Torn Asunder by Renny deGroot

Author:Renny deGroot [deGroot, Renny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Toadhollow Publishing via Indie Author Project
Published: 2019-02-15T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Dublin, 28 June 1922

The pounding on the door of their flat shocked them awake. Bridie sat bolt upright while Emmet leaped out of their bed, grabbing his dressing gown in passing.

Emmet growled at the boy who thrust a note into his hand. “What is it?”

“From the paper, sir. I was told to fetch you because Collins is bombing The Four Courts.”

Emmet tore open the note from his editor. It simply said. “Civil War. Get in as quick as you can.”

Emmet frowned at the boy. “When did it start?”

The boy’s voice was high pitched and frantic sounding. “I don’t know. I was just told to run and knock you up so you could record it all.”

Emmet pulled open a drawer in the small table by the door where he kept loose change. He gave the boy a penny. “Right, so. You did well. Run on back now. I’ll be there directly.”

As soon as the door closed, Bridie hastened to Emmet’s side. “What is it? What’s happened?”

Emmet pulled her in against his chest. “The Government is bombing the anti-treaty garrison at the Four Courts.”

Bridie pulled back and peered into his face. “Ah, no. It surely hasn’t come to this. Collins wouldn’t.”

Emmet sighed and then walked quickly back to the bedroom to throw on his clothes. “He’ll do what he has to do to keep order. I know Churchill has been putting pressure on him to resolve the Four Courts.”

“But they’ve been there since April. Why now?”

Emmet pulled on his jacket. The Brits have been threatening to come back in.

“Dear God. How will it end?”

Emmet shook his head. “With bloodshed.”

Bridie clung to him at the door. “Let it not be your blood.”

He kissed her. “My days of being in the middle of the fight are done. I fight with my words now.”

“But who’s in the wrong here? How will you write it up?”

He closed the door without answering her question.

• • •

Emmet rode his bicycle downtown to the temporary office of the Freeman’s Journal, not having the patience to wait for the tram. Since the presses had been destroyed by the Anti-Treaty I.R.A. in March, they had been operating from a flat above a shop on St. Augustine Street. He crossed the Liffey, coughing in the cloud of smoke that engulfed him.

The boom from the 18-pounder cannons shook the very streets and plant pots fell crashing to the pavement from window sills.

Emmet came into the office and joined the reporters, editors and copy-boys, all talking at once.

“Ryan. Good. You’re here. I want you out there. Get some firsthand impressions of what’s going on.”

“When did this start?”

Hooper wiped his brow. “Around four o’clock. I believe Collins gave the order, but no one will confirm it. All I know is that The Free-Staters have got British weapons backing them. Those hooligans in the Four Courts will finally be routed out. They should never have been allowed to dig in like they have.”

Emmet bit his lip at Hooper’s tone. “They were peaceful. It’s pretty extreme to take cannons to them.

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