Ireland sat up in bed, eyes wide with fear. For a moment, the room spun, but after a few seconds, the young country was able to calm down. Once again, Ireland had dreamt of her past. Lying back down in her bed, Ireland stared at the ceiling. As her eyes began to close, thoughts of what had been her life once again drifted through her head.
Many, many years earlier, Ireland lived in a small cottage along with her parents. They had a relatively happy life, despite constant financial struggles. Ireland’s beloved father, Shamus McFly, always carried with him a pistol which had been passed down through the generations. That pistol was his prized possession, and he never let it out of his sight. In fact, he claimed that the day he took it from his side would be the day he died. Sadly, though, Ireland’s father didn’t live long enough to allow that to happen.
It was winter. At midday, like always, Ireland and her family travelled to the nearest village to fetch supplies and food. However, little did Ireland know that this day would be the day which changed her life forever. She and her parents trampled the snow as they walked, leaving three trails of footprints behind them. After walking for only several minutes, Ireland’s father held up a hand.
“I hear somet’in’.” He muttered warily, glancing around. Surrounding their house was a large clearing, which was where they stood now. An eerie silence dominated the atmosphere, broken only a few times every minute by a gust of freezing wind. After waiting for several long minutes, Shamus put a hand to his belt and drew the pistol which had kept him safe for so long. “Come out from y’er hidin’ places!” He yelled, eyes narrowed against the cold breeze. The man had a reputation of being ready for anything, but he could never have imagined what happened next. As if from nowhere, a huge army appeared, all armed with bayonets and rifles. At the front of the great procession stood a man, dressed in blue, his golden hair blowing in the wind. Ireland was the one who recognised him first, her emerald eyes growing wide with shock. After a moment of just standing there, she managed to speak.
“B... Britain?” Her voice was quiet, filled with dread. “And... France?” As she looked up at the countries standing just fifty meters away, she saw England’s lime-green eyes soften, even just a little.
“Yes.” Britain murmured, his voice anything but gentle. Then, England turned his attention to Ireland’s parents. “I’ve come to take what is mine.”
Shamus was first to react, aiming his pistol at Britain’s head. Before he could even release the safety, though, the other man gave a shout.
“Fire!”
The army obeyed their leader within a second.
Only Ireland was left alive, in a shivering heap on the cold, hard ground.
Holding up a hand, England walked towards the younger nation. He knelt down before her trembling form, lifting her chin so that he could look her in the eyes.
“You’re coming with me.”
An hour or two later, Ireland was at the front door of Britain’s house, with the man himself opening the door for her. Little Ireland stepped inside warily, looking around the old mansion house. It was indeed beautiful, each detail painstakingly etched into the walls and ceiling. England’s home was much, much larger than Ireland’s, and simply added to the shock of this day. As the pair walked through countless hallways, the sheer reality of the situation finally sunk in. After walking for only several minutes, Ireland finally collapsed in floods of tears. Unable to contain herself, the young girl barely even noticed when Britain turned around and began to watch her. After a while, though, Ireland could feel the older nation’s eyes boring into her back, and she finally got herself together. Looking up at England, Ireland found herself unable to keep the raw hatred from her usually bright, forest-green eyes. Britain, on the other hand, seemed completely emotionless. Kneeling down once again, he picked young Ireland up and carried her slowly to a small room near his own.
“Now,” he told her, “you are to be part of my house.”
So, from then on, Ireland was part of the British Empire. Every now and then, someone would spark up a fight, but England would always flatten their argument without hesitation. Ireland was not happy being part of his house, despite his great financial help. Without Britain, Ireland would have died, but with him she wasn’t really living at all. Over a long period of time, Ireland gradually separated herself, talking to England less and less. She never dared claim independence completely, however.
Until a winter’s day in the year 1922.
Ireland dashed over the abandoned battlefield, her long, black overcoat flowing behind her in the freezing wind. Underfoot, the cold mud threatened to drag her back into the life, the life which she had only just left. But Ireland was not, in no way, returning to that terrible place. Eventually, Ireland’s eyes – or rather, eye – landed on the thing she had been searching so desperately for. It was a small cave, dug by her parents so many years ago – in case of an emergency. This, Ireland thought to herself, is just that sort of emergency. Practically sliding into the cave, the young woman curled up around herself. Inside the cave there was mud, and lots of it, but Ireland didn’t mind. At least she was safe, and that was really all that mattered. As she lay there, she kept one hand over the right side of her face. Indeed, today she had lost something. But, on the other hand, she had gained more.
Earlier that day, Ireland had approached Britain and demanded independence from him and his empire. England hadn’t taken it well, to say the least. In fact, the stronger nation had mercilessly torn out Ireland’s right eye in his fury. That eye was what the girl had called ‘Northern Ireland’, and now it was in Britain’s cold, cruel hands. With no choice but to run, Ireland had been forced to leave it there. Now Britain had complete control of that part of Ireland, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Sobbing quietly, Ireland gazed up at the small spot of light which filtered through into the cave. Then, she sat up. Ireland wasn’t wearing her usual outfit – a green maid’s dress with a white apron tied around the waist – for matters of practicality and convenience. Instead, she wore a standard British military outfit – and England’s own military boots. In the rush of her escape, Ireland had stolen them in order to blend in relatively well with the crowds of London. Now, though, she lay here, alone. It was strange – Ireland almost missed the relative security of Britain’s home. It certainly didn’t compare to what she would be able to do now, though. She could manage herself, at last! Make her own alliances, enemies too. Ireland was free! Lying on her back, the young nation began to sing quietly.
“When Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure ‘tis like a morn in spring
In the lilt of Irish laugher,
You can hear the angels sing...”
Over the years, Ireland saved up. First of all, she busked on the streets, singing her Irish songs. Soon, she had gotten enough money to buy a harp, and ended up performing in front of bigger crowds. It was a while before Ireland was able to build a true house of her own, but eventually, it happened. She didn’t build a new house, though. Instead, Ireland rebuilt her parent’s house, brick for brick. Soon enough, she was living there, alone. It was indeed different to the safety of Britain’s house, but Ireland was now free, her own country. So, one day, she decided to take a walk. It was autumn, the air cold and wet. Wrapped in her black cloak, Ireland set off into town. Before, she had often sent her troops to go and gather supplies, but this time she did it herself. After dropping the things she had bought with her limited money, Ireland sat down in the park. She’d left her cloak at her house, but she didn’t care. Ireland was used to the cold, and had been expecting it. No matter how much she had prepared for any situation, however, she could not have expected what was to happen next. Germany himself, the one country Ireland feared – in fact, the one country she actually had any respect for – sat merely a few feet away, immediately opening and reading a book. Acting out of instinct, Ireland shuffled away, staring at the ground. Suddenly, however, a deep German voice spoke up.
“Guten tag...”
Many, many years earlier, Ireland lived in a small cottage along with her parents. They had a relatively happy life, despite constant financial struggles. Ireland’s beloved father, Shamus McFly, always carried with him a pistol which had been passed down through the generations. That pistol was his prized possession, and he never let it out of his sight. In fact, he claimed that the day he took it from his side would be the day he died. Sadly, though, Ireland’s father didn’t live long enough to allow that to happen.
It was winter. At midday, like always, Ireland and her family travelled to the nearest village to fetch supplies and food. However, little did Ireland know that this day would be the day which changed her life forever. She and her parents trampled the snow as they walked, leaving three trails of footprints behind them. After walking for only several minutes, Ireland’s father held up a hand.
“I hear somet’in’.” He muttered warily, glancing around. Surrounding their house was a large clearing, which was where they stood now. An eerie silence dominated the atmosphere, broken only a few times every minute by a gust of freezing wind. After waiting for several long minutes, Shamus put a hand to his belt and drew the pistol which had kept him safe for so long. “Come out from y’er hidin’ places!” He yelled, eyes narrowed against the cold breeze. The man had a reputation of being ready for anything, but he could never have imagined what happened next. As if from nowhere, a huge army appeared, all armed with bayonets and rifles. At the front of the great procession stood a man, dressed in blue, his golden hair blowing in the wind. Ireland was the one who recognised him first, her emerald eyes growing wide with shock. After a moment of just standing there, she managed to speak.
“B... Britain?” Her voice was quiet, filled with dread. “And... France?” As she looked up at the countries standing just fifty meters away, she saw England’s lime-green eyes soften, even just a little.
“Yes.” Britain murmured, his voice anything but gentle. Then, England turned his attention to Ireland’s parents. “I’ve come to take what is mine.”
Shamus was first to react, aiming his pistol at Britain’s head. Before he could even release the safety, though, the other man gave a shout.
“Fire!”
The army obeyed their leader within a second.
Only Ireland was left alive, in a shivering heap on the cold, hard ground.
Holding up a hand, England walked towards the younger nation. He knelt down before her trembling form, lifting her chin so that he could look her in the eyes.
“You’re coming with me.”
An hour or two later, Ireland was at the front door of Britain’s house, with the man himself opening the door for her. Little Ireland stepped inside warily, looking around the old mansion house. It was indeed beautiful, each detail painstakingly etched into the walls and ceiling. England’s home was much, much larger than Ireland’s, and simply added to the shock of this day. As the pair walked through countless hallways, the sheer reality of the situation finally sunk in. After walking for only several minutes, Ireland finally collapsed in floods of tears. Unable to contain herself, the young girl barely even noticed when Britain turned around and began to watch her. After a while, though, Ireland could feel the older nation’s eyes boring into her back, and she finally got herself together. Looking up at England, Ireland found herself unable to keep the raw hatred from her usually bright, forest-green eyes. Britain, on the other hand, seemed completely emotionless. Kneeling down once again, he picked young Ireland up and carried her slowly to a small room near his own.
“Now,” he told her, “you are to be part of my house.”
So, from then on, Ireland was part of the British Empire. Every now and then, someone would spark up a fight, but England would always flatten their argument without hesitation. Ireland was not happy being part of his house, despite his great financial help. Without Britain, Ireland would have died, but with him she wasn’t really living at all. Over a long period of time, Ireland gradually separated herself, talking to England less and less. She never dared claim independence completely, however.
Until a winter’s day in the year 1922.
Ireland dashed over the abandoned battlefield, her long, black overcoat flowing behind her in the freezing wind. Underfoot, the cold mud threatened to drag her back into the life, the life which she had only just left. But Ireland was not, in no way, returning to that terrible place. Eventually, Ireland’s eyes – or rather, eye – landed on the thing she had been searching so desperately for. It was a small cave, dug by her parents so many years ago – in case of an emergency. This, Ireland thought to herself, is just that sort of emergency. Practically sliding into the cave, the young woman curled up around herself. Inside the cave there was mud, and lots of it, but Ireland didn’t mind. At least she was safe, and that was really all that mattered. As she lay there, she kept one hand over the right side of her face. Indeed, today she had lost something. But, on the other hand, she had gained more.
Earlier that day, Ireland had approached Britain and demanded independence from him and his empire. England hadn’t taken it well, to say the least. In fact, the stronger nation had mercilessly torn out Ireland’s right eye in his fury. That eye was what the girl had called ‘Northern Ireland’, and now it was in Britain’s cold, cruel hands. With no choice but to run, Ireland had been forced to leave it there. Now Britain had complete control of that part of Ireland, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Sobbing quietly, Ireland gazed up at the small spot of light which filtered through into the cave. Then, she sat up. Ireland wasn’t wearing her usual outfit – a green maid’s dress with a white apron tied around the waist – for matters of practicality and convenience. Instead, she wore a standard British military outfit – and England’s own military boots. In the rush of her escape, Ireland had stolen them in order to blend in relatively well with the crowds of London. Now, though, she lay here, alone. It was strange – Ireland almost missed the relative security of Britain’s home. It certainly didn’t compare to what she would be able to do now, though. She could manage herself, at last! Make her own alliances, enemies too. Ireland was free! Lying on her back, the young nation began to sing quietly.
“When Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure ‘tis like a morn in spring
In the lilt of Irish laugher,
You can hear the angels sing...”
Over the years, Ireland saved up. First of all, she busked on the streets, singing her Irish songs. Soon, she had gotten enough money to buy a harp, and ended up performing in front of bigger crowds. It was a while before Ireland was able to build a true house of her own, but eventually, it happened. She didn’t build a new house, though. Instead, Ireland rebuilt her parent’s house, brick for brick. Soon enough, she was living there, alone. It was indeed different to the safety of Britain’s house, but Ireland was now free, her own country. So, one day, she decided to take a walk. It was autumn, the air cold and wet. Wrapped in her black cloak, Ireland set off into town. Before, she had often sent her troops to go and gather supplies, but this time she did it herself. After dropping the things she had bought with her limited money, Ireland sat down in the park. She’d left her cloak at her house, but she didn’t care. Ireland was used to the cold, and had been expecting it. No matter how much she had prepared for any situation, however, she could not have expected what was to happen next. Germany himself, the one country Ireland feared – in fact, the one country she actually had any respect for – sat merely a few feet away, immediately opening and reading a book. Acting out of instinct, Ireland shuffled away, staring at the ground. Suddenly, however, a deep German voice spoke up.
“Guten tag...”
