Danny Boy. Anne Bennett

of the Liffey,’ Matt read out to Connie and Rosie, who had stopped their preparations for the meal at the girls’ news. ‘They also hold the South Dublin Union, The Four Courts and Boland’s Mill,’ Matt went on, pointing at the pictures in the paper.

      ‘By Christ,’ he declared. ‘What in God’s name are they thinking of?’

      ‘You don’t think they have a hope then, Daddy?’ Sarah said.

      Matt answered gently. He knew she was thinking of Sam, and he was thinking of his sons, one possibly embroiled in the mayhem and the other walking straight into danger because of him. ‘How could it succeed, cutie dear? It’s like tipping a bucket of water into the Liffey and hoping to make a difference, even ten buckets, a hundred buckets.’

      Rosie’s mouth was so dry she could barely speak. Fear clutched at her heart. Her Danny, her darling husband, was marching straight into that hell-hole, and all because of bloody Phelan! Surely to God Danny was too sensible to get involved? He was totally against any rebel activity. It wasn’t his way. He was a farmer, a pacifist, and although he wanted Home Rule and a united Ireland as well as the next man, he wouldn’t think it would be achieved by taking on the might of the British Army.

      Connie listened horror-struck to Matt’s words and her heart seemed to stop. Phelan wouldn’t be involved in any of this. He was but a boy, only fourteen years old. But if he was and she’d charged Danny to bring him home…Oh God, it didn’t bear thinking about. Her two boys…

      With her heart hammering against her ribs and fear showing in every vestige of her face, she said, ‘Phelan wouldn’t get mixed up in this, sure he wouldn’t?’

      It was a plea to Matt, a plea for him to tell her of course Phelan wouldn’t. But Matt had worked alongside the boy day after day and knew more of his views than Connie. The look he cast her spoke volumes and she moaned, ‘Oh dear Christ, no.’