Eire go Brach

Where is Ypres? All I know is, it's in bloody France.

None of the boys know how to say Ypres.

We call it Wipers.

I don't know a Paddy or a Tommy, who speaks a word of French.

Sleep no longer comes to me. always have pain in my tummy, nd it's freezing.

My bed is sitting upright on a pile of damp sand bags.

It fecking stinks, this place.

My mind turns to home.

I remember going on and on to Mam about the reek of piss and shit in the cottage from the littl'uns asses.

What I wouldn't give to be back there now.

I loved the warmth of coming in the door after a day working in the fields.

fting the lid of on the pot of stew over the fire and giving it a stir.

Constant background noise.

Chatter, laughter, and wailing from my brothers and sisters.

Mam is always darning something.

She looks at me from her seat by the fire, I love that half smile of hers.

Home.

That's all I can think about.

How can it be, that not a year gone by, all I dreamt of was leaving that life behind?

The Wallace cottage.

Two rooms for the lot of us.

The living room, dark, cluttered and overshadowed by the hearth.

The hearth is always lit, and a kettle is always on the boil.

Wet clothes are hung and draped dripping everywhere.

The smell of damp, human bodies and cooked vegetables fills the air.

Mam and Da plus 9 kids.

Well 8 kids for the moment.

Our Brian left some three years ago.

The eldest, the brightest, and our hope.

Every penny the family could scrape together, to buy a ticket to send him to America.

For the first year we all waited daily for news of his arrival, and for when he would send passage for one of us.

The second year, only Mam waited. Ever hopeful for the news that was never going to come.

Ten of us in the back room to sleep was impossible.

Myself and my brothers, Jack and Sean slept up the lane in Farmer O' Malleys barn.

I worked like a slave on O'Malley's farm 7 days a week.

My reward? To sleep in the barn. My bed up in the hayloft, sharing with the rats.

O'Malley paid my Da, half a crown a month for my labour. I never saw a penny.

The other boys were not meant to sleep in the old barn, but they always did.

I would never admit it to them, but I was glad of their company, and on cold nights their warmth.

I am Monnie, baptized Morris.

Only Mam and the priest call me Morris.

I am 15 years old, my brothers and I were all born within a year of each other.

I am the eldest of the Wallace Irish triplets. Jack is 14 years old, and Sean is 13.

I don't remember a time in my life before this hell, when they were not both by my side.

The barn is located barely a mile up the track.

An ancient building, with mud floors and walls.

A badly thatched roof, that let the Irish rain constantly baptise us.

It was freezing in winter and just as cold in summer.

Along with the heavy plough and tools, lived the dray horse Fiona.

Perhaps too elegant a name for the daft old mare.

She was quiet though, and made a good bed fellow.

Every night after dinner, we'd bundle up the old red eiderdown. Once an extravagant wedding gift to my parents, now it is a lumpy, stained and frayed old blanket.

A flask of hot tea poured from the kettle. A kiss for Mam. We scarper quickly out the door. Escaping before the old man gets home scuttered from the pub.

Jack, Sean and I have always slept together.

As each one of them was born, I just made a little more room.

Sean, always the comedian, jokes we'd one day need a coffin for three.

We follow the track to the barn by memory, not wanting to waste the candle stub, in the old lantern.

As we lift the heavy bolt and enter into the darkness, our hands seek out Fiona, giving the old girl a reassuring pat.

Carefully we light the lantern, in the dim shadows we climb the pile of sticks that O'Malley calls a ladder.

Up in the hayloft we use our bottoms and feet to create a nest in the spiky straw.

We pull the eiderdown tightly around us.

Lying close, as only siblings can, our bodies comfortably mold together.

Since arriving in France, my mind is never still.

I ache thinking of the deep sleep I enjoyed every night back in the barn.

Safe and warm, my limbs crossed with those of my brothers.

Here, I am a prisoner of my own making. Trapped in this foreign land.

I got my wish, my dream came true. I got out of the barn, Dungarvan and Ireland.

Now here I am in France, waiting for The Hun, or the rats to get me.

Not a tear left to cry for my Mammy.

I close my eyes and I see myself and my brothers. We were so innocent. Waiting on the cusp of life, so full of ignorant ideas and plans.

I don't dream anymore. Hope died a long time ago. Now I just exist.

Safe in the barn we waited for the candle to flicker its last. Tightly pressed together in our womb of straw. We talk, argue and laugh. Our futures and desires are mapped out night after night.

Sean, ever the dreamer, tells the story of how he will make his way to Dublin.

How the hallowed gates of the Guinness brewery will open, and he, Sean Wallace will become the honored chief taster of the black stuff.

and I rib and tease him. He'll be mouldy like Da in a month.

have laid out my plan many times. Now at 15 years old I know it is time for action.

I can see from the tired look on her face, and the swell of her , that Mam is with child again.

I am one too many mouths to feed.

Since the War , n evry town, the English have been calling for Irishmen to join the British army.

It is our duty apparently to fight, to free the Small Nations and stop the advancement of the German military.

I'm going to follow the railway track from Dungarvan to Waterford.

In Waterford at the recruitment station, I will give my age as 18.

They are unlikely to check Parish records for one nobody. A nobody named Morris Wallace.

When I talk of leaving, I feel Jack's body tense.

He has no affection for the British, he can't understand why I would want to fight their War.

Mostly I agree with him. I know nothing of, and care little for The Small Nations or fighting the Germans.

My focus is on 3 square meals a day, a new pair of boots and a bayonet rifle.

Compared to working in the fields for O'Malley, and sleeping like an animal in a barn, it sounds like good life.

I try to convince Jack of my plan.

I insist that the British will give Ireland home rule if Irishmen join the War effort.

I tell him that when Irishmen return triumphant from the War, the Irish army will be formed.

Jack scoffs at me. He says it's all lies. The British can't be trusted.

He looks me in the eye and tells me, that they just want Irish cannon fodder to die the front line.

Recently, Jack has become more vocal about his feelings towards the British.

It scares me.

I see him furtively following Ryan Murphy, a prominent Irish Volunteer member to the back of the church after mass.

If Jack's not careful he'll be following Ryan Murphy up the steps to the gallows.

I love Ireland.

I want nothing more than any Irishman, a free Ireland.

Jack doesn't understand, we don't all have the luxury to follow our beliefs.

I am the eldest now. I have no other choice.

It is my responsibility to take care of Mam and my siblings.

In the year I have been away from home, I have heard nothing from my family.

Once back in England, I asked a fellow to write a pink letter for me.

A pink letter is filled with news about how great things are going. All the lads send pink letters.

What else are we supposed to do? Tell the truth?

must have dropped off.

There is activity around me in the trenches.

We work through the night.

The darkness is our protection. Time to fortify our defences, and prepare for attack.

I carry out my with my head down and in silence.

I pray never to hear my name called. Private Wallace, Wally, Monnie , Mick, Paddy.

Please God, don't make me go over the top again.

The sleep that eluded me, is now weighing heavily on my body.

My eyes are closing and my thoughts are detached from my actions.

I am floating, and drifting away.

It's dark, it must be time for bed.

I'd better get up to the barn.

I know that once I reach the hayloft, and lay my head next to my brothers, I will sleep, and all will be well.

I am following the track to the barn by memory.

I can hear shouting.

They are shouting my name.

They want me to come back.

Why would I go back?

Soon I will be upon the barn.

A blinding light and a red hot fire explodes on me, in me, and all around me.

I see my body fall to the ground.

My mind is clear, and I see now I am home.

My hand on the door to the barn.