She Wasn't a Soldier

It was 1916 in a desolate Dublin. Of course, the fair city didn�t seem desolate, to English eyes, anyway. But it was. Under the beautiful architecture, green parks, Trinity College, the famous National Library and the quaint pubs lurked the dank feelings of Irishmen. The feeling of lost hope, or too much hope; the feelings of rebellion, or compliance. The feeling of Prod versus Catholic, of brother versus brother, for the freedom of Erin.

At least that was how Brigid Kennedy saw it. She wasn�t alone with those thoughts, but hers were the strongest and she alone spoke up to the men. They never listened of course. They said that although Brigid was a saintly as her name, or perhaps even angelic, with long, Irish-Catholic red hair, blue eyes and freckles, she didn�t understand politics because it �is a concern only for men�.

But Brigid knew as much about Irish politics and history as they did, perhaps even more. Brigid wanted more out of life than to work in the shirt factory, or become a wife and mother. She had wanted to attend Trinity, but couldn�t afford tuition. So instead she went to the National Library and read books about everything she could, especially Irish politics and history. Since both her brother, Niall, and her father had fought and died for the cause of the Irish Free State she felt very passionately about it, and knew as much about the various risings as any Volunteer, ICA, or IRB man.

�Brigid Kennedy?� A young man stepped out of an alleyway as she passed. He wore a heavy, dark wool coat, worn trousers, a scally cap, and the boots of a potato farmer. He had a pleasant Irish face, a ruddy complexion and sparkling blue eyes. Eyes that showed strain, though, with wrinkles at the corners.

�Yes?� Brigid asked cautiously. �Who would be asking?�

�Conor O�Flaherty.� He tipped his cap, then added in a near whisper, �Of the Volunteers.�

Brigid�s eyes widened in mild surprise, then she nodded in greeting. �What is it?�

�Come with me, lass.� Conor took Brigid�s wool-clad arm and led her down the street, into a pub. They found a table in the back of the dim room and ordered pints of ale.

�Here.� Conor took a piece of folded paper out of his coat, then handed it to Brigid. She unfolded it and red the title caption:

�What is this?� she asked in puzzlement, her brows drawn together.

�It will be read by Patrick Pearse of the Irish Volunteers.� Conor told her, puffing up a bit in pride. �In a week from today, on April the twenty-third.�

�That�s Easter Monday.�

�Aye, that it is.� He tapped the paper with a thick finger. �Read.� He instructed.

Brigid glared in indignation at being told what to do, then lowered her eyes to the paper:

Irishmen and Irishwomen: In the name of God and of the dead generations from which she receives her old tradition of nationhood, Ireland, through us, summons her children to her flag and strikes for her freedom. Having organized and trained her manhood through her secret revolutionary organization, the Irish Republican Brotherhood, and through her open military organizations, the Irish Volunteers, and the Irish Citizen Army, having patiently perfected her discipline, having resolutely waited for the right moment to reveal itself, she now seizes that moment�

Brigid looked at Conor in disbelief. �The IRB is making itself known?� she asked incredulously.

�It is time.� He replied, nodding.

�Perhaps�� She murmured, not entirely convinced, then continued reading.

�and, supported by her exiled children in America and by gallant allies in Europe, but relying in the first on her own strength, she strikes in full confidence of victory.
We declare the right of the people of Ireland to the ownership of Ireland, and to the unfettered control of the Irish destinies to be sovereign and indefeasible. The long usurpation of that right by a foreign people and government has not extinguished the right, nor can it ever be extinguished except by the destruction of the Irish people. In every generation the Irish people have asserted their right to national freedom and sovereignty; six times during the past three hundred years they have asserted it in arms.
Standing on that fundamental right and again asserting it in arms in the face of the world we hereby proclaim the Irish Republic as a Sovereign Independent State, and we pledge our lives and the lives of our comrades-in-arms to the cause of its freedom, of its welfare, and of its exaltation among the nations.
The Irish Republic is entitled to, and hereby claims, the allegiance of every Irishman and Irishwoman. The Republic guarantees religious and civil liberty, equal rights, and equal opportunities to all its citizens, and declares its resolve to pursue the happiness and prosperity of the whole nation and of all its parts, cherishing all the children of the nation equally, and oblivious of the differences carefully fostered by an alien government, which have divided a minority from the majority in the past. Until our arms have brought the opportune moment for the establishment of a permanent National Government, representative of the whole people of Ireland and elected by the suffrages of all men and women, the Provisional Government, hereby constituted, will administer the civil and military affairs of the Republic in trust for the people.
We place the cause of the Irish Republic under the protection of the Most High God, Whose blessing we invoke upon our arms, and we pray that no one who serves that cause will dishonour it by cowardice, inhumanity, or rapine. In this supreme hour the Irish nation must, by its valour and discipline, and by the readiness of its children to sacrifice themselves for the common good, prove itself worthy of the august destiny to which it is called. Signed on behold of the Provisional Government.

The scrawled signatures of Thomas T. Clarke, Sean MacDiamarda, Thomas MacDomagh, P.H. Pearse, Eamonn Ceantt, James Conolly and Joseph Plunkett ended the proclamation.

�Patrick Pearse will be reading this in public?� Brigid asked.

�Aye,� Conor nodded. �The IRB, Volunteers, and Irish Citizen Army will be seizing many of the buildings of Dublin, and Pearse will be speaking at the General Post Office on Sackville Street.�

�Do you think that�s wise?� Brigid asked, �I mean, Mr. O�Flaherty-�

�Conor.� He interjected.

�Conor,� She amended, �I mean, won�t the British army attack? And is it really time to announce the presence of the IRB?�

�Aye, lass.� He smiled gently, reassuringly. �The freedom must start sometime. And even if we lose this battle, it doesn�t mean we have lost the war.�

Brigid nodded, then sat in thought for a moment, folding and unfolding the proclamation. �Why is it you�ve come to me?�

�We need your help to organize the Volunteers and ICA.� Conor took off his scally cap, revealing shaggy black hair. �The IRB has been watching you, and they have become aware of your knowledge of Irish history. Miss Kennedy-�

�Brigid.� She corrected with a hint of a smile.

�Brigid.� He amended with a broad grin of amusement that reached his blue eyes, then he became serious. �You have connections with young people interested in an Irish Free State. You meet with people in Trinity and discuss Irish politics, which you understand a hell of a lot better than the average man in the ICA, and your grandfathers, father and brother have been involved in the risings. We need someone we can trust, someone who is brilliant, and someone who can speak with the general people. We think that person is you.�

�But�I�ve no experience in-in such matters.� She frowned as she tried to think, stumbling over her words. �Conor, I�m only seventeen. I don�t know much. I stopped school after the fourth year. I�m-I�m��

�Brigid, you�re brilliant.� Conor placed his large hand over hers, and forced her to return his stare. �I�ve read your editorials in the underground newspapers. I�ve read your short stories in the Library�s and Trinity�s publications. I have absolute trust and faith in you. The question is, do you?�

Brigid had to think about that, since she wasn�t particularly sure about her own ability. She wasn�t sure about anything at all at the moment.

�Maybe,� Conor said slowly. �You could speak with Pearse yourself, let him convince you.� He winked as he replaced his cap, preparing to leave the pub.

�Speak to himself?� She asked in awe. �Truly?�

�Truly.� He grinned. �Why don�t we meet at the National Library in the morrow?�

�That would be grand.� Brigid felt her heart swell at the idea of meeting the great Patrick Henry Pearse himself.

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