Beneath the Earth Read Online Free PDF

only one way to find out,’ said Mr Devlin. ‘Would you not open it, Stephen, no?’
    â€˜Ah I don’t know about that,’ said Stephen, shaking his head and frowning. ‘Sure you’d never know what might be in there.’
    â€˜Oh for pity’s sake,’ said Marie, taking the bread knife from the counter and picking up the tube to slice her way down the tape. ‘We can’t just stare at it all night.’
    â€˜Be careful there, Mrs,’ said Mr Devlin, standing back as if he was afraid that it might blow up in all their faces.
    â€˜Will Mrs Devlin not have your tea on?’ she replied, taking the cap off the tube and giving it a shake until the rolled-up sheets of paper eased their way out into her hand. ‘Should you not be getting home?’
    â€˜The food is always burnt to a crisp as it is. A few extra minutes won’t make it any less edible.’
    Marie sighed as she held the posters out for everyone to see.
    â€˜What’s this now?’ asked Mr Devlin, leaning forward and reading them for himself. ‘This has something to do with the war, is it?’
    Stephen picked up the tube and shook it again and a note fell out. His eyes moved back and forth across the lines, his lips mouthing the words quietly to himself.
    â€˜Goodnight, Mr Devlin,’ he said a moment later, turning to the postman.
    â€˜There was something else in there, was there?’ he asked, pointing at the note. ‘Is it an explanation of some sort?’
    â€˜Goodnight, Mr Devlin,’ repeated Stephen, opening the front door and standing there with his hand on the latch until the postman gave in and made his way towards it.
    â€˜There was a time when a man got a cup of tea when he visited a house,’ he announced in an insulted tone as he left. ‘Those days are gone now, it seems. Goodnight all!’
    â€˜What’s in the note?’ asked Émile, when there was just the three of them left.
    â€˜Maybe you should go to your room,’ said Stephen.
    â€˜Who is it from?’ asked Marie.
    â€˜James.’
    â€˜James who?’
    â€˜James, my cousin James.’
    â€˜In Newcastle?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And what does he say?’
    Stephen cleared his throat and began to read.
    Dear Stephen
, he said.
    I’m sorry I haven’t written in so long but I’m not a man for letters, as you know. All is well here but it’s raining today. Here are posters that you can paste around your town as we need as many soliders soldiers as we can find or we’re going to lose this war. I know all you Irish don’t know which side to stand on but you’ll be better off on ours. We’ll see you right for it in the end, I’m sure of that.
    I have bad news. Do you remember the Williams twins who you used to pal around with when your dad brought you over to see us when you were a lad? Both killed at Verdun. And Georgie Summerfield, who lived next door to us? Well he’s been in hospital these last few months, they say he can’t stop shaking or hold a sensible conversation. It’s a rotten business but
–
    He stopped reading and put the letter down.
    â€˜Oh,’ said Marie, her forehead wrinkling a little as she thought about this.
    Ã‰mile wondered why Georgie Summerfield couldn’t stop shaking but guessed it had something to do with the war. It had been going on for almost three years now, since July 1914. His parents and his teachers never grew tired of talking about it even though it was happening across the sea in Europe, which was
miles
away from West Cork. A boy he knew, Séamus Kilduff, had an older brother who’d signed up to fight with the Brits and half the town said he was a traitor for taking sides with a bunch of Sassenachs who’d been making life hell for the Irish for years. The other half said he was very brave to put himself in danger for people he didn’t even know and that the only