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The Photograph: A Short Story from Fall of Poppies: Stories of Love and the Great War
The Photograph: A Short Story from Fall of Poppies: Stories of Love and the Great War
The Photograph: A Short Story from Fall of Poppies: Stories of Love and the Great War
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The Photograph: A Short Story from Fall of Poppies: Stories of Love and the Great War

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New York Times bestselling author Kate Kerrigan brings Dublin’s past vividly alive in her heart-wrenching short story about the forbidden passion between a soldier and a rebel, and the woman years later who discovers their secret.

When British soldier Clive Postlethwaite wandered into Dublin’s National Gallery, falling in love with a fiery Irish girl was the last thing on his mind. As soon as he meets Eileen O’Hara, he’s instantly enthralled with her humor and beauty. But the Irish Republicans are rebelling against Home Rule every day, and Clive and Eileen may be forced to choose sides, forever.

Originally published in the moving collection Fall of Poppies: Stories of Love and the Great War, this e-book also includes an excerpt from Kerrigan’s novel Ellis Island, available now.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherHarperCollins
Release dateMay 17, 2016
ISBN9780062476593
The Photograph: A Short Story from Fall of Poppies: Stories of Love and the Great War
Author

Kate Kerrigan

Kate Kerrigan was born in Scotland to Irish parents and reared in London. She began her career in Journalism at the age of nineteen rising to become editor of various publications before moving to Ireland in 1990 to become a full-time author. Living in the picturesque village of Killala on the west coast of Ireland, she has two sons Leo and Tom with husband Niall. Her novels include Recipes for a Perfect Marriage which was shortlisted for the 2006 Romantic Novel of the Year Award and Miracle of Grace. Ellis Island was a TV Book Club Summer Read and the story of Ellie Hogan was continued in City of Hope published in 2012. Land of Dreams, the final part in this compelling trilogy, publishes in 2013. www.katekerrigan.ie http://katekerriganauthor.blogspot.com/

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    The Photograph - Kate Kerrigan

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    Contents

    The Photograph

    Buy Link to Fall of Poppies

    An Excerpt from Ellis Island

    About the Author

    Also by Kate Kerrigan

    Credits

    Copyright

    About the Publisher

    The Photograph

    Dublin, 2016

    BRIDIE WASN’T HAPPY.

    Her London-­based daughter, Sharon, had been back in Dublin for less than three hours and she and her brother were already fighting. Sharon was home for a commemoration ceremony for the 1916 Uprising, in which Bridie’s grandfather, Seamus O’Hara, was being honored. The president was hosting the event in his palace in Dublin’s Phoenix Park and Bridie would receive a special medal on her grandfather’s behalf, along with her father’s cousin, Liam Maheady, whose own father was also being honored. Their ancestors’ glittering careers in the Irish Republican Army had defined the O’Hara family for generations.

    The whole country was alive with talk of the event and tickets were like gold dust. All had been fine, until Sharon announced that she wanted to bring her new boyfriend to the event.

    It’s a 1916 commemoration, Sharon, her brother Frank was saying, a celebration of the end of eight hundred years of oppression from the English. Our great-­grand-­grandfather led the revolution. So no, you can’t bring some bastard British soldier along as your date!

    Are you going to let him talk to me like that? Anyway it’s not up to you. It’s up to Mam. Mam?

    At thirty and thirty-­four they still needed their mammy to referee their fights.

    She hated when the kids behaved like this. Tomorrow was an important day for her. A time for remembering the past, honoring her ancestors, and remembering how they had fought to free their country from English rule. Her great-­uncle, Padraig, had been shot dead for the part he had played in the Easter Rising, and her grandfather, Seamus, his younger brother, had gone on to become an IRA captain. This was a time for remembering the great things her family had done. Why did the kids have to ruin everything with their squabbling? Why did they always have to make everything about them?

    Her son, Frank, was such an angry young man. He channeled it into revolutionary, left-­wing politics, but Bridie wondered if that was such a good idea. Frank had inherited a social conscience from his forebears and that was good, but it didn’t seem to be getting him anywhere. Mostly he just went to demonstrations, where he got himself wound up into an angry state. His sister was quite the opposite; no thought of anything beyond looking gorgeous and having fun. This was so typical of Sharon, bringing a soldier boyfriend to this, of all things. Lord knows she’d dated half the men in London at this stage. She could have easily invited that nice real estate agent from Wembley that Bridie’s sister had fixed her up with. But no. There had to be a drama.

    Thank God Sharon at least had the sense to book them both into a hotel, where she had left this Dave so she could slug it out with her brother.

    Bridie, trying to stay calm, reached across the kitchen table and adjusted the feathers on her elaborate fascinator. It was the same shade of violent green as the dress and cropped suit jacket she was wearing. The outfit had been a horrible mistake. She had wanted to wear green as a patriot, but the shade had looked much softer in the shop. It wasn’t until she saw it under her own kitchen lights that she realized how garish it was. On top of that the style made her look ancient. It was a real-­great-­aunt-­of-­the-­bride monstrosity. However, it had cost a fortune and it was too late to take it back now.

    Calm down, Frank. Your sister can bring who she likes although perhaps . . .

    Perhaps what? Sharon snapped.

    Well, this . . .

    Dave.

    Yes—­Dave might not feel comfortable there himself. So maybe it’s not such a good idea . . .

    Frank let out a triumphant snort while Bridie continued.

    I mean, this is a family day and I know you like him . . .

    Sharon closed her eyes in disgust, then opened them and glared at her mother.

    He’s not just ‘someone I like,’ Mam—­he’s my fiancé.

    What? Frank shouted. You can’t marry a Brit.

    You’re engaged? Bridie said. She tried to sound interested but frankly, she wasn’t surprised. Sharon had been engaged at least twice

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