Rugby Warrior (6 page)

A
fter homework and a comedy show on TV, Eoin slipped away quietly from the common room and climbed the stairs to the dormitory. He didn’t want to talk to anyone and was eager to catch up on his sleep.

As he crept through the door he heard someone
whispering
loudly. There was no one to be seen, but the large lump under the duvet on Dylan’s bed gave him away. He was having a telephone conversation with someone.

‘Look, Mam, I’m fine. I’ll keep a good eye out and I’m sure the headmaster will too. You’ve nothing to worry about,’ Dylan whispered. ‘Just make sure you’re OK yourself.’

Eoin stopped, sensing it wasn’t the sort of conversation he needed to hear. He backed out of the room and down the corridor, before re-entering the room singing loudly.

‘Hi guys! Anyone home?’ he called out, walking into the room. Dylan didn’t budge, but he had stopped
talking
. Eoin didn’t hear another peep out of him, so he too slipped into bed and turned off the lights.

Next afternoon, the A squad assembled for training. There was a distinct atmosphere of nervousness in the changing room, and Eoin wasn’t too happy to see that Dylan was now sitting in the corner alongside Duffy and his hangers-on.

In walked Mr McRae, carrying a clipboard and
wearing
a whistle on a lanyard around his neck.

‘Right, mateys, let’s settle down,’ the coach started. ‘I’ve spent good bit of time assessing your skills and commitment, and I’m impressed. I’ve also been looking at the video of the final last year, and it’s on that basis that I’ve made my selection for the first game of the season on Saturday. Personnel wise, I’m not making any changes, but I am going to make a switch in the backs, with Madden and Duffy changing places at 12 and 10.’

Eoin decided it was best not to look around this time, so he continued to stare at the coach’s whistle.

‘As you know, I’ve also asked Eoin to skipper the team, but I want you
all
to take responsibility for your play, and to help out your team-mates at all times. This is a team game and the best teams are those that battle
alongside each other out on the paddock. Any
questions
?’

Nobody moved, but a few stole sidewards glances at Richie Duffy. Eventually the ousted out-half piped up.

‘Is that for the whole season or just this first game?’ he asked.

‘Well …’ said Mr McRae, ‘I’d prefer to think that you can all focus on the position you’re going to play from now on. I’ll be flexible if I need to be, but it would take something major for me to make changes. I think you’re a good footballer, Duffy, but the team definitely upped their game when Madden slotted in at first five-eighth in that final. I think he brings something extra at No. 10, and you have the skills to do a good job at No. 12.’

Duffy grunted in reply, before standing up and
starting
to head for the door.

‘Mr Duffy, I’ll tell you to leave when I am ready. Now sit back there and listen to what I have to say. I want to go through what I want to do at training today.’

Duffy stopped, and with another grunt he sat back down until the coach was finished and the whole squad were sent outside to the rugby field.

Rory came up behind him and slapped Eoin’s back. ‘Thanks, skipper,’ he said, ‘Good decision’.

Dylan, who was just in front trotting alongside Richie,
turned and glowered at Rory, before Eoin put up his hand.

‘Stop it, you two, NOW!’ he shouted. ‘I consider both of you my friends – for the moment anyway – and I’ve had
nothing
to do with the selection of that team. But for the record, I don’t have a problem with Mr McRae’s call, and I suggest the two of you get on with it and work to prove him right – or wrong.’

He turned and jogged away to his position and waited for training to begin. ‘What a pair of babies they are,’ he muttered. ‘And I’m the unpaid babysitter.’

E
oin realised that telling the rival scrum-halves where to get off was the right thing to have done, so he didn’t bother tiptoeing around them after that. There was too much to do, what with being team
captain
and having daily chats with Mr McRae about
tactics
, as well as training, study and homework. And then there was the project!

Eoin had let the project slide for a while now, although he had finally managed to work his way through
The Complete Rugby Footballer
. He had found out some details about Dave Gallaher’s sporting career, and about his life in New Zealand, but he needed more
information
about what it was like to fight on the Western Front.

He picked up the ancient book from his locker,
collected a notebook and pen, and wandered out of the school toward his secret haunt. On the way, he bumped into Mr Finn, who was his usual enthusiastic self and was even more so when he saw what Eoin was carrying.

‘It’s for a history project,’ Eoin explained.

‘Excellent – is that for the Young Historian
competition
?’ asked the teacher.

‘Yes, I’m doing it on Dave Gallaher – I got interested in him when you pointed him out at the Aviva that evening,’ he added.

‘Wonderful!’ said Mr Finn, ‘I’m so glad to hear that. You should ask Dixie about him too. I’m sure we
discussed
him many years ago.’

‘I will, thanks,’ said Eoin, itching to escape to his
hideaway
. ‘As it’s a nice evening I’m just going over to find a quiet corner to read the book.’

Mr Finn bade him goodbye and Eoin broke into a trot towards the tiny stream in the woods.

He sat on the rock and opened the book. Almost immediately Dave appeared.

‘Hello there, young laddie, and how have you been?’ he asked.

Eoin explained that he wanted to hear about his experiences in the First World War and what it was like
in the trenches of Flanders.

‘It wasn’t pretty, I’ll tell you that,’ Dave Gallaher started, ‘I had been a soldier a long time before in South Africa, when we fought the Boers. I was well into my forties when the Great War started. Two of my little brothers, Charlie and Douglas, went off to fight, and to be honest I wanted to go too. Lots of rugby mates signed up, and when the newspapers started reporting their deaths I felt a terrible tug. But I was married to Nellie, and had a lovely little girl called Nora, so …’ he paused, staring at his feet.

‘But both my brothers were badly injured in Gallipoli so I decided to sign up so that the Gallahers could
continue
to play their part. Douglas went back to the
Western
Front and I applied to rejoin the army. I was waiting for the call-up when my mother got that awful telegram saying Douglas had been killed at The Somme.

‘They made me a Sergeant-Major and we sailed for Europe on a big steam ship – it took us three months to get here, would you believe? – and eventually we were sent to the front line in Belgium. I think it was spelled “Ypres”, but everyone called it “Wipers”.

‘We were fighting over a town called Passchendaele, but to be honest there wasn’t much to fight for. Every single building had been levelled and the whole area was
just one big bomb site of churned-up mud and slime. I think I heard that more than half a million men died in that small area and, of course, I was one of them …’

Dave sat down on the rock beside Eoin, and the schoolboy could feel a chill in the air.

‘It’s hard to talk about it even now, but you’re a bright kid, and I suppose it could do some good if it helps people understand how horrible war can be.

‘The terrible thing was how young they all were. I was a grown man, nearly forty-four, but everyone in my company was half my age or younger. Some of them were younger than the senior boys in your school I saw playing rugby yesterday. I even met a few lads from rugby clubs who had joined up together as if it was some exciting away game they were going to.

‘I didn’t see much action, as I was mortally wounded on the second day of fighting, but I still saw some terrible sights.’

Dave went on to tell Eoin the grim story of his last day on the battlefield, and about all the friends he saw die in the misery of the trenches.

‘And all those young lads, every one of them cried out for their mother as they died,’ he sighed.

By the time he had finished, his ghostly eyes were wet and rimmed with red. Eoin, too, fought with his
emotions.

‘Have you enough there, son?’ asked the Anzac hero.

‘I think so, thank you very much for telling me all about it. It’s a very sad story,’ replied Eoin.

‘It is indeed, and I don’t think anyone learned from our sacrifice either,’ he added, with a grimace. ‘Since then, the world seems to have been full of war and misery …’

C
astlerock won their first four games of the season quite easily, and Mr McRae’s hunch about
switching
Eoin and Richie proved to be a stroke of genius. Both players upped their game and already Mr
McCaffrey
was licking his lips about some more silverware heading for his trophy cabinet.

‘I’ve been very impressed with your tactical kicking, Eoin,’ the headmaster told him one day in the
playground
. ‘You are blessed with a fine right foot, but even more importantly you seem to know just when a kick is what is needed. Keep working at it and you will become a very good rugby player indeed,’ he beamed.

Eoin, who never knew how to accept praise, felt
himself
turning pink, especially when Rory and Alan came up alongside.

‘I was just telling Madden here that he has a splendid knack as a kicking out-half, as well as off the ground,’ said Mr McCaffrey. ‘But that’s enough about rugby; how are your projects coming along gentlemen?’

The boys all muttered ‘fine’, but the headmaster pressed Eoin further.

‘I’m fascinated by your choice of subject – something like that could well appeal to the judges in the
competition
. I do hope you all work at your projects as it could bring enormous glory on yourselves, as well as the school. And of course that marvellous prize …’

Mr McCaffrey was called away and the boys sighed in relief.

‘You don’t seem to be able to do anything wrong at the moment, Eoin,’ grinned Rory. ‘
A foss-inating choice of sob-ject
,’ he chuckled, impersonating the headmaster.

‘Leave it out, Rory, it’s not my fault he finds my
project
so excellent,’ sniggered Eoin. ‘It’s certainly better than “Road signs of South Dublin, 1950-2000”, or whatever it is you’re doing.’

Rory looked sheepish. ‘Ah look, history isn’t my
subject
at all – and I found a deadly website that has done all the work on it.’

‘You’d better not get caught,’ Alan warned. ‘Mr Lawson doesn’t seem to be much crack, and if McCaffrey finds
out you’ll be in serious trouble.’

‘Ah sure, I’m only doing it because I have to,’ laughed Rory. ‘I don’t expect to get picked to go to the RDS. I don’t want to be spending all my time there stuck at a stand answering boring questions – I want to be around the hall having the crack with the young ladies.’

The boys wandered back to class.

‘Is Dylan still blanking you?’ Eoin asked Rory.

‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘But I’m not too worried.’

‘Ah, look, he’s not a bad lad at all,’ said Eoin. ‘He’s a bit chippy, but he’s decent. I hope you can sort it out.’

‘It won’t be sorted until I break my leg and he gets my No. 9 shirt,’ said Rory. ‘I’m not bragging, but I’m
playing
really well this year and there’s no doubt the extra competition is the reason why.’

Eoin agreed, and took his seat for Mr Lawson’s history class.

The teacher handed Eoin some print-outs about Dave Gallaher and they discussed how his project was going.

‘Photographs are important too, and any memorabilia you can lay your hands on,’ he told Eoin. ‘That’s not going to happen easily with a subject from the wrong side of the world and nearly a hundred years dead, but have a look on the internet for some pictures anyway.’

He addressed the whole class. ‘Next week is
half-term
,
and I don’t expect you to spend
all
your free time working on the project – but I do want to see some progress when we meet again on Monday week. Spend an afternoon or two on it, and you won’t be rushing as the deadline approaches.’

As they left the classroom, Eoin caught up with Dylan.

‘Hi, Dyl, how are you getting home tonight?’ he asked. ‘My dad is collecting me and he’ll be on his own so there’ll be plenty of room. I rang him last night and he said it would be OK.’

Dylan looked at him with darkened eyes.

‘I’ll be fine, Madden, don’t you worry about me,’ he snarled.

Eoin backed off. ‘OK, I just thought you might be stuck. The bus would be no fun tonight in this weather.’

Dylan turned his back on Eoin and stormed off towards the dormitory.

E
oin’s dad was a bit surprised to hear that Dylan wasn’t taking a lift home to Ormondstown, but decided to lay off the subject when he saw Eoin’s
reaction
.

On the way down they discussed how the term had gone, and Eoin explained about his history project.

‘Gosh, that sounds very interesting. It’s funny, I’ve never been that interested in rugby, but Dave Gallaher is a name I do remember hearing,’ said his dad.

‘Well Mr Finn said that Grandad knew something about him. I’ll have a chat with him over the weekend,’ said Eoin.

As they neared Ormondstown, Eoin decided to broach the subject of his classmate once again.

‘Dad, have you ever heard anything around town
about Dylan or his family. He’s blanked me recently for no reason, and he refused to take a lift tonight. There’s something not quite right there – he’s not a bad lad at all, but he flies off the handle when he doesn’t get his way …’

‘I’m not sure, Eoin,’ replied his father, ‘Families are funny things at times, and I’m not sure Dylan’s is the happiest. I’ll try to get to the bottom of it, but remember – it isn’t something he’d thank you for getting involved in. You should seek him out this week for a kick-about and see what comes of it.’

Eoin’s mum was outside the house when the car pulled up. She hugged her son and fussed over him as she helped him carry his bags inside.

‘You’ve lost weight, Eoin. Are you eating properly? I hope you’re not training too hard.’

‘Ah, Mum, I’m fine,’ he shrugged. ‘I’ve never studied as hard as I’ve done this year. I’ve even brought my History project home with me for the mid-term break.’

His mother clasped her hands together in delight, before stepping back and looking at him suspiciously.

‘Is that some sort of punishment …?’

‘NO! I’ve entered the Young Historian of the Year competition and I’m really enjoying it. And Mr Finn says Grandad might be able to help me with it too.’

His mother beamed at him. ‘That’s lovely, he’d really enjoy that. He said he would call up this evening – as soon as he heard you were coming home.’

Sure enough, Dixie was delighted to see Eoin, and was full of questions about life at Castlerock College. He had been a very good rugby player in his youth, but had given up the game in tragic circumstances.

‘Tell Grandad about your project, Eoin. Didn’t you say he might be able to help?’ asked his mother.

‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Eoin.

He explained about the competition, and how he had seen the photo of the old New Zealand team in the Aviva Stadium, and how he hit upon the idea of
studying
one of their players for the project.

‘And which one of the players was that?’ quizzed his grandad.

‘A man called Dave––’

‘––Gallaher!’ his grandad completed the name. ‘Well isn’t that interesting! And yes, I suppose I can help you with that, in a small way.’

‘How’s that?’ asked Eoin. ‘He died long before you were born?’

‘Well, it wasn’t that long,’ laughed Dixie, ‘maybe twenty-five years or so!

‘No, I obviously never met him or got to see him play,
but I met someone who did meet him. It was an old priest who came to see me after your grandmother died. He was a fair age, and we got talking about rugby. He didn’t know much about it, but said he had once met a man who had captained the All Blacks.

‘This priest was a chaplain during the First World War and saw some terrible sights in the trenches. He told me that one day he was visiting a field hospital where he was brought into a tent to give the last rites to a group of men who had been badly injured that day.

‘He told me he was tending to one poor soul who was clearly close to death when he read his dog tags and realised who the man was. The priest said that he prayed over him to help him on his way, and then moved on to the next wounded soldier. ‘Do you know who that is on the next table?’ he asked the soldier. ‘That’s Dave Gallaher, captain of the 1905 All Blacks’. The priest said that he often thought of how sad it was that such an obviously remarkable man had his life cut short by war. He even gave me a copy of a poem that a friend of his, another chaplain, wrote about that very subject. I’ll dig it out for you if I can.’

‘That’s a sad story, Grandad,’ said Eoin. ‘Can I use it in my project? Do you remember the priest’s name?’

‘Of course you can use it – I’ll try to remember a few
more details – and the priest? Was his name Fitzpatrick? Something like that … Fitz, Fitz, Fitzgerald – that’s who it was. Father Edward Fitzgerald.’