despite the warm weather. Now the house was filled with the delicious smell of roast lamb, cooked with a sprig of rosemary. This was to be the special welcoming dinner for the two guests, postponed from yesterday when the train was late. Father and Mr Parry had been turned out of the kitchen and were sitting uncomfortably in the parlour with glasses of bottled stout.
âTake care, Katie!â warned her mother, as Katie drew a tray of roast potatoes from the top oven of the range. They spat and pinged in the hot dripping. She loved roast potatoes almost as much as she liked the tiny little new ones which Mother hadjust shaken out of the pot in a cloud of steam. A knob of yellow butter was turning on them as it melted.
âWhere is Seamus?â worried her mother. âI wish he was here.â What was Mother worried about, wondered Katie, Seamus was seldom anywhere when he was wanted; he came and went.
âLook, Katie, would you ever ask Father to sharpen the knife â and donât let Marty near it.â
Seamus had still not appeared when they all sat down and Mother said the few words of Grace. Marty and Dafydd were sitting side-by-side, opposite Katie. She noticed that Dafydd didnât bless himself. Of course, heâd be a Protestant, she remembered, and looked at him with new interest. Then she saw that Marty had noticed too. She could just see some joke or comment working itself out in his mind. Quickly she lashed out at him under the table. To her mortification it was Dafydd who gave a jump.
âMarty,â said Mother severely, âwill you behave yourself there!â
Marty opened his mouth to protest, saw his motherâs look, and closed it. Katie kept her eyes down but she could feel both boysâ eyes boring into her. A tell-tale blush began to spread from her neck. When she looked up, Dafydd was suppressing a grin, and he and Marty were both ready to explode. She could not trust herself to look again â another moment and they would all three be giggling like children. She mustnât giggle! Not with him. She turned to look up the table, held her breath and forced herself to listen to the adult conversation. Father was stabbing at a piece of meat on his plate.
âOf course youâre right, Griff, we should accept the Treaty with the English! Itâs a step in the right direction, and a step taken without further use of guns. We have Home Rule, letâs build on that.â
âWhat do the Republicans want then?â asked Mr Parry.
âSeamus is the Republican in the family, we should ask him.â Father looked down the table to where Seamusâs place stood empty. It was Mother who answered.
âThey feel we should throw off the yoke of England completely. Not let the country be divided up into North and South. They think that we stopped just when the war was about to be won. They feel that Mr Collins has betrayed them.â
âThatâs nonsense, dear. I donât like Mr Collins myself, heâs a man of war and Iâm sick of men of war, but if I were still a soldier, it is Collins I would follow. Collins knows that he can be beaten. He knows the weaknesses of the English, but he knows our own weaknesses too. Thatâs what separates him from the dreamers. He will do anything, including shooting people in their beds, to make sure he wins.â Father shuddered. âIf heâs not fighting now itâs because he knows he canât win.â
âBut we can win, surely, Eamonn,â said Mother. âIt seemed, only this time last year, that we had the English on the run or holed up in their barracks.â Katie cocked her head. She had never heard Mother speak out like this.
âArms, my dear, the Irish lack guns and ammunition. One rifle to fifty men, they tell me, thatâs the first thing. And I say thank God because it means less slaughter, less lives at risk. If we could only get guns out of Ireland
âTake care, Katie!â warned her mother, as Katie drew a tray of roast potatoes from the top oven of the range. They spat and pinged in the hot dripping. She loved roast potatoes almost as much as she liked the tiny little new ones which Mother hadjust shaken out of the pot in a cloud of steam. A knob of yellow butter was turning on them as it melted.
âWhere is Seamus?â worried her mother. âI wish he was here.â What was Mother worried about, wondered Katie, Seamus was seldom anywhere when he was wanted; he came and went.
âLook, Katie, would you ever ask Father to sharpen the knife â and donât let Marty near it.â
Seamus had still not appeared when they all sat down and Mother said the few words of Grace. Marty and Dafydd were sitting side-by-side, opposite Katie. She noticed that Dafydd didnât bless himself. Of course, heâd be a Protestant, she remembered, and looked at him with new interest. Then she saw that Marty had noticed too. She could just see some joke or comment working itself out in his mind. Quickly she lashed out at him under the table. To her mortification it was Dafydd who gave a jump.
âMarty,â said Mother severely, âwill you behave yourself there!â
Marty opened his mouth to protest, saw his motherâs look, and closed it. Katie kept her eyes down but she could feel both boysâ eyes boring into her. A tell-tale blush began to spread from her neck. When she looked up, Dafydd was suppressing a grin, and he and Marty were both ready to explode. She could not trust herself to look again â another moment and they would all three be giggling like children. She mustnât giggle! Not with him. She turned to look up the table, held her breath and forced herself to listen to the adult conversation. Father was stabbing at a piece of meat on his plate.
âOf course youâre right, Griff, we should accept the Treaty with the English! Itâs a step in the right direction, and a step taken without further use of guns. We have Home Rule, letâs build on that.â
âWhat do the Republicans want then?â asked Mr Parry.
âSeamus is the Republican in the family, we should ask him.â Father looked down the table to where Seamusâs place stood empty. It was Mother who answered.
âThey feel we should throw off the yoke of England completely. Not let the country be divided up into North and South. They think that we stopped just when the war was about to be won. They feel that Mr Collins has betrayed them.â
âThatâs nonsense, dear. I donât like Mr Collins myself, heâs a man of war and Iâm sick of men of war, but if I were still a soldier, it is Collins I would follow. Collins knows that he can be beaten. He knows the weaknesses of the English, but he knows our own weaknesses too. Thatâs what separates him from the dreamers. He will do anything, including shooting people in their beds, to make sure he wins.â Father shuddered. âIf heâs not fighting now itâs because he knows he canât win.â
âBut we can win, surely, Eamonn,â said Mother. âIt seemed, only this time last year, that we had the English on the run or holed up in their barracks.â Katie cocked her head. She had never heard Mother speak out like this.
âArms, my dear, the Irish lack guns and ammunition. One rifle to fifty men, they tell me, thatâs the first thing. And I say thank God because it means less slaughter, less lives at risk. If we could only get guns out of Ireland