‘Love you’

For most of the early twentieth century no time seemed like a good time to get married and settle down to start a family. The year 1919 was no different. The political uncertainty and strife in Ireland was intense and the violence in all communities the length and breadth of the island had escalated. It was no surprise therefore that it hadn’t been a grand affair for a wedding, but rather very quiet, with Fr Cairns officiating. One of Sean’s friends acted as best man and Mrs Collins, Maggie’s neighbour and the priests’ housekeeper was the other witness. Sean’s parents with the help of their neighbours had put together some sandwiches and a few bottles of stout for the young people when they came back to their house.
Sean’s parents had a spare room in the two up two down terraced house just off the Smithfield Market. The rest of Sean’s brothers and sisters had shipped out to England and America in search of a better life. Neither Maggie nor Sean drank alcohol but enjoyed the company of their friends and family. When the stout and sandwiches were finished the singing had begun. Sean sang for Maggie that great love poem of Scottish poet Rabbie Burns, ‘Annie Laurie’. She had teased him about his awful Scottish accent but loved him for reminding her of her Scottish ancestry and wished her folks were beside her now to see her fine husband.
When the last of the neighbours and friends had left, the young couple sat round the fire with Sean’s parents and talked for a while about ‘the troubles’. Maggie had been itching to hold Sean’s hand, never mind anything else, and as the evening wore on, Sean eventually said, ‘It’s late we should let you get your rest.’
Very shyly they climbed the stairs to the back bedroom. They could smell fresh flowers and wondered where Sean’s mum had managed to get hold of them. In the dark, they undressed, and still in their underwear, slipped under the new blankets that had been bought for their first night together. They clung to each other as if that was where they would spend the rest of their days together.
They could hear Sean’s parents getting ready for bed. Sean stroked Maggie’s hair and both lay there in the dark listening as the quiet voices of his parents came through the wall as they said their night prayers. Through the adjoining wall, separating them from their neighbour, they could hear the faint snoring of old Johnny Fulton. The bottles of stout he had consumed were clearly having an effect.
Maggie started to shiver and Sean though she was feeling cold or was crying, and whispered.
‘What’s wrong my darling girl?’
Maggie could just about contain her laughter and giggled back into his ear.
‘All we need now is for someone to break wind and that would really set up our first married night together as a wonderful romantic affair – I don’t think.’
Sean giggled as well and like two naughty children they lay holding each other.
‘Turn round and let me cuddle into you Sean Cunningham, for I love you dearly.’
They had fallen asleep with Maggie’s arm wrapped around Sean.
At six in the morning Sean’s mum had tapped the door to see if they were getting up for Sunday mass. Sean had quickly replied that they needed to see Fr Cairns to get their papers, so they would go to a later mass over in Maggie’s parish.
His mother replied, ‘Ok we’ll see you when we get back.’
They were still dozing fitfully when the front door opened, and Sean’s mother called up the stairs,
‘Are you two not up yet? Get dressed and come down for some breakfast.’
Maggie smiled at Sean and he stroked her right cheek with the back of the fingers on his right hand.
‘Love you’, Sean whispered.
‘Love you even more’, Maggie replied.
There were many other times over the subsequent years when family events and political crises interrupted the romance of their married life, but that bond of love, born out of the difficulties of their early lives, made Maggie and Sean Cunningham a strong and enduring couple.

After Mass on that first Sunday together, they had gone to the sacristy to get their marriage papers from Fr Cairns. He was removing his ceremonial robes with the help of Joe Brolly the sacristan, a fussy, sanctimonious and often obnoxious little man. Everyone in the parish disliked him but with the help of the bishop he had wormed his way into this post where he performed his role with a permanent sneer on his face, particularly for those less fortunate parishioners.
‘Come in, come in, my children, good to see you,’ Fr. Cairns greeted them, ‘I’ll have the papers for you in a minute just as soon as I extricate myself from these robes. Ach, what did the poor priests have to wear in penal times, nothing like this grand gear, eh Joe?’
Joe gave a crooked obsequious smile and Maggie suspected that he was secretly thinking that it was no way for Fr Cairns to be talking to the likes of them. When Fr Cairns had completed his disrobement he escorted the couple to the parochial house chatting as they walked.
He had guided them to the big table in the front parlour and asked them to sit down.
From another room he had brought their marriage papers and handed them to Maggie.
‘I suppose you’ll be the organiser in this family Maggie. There you are – all legal.’
They both laughed.
‘Thank you Father, for everything.’
‘You know both of you are very welcome.’
He lowered his voice,
‘Now I can talk to you. I’m never sure around Joe whether or not my conversations go beyond the sacristy.’
‘What do you mean Father?’ Sean asked.
‘Well Sean I know I can trust you and Maggie.’ He paused as if considering what he would say next. ’Lately I have been asked some odd questions by my Bishop. Questions he could only have asked if he knew what I had been thinking of, more likely, talking about.’
Maggie said, ‘Father I know that Joe’s a bit strange but would he really risk compromising that nice wee job he has with you?’
‘Maybe you’re right. I know people don’t take to Joe and God knows I find it difficult myself, but the Bishop had asked me to look after him because he was such a lost soul. Now I’m not so sure.’ He paused momentarily and then continued. ‘Anyway, the real point is that I need to talk you both in confidence. Your help is needed down south. The specials – Black and Tans – are causing all kinds of trouble, slaughtering innocent people. Collins’ action against them is infuriating certain senior members of the Catholic hierarchy but, as you and I know, the people are behind the ‘Big Fella’ and so am I. The Bishop obviously got to hear about my recent conversation on the need to fight back against the Tans because he called me to a meeting last week and told me he can’t have priests in his Diocese preaching about retaliatory action which might involve killing. It’s not as if I’m doing it from the pulpit. I’m entitled to my opinions. I may be a priest first in the service of God but I’m an Irishman as well and I love this land and its people and I hate the injustices that are being heaped on the Catholic people. If the Bishop would at least make some statements, even if it is only tokenism, condemning the violence from all sides then I might think ‘fair enough’. The idea of rendering to the King of England, the things that are the Kings and at the same time quietly condoning British violence through staying silent is not a balanced view.’
He turned to face them, ‘Anyway, Joe Brolly is my problem and not yours.’
He placed two train tickets in their hands.
‘You’re heading for Dundalk in County Louth. You’re going on your honeymoon and it might turn out to be a much longer holiday.’
Maggie looked at him quizzically,
‘A holiday Father, us?’
‘You’re booked in to the Imperial Hotel for a number of days and whilst you’re there you will be contacted. That’s all I know. Think about it. Your cover couldn’t be better. You’re just married and you’re on honeymoon getting a break from all the sectarian strife in Belfast. Even with all the security checks at present your story should get you there without too much hassle.’
Sean shared the concerns they both felt.
‘But Father what about the attacks against our people? I would feel that I was deserting them, running away. I mean Catholic families are being driven out of their homes across Belfast.’
‘I know Sean, but it comes back to my concerns about Joe Brolly. About two months ago he seemed to be taking an unusual interest in yours and Maggie’s affairs. I thought at first it was because you had been going together for some time and he knows I’m fond of both of you. He would begin the conversations with ’how’s that young couple?’ or ’I hear that Sean Cunningham gave a great rendition of some ballad’. That was OK but when he started to ask me about what the two of you might be doing at the weekends or whatever, I began to feel it was no business of his what you were doing. But when I got the call from the Bishop, it was all too much of a coincidence. I took it upon myself to speak to someone I shouldn’t be seen with and the word was quietly put around. Joe had been followed and whilst nothing can be proved it’s been agreed that you’re a marked man. Getting you out of the way for a while and employing your skills elsewhere could be best for your safety in the long run. Things are just as bad down South. The RIC have got plenty of extra help to terrorise the people and some of these so called Irishmen are committing acts of violence against their own people. Anyway, now you know as much as I do.’
He shook his head despondently.
‘Father there are still plenty of good men and women who are prepared to take up the struggle and do what’s right’, Sean urged him.
‘I know, I know. I shouldn’t get so depressed about it. I do believe that justice and equality will eventually prevail and with the help of God we’ll see it through. Now it’s time you two left. Give me a hug the pair of you. I know you’ll look after one another and I’ve no doubt I’ll hear about you from time to time.’
After the priest had hugged both of them he gave them his blessing, walked them back to the front of the church where he said his formal ’goodbyes’. Then he stepped inside the church, knelt in a pew and began to pray for his young friends that God would indeed protect them.