The Irish standard., 1915-09-18
The Man Who Came Back

SsfOSeeefOs SSOA0
The others crowded around him to
grasp the meaning Of this awful thing
which had befallen them. Hearing the
tumult Cockney corporal walked in
and told them to shut up their by
mouths, that they had enlisted in Bel
fast and were on their way to a train
ing camp in England.
On reaching Liverpool, Mike Ryan
had sent long letter to his father tell
ing the whole story, and after many
long days reply had reached him
that as long as he wore the coat Of a
British soldier never to darken his
fathers door again. Further letters
pleading for forgiveness had received
no response whatsoever, and when
Mike was sent to the front, after 81
hurried training, he felt an outcast
from home and country.
The horror Of those days and nights
In the trenches, the awful sights, the
hellish noises. the hunger and dirt. the,
agony and death all around, perpet-
ually through the six months Of his
active service, seemed all like bad
dream now to Mike Ryan as the train
rushed on towards Tipperary. Only
for his empty coat sleeve and band
aged face (beneath that bandage was
q shattered jaw and an empty eye
socket he might have just imagined
himself coming home from yearly
trip to Dublin.
The only one left alive Of the little
band who had gone SO confidingly to
Belfast looking for work, his mind
tried to visualize how he had seen
them go down one after the other,
and then he turned away with shud-
der from the blood-stained picture.
Could 1t be he at all, Mike Ryan, who
had lived through such a hell and was
spared to see his native hills again?
All, the hills! Sure there they were,
coming clearer and nearer through the
mists as mile after mile was left be.
hind. AS sure as Heaven there were
the old Sieve Bloom Mountains,
flinging aside their lacy nightcaps of
cloud and peering down to bid all Ire
land good morning"
e Weak tears filed Mike Ryans only
eye and a sob strangled his throat as
familiar scenes came into view. He
wondered would his father be there
to meet him and, what would his
mother and brothers say. He had
written home from the hospital and
said he was coming back to Ireland,
broken and helpless. but a pauper's
grave there would be as welcome to
him as Kickham's poor Patrick shee-
han Of Aherlow.
At busy junction he changed from
the express to local train. Many
curious glances were directed to him
but no one spoke. He bought morn.
ing paper at the newsstand and the
first thing he read was question re-
garding the Ulster Orange warriors
and why they had not yet gone to the
front. Mike Ryan smiled bitterly and
kept on smiling as he read the lurid
accounts of Great British Victories .
ETC., etc.
A man who used to sometimes buy
cattle off his father passed him by
with nod and commiserating look
at the empty sleeve.
Mike drew the short note received
from his father a week ago in reply
to his message from his pocket and
read it again. The few stiffly written
lines merely told him there was a
place for him by the Preside still SO
long as he would not be able to lift
a hand for England again. "Your one
hand may be wanted yet for Ireland, .
he read, and prayer half rose to his
lips that this might be so and that
he could still make good" for the old
Land. y
AS the train slid into the little home
station Mike Ryan saw his father and
his oldest brother on the platform.
AS he left the train and held out. his
left hand to greet them no word was
spoken. He saw his fathers face
whiten and q great dumb pity come
into his brothers eyes.
Not till the little station was left
behind and they were nearing the old
white gate leading to the matched
farmhouse that had been in Mike
Ryan's thoughts day and night since
he left It behind year before did his
father speak. Then, touching the
empty coat sleeve and looking at his
sons MANNED face. he whispered
hoarsely: Cheer up avick, sure we
must try and make the best Of IL.
You did q black and bitter wrong, but
9 black and bitter price are We pay
ing for II, God help ye. avick, and
help as all. Sure maybe q good day
for Ireland is nearer than we know 2
Teresa Brayton. 5s
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| KING 1ALeERT's SON At PRoTEs.
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