The Young Rebels Read Free

clearly so we don’t miss any. He is a cheerful , friendly little man who tells funny stories, some of them in Irish. Even if I don’t understand the language I can understand his expressions and gestures.
    I’m surprised by the rhythm of the old language. It sounds almost like singing, the way Mam used to singaround the house before she fell ill. When the other boys laugh, I ask to know the joke too. Thomas repeats the Irish, gives the English translation, then recites in Irish again.
    ‘Now,’ he says, ‘who can repeat that last line in English ?’ Most of the boys put up their hands and he selects one. I could have done it myself if I wanted to.
    Then he asks, ‘Who can say the last line in Irish?’
    I still don’t put up my hand, but I think I could do that too. I might not be able to pronounce every word correctly, but I could come close. I know I could. It’s a witty poem about a wicked king and a brave poet who put him to shame. If I memorise the entire poem for Mam, maybe I can make her laugh.
    If – I mean when – she gets stronger, I should like to bring her out here. Maybe the Pearses would give her a room with windows looking toward the mountains. In such a serene setting, I just know she would get well.
    When the lilacs bloom I could bring her armloads of blossom for her room. Lilac is her favourite scent.

CHAPTER TWO
OCTOBER 1913
    T he Headmaster of St Enda’s takes in strays.
    In August there was a lockout in the city as the result of a labour union strike, and a riot resulted. Several of the workers were killed by the police. Their leader, a man called Larkin, was arrested. The government ordered the schools to refuse admittance to his children, but our Head ignored the order. One of the Larkin boys is in my dormitory. I wonder how he felt about his father’s arrest. That’s almost as bad as having a sick mother, I guess.
    After a few weeks Mr Larkin was released on bail. His son says he’s gone to England to raise funds for the men who are locked out. While he’s away a man calledJames Connolly is taking over as leader of the workers. None of his boys is in school here, though. Roger says that’s just as well, because there are enough ‘working class’ boys at St Enda’s already.
    The Head doesn’t like us to talk about someone’s ‘class’. I don’t know why. Other people discuss it all the time.
    He really does take in strays. All sorts of injured creatures find their way here, and we boys are expected to take care of them. ‘The only boy ever expelled from this school was made to leave because he hurt a cat,’ one of my classmates tells me.
    I’ve never had a pet. My father doesn’t want the mess and trouble of animals in the house.
    The Head’s brother shows us how to splint a bird’s broken leg using a drinking straw. ‘Remember that this little bird is one of God’s creations just as you are,’ he says.
    I stare down at the little bird, who is opening and closing its beak very rapidly. I never thought of an animal as a living creation of God before.
    Caring for the bird with the broken leg falls to me. I’m delighted with myself when it begins to get well. Maybe I can be a doctor someday. If I am, I’ll never cause pain to anyone.
    There is a telephone in the Headmaster’s office. Onemust ask permission to use it. I apply to the Head’s mother, a plump, grey-haired lady with a soft voice and a sweet smile. ‘My Mam is quite ill and I want to ring home,’ I explain.
    ‘Bless you, lad, of course you do. And so you shall.’ Before she escorts me to the Headmaster’s office she gives me a quick hug. I’m not used to being hugged and don’t know how to react. She smells of soap and lavender water.
    The Headmaster is seated behind his desk, writing in a large book. He stands up when his mother enters the room. She explains the situation, then leaves us alone together. I wish she would stay but don’t dare ask, it would make me sound like a baby.
    ‘Do you know