Songs of Love and War by Santa Montefiore Page A

omitting his temper and his love of whiskey. ‘God always takes the good ones,’ said Miss Nellie Moxley under her
breath.
    ‘Sure, I’m only waiting for the call now meself,’ Miss Nellie Clifford whispered back. ‘It can’t be long. I’ve one foot in the grave and the other on a bar of
soap.’
    Tomas was buried in the churchyard alongside those of the community who had gone before. Bridie found it hard to believe that her father was in the ground, never to appear again with his kind
eyes and reassuring presence. Even though Michael was a man now and more than capable of doing his father’s work, she still felt as if the once solid foundation of her existence had turned to
marshland. She would miss the comforting certainty of her father’s love. Her eyes watered as she remembered the times she had ridden beside him in the cart to take the butter to the Cork
Butter Exchange.
Irish butter,
her father would proudly tell her,
to feed the Empire.
She could hear his voice as if he were whispering in her ear:
Don’t mind the thunder,
Bridie. ’Tis only barrels rolling across the sky.
Quietly she began to cry.
    When Adeline told Kitty the sad news about Tomas Doyle she gasped in horror and pressed her hand to her open mouth. ‘I have given her a pair of shoes as a reward for
alerting us to the poachers, but it’ll be a bittersweet present considering the tragedy it brought,’ said Lady Deverill. Kitty sat beside her on the sofa in her grandmother’s warm
sitting room and thought of her friend Bridie. ‘The funeral was today,’ Adeline continued. ‘I gather the whole of Ballinakelly turned out for it. He was well loved,’ she
reflected.
    ‘I’d like to have gone to the funeral,’ said Kitty.
    ‘My dear, that would not have been possible. One has to be tactful.’
    ‘But Bridie is my friend.’
    ‘She
is
your friend, but there are many who would think ill of her for mixing with the likes of us.’
    ‘Why is that so, Grandma?’
    ‘Because there is a lot of resentment, Kitty. A conquered people always resent the conquerors. That’s only natural, isn’t it? Many Irish Catholics had their lands taken away
from them and given to the English—’
    ‘Like the O’Learys,’ interjected Kitty.
    ‘Quite so, my dear, just like the O’Learys.’ She sighed, weary of the acrimony. ‘So, they want their land back, the English out and they want independence. Naturally they
are suspicious of anyone who associates with the English. That’s us, Kitty. Bridie would not want her family and friends to think her disloyal, would she?’
    ‘
I
would want my land back if someone had taken it.’
    ‘Of course you would.’ Adeline smiled indulgently at her granddaughter, and a little proudly, too, because of her sharp intelligence. ‘But if the O’Learys were to have
their land back we wouldn’t have Castle Deverill and all that goes with it. What is done cannot be undone now without terrible consequences. It is better that we all live in the present
moment and not think too much about the atrocities of the past. After all, we have to live together and get along.’
    ‘Poor Bridie,’ Kitty sighed.
    ‘I know, her life is hard. Losing people we love is bad enough but intolerable if one doesn’t realize that they never really leave, they just fade out of sight.’
    ‘You will never leave me, will you, Grandma?’ Kitty asked sincerely.
    Adeline put her arm around Kitty’s shoulder and pulled her close. ’You know I won’t, my darling. And what’s more, you’ll know I’m still with you because you
will be able to see me. That’s a rare and wonderful gift.’
    Kitty ran into the garden, her thoughts with Bridie. The sun was warm upon her skin and the air scented with the sweet, creamy smells of sweet box and
Daphne bholua
. She knew every inch
of her grandmother’s gardens and fell upon a witch hazel bush, whose yellow flowers gave off a soothing, medicinal fragrance. She picked enough to make a