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Ellen, October 1919

In late October, a few weeks after their visit to Tara, Ellen found Jimmy in a humour as grey as the moody autumn skies, when she met him at the end of the drive. He greeted her with a kiss as usual, but then didn’t take her hand as they walked along the lane. She tried to engage him in conversation as usual, but he seemed taciturn and unwilling to give more than single-word answers.

Eventually, as they approached Clonamurty Farm, she could bear it no longer. ‘Jimmy, what’s wrong? Have I done something to upset you?’

‘What? No, sure you haven’t.’ He stopped walking and turned away from her, gazing across the fields.

‘What, then? You seem different today. Is something on your mind?’

He sighed. ‘I was at a funeral today.’

She gasped. ‘Oh! I’m sorry. Whose was it?’

He shook his head. ‘No one you know. A member of the Volunteers.’