fresh blood, and their hair hung limply, long escaped from neatly pinned caps. The British had put a gunboat on the River Liffey and were steadily smashing the city to smithereens. Mary felt like they wouldn’t stop until every last man, woman and child in the city was dead. Reports from the couriers who were still alive were consistently dismal. They had lost again. The floor of what remained of the second storey was covered with bodies, some of them dead, others close to death, and yet others screaming for relief from the pain of their injuries, which was impossible to provide. Supplies were long since gone.

Eileen was cleaning the head wound of a boy, no more than sixteen years old, who was crying pitifully for his mother. Mary thought once more of Rory. Where was he? Mrs Grant was still alive, despite being injured badly by a shell blast when she was delivering a message down to Boland’s Mills. She had managed, however, with the help of two teenage girls and a handcart, to bring up some fresh flour bags earlier, which they were about to cut up to use as bandages. Her former employer, now totally unrecognisable, was leaning against the wall, bleeding from a wound to her leg.

‘Mrs Grant, let me see that, I want to clean it for you,’ Mary said, grateful that the older woman was still alive at least.

‘Oh Mary my dear, how lovely to see you! You and Eileen are doing so well, and the Countess was just saying to Pearse how you two are simply magnificent.’ Despite the obvious pain, her voice was bright and enthusiastic.

‘Well, we’re doing our best. If we had more antiseptic, we could do more. Or if we could give something for the pain, but our supplies have run out.’ Mary spoke as she cleaned Mrs Grant’s wounds with a cloth and cold water. Her employer barely flinched.

‘Well at least that new load of flour bags means we have bandages,’ Eileen called from where she was instructing two young girls on how to cut them for maximum use. ‘Is it Friday morning?’ she asked exhaustedly as she sat briefly beside Mrs Grant, having left the girls to their cutting.

‘I’ve no idea.’ Mary replied. ‘I’ve lost all track of time. I was hoping to see Rory somewhere. Mrs Grant, did you see...?’

‘All women downstairs, now please.’ Tom Clarke was walking through the upstairs, carefully avoiding the many bodies lying on the floor. ‘Pearse wants all the women downstairs, this minute please.’

Mrs Grant inhaled and tried to get up.

‘Stay where you are!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘Not injured women, I’m sure he didn’t mean that.

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