Free 1949 by Morgan Llywelyn Page B

are?”
    â€œMiss Ursula Halloran. I’ve been sent from Posts and Telegraphs.”
    â€œYou want the office, one flight up. This is the control room, studio’s through that door.”
    â€œWhat’s behind the screen?”
    â€œA sort of waiting room for guest performers.”
    A red light was burning over the door to the studio. Ursula could hear music inside. “Can I listen in to the program?” she asked hopefully.
    â€œThey’re only rehearsing for tonight. There’s a pair of headphones in the men’s toilet that will pick up what’s coming over the microphone, but I’m afraid that’s all I can offer.”
    16 May 1927
    Dear Papa,
    As of yesterday I am gainfully employed! I have taken a clerical position with 2RN. Fortunately Uncle Henry once taught me to use a typewriter. Although I am a bit rusty I shall practice like mad. In a few days I shall be handling routine correspondence as well as doing the filing. The staff here is small and everyone is expected to perform multiple tasks. Even though I am not very good at it, they have me making the tea. (Perhaps if I make it too bitter they will assign the job to someone else.)
    Séamus Clandillon, the station director, has an abrupt manner, but one has to admire him. He works incredibly long hours, doing everything from general administration and directing programs to recruiting talent. Both he and his wife are professional singers. During the station’s inaugural broadcast they volunteered to go on air and sing if one of the scheduled performers failed to appear.
    Mr. Clandillon suffers from gout, and often takes off his shoes in the studio and walks around in thick socks. Do you suppose Aunt Norah could suggest one of her country cures for his condition? It would certainly put me in his good books.
    The highest-ranking woman at the station is Mairead Ní Ghráda. When Ernest Blythe was minister for trade and commerce in the first Dáil—the Republican Dáil—Mairead was his secretary. Now she is the woman’s organiser at 2RN. Is that not an odd title? She is in charge of children’s programming, and also a library of gramophone records from which she selects music to be played over the air. Because I know a little something about music thanks to my education at Surval, she said I could help her.
    Another person whom I like very much is the announcer, Séumas Hughes. He prefers to be called Séumas O hAodha . You must know him; he was the first person to sing “The Soldier’s Song” in public, at a Volunteers’ concert. During the Rising he fought in Jacob’s Biscuit Factory under the command of Thomas MacDonagh. He begins each transmission by saying in beautiful Irish, “ Se seo Radio Bhaile Atha Cliath agus Radio Corcaigh .” *
    For now the broadcasts are of very low power, but one day people all across the country will be able to listen to the wireless. You and Frank should buy a crystal set for the farm. They only cost a few shillings and you can put one together yourselves. Then you can hear the news almost as soon as it happens, and you can imagine me here in the Dublin station, thinking of you.
    Your loving Ursula
    There was no reply.
    There was never a reply.
    Â 
    Working at 2RN was like acquiring a new family; a lively family in which something exciting was always happening. Ursula never missed Mass on Sunday, but otherwise most of her waking hours were spent at the broadcasting station. Or thinking about broadcasting. Concentric waves spreading out like brave soldiers carrying urgent messages. Ireland listening. Herself at the heart of the excitement.
    Upon receipt of her first pay packet, she counted out the small sum to the last ha’penny. Her only extravagances would be buying books—used ones, of course, from the many used bookshops in Dublin—and sending her clothes to a commercial laundry. Her European wardrobe would have to