Rugby Warrior (9 page)

T
he Young Historian of the Year competition was held every year in the main hall of the Royal Dublin Society in Ballsbridge in Dublin. Hundreds of boys and girls from all over Ireland came to show off the projects they had worked upon all winter. Eoin was delighted when Mr Lawson told them the week before that eight of the boys – including him – had been selected to present their entries on a stand at the exhibition.

The night before it opened Eoin wandered down to the stream carrying Dave Gallaher’s artefacts. And, sure enough, the spirit appeared.

‘Hi, Dave, I just came down to tell you that my
project
was accepted for the exhibition, so it will be on show for the next three days. And will you be able to
make it into Lansdowne Road for the final next week?’

‘That’s great news, best of luck in both of them. I’m sure I can wander down to the paddock for that. It would be nice to get a look at the ground after all those years.’

Because so many of the teachers had said nice things about the project, Eoin was nervous as the judging of the competition drew close. He decorated his little stand with photos from various stages of Dave
Gallaher
’s life, and wrote out the ‘Waste’ poem in large letters on yellow card, to which he attached the document his grandad had given him. He made a little platform by covering a biscuit tin with shiny blue paper, and on top he placed the original photo of Dave’s wife and
daughter
with the silver fern crest alongside. Across the top of the stand was printed his name and school in black letters.

He looked around the hall – lots of other students had produced amazing projects about the Black Death, Ancient Rome, Egyptian mummies and bloody battles from long ago. Eoin was sure his effort hadn’t a chance against these colourful exhibits.

Dylan had also been selected for the exhibition and set up his project on the stall opposite Eoin’s. The boys enjoyed talking about their work to other students,
the judges and members of the public who called by. In quiet moments they discussed the upcoming game, which again pitted Castlerock against St Osgur’s.

‘They won’t be half as easy to beat in the Aviva,’ said Dylan, ‘They’ll be really up for the game second time round. I hope Richie keeps his trap shut this time.’

‘Huh, you not hanging around with him anymore?’ asked Eoin.

‘Nah, I’m keeping a low profile, and he’s a bit too loud for my liking,’ explained Dylan.

Just then, a man asked Eoin a question about his
project
. As he answered him Eoin noticed that Dylan was staring at the back of the man’s head with a terrified expression on his face. He turned and ran into one of the adjoining halls.

Eoin continued talking to the man, who seemed pleasant enough.

‘And tell me, are you long in Castlerock yourself?’ he asked.

‘This is my second year there,’ he answered. ‘I came up from Ormondstown.’

‘Well, now,’ said the man, suddenly very interested. ‘I only travelled up from that town this morning. A very nice place it is, too.’

‘Do you live there?’ asked Eoin.

‘No, I was staying in the hotel on Main Street. Some members of my family live there and I was checking up on them. Do you know any other lads from
Ormondstown
in Castlerock?’

Eoin suddenly got a bad feeling about the man, and quickly shook his head.

‘No, I’m the only one,’ he said.

The man looked over Eoin’s shoulder at Dylan’s
project
on Celtic mythology. ‘That looks quite interesting too. Where’s the lad who wrote it?’

Eoin shrugged and said, ‘I don’t know, he was there a minute ago.’

The man spent a few minutes looking at Dylan’s project before, looking at his watch and sighing. As he turned away, he dropped his wallet on the floor. Eoin bent to pick it up, and handed it back to the stranger.

‘Do tell the boy that I thought his project was
excellent
,’ he said. ‘Although, not as good as yours, of course.’

And with that he was gone. Eoin watched as he headed for the exit, and tried to get Dylan on his mobile, but it was engaged. He kept trying, and several minutes later he got through.

‘Is he gone?’ asked Dylan.

‘Yeah, he left the building about ten minutes ago,’ said Eoin. ‘Who was that?’

But Dylan had already hung up. He returned looking pale and drawn, and kept glancing all around him.

‘I’ve been on to Mr McCaffrey and he’s coming in to collect me,’ he explained. ‘Can you keep an eye on my project for me, Eoin?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ he replied. ‘That man was asking all sorts of questions about school – and he said he’d just come from Ormondstown. Who is he?’

‘Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone Eoin, but … he’s my dad,’ blurted Dylan.

‘Oh, no!’ he added. ‘It looks like he’s stolen something off your stall too.’

Eoin turned quickly to see where Dylan was
pointing
. And there, on top of his blue platform, sat the photo Dave had given him. But the silver fern was gone.

E
oin called up to the exhibition office to report the theft, but the organisers didn’t give much hope of it turning up. Eoin realised that the stranger had dropped his wallet deliberately to distract him, and had pocketed the scrap of cloth when Eoin stooped to pick it up. He was distraught, and terrified about what Dave would say about losing the priceless badge.

Mr McCaffrey wasn’t particularly interested either, when he arrived, being more concerned with getting Dylan out of the hall.

He returned an hour or two later, just in time for the award ceremony.

Eoin was still preoccupied with the theft when the chief judge stood up to announce the winners. He went on and on about the great standard of entries, and how
heartening it was to see such passion for history among the students of Ireland, and … then Eoin perked up his ears. What was that he had just said?

Alan, standing beside him, dug him in the ribs. The judge continued ‘… a fascinating project that uses
fabulous
artefacts and detailed eye-witness accounts about a great rugby player who was born in Ireland and made his name as captain of the New Zealand All Blacks. This year’s prize for the Young Historian of the Year goes to a boy from Castlerock College in Dublin – Eoin Madden!’

Eoin was stunned. He hadn’t believed the teachers who told him how good his project was – but they had been proved right. He opened his mouth when Alan poked him again. ‘Go up, Eoin, they want you on the stage.’

Eoin didn’t know where to look as he stood looking down at the hundreds of people who were now staring up at him. Two television cameras were pointed straight at him and a government minister was waving a huge silver cup in his direction. He handed it to Eoin, and an envelope too, and suddenly gave Eoin the microphone. The boy stared at it for a second, and then looked up at the crowd.

‘Thank you. Thank you very much,’ he said. ‘Thanks
to my teachers, and my grandad, and all my friends who helped me.’

Standing up on stage was a bit scary, and he really didn’t know what else to say, so he handed the
microphone
back and waited as a dozen photographers poked and pulled him into various groupings to take pictures for what seemed like an hour.

Eventually he walked down the steps into an empty hall, and returned to his stand. He had taken the old photo with him, but the absence of Dave’s All Black crest was haunting him.

‘Master Madden, what wonderful news!’ came a cry from twenty metres away. Mr McCaffrey and Mr Lawson rushed up to their pupil, and the headmaster offered his hand in congratulations.

‘A very well-deserved victory for a brilliant project,’ he gushed. ‘The judges said you showed remarkable insight into what it was like to be in the trenches of Flanders. And they thought your story of how Gallaher died was truly remarkable and made it almost seem as if you were there.

‘You have also won a remarkable prize for the school of a trip to any historic site in Europe. I will have a word with Mr Finn and Mr Lawson to see where we will take the boys,’ the headmaster added.

‘Sir, I don’t want to seem cheeky,’ said Eoin. ‘But I’d like to suggest that we go to Ypres to see the battlefield and the cemeteries. I think the class would like that.’

Mr McCaffrey stopped, and looked at Mr Lawson. ‘Well, he’s the one who earned the trip,’ said the history teacher. ‘I suppose he should have a say in it …’

Mr McCaffrey nodded. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to see Rome, or Athens, or somewhere warm and sunny like that?’ he asked. ‘It’s just that Belgium is just … so boring.’

F
or the second time in a year Eoin was the hero of Castlerock, but he was more concerned about Dylan, and about Dave’s missing treasure.

Dylan had been moved out of the dormitory and was now living in the headmaster’s house.

‘Mrs McCaffrey’s a great cook,’ he told his friends between classes one day. ‘She has me spoiled with the huge spreads she’s giving me. Dessert every day too.’

‘Careful now or you won’t be in any state to be
running
up and down that wing,’ warned Eoin. ‘You’re our secret weapon in the final – Osgur’s have never seen you before.’

After school, Alan suggested to Eoin that they go for a run.

‘What do you think is going on with Dylan?’ he asked, as they jogged around the playing field. ‘It’s all very mysterious.’

‘I can’t tell you, Alan, but something happened up in the RDS and they’re all a bit worried about him. I hope they allow him play in the final,’ answered Eoin.

‘Speaking of the RDS,’ said Alan, ‘did you tell that ghost that you lost his piece of cloth?’

‘No, to be honest I’ve been putting it off for a few days. Want to head down there now to give me some support?’ asked Eoin.

The boys jogged down to the woods, with a quick stop off at the dorm to collect the Gallaher family photograph. Alan and Eoin sat chatting on the rock for a few minutes before the uniformed ghost made an appearance.

‘Hello, Eoin, who’s your pal?’ he asked.

‘Hi, Dave, this is Alan, he’s my room-mate in the school.’

Alan stared, open-mouthed. He had never seen a ghost before, but Eoin had talked so much about his other-worldly pals that he wasn’t scared at all.

‘Nice to meet you, mate – is that my photo you have there, Eoin?’ asked Dave.

‘It is, and it helped me to win the overall award at the contest,’ he replied, going on to explain about the prize.

‘That is excellent news, well done. So they’re all
talking
about Davie Gallaher and his All Black Originals
are they?’

‘Yes, they were. A lot of people were very
interested
in the story. It even got on the televis––’ Eoin stopped, realising Dave had been long dead before TV was available.

‘Where’s the silver fern?’ asked Dave.

‘Well, that’s what I came here to tell you. A thief took it off the stand when I turned away for a second. The headmaster told the police, so hopefully it will turn up. I’m really very sorry. I only let them out of my sight for one second …’

Dave’s face fell, and there was a brief flash of anger before he sighed.

‘Oh, that’s a terrible shame, but at least you didn’t lose my photograph. That would have been too much to bear. Let me know if the fern turns up, won’t you?’

‘I will, of course,’ said Eoin, ‘We have that final in Lansdowne on Saturday morning, I hope you can come along.’

‘I’ll be there, I think. I met another spirit wandering around here who turns out to be a bit of a rugby man himself. Name of Brian. He’s going to show me the way to the old ground.’

T
he day of the final dawned and Dublin found itself under bright, blue skies, even if it was a little chilly. Dylan was still living in the headmaster’s house, but joined the team for breakfast in the main hall.

‘Right, lads, Mrs McCaffrey wouldn’t let me have two breakfasts on the day of a big game so I’m slumming it a bit here today,’ he joked.

‘She’s right! You’re getting a little pot belly with all that ice cream she’s feeding you,’ said Rory.

‘Ah now, Rory, I’d still be quicker than you with a ten-course banquet inside me,’ shot back Dylan.

‘All right you two, stop it there. We’re all on the one team today and I don’t want any squabbles,’ said Eoin.

The two rivals grinned, and shook hands. ‘Only
messing
Eoin,’ laughed Dylan. ‘I’m enjoying my new role as
wizard on the wing. The captaincy is the only thing I have in my sights now!’

‘You’re welcome to it,’ grinned Eoin. ‘It’s more
trouble
than it’s worth sometimes.’

The boys discussed the big day ahead, and Eoin explained how his family were all coming up for the final.

‘Oh dear, I should have asked,’ said Dylan. ‘My mum and sister are coming up too – but I think they’re
getting
the bus. I’m sure your dad wouldn’t have minded bringing them …’

‘Yes, I’m sure he would have been delighted to. I’ll see if I can get them a lift home anyway,’ Eoin replied.

The game was a curtain-raiser for a big Leinster
fixture
, so kick-off was at 12.30pm. After breakfast the boys were taken by bus down to Sandymount Strand, where they strolled along the beach as part of a Castlerock
tradition
that dated back to the nineteenth century. From there they walked the half-mile or so to Lansdowne Road, where they were reunited with their kit-bags.

The Castlerock boys were in the same dressing room as the year before, and Mr McCaffrey told them this was an omen that they would be just as successful today.

Mr McRae wasn’t quite as convinced. ‘OK, guys,’ he said, after the headmaster had left, ‘don’t bother with
any of that superstitious stuff. Leave your rabbit’s foot in the bag, and forget about any black cats you met today. This is all about rugby football, and you proving that you are able to put more points on the board than St Oscar’s, or whatever they are called.

‘Having seen you play this team twice before, I know you have better skills, and we have a good plan worked out to beat them again. But if you don’t follow the plan, and back up your team-mates at every turn, then we won’t get those points. So go out there and prove it to the world. You are going to bring the Begley Cup home tonight, so go out on that glorious paddock and do it – for yourselves, your friends, your families, and for Castlerock.’

The teams ran out onto the famous turf, and after a few minutes kicking and passing the ball around, the referee blew his whistle to call the captains together. Eoin had been so focused on the game that he had
forgotten
to look to see where his parents were sitting. There was no sign of them in the sponsor’s box they had sat in last year, but he soon found them as there were no more than a few hundred spectators, and most of them were his own age or younger. He gave his family a quick wave, before resuming his duties as captain.

St Osgur’s kicked off the game, and quickly showed
that they had improved the team which had been
hammered
in the earlier meeting in Castlerock. Their very first attack led to a try, and a powerfully-struck
conversion
meant they were 7-0 up before many of the
supporters
had taken their seats. Eoin looked at Rory as he prepared to kick off again.

‘Nothing to worry about, Eoin, just work on what Mr McRae told us,’ said the scrum-half.

Both sides traded penalties during the first half, but with time ticking away before the break, Castlerock won a good heel from a scrum on their opponents’ 22. Rory snapped the ball back to Eoin, who spied a large gap appearing behind the St Osgur’s left winger. With a delicate swing of his right boot he chipped the ball over the forwards and watched as it bobbled along the ground towards the corner flag. Suddenly, and in a glorious blur of green and white, Dylan hared along the touchline past his marker, and dived just as the ball landed on the try-line. His hands landed with a ‘slap’ on the white ball, and he fell face down in the soft grass.

He stood up, arms straight in the air, and waited for his team-mates to engulf him. After a few seconds, the referee broke up the delighted huddle, and directed Eoin to convert the try. As he walked back, he heard a weedy cry from the stands.

‘Brilliant, Dylan, you’re brilliant!’ came the call, which was easy to pick up in the near-empty stadium.

Eoin grinned, and looked up to see Dylan’s sister Caoimhe waving down at him. They were sitting close to Eoin’s parents, but when Grandad pointed at the posts he knew he had to concentrate on the tricky kick. There was a strange wind swirling around the stadium, and Eoin was struggling to master it. He was too far out to try to spear it directly, so he just launched it in the air, trying to allow for the wind and hoping it would carry between the posts. Unfortunately, at the last second a gust tugged the ball in against the upright and it fell back to the ground as the touch judges brushed their knees with their flags.

The half-time whistle blew, 10-8 to St Osgur’s.

‘At least that’s better than last year,’ muttered Rory as they walked off. ‘We were 10-0 down then, remember?’