Rugby Spirit (8 page)

R
ory’s decision to join the Duffy gang made life quite awkward in the Dixie Dorm. There were four weeks to the final, and Mr Carey had the 13As out for training every evening after school. He asked Eoin along to be part of the tactical discussions, but it was hard to concentrate after a day in class, and when your best friend on the team has jumped ship.

‘How is the injury?’ Mr Carey asked as they walked back to the school after one training session.

‘Much better sir, there’s no pain even when I laugh,’ Eoin replied.

‘There’s no danger of you laughing at these sessions, is there? I’ve never seen you looking so miserable. Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, sir, everything’s fine,’ he lied.

Back in the dorm, Rory tried to be friendly, but Eoin and Alan had enough of his double playing.

‘Look, Rory, cutting me dead ‘cos Duffy is watching is so stupid,’ said Eoin, ‘We’re not in senior infants here.’

‘You know what sort of pup Duffy is, and you’ve chosen to become just like him,’ said Alan. ‘Fire away, but don’t expect us to be your buddy when you get back to the Dixie Dorm.’

Rory looked at Anton and Fiachra for support, but they were just as grim-faced as the others.

Rory grunted, shrugged his shoulders, and lay down on his bed and stuck in his iPod earphones.

Ten days before the big game, Eoin was summoned to see Miss O’Dea at the staffroom.

‘Mr Carey has asked me to organise an X-Ray for you today,’ she said. ‘I’ll take you down to the hospital, but I’m afraid I can’t stay – will you be OK to get the Dart back to the school?’

‘I’m sure I will,’ Eoin replied. ‘When do we leave?’

‘Right now,’ she said, ‘do you mind missing double Maths?’

Eoin grinned and followed the teacher outside towards her small red Mini.

Miss O’Dea showed him into the ultrasound
department
and, as soon as he was signed in, she checked that he knew the way to the Dart station and back to the school.

The morning dragged as Eoin spent most of his time staring at posters about healthy eating and activities. He should have brought a book, he realised, even a Maths book.

The X-Ray took a few minutes and then he was back to the corridor to wait. After an hour a tall doctor came out and introduced himself as Dr Shukla.

‘OK, Eoin, it looks like you are completely healed,’ he said, holding two sets of X-Rays against a lightbox on the wall. ‘Any pain?’

‘No, doctor,’ he said. ‘Would it be OK If I went back to rugby?’

The doctor frowned. ‘Well .. that mightn’t be such a good idea. Have you been exercising much?’

‘Well, no …. said Eoin.

‘Hmmm … You see your muscles won’t be back to their best, and you just won’t be as fit after seven or eight weeks off activity. I’d say get back to some light jogging for a week or two before you start back training. What’s the rush?’

Eoin told him about the final in Lansdowne Road just ten days away.

Dr Shukla’s face fell. ‘Oh, that’s very, very soon for an injury such as this. I think it would be a mistake to try to get back so quickly.’

Eoin shrugged his shoulders and let out a big sigh, ‘OK, Dr Shukla, thank you very much anyway.’

‘There’s always the cricket season!’ the doctor joked.

‘Not in Ormondstown there isn’t,’ Eoin fired back.

Eoin crossed the dual carriageway and walked through the leafy lanes to the train station. He was still in
torment
over missing the big game, as he really wanted his grandad to come up to watch him play.

He took the next train and was staring glumly out the window when he noticed they had arrived in a station named ‘Lansdowne Road’.

‘Oh no,’ he realised. ‘This is heading north – into the city!’

He dashed off the train in time to see a southbound train pull out of the station. He checked the timetable – the next one wasn’t for almost an hour. Already
frustrated
by his hospital stay, Eoin decided he would kill the time, and begin his road back to fitness, by taking a jog out the gates of the station.

As he trotted onto the road outside, he spied a gate open in the stadium walls, and his natural curiosity took him through it. He emerged behind the West Stand, and while there were a few people milling around they were all too busy to notice him.

‘I wonder is Brian about?’ Eoin thought aloud, as he wandered through the tunnel towards the arena.

‘Yes, I am,’ came a voice as Brian appeared from behind a pillar.

‘Wow, that was pretty neat,’ said Eoin, ‘I never heard you coming.’

‘What has you here on a midweek morning,’ asked Brian, ‘have they thrown you out of that school?’

‘I wish!’ said Eoin. ‘No, I got the wrong train and got off at this station to go back. But there’s no Dart for ages. I thought I’d come in to see what was going on.’

‘It’s quiet today,’ said Brian, ‘but there’s a couple of big games coming up.’

‘Sure, don’t I know,’ interrupted Eoin, ‘I might be playing in one myself on the day of the Leinster game. The 13A final.’

‘Gosh,’ said Brian, ‘That’s wonderful. Why the “might” though?’

‘I’ve just come from the hospital. I’m only back after cracking a couple of ribs against Rostipp,’ explained.

‘That shower of bowsies, always a tough bunch the Rostippers,’ grinned Brian. ‘Did you ever try comfrey? That was a herb we used to use to treat cuts and breaks. Fierce powerful stuff. Mash it up with water in a
poultice.
Give it a go.’

The pair wandered out through the darkened players’ tunnel into the bright, sunlit stadium. They sat down in the grandstand; Eoin in the row in front of Brian. He noticed how pale Brian’s legs were, and how
ridiculously
old-fashioned his boots.

‘Were did you get those things?’ Eoin asked, pointing at the antique footwear.

‘I got them in Elvery’s in Nassau Street,’ Brian replied, ‘Thirty bob they cost me.’

‘What’s a
bob
?’ asked Eoin, puzzled.

‘It’s a shilling,’ said Brian. ‘Of course, it’s all euros
nowadays
I believe.’

‘When exactly did you buy those boots?’ asked Eoin, starting to get a little anxious, but not knowing quite why.

‘I bought them in the sales – New Year’s Day 1928 I believe. My brothers gave me a pound each for Christmas …’

‘1928?’ quizzed Eoin, ‘What do you mean?’

‘It was a few months before the accident … Yes, March 1928 that was,’ Brian confirmed.

Eoin was rooted in his seat.

‘B-b-but that was more than eighty years ago … how old
are
you?’ he said, quietly.

‘I’m twenty-two, of course,’ said Brian, ‘the same age as I was when I died.’

E
oin’s eyes widened. ‘You’re
dead
? Are you a ghost?’

‘I suppose I am,’ said Brian, ‘But I never really thought about it. I’ve just hung around here since it happened …’

‘Since
what
happened,’ asked Eoin, whose knuckles had turned white as he clung to the plastic seat.

‘I should have told you before this,’ Brian nodded. ‘But I didn’t want to frighten you off. Let’s go up the back of the stand here, there’s a great view of the whole stadium.’

Eoin’s mind was a whirl; on one hand he wanted to run away screaming, but his in-built curiosity was
kicking
in.

Brian sat down at the very back of the stand, and pointed to the near touchline.

‘It was just about there,’ he said, ‘about five yards in. ‘I came here after I left school, my old school pal Ned
brought me along. We had great sport on the second team, and won the Metro the year before. But
Lansdowne
had a fantastic team, and the best set of backs of any club in the world. We had Ernie Crawford, Jack Arigho … legends,’ he said. ‘We were playing Trinity. It was a big game, my first cup match for the first team.’

Eoin had many questions, but didn’t say a word.

‘It was a cold day, and the ground was hard. We gave as good as we got for the first ten minutes or so. And then …’

Brian looked Eoin in the eye, then dropped his head.

‘And then there was a scrum. Now in those days the scrum was a rough-house. It was a tough place, and you had to show you were top dog. There was none of this “touch, pause, engage” lark. The packs would just run at each other, charging like a pair of goats butting heads.’

Eoin stared, finding it hard to imagine the scene.

‘Well, the trouble with that was that you had to
collide
precisely, so your heads would interlock and the scrum could form. That day we didn’t meet quite right, and somebody slipped and the scrum collapsed.
Whatever
way it fell I was caught …’

‘And it killed you?’ asked Eoin, gently.

‘No, not quite,’ explained Brian. ‘When they all stood up I was still on the ground and couldn’t move. I told
the referee, Mr Bell, that I had no power in my body. They got the stretchers on and I was carried over to the touchline. There was a lot of fuss and then a motor ambulance arrived and took me to hospital. I saw a doctor who told me I was very badly hurt, and that the nurses would make me comfortable. To be honest, I wasn’t in any pain, and the shock of it all meant I didn’t really take it in. My mother and father were already deceased, and all I had in the world were my two
brothers
, Charlie and Edgar. Charlie was on the Irish team at that stage, he was a great player. I asked the nurses could they contact the lads, and they said they were already on the way. The two lived down in Athlone and Cork, but I really wanted to see them and was glad to hear they were coming.

‘A few of the team came in to see me after the game, and I was delighted to hear we had won 13-0. We
chatted
about the scrum, but I insisted that nobody was to blame and that it was just one of those things.

‘Eddie and Charlie arrived during the evening, but I was very tired by then and I didn’t really want to talk. They sat by the bed all night, but by morning time I wasn’t able to open my eyes anymore and I slipped away.

‘It’s a strange thing, dying. One minute I was lying in bed, and then I was floating above looking down at
everyone.
The lads were very sad – I was their baby brother – but I didn’t really understand what was going on.’

Eoin stared at his feet, not knowing what to say.

‘I was upset after a while, when I realised that I wouldn’t play rugby again, or go to the silent pictures with my pals. I watched the funeral, and hung around afterwards in the graveyard. But the next morning I woke up here in the Lansdowne dressing room, and I’ve been here ever since.’

‘And what have you been doing for the past eighty years?’ asked Eoin.

‘Well, I’ve had a front-row seat for every single match that has been played here since my last game. I even jumped over onto the touchline for a few of the more exciting ones. I saw some fantastic players here over the years, you know.’

‘And did you ever talk to anyone?’ the boy asked.

‘Well, that’s the queerest thing,’ Brian replied, ‘Nobody ever saw me until you walked into the first aid room a few months back. That gave me quite a shock. I’ve really enjoyed our chats, and they’ve given me a new lease of, eh, life,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll give you a hand if you’re
playing
in that final too,’ he said. ‘Maybe I could trip up the opposition, or lob another ball into the scrum to confuse them!’

‘That might just confuse our lads too,’ Eoin laughed.

The schoolboy paused, not sure what to say next.

‘Eh, Brian,’ he hesitated, ‘Did you ever see a player called Dixie Madden play for Castlerock?’

Brian’s grey eyes widened. ‘I did, and a brilliant player he was too. Why do you ask?’

‘He’s my grandad,’ Eoin explained.

‘Ah, of course, he was a Tipperary man, I should have guessed. I saw him play many big schools’ games here, and I never saw a better out-half for his age. He was brilliant. And then one day I came out to watch the Old Castlerock team and he wasn’t there, and I never saw him again. I often wonder what happened to him ….’

‘Me too,’ said Eoin, ‘And I’m going to find out.’ 

E
oin was still in a blur when he found his way back to the school, just in time to hear the bell for end of classes.

‘What kept you?’ quizzed Alan. ‘That was some long X-Ray.’

‘Don’t talk,’ said Eoin. ‘I was hours in that hospital. Bored stupid I was.’

‘Stupid is the word,’ sneered Richie Duffy, as he barged past the pair of friends. ‘The man who missed the cup final because of a cracked rib.
Lo-ser
.’

Eoin held himself back, but couldn’t control his tongue.

‘You know you’ve no chance without me, Duffy. Your sister could cut open the St Osgur’s defence better than you can. You better say your prayers that I’m ready.’

Duffy stared at him, but his own tongue wasn’t as quick as Eoin’s and he opened and closed his mouth
like a goldfish.

At that moment Mr Finn arrived, and gave Eoin a quizzical look.

‘Is everything all right, gentlemen?’ he snapped.

‘Yes, sir,’ Eoin and Richie chorused.

‘Move along then, Mr Duffy, you must have
training
to go to,’ he said, directing him towards the playing fields.

When Duffy had left, Mr Finn turned to Eoin. ‘Be careful with that boy, Eoin, he is prone to hiding his inarticulacy behind his fists.’

‘Thank you, sir. I understand,’ Eoin replied.

‘How is Dixie? I wrote to him, but haven’t received a reply.’

‘He’s a bit better I think. He said he’d come up for the final if I was on the team….’

‘And what are the chances of that?’

‘Well, according to the doctor I shouldn’t be playing …’ he sighed.

And then he thought of something.

‘What’s comfrey, sir, and where could I get some?’

‘Gosh that’s a word I haven’t heard in years,’ said Mr Finn, ‘Where on earth did you hear about that?’

‘A … eh … an …
old man
told me it would help to heal my ribs,’ he replied.

‘Well, yes, we used it all the time on injuries when I was young,’ the teacher said. ‘It grew in ditches and along the canal banks. There may even be some down by the stream at the back of the school … I tell you what, I’ll take a walk down there this evening and if I find any I’ll let you know. Sure it’s worth trying – it sounds like it could be your only chance.’

‘Thank you, Mr Finn,’ Eoin replied, suddenly cheered up.

Hours later, Eoin was lying on his bed trying to read a comic book, but his mind kept returning to Brian and his extraordinary, if sad, story. He had always believed in ghosts, and Grandad Madden was full of great stories about the fairies, banshees and pookas that lived in the woods they passed on their walks. But it was still a bit weird to meet and talk to one, especially one as friendly as Brian.

A knock came to the door.

‘Come in,’ Alan shouted, and then apologised for being so loud when Mr Finn walked in.

‘Eoin, come with me,’ he said.

Eoin jumped up from his bed, puzzled at the teacher’s strange manner.

Outside the door, Mr Finn carefully closed the door behind him.

‘I’m sorry, Eoin, I’ve just had a call from your father. Dixie has taken a turn and won’t be able to make the match next week.

‘In fact, he is quite ill. Your dad asked me could he come tomorrow to take you home, but I refused to let him drive all the way up. I’ll drive you down in the morning. I would so like to see Dixie again.’

Eoin gulped and fought back tears. ‘Thank you, sir, I’ll see you after breakfast.’

He tried hard to sleep that night, but found it
impossible
. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his grandad lying in the hospital bed. He tossed over in his mind the recent conversations and how much he wanted to talk rugby with the great Dixie Madden.

Next morning, Mr Finn was waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

‘I thought we’d make an early start, Eoin. We can get breakfast on the way.’

Eoin was relieved that he didn’t have to face the rest of the school, particularly with Duffy gunning for him.

On the way they talked of rugby, and history, and living in Dublin. Mr Finn steered clear of school affairs, and of Grandad Madden’s mysterious past. He was a careful driver, and with the stop for breakfast it took almost three hours to reach Ormondstown.

Dixie was being cared for in the small local hospital, and Eoin directed Mr Finn through its gates in time to see his father coming out the main door.

‘He’s sleeping now, thank God,’ Mr Madden said, ‘He’s had a bad night though. Kept asking when you’d be down.’

He turned to the teacher.

‘Thank you very much, Mr Finn, for bringing Eoin down. I told dad that you were driving down this
morning
and he said he’d like to see you too. It really perked him up. Come on back to the house and have a cup of tea. We can come here again in an hour.’

The trio drove back to the Maddens’ house, where Eoin’s mother embraced her son at the door.

‘You poor lad …’ she said, before remembering his injured ribcage and jumping backwards, ‘… oh, I hope I haven’t made them any worse!’

Eoin grinned. ‘No, Mam, I’m almost right. I was at the hospital yesterday and the doctor told me to wait another two to four weeks. The final is in nine days so I’m hoping for a miracle …’

‘Oh, silly me, I almost forgot,’ said Mr Finn, taking a plastic bag from his pocket. ‘I found a whole clump of comfrey down by the stream last night. It’s not in flower yet, but the leaves are what do you good.’

‘My mother used to swear by comfrey, “knitbone” she used to call it,’ Mrs Madden said, ‘I think you chop it up and make a poultice, don’t you?’

While Mr Finn was overseeing the herbal recipe in the kitchen, Mr Madden took his son outside.

‘Dixie has been talking of nothing else but this match for weeks now. I couldn’t bear to tell him that your injury might keep you out. He told me he wants to tell you the whole story too. Last night, when he was bad, he told me that I was to explain it all to you if he didn’t make it. God willing he’ll have his health soon and be able to tell you the whole story. But don’t push him in the hospital, he’s very weak.’

‘Ah Dad, I wouldn’t do that,’ said Eoin, ‘if he wants to tell me he’ll do it in his own good time. I always knew that.’

Inside, Mrs Madden pointed to a blob of green mush sitting on a saucer when Eoin and his father returned.

‘There you are, Eoin, that’s your lunch.’

Eoin’s face turned just as green, but when he saw Mr Finn and his parents breaking into a grin he realised he had been fooled.

‘No, you loo-lah,’ his mother said, ‘It’s a poultice; I’ll wrap it in a piece of linen and strap it to your ribs.’

‘Won’t it ooze out onto my shirt,’ Eoin complained as
his mother rigged up the herbal remedy.

‘You’ll be fine,’ his mother explained, ‘and even if you do can’t you just say you’re a true Irishman with green blood.’