Having spent the last 3 years in NUI. Maynooth getting a degree in Music Technology and Business I have neglected my writing but I will post some more stories in the coming months
Scroll down to read " The Unknown Rebel"
Scroll down to read " The Unknown Rebel"
CREATIVE WRITING
THE UNKNOWN REBEL by Paul Gillis ©pg 2007
I am standing here in the same spot for nigh on forty years now; it’s a beautiful spot where I can see for miles across my native country side with its winter fields of strong green and its summer yellow maize crops. I can see my old friends the cows in the fields to the right. It’s a lonely country road now but years ago people had more time and the farmers brought the milk to the creamery by ass and cart. Every morning they started at 6 am and went on till 10 am. In the evening the same carts would pass with their silver coloured cans at about 4 pm. Comrades came by from time to time to tell me of the struggle and to confess their last mission knowing that their secret was safe with me as I could never tell anyone. They would kneel at my feet and often say a prayer for me, and my many comrades that over the years have died for the cause. My shiny grey silhouette against the blue summer sky is a sight to behold, standing tall and straight in my full uniform of the brigade and my gun at my side. I have never fired this gun and never will but as most of my comrades know if I could I would have no hesitation.
My only friends are the wildlife in the area and every morning the birds come to say hello and tell me all their news. The red fox often calls by in the evening and howls to let me know that he is thinking of me. In the last few years I have had less visitor and the ones that do come are of a different mind than my old comrades were. They are not as committed and have less respect for me or for what I stand for. I am the unknown rebel and have been all my life. I am a tribute to all the nameless heroes that have died for Eire, who have eased the suffering of the ordinary Irish citizen during times of occupation. I know that no matter what, I will be the only one that will still be here when there is finally a united Ireland and the all the rebel soldiers are long since past.
I still get a solitary rebel coming to me to use me as a type of personal priest, to confess their deeds or misgivings and to tell me of the progress of the struggle. Oh to be able to speak and say it’s ok to doubt or to carry on the struggle in your own way. To be able to tell how proud I am of those that have given up their lives for their fellow countrymen. I have one old comrade, he is possibly in his late eighties but he comes in full battle dress every year and stays for a while reminiscing of the good old days when the struggle was in full flight. Every year I say a little prayer for him when he leaves saying that I will never see him again, but he comes back the next year looking younger and fitter than before.
Since the peace process the visits are dying, now mainly tourists visit me occasionally, with their cameras and video recorders all wanting to use me as a photo prop. When they return to their countries they say look at the lonely rebel statue, they haven’t a clue as to what I am or what I stand for. I am just a seasonal object that they see as a tourist attraction and in the winter I am forgotten. I however, still have my winter friends. The little robin red breast comes and sits on my shoulder and sings to me. The silver squirrel comes to climb around me and the red tailed fox is my closest friend he comes all year round to see me. The future is looking quite drab as my old comrades’ die off and are not replaced and even the local priest has stopped his yearly visit as it is not the done thing to be seen here anymore as peoples attitudes change on the tides of time.
Someday no one will come at all. If I could be free of my stone prison for just one day I would show them what a rebel is and what we could do in our day. Alas that will never happen so I must await the coming of the last day for me whether it is that I will be replaced by a more up to date statue or whether it will be from the harsh winters ravaging my body, I do not know.
I am standing here in the same spot for nigh on forty years now; it’s a beautiful spot where I can see for miles across my native country side with its winter fields of strong green and its summer yellow maize crops. I can see my old friends the cows in the fields to the right. It’s a lonely country road now but years ago people had more time and the farmers brought the milk to the creamery by ass and cart. Every morning they started at 6 am and went on till 10 am. In the evening the same carts would pass with their silver coloured cans at about 4 pm. Comrades came by from time to time to tell me of the struggle and to confess their last mission knowing that their secret was safe with me as I could never tell anyone. They would kneel at my feet and often say a prayer for me, and my many comrades that over the years have died for the cause. My shiny grey silhouette against the blue summer sky is a sight to behold, standing tall and straight in my full uniform of the brigade and my gun at my side. I have never fired this gun and never will but as most of my comrades know if I could I would have no hesitation.
My only friends are the wildlife in the area and every morning the birds come to say hello and tell me all their news. The red fox often calls by in the evening and howls to let me know that he is thinking of me. In the last few years I have had less visitor and the ones that do come are of a different mind than my old comrades were. They are not as committed and have less respect for me or for what I stand for. I am the unknown rebel and have been all my life. I am a tribute to all the nameless heroes that have died for Eire, who have eased the suffering of the ordinary Irish citizen during times of occupation. I know that no matter what, I will be the only one that will still be here when there is finally a united Ireland and the all the rebel soldiers are long since past.
I still get a solitary rebel coming to me to use me as a type of personal priest, to confess their deeds or misgivings and to tell me of the progress of the struggle. Oh to be able to speak and say it’s ok to doubt or to carry on the struggle in your own way. To be able to tell how proud I am of those that have given up their lives for their fellow countrymen. I have one old comrade, he is possibly in his late eighties but he comes in full battle dress every year and stays for a while reminiscing of the good old days when the struggle was in full flight. Every year I say a little prayer for him when he leaves saying that I will never see him again, but he comes back the next year looking younger and fitter than before.
Since the peace process the visits are dying, now mainly tourists visit me occasionally, with their cameras and video recorders all wanting to use me as a photo prop. When they return to their countries they say look at the lonely rebel statue, they haven’t a clue as to what I am or what I stand for. I am just a seasonal object that they see as a tourist attraction and in the winter I am forgotten. I however, still have my winter friends. The little robin red breast comes and sits on my shoulder and sings to me. The silver squirrel comes to climb around me and the red tailed fox is my closest friend he comes all year round to see me. The future is looking quite drab as my old comrades’ die off and are not replaced and even the local priest has stopped his yearly visit as it is not the done thing to be seen here anymore as peoples attitudes change on the tides of time.
Someday no one will come at all. If I could be free of my stone prison for just one day I would show them what a rebel is and what we could do in our day. Alas that will never happen so I must await the coming of the last day for me whether it is that I will be replaced by a more up to date statue or whether it will be from the harsh winters ravaging my body, I do not know.
