Rugby Warrior (5 page)

R
ory was still in a foul mood over the threat to his place on the first-fifteen. He was still talking to Dylan, but was now blanking Eoin, which perplexed the new captain.

‘I don’t know what he expects me to say or do,’ Eoin complained to Alan on Sunday morning as they lounged around in the dorm. ‘I can’t pick the team, and Mr McRae has very strong views on what he wants. And Mr Carey has been raving about Dylan every time I’ve seen him.’

‘Just stay out of it, Eoin,’ said Alan. ‘Rory can be very selfish at times; it’s best to let him stew on this till the first team is picked.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Eoin. ‘Anyway, change the
subject
. Did I tell you what happened when I went over to
the library a couple of nights ago?’

‘No,’ replied Alan.

‘I got out that book by Dave Gallaher, the guy who I’m doing the project on. It’s an ancient book, but I couldn’t believe it when I opened it and saw that it used to be owned by Brian Hanrahan!’

‘Who’s Brian Hanrahan?’ asked Alan.

‘Brian. The old player. The ghost,’ said Eoin.

‘Wow, that’s a coincidence. It’s more than a
coincidence
– it’s downright spooky.’

‘Yeah, but as soon as I opened it, who appeared behind me but Brian himself––’

‘You saw a GHOST? In CASTLEROCK?’ spluttered Alan.

‘Yeah, he didn’t stay long because that Mr McDonagh disturbed us. I’m going to see if he’ll come back now. Want to come over to the library?’

‘Of course!’ said Alan. ‘Let me get my hoodie.’

The pair jogged over to the library and Eoin asked the librarian for the rugby book.

They wandered down to the back of the room, trying not to look too obviously suspicious. Eoin laid the book on the table and opened it at the title page.

‘That’s amazing,’ said Alan. ‘Now how do you make him appear?’

‘I dunno.’ said Eoin, ‘He just did, last time.’

‘Maybe he won’t appear because I’m here?’

‘Well, he did say that he had never been seen by anyone in over eighty years, so maybe there’s something about me that means I can see him. But only when I’m on my own.’

‘But what about the final?’ asked Alan. ‘There were thousands there that day and you were still able to see him?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Eoin. ‘I don’t make up the rules of this.’

They tried shaking the book, or rubbing it, but still there was no sign of Brian. Eoin shrugged his shoulders and headed back to the counter.

‘Ah, thank you for that, young man. Will you be
needing
it again?’ asked the librarian.

‘I will,’ replied Eoin. ‘I have to do a project on the writer for the Young Historian Competition.’

‘Hmmmm,’ said the librarian. ‘I have to go away for a few weeks, and I’m not sure how often the library will be open in my absence as it relies on voluntary work. But you have been very careful with this book and I’m sure you will continue to do so. I will sign it out to you for the term of my absence – no one has looked at it in decades so I’m there won’t be too many complaints,’
he grinned.

Eoin and Alan wandered back to the dormitory, where Rory lay moping on his bed with his earbuds in. They gave him a nod, which he barely returned.

Right behind them, Dylan bounced into the room, looking very happy with himself.

‘Howya, lads,’ he roared. ‘All looking good for the game next week? When’s the team getting picked?’

Rory took the buds from his ear and stood up. ‘It will be out soon enough. They’ll pin it on the noticeboard downstairs. And maybe you could get someone
educated
to read it out for you, you Limerick skanger—’

With that, Dylan leapt across the room like an angry wolf. He grabbed Rory by the throat and roared in his face.

‘Who’s a skanger, who’s a skanger?’ he yelled.

Eoin pulled at Dylan’s shoulder. ‘Get off him, Dylan, NOW!’

Dylan turned and sneered at Eoin.

‘You’re all the same when you’re up here, Madden, aren’t you. No time for the boys from back home, eh?’

Dylan let go of Rory, and turned to walk away. ‘Don’t EVER call me that again, Grehan, or I’ll rip you to pieces. And you know I can.’

As soon as Dylan left, Rory lay down on his bed,
plugged his music into his ears and turned away from his friends.

E
oin was annoyed after the row in the dormitory, so he decided to make his escape. He grabbed
The Complete Rugby Footballer
from his locker, and left
without
a word.

He was angry with both of his friends, but knew that his position as captain meant he had to stay out of their conflict.

He growled at a junior-school boy who got in his way as he walked out the door, and broke into a trot as he headed for the furthest, quietest corner of the school grounds. It was here, on the banks of a bubbling stream, that he had found the herb that helped him recover from injury before the final last season.

Eoin sat down on a rock and opened up the book, scanning a paragraph or two before he realised he wasn’t
taking in anything that he had read. He needed to relax. He closed his eyes, just letting the sounds of the water wash over him on the mild autumn day. His peace was soon interrupted by a strange voice.

‘Hello, son, I think I recognise that book you’re
reading
. Where did you ever get that old thing?’ asked a man who was standing on the other bank of the tiny stream.

Eoin looked closely at the man, who had a thick black moustache and seemed to be wearing a heavy woollen uniform.

‘It was in the school library. I’m doing a project on one of the authors,’ he explained.

‘Well, that’s very amusing.’ the man replied, ‘And is it Billy Stead you’re doing your pro-ject on?’

‘Eh, no, it’s the other one, Dave Gallaher,’ said Eoin, ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because, little fella, standing here in front of you is Company Sergeant-Major David Gallaher of the Twenty-Second Reinforcements – reporting for duty.’

Eoin stared, not quite sure what to say next. He already suspected he had some sort of ghost-seeing power, and wasn’t as rattled by this apparition as he would have been a year earlier.

‘I thought you looked a bit familiar,’ he started. ‘Are you
really
Dave Gallaher?’

‘Well I used to be,’ the stranger replied. ‘I suppose I’m what you’d call a ghost now … Where exactly am I? Your accent is familiar, but you’re definitely not from Belgium.’

‘No, you’re in Ireland. This is a boarding school called Castlerock College. It’s in Dublin.’

‘Ireland? Wow, that’s a long way from Ponsonby. I was born in Donegal, you know, a little place called
Ramelton
. Don’t remember it at all, I’m afraid. I remember the long journey to New Zealand, but nothing of my time in old Ireland. My mother left my baby brother behind, you know. He was ailing and she knew he wouldn’t survive the voyage. He died about a year later I think. My poor mother was brokenhearted when she got that letter.’

Eoin stared as the spectre sat down on another
boulder
on the far side of the stream.

‘How did you end up here?’ Eoin asked.

‘Who knows,’ said Dave. ‘I’ve had a very contented existence since a German shell blew me into
eternity
back in ’17. I wandered the former battlefields of Europe for a while, meeting too many old buddies, and I’ve popped up here and there at rugby grounds when I got a hankering after the great game. But this is the first time I’ve been back in Ireland. It doesn’t seem to have
changed that much …’

‘Well, you haven’t really seen an awful lot of it here hiding in the woods in the corner of the school grounds. You won’t recognise much, I’d say,’ said Eoin.

‘Do they still play rugby here?’ the former All Black asked. ‘I came over here with the New Zealanders in 1905, 1906, but I had an injured leg and missed the test match. One of my ambitions was to play in my native land, but I was crook so it never happened. I spent most of my time here in bed in the hotel; very disappointed, I was.

‘They played in a place called Lansdowne Road if I remember. Is that still there?’

‘Well, we certainly
do
play rugby,’ explained Eoin. ‘The old ground was knocked down a few years ago and they rebuilt it as a brand new stadium. You wouldn’t recognise much of it except the grassy bit. But there’s a photo of your team on the wall there.’

‘Really? Well, isn’t that grand. I thought they’d have long forgotten the likes of old Dave Gallaher and Billy Stead. So what’s this about a pro-ject?’

Eoin explained what he was planning to write about for the Young Historian Competition, and as he talked an idea came into his head.

‘I have this book which covers the rugby, and there’s a
load of stuff about you on the internet – eh, I’ll explain what that is later – but I can’t find much about your time fighting in the war, and that’s what the teacher wants it to be about. Would you be able to help me with that?’

‘Sounds fair,’ said Dave. ‘I think I’ll hang around here for a while. I like the look of Dublin and I see you play a bit of rugby here too. Maybe I could get some work as a trainer?’ He winked at Eoin.

E
oin’s head was starting to hurt as he walked back to the dorm. His attempts to escape the bickering had only given him something even more complicated to think about. It was really nice that Dave had agreed to help him with his project – but why on earth had he suddenly become a magnet for dead rugby players?

‘Are you OK, Eoin?’ asked Alan. ‘You look as though you’ve seen a gho— Oh, sorry, that’s the wrong thing to say to YOU!’ he joked.

‘Well, actually, I have,’ whispered Eoin. ‘And a new one, too.’

‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ replied Alan, careful to make sure that Rory didn’t hear. He still had his
earphones
in and looked as if he had fallen asleep.

‘No,’ said Eoin. ‘But I don’t want to talk about it. This
is all getting too weird.’

He lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. He would have to talk to Mr McRae tomorrow to see who he was thinking of going with at scrum-half. He had been shocked by Dylan’s attack on Rory and how it had showed a new side to his fellow Ormondstown boy. That sort of temper could be dangerous.

After history class the next day, Mr Lawson called him back for a word.

‘I hear you’ve been doing some serious research on Dave Gallaher,’ he said. ‘Mr McDonagh was telling me you tracked down his book on rugby.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Eoin,. ‘It’s very interesting, although it is only really about rugby. I’m struggling to find
information
on what he did in the war and all that.

‘OK, well I can help you a bit with that,’ said Mr Lawson. ‘I know a few good New Zealand websites that will steer you in the right direction.’

A knock came to the door, and Mr McRae popped his head in.

‘Good morning, Mr Lawson, and Mr Madden, too. How’s your All Black research going?’ he asked.

‘It’s going OK, sir,’ Eoin replied. ‘He was a very
interesting
man – and I found out why he wasn’t in that photo in the Aviva too.’

‘Really? That’s good work. And why was that?’

‘He was crook, and never got to play in either of the games in his native land.’

‘Crook,’ grinned Mr McRae. ‘That’s a very Kiwi word, where did you pick that up?’

‘Dave told me himself,’ blurted Eoin, before he
realised
what he had said. ‘I mean, I mean … I read it in his book.’

The New Zealanders looked at each other, puzzled, then back at Eoin.

‘Eh, OK, Madden, keep up the work and let me know when you need a steer,’ said Mr Lawson. ‘Did you want a word, Mr McRae?’

‘No, Greg, it’s actually young Madden I need to talk to,’ replied the coach. ‘Team business …’ he said, with a wink at the pupil.

As Mr Lawson left for the staffroom for his break, Mr McRae took Eoin out to the rugby field.

‘I’m pretty settled on the team for the first game next week,’ he started, ‘but I’m still torn on the scrum-half. Rory fits in well, and is definitely the better team player, but Dylan has a lot more flair and has a great pair of hands. I think he could really give us an extra
dimension
, especially because I want you to play at first
five-eighth
.’

‘What’s that, sir?’ asked Eoin.

‘First five-eighth? Oh, I keep forgetting you guys are still in the rugby Stone Age! You know – you call it ‘out half’. I want you to wear the No. 10 shirt and I’m going to put Richie Duffy back to No. 12,’ explained the coach. ‘I’ve watched the cup final video three times now, and the team got a huge lift when you switched in there when Duffy was injured. What do you think?’

Eoin looked at his feet for a couple of seconds, before raising his gaze to meet that of the coach.

‘You’re probably right,’ he said, ‘but Duffy won’t be happy and he’ll make my life hell. To be honest I haven’t had much experience at No. 10. But I’ll be fine.

‘I really don’t know what you should do about No. 9,’ he went on. ‘Dylan is pushing really hard for it and it’s already getting a bit messy – and the two of them are in the same dorm as me.’

‘Oooof, that can’t be good,’ said Mr McRae. ‘Try and keep a lid on it, but I’ll have to make a call before
training
tomorrow.’

E
oin desperately wanted to avoid Dylan and Rory, but it was always going to prove impossible when sharing a classroom and a bedroom with both. It was Dylan who approached him first, just as school was ending for the day.

‘Look, Eoin,’ he started, ‘I know Rory’s a friend of yours, but you
know
I’m a far better scrum-half than he’ll ever be. Can you put a word in with McRae for me?’

‘Hang on a minute, Dylan,’ said Eoin. ‘First of all, I’m not putting a word in with Mr McRae for anyone. I’ll make suggestions on what I see and I’m still not
convinced
about which of you should be in. Rory’s a solid scrum-half and he knows the way we play. You’re a good player, I agree, but flying off the handle like you did last
night doesn’t exactly prove you’re the man for the job. What were you thinking?’

‘Aw, that?’ grinned Dylan. ‘I was just messing with him. And anyway he started it – calling me a “Limerick skanger” is way out of line – I’m not even
from
Limerick anyway!’

‘I agree he was out of order,’ said Eoin, ‘but flipping out like that was a bit scary. You do that on the pitch and you could lose us the game – and you’d never be picked for the As again.’

‘Oh,’ said Dylan, ‘Is that why you won’t put a word in? Just because I lost it with Rory?’

‘NO!’ replied Eoin, exasperated. ‘I’m not putting a word in for EITHER of you. Can’t you get that into your head?’

‘Fair enough, boss,’ Dylan answered, ‘but you know it would be a terrible mistake to go with Rory, don’t you?’ he said as he walked off.

Eoin opened his mouth to reply, but decided against it. He hung his head, completely fed up with the
situation
in which he had found himself.

He decided to escape from it all in his favourite quiet corner, although he muttered to himself on the way that he hoped the Gallaher ghost wasn’t there to disturb him.

He got his wish, because there was no sign of the
long-dead New Zealander, but his wish for peace was disrupted by his other friend from the spirit world.

‘Well, Eoin, what’s happening this year? You’ve been very quiet. I presume all is well?’ said Brian.

‘Ah, Brian, if only it was,’ he replied. ‘I’ve had a
nightmare
few weeks. Well, “nightmare” is probably too strong a word for it compared to what you went through, but I’m fairly fed up with it, all the same.’

Eoin explained the woes that had gathered around his shoulders since being made captain of the first-fifteen.

‘Anyway, enough of all that, something very weird happened yesterday right in this very spot. I was reading that book you used to own when suddenly this ghost appeared and said he was Dave Gallaher – the fella who wrote the book!’

‘Really? That’s very odd indeed. I heard a lot about Gallaher around the club at the time. He was a highlyrespected figure. What did he say to you?’

‘He told me about his career and how he came to Dublin – and that he was going to stay around Dublin for a while,’ replied Eoin. ‘I think it was opening the book that brought him here to me. It’s obviously got something powerful going on inside. Especially seeing as I have some form in this sort of thing.’

‘I suppose it was a very important book to me too,’
said Brian. ‘Charlie gave it to me that last Christmas, but it wasn’t new. It was already twenty years old. He told me that it had belonged to our father, who died when I was very small. We didn’t have very much to
remember
him by, and I used to think about him every time I opened it.’

‘I better be careful with it,’ said Eoin. ‘I have to get that project moving soon. Any suggestions?’

Brian laughed. ‘Sorry, laddie, there’s no substitute for doing the work on something like that. And anyway, I wasn’t much up for the books myself.’

‘The new coach moved me to out-half too,’ explained Eoin. ‘Which means Richie Duffy will be gunning for me.’

Brian laughed again. ‘Well now, Eoin, you’re doing a lot of complaining. Just get on with it and everything will be fine. If you HADN’T been moved to out-half you’d be whingeing too,’ he added. ‘Time to get down to work on your rugby – and your project. I’ll drop by to see you soon enough.’