The Baron Von Buckfast
- Jan 26, 2013
Prologue: Dublin, Easter Monday 1936
Twenty years since the great, failed Rising of 1916. Ten years of Michael Collins. The ruins the war left on Ireland may have been rebuilt but the scars remained. But Joe wasn’t thinking about this. He wasn’t born when the GPO was destroyed and Dublin left a burning ruin. He was a child when the last of the British soldiers marched out, and still a boy when Collins had marched on Belfast and the north welded into the Republic of Ireland. Yet all he was truly thinking of at the moment was that he was late and his bike was broken.
He sprinted through alleyways, dodging the big crowds, trying to get ahead of the march so he could see the whole thing. He was a young lad of seventeen, an apprentice and poor but with prospects ahead. The whole of Dublin was out for the parade, the state putting all on for the twentieth anniversary. Every window and lamp post, every hand and motor car was graced by the tricolour, the sky blue above them, the sun causing the tarmac to bubble in places. Every class and shade of Dublin was represented, from the tenement-block poor with their shoddy clothes and torn shoes to industrialists and leading men. The Shinners and Reds were about the only people not in the crowd, not openly at least. The IRA tramped through the streets with the Dublin Guard-the best dressed of their number- at the head. Tall, Germanic boots and coal-scuttle helmets shone in the light, the glint of bayonets making a fine sight as bagpipes blared in the close streets. By the GPO, the ultimate symbol of legitimacy to the government, the column halted. Joe was far back, perched finally up a lamp post, and precariously balanced, straining to see. The usual speeches were made by various military men, famous veterans of the War, even the Taoiseach, Eoin O’Duffy made a loud, rural-inflected speech. However, all were waiting, all were watching, for one man and one man alone.
Then, as the afternoon drew on, he appeared. The pipes sounded up and Amhran na Bhfiann, echoed out as the crowds howled and flung hats into the air. Even from here, Joe could see how tall he was, and how gaunt he had become. He was seen rarely now, and was strange to many. However, he was the hero of the War, and loved by nearly all. Even his enemies offered him some respect. He climbed the podium in his uniform, which he was rarely seen without, and opened up in his broad Cork accent. The speech was short but drawn out given the frequent bursts of applause. Yet, one part would be burned into Joe’s memory, and in the history books of the times to come;
“My long exile has ended, thank God, and now I return to you all. I have been working, working tirelessly to secure our people and our place in a troubled world. Yet till my last breath I shall belong to you, and till my last strength is given out and my final effort spent, I will labour for Ireland and see her through what may stand against her, at home and abroad. My work is not yet done and until the day dawns when any hand that seeks to shift the tricolour from her place of rest is struck down, my work shall not be complete. This I pledge, by the faith, by the flag, by the blood of our fathers, to you.”
Good day to you! This is my first AAR, my first real post, and indeed the first Irish KR AAR, to my knowledge. I'm an Irishman, and keen to represent this fascinating alt-history of my nation during this period. I have already played out the bulk of the game which this is based on, so do not worry about a sudden break in the writing. I am basing much of my style, indeed by inspiration, on "The Crown Atomic", the simply awe inspiring AAR by Cookfl, since such a style obviously works. I will be trying to represent some of the more gamey parts of my LP in reasonably historical, realistic terms and as such, some of the dates for events may be slightly askew as I am combining the events from two separate LPs, due to losing screenshots from the "canon" run. In any case, welcome and thank you for reading thus far. I shall update shortly!