where the wild lilies bloom

(celebrating the 1916 Rising with the Heelers Diaries)

It was a bright Spring day as participants in Kilcullen's Easter Rising commemoration parade lined up on Main Street.
The honour guard was made up of descendants of original participants in the Revolution.
Johnny Fortescue moved among the group distributing felt tipped hats with garish brims painted in the colour of the Irish flag.
The hats were nearly a good touch.
But the garish paint made them look a bit like cheap cowboy hats picked up on a beer holiday.
Johnny's great grand Uncle Fred had fought at Boland's mills.
They are a family of tough men but clearly not overburdened with artistic taste in the hat department.
Johnny, although not an official parade organiser, must have thought he had a duty to lead on the hat matter, stemming from long years in theatre production.
The most moving moment of the entire Easter Rising commemoration in Kilcullen and possibly nationwide, came when Johnny offered a hat to Molly Dalrimple whose grandfather was a parrot with the Carlow Brigade IRA.
Molly Dalrimple spoke sharply: "I'm not wearing that."
She is a committed feminist.
No means no.
They began to argue.
Their argument had a certain poignancy.
Still.
Unlike their ancestors, at least they didn't shoot anyone.
I watched them, a strange smile curving about my handsome preraphaelite features.
A terrible beauty is born.
All my certainties have been shaken bold readers.
But I knew one thing as I watched Johnny Fortescue and Molly Dalrimple arguing.
Nothing in heaven and earth was going to make Molly Dalrimple wear that hat.
So it proved.
The other shower of conformists all wore their hats of course.
Just like their ancestors.