Families Part 7- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2007

 Families Part 7- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2007

Chapter 7

Reflections

The human mind has a labyrinth of pathways and unsolved trails deriving from each momentous occasion, through a dark morass and a series of troubled streets rarely examined or understood by a waking human being..

All these moments are enveloped in the vast reservoir of the human unconsciousness and finally unearthed in our dreams at night, but still there while we live each waking hour drawing power at the back of our psyche. They are little nickel bullets lodged in our brain, bullets of emotional upheaval that bleed not blood but the stirring of deep regret to the incomprehensible dilemma of what mistakes one has made and how to rectify such mistakes.

                                             In Belfast city that evening at about half seven where the Campbell family resided on their cosy and well respected neighbourhood, the streets were overflowing with the rain poured incessantly through the drains until they overflowed and vomited up the excess water from the constant rain that hammered on the grey and brown pavement and after this little lakes were forming on the side of the road. It was quite and everyone took sanctuary inside their well furnished comfy and cosy homes while the hiss of the rain gently tapped on the roofs of each house incessantly for over half an hour.

                                                    Inside of the Campbell residence the blinds were drawn and there wasn’t much light emanating from inside at all. However in the main living room lying half dark completely, slouched in an armchair lay Andrew Campbell by his lonesome. His face penetrated the opposite side of the room to the tall black grandfather clock that poised on the wall, gathering dust and he seemed to be affixed to staring forward. In truth Andrew’s mind was split in twain right down the central divide of his consciousness. He was paralysed to decide what to do next all he could think about was what had happened earlier that day in Cookstown and the bloody turmoil with its debacle of affairs with the gunmen that left him this unworthy or more tragic conclusion. Andrew felt partly satisfied with himself and yet slightly morbid over the loss of life that he saw as unnecessary. Was he possibly being assertive and brave but also heartlessly too gun ho to even negotiate with these fellow human beings. Andrew’s ego on the one hand was always obsessed with an appetite for action, success, almost a self gratification of what ever he wanted and of course he had his own arrogant political analysis of the Northern Ireland critique and the age old questions of how sow the seeds of lasting peace. Andrew could half convince himself that everything done was done in the duty demanded and implored on the security and protection of the policemen under his supervision, and of course he longed to save those men taken into captivity by the gunmen and maybe immediate force with a brave and brass effort was needed effectively to do so.

So Andrew contemplated on the events of yesterday, sitting idle amongst the shifting shadows that shuffled silently outside. It sounded like the tabby cats were tussling in contest outside screeching and moaning now that the rain had stopped finally.

                                                                                                  Down the stairs came Cecelia clothed so finely in her apparel wearing a fancy wine coloured dress, with white silk gloves, a fine pearl necklace and crowned on top with a feathered hat to show her suave and sophisticated fashion tastes. She stood in the doorway lingering and silently watching Andrew going unnoticed for his attention.

“I’m ready to go out, I’m all groomed and cleaned and ready to out.

You’ve just been sitting there since you came home rather sternly in a huff.

I hardly ever get to go out to the theatre anymore, only once a week do we go out for a couple of brandy’s or a couple of gin and tonics. All you do these days is work, locked into you’re assignments as though it’s a matter of life and death and then sometimes lounge about drinking in gentlemen’s clubs with those colleagues of yours.

You should never neglect your own children, what I mean to say is, you should spend more time with them even if they are all grown up now as adults.

Please I’m asking you nicely and fairly, can we go for a drink, anywhere you want to”

, she spoke rather rampantly espousing a fit of words, putting emphasis on the drink aspect of the conversation in particular.

Andrew turned his head around to look at her.

He gave an excuse for his behaviour and his lack of enthusiasm for alcohol on this particular evening. He never called it stress or anxiety but “the deep regret of a horrible day working as a detective.”

“I have a huge responsibility bearing down on me on the protection of the men that serve under me and today while I was over in Cookstown following up my investigation on the ransom demands made on several policemen by dissident irregular IRA gunmen. I shot several of them dead in anticipation of withdrawing evidence from one of the gunmen on the whereabouts of the three kidnapped constables in Co. Tyrone”, he began to give out a curt snap of anger in response to constant winning.

“Cecelia I’ve gotten so entangled in this case after all the murders carrier out by those damn idealists. Some times I want to exact a bloody revenge beyond my wildest dreams on these dogs, so I can root them out and finish them off once and for all and then I would have all the time there is to facilitate the needs of you and the children.”

“You’ve had you’re revenge, you saved the lives of many a good policeman today, you should be extremely proud of you’re self as I am of you right now on this instance”, said Cecelia showing a warm and loving introspection of her motives.

“Well in hindsight maybe you’re right, for after all these reactionary opponents of the state have been taught a mighty lesson to which they won’t forget.”

                                                                                                         Andrew ceased his wallowing of self-pity and stood up, glancing at his pocket watch hastily.

“Alright give me five minutes to go and have a quick wash and then we’ll hit the town.”

Cecelia smiled in response. “Oh by the way where’s Emma and David today, I haven’t seen either of them”, shouted Andrew from upstairs.

“David’s gone to the pub and Emma’s next door with Lisa Stanley; I think their debating on some assignment due for Queen’s.”

Both of them had felt a bit under the weather about their marital problems but that evening they both decide to call a truce and go out for the night to relax.

Meanwhile the surviving men that had perpetrated the day’s crimes in Cookstown had been identified by common informers at the police station later that day. The bodies of those killed in the fire fight lay wrapped in linen like mummies in their coffins ready to be sent to a local undertaker and be dealt with on the funeral arrangements.

Letters were written to the parents of these men, condemning them all for their convictions. The three surviving men were all interrogated and locked up into three separate cells. Sometimes the police would come out with pecuniary words under false pretence saying words like, “I wish I could help but…,

I wish I could reduce the sentence but I don’t know now.”

Prisoners were to sing like budgies and reveal the vital information on the secret location of where the captured policemen were being held.

The last to be interrogated was also the youngest, a witless kid covered in black ugly bruises on his thin legs. The lean, burly officer that interrogated him managed to make the boy weep. The boy seemed to be shaking, rocking back and forth as if in a world of his own, going delirious.

                                           Soon the secret location of the kidnapped men was found and the sentry was taken by surprise to find himself surrounded and tied up in a flurry of activity by a group of furious policemen who grabbed him tightly.

(2)

Saturday morning in Cookstown began with incessant humidity that swallowed upon the light and cool western breeze gradually. However by midday the clouds were once again in position in the sky.

                                           The townspeople knew of the police’s activities on the previous day and many an ordinary person with or without a strong republican identity felt themselves that the RUC came to oppose nearly everything they stood for and with these inflammatory feelings inside they believed that the RUC was a hindrance to peace in general and some people felt that all the violence and bloodshed that occurred was completely unnecessary and done in malice. The local papers censored the news stories to suit the authorities.

                                                                           Patrick sat in the kitchen at the great wooden table that occupies most of the space in the Donnelly family kitchen. Patrick sat opposite his older brother Declan and to his right his father Albert sat quietly and his mother Mary sat to his left. The old wooden table was covered with cups, saucers, plates and bowls all in fine expensive china. The men gulped down quickly on their hot cups of tea in haste, while also making noises as they slobbered on their food. Then Patrick unfolded today’s paper glancing without a word at today’s news.

Then he handed the paper to Albert.

“It’s a secret operation by the RUC, it’s rumoured that the gunmen were those connected to the Pomeroy murders. Three or four of them were killed all in police duty and another three of them have been imprisoned for interrogation.

Dad what’s you’re opinion on this?”

“I don’t have much of an opinion on it son”, said Albert weakly under his breath.

“But dad we must stand up and be counted someday”, protested Patrick harshly.

“Pat, are you upset, what is it, you seem so wound up today what is it?”

Inquired Declan reaching out his hand to Patrick who seemed to have no interest whatsoever in what he said.

Albert’s face had turned a scarlet red colour suddenly after he coughed several times in pain.

“Listen Pat, I struggled as a youth and I had to work for every penny and every shilling while trying to support you’re mother and this entire family. Now from the way I see it life’s hard bloody enough without someone going out causing damn chaos to others who just want to live. I’ve been alive a lot longer than you and I don’t care what them bastards think, they don’t speak for me and my kind. I care about this family.”

Albert’s hands were warm when they touched Patrick’s cold and sweaty palms as he reached across the wooden table to hold his hand. Patrick withdrew his hand instantaneously as if he had been insulted somehow by his father.

Patrick’s irrational behaviour made the family look at one another with eyes of concern.

  

Families Part 6- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2007

 Families - Copyright Robert Fullarton 2007

Chapter 6

The armed struggle

There are many men across the distribution of the lands and many impulses within each and every man. Some men are pacifists, who wag their fingers and shake their fists at the troubles of the world, while trying to maintain a stable and sane society, they engage themselves either wholly or in half to the states they belong to. Many a pacifist engages in the less controversial side of existence, actively challenging the status quo of politics, thus engendering themselves to the pious affairs of the silent majority or some try with a meticulous effort to apply themselves to a religious or charitable cause to justify their dreams and tip the balance in the boundary of the pacifists.

                                                                                                                 In every country, shouted on through the high streets and the bustling sprawling centres of the human metropolis and way down to the country backwaters of population and thrown up daily in the media of the nations lie the actions of many a man who lies involved in a violent crime or action, achieved through a violent deed. Whether it is an armed struggle, a coup d’etat, a revolution or a common fight or brawl between people, the peoples of the world know crystal clear of the guilty Mens Reus of the violent men who wish to salvage their achievements in the roots of bloodshed.

                                                                                                        The island of Ireland as a whole has had it’s fair share of violence, from the days of Silken Thomas and his bloody and failed rebellion in Kildare, to the nine year war of Hugh O’Neil against Queen Elizabeth began the battle of the dispossessed against the invader and the intruder. The Irish struggle reached its pinnacle some say on an avaricious land war and the savage sectarian battles that ran from the Ulster plantation through to the Glorious Revolution of King William of Orange.

 In Northern Ireland in particular both the Republican camp and the Loyalist unionist camp, saw great fervour and vehemence in force to defend their communities from the enemy who threatened their civil rights and liberties. Many pacifists went underground in those days to some, as naked sectarian hatred brewed deep in the minds of many people. Could the actions of these violent men show a paradox, from a cycle unscrupulous? However many men seek peace only for it to bide some time to harvest war once again.

                                    It was a Thursday morning not far from the summer solstice in June, when the long summer hours were filled with the commotion of children playing on their local “stretch”, of land or barking out while playing football.

The temperature rose and the humidity of the heat swelled on the northern skin, hot on many a red crop of hair. About three kilometres south outside of Cookstown county Tyrone, there lay a stretch of abundant land painted with the summer meadows of gorse and the daisy patches of the mounds of grass, fringing the country lanes and byways that stretched into the hinterlands surrounding. In one particular spot there lay a tiny country road that led to a crossroads and from a stones throw there lay a dark and uninhabited forest of Scots pine and mountain ash, mostly coniferous as the eye could see around. In the foreground of an old famine cottage their lay a small thatched barnyard with a broken gate to its entrance and there lay a man to act as a sentry waiting for a friend to arrive. The man wore a small brown tweed coat and a cap, he was five foot seven in his stature and he stood nervously twitching and tweaking loose buttons on his coat to fasten it up. Then he flinched and yelled into through the door of the barn to sound the alarm.

“Oh wait its only Hayes as we expected”, he said clearing his throat.

Then the man strolled up beside the sentry took off his cap and shook with his right hand winking and smiling with the sentry.

“Where are the lads?”

“There inside there”,

said the sentry.

“You’re late, why the hell are you late?”

“oh family matters intervened and I lost track of the hour even as early as it is”,

responded the other man casually.

He went in immediately through the barnyard door and the sentry followed suit immediately afterwards.

The smell of pig’s slurry and silage left a strong stench in the old abandoned barn, its walls housed two dozen house martins and a pair of field mice that buried themselves deep within a patch of hay in the corner.

Two men stood opposite each other, left to right, both smoked their own rolled cigarettes, and stared anxiously at the two men strolling in.

Little light could yield against the deep blackened darkness that penetrated the circumference of the barn.

The four men formed a semi circle, and each of them wore brown tweed coats and some wore velvet leggings.

The four figures were in their twenties, they displayed an image of aggressiveness to try to assert their courage to each other and bury the fear they felt in the burrows of their stomachs and change the troubled look from off their countenance.

Then one of them began to speak.

“I have given the ultimatum for our demands, and only when our demands are met then will we release the prisoners.”

The man was tall, stocky to be precise and he had broad shoulders and was made of muscle, robust in his physic that slightly intimidated the other men.

He had wavy brown hair and his chin was covered with stubble.

“Where are the prisoners kept?”

, asked one of them.

“There around the back, tied down and unconscious, we knocked them out because they were giving us hassle.

Now fellas, listen good, I want you Hayes…

“Yes!”

He responded sharply in an instant.

“To stay and remain here with the prisoners. Leave them tied down, don’t speak to them, Keep an eye on them and give them a slap if they even move.

If they want food I have left meagre provisions to keep them alive in the shed beside the back of the barn. If they need anything of absolute necessity then grant it otherwise slap them around if they hassle you”

“Of course, Oshinn”

and he nodded respectively in response.

The leader of the gang was the Oshinn Flynn who the RUC were after and had linked his IRA unit with several over brutal crimes throughout the province.

He was however an amateur. After every crime, evidence mounted on him and now he attempted to collect the ransom money for the lives of the three constables kept, to provide for the weapons the East Tyrone IRA required bringing the war to the British authorities. However most of the time this usually meant inflicting their brutality upon innocent Protestant civilians many who were farmers or just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“The Brits are going to watch every movement we make, so we’ll find a good spot and we’ll ambush them right outside the town hall. We’ll hide on the roof if we have to. I want you Mullan, to conceal yourself at the back of the town hall and don’t allow yourself to be hassled by anyone and when I signal to you to fire on my instruction then fire at all of them. I expect the Brits will lay a trap for us and be there before us, so we’ll surprise them and if they touch us Hayes here will shoot the prisoners.

I want you Dooley to be the bait I want you waiting at the front of the town hall, and I want you to enter some kind of false negotiation so the boys and me can get into position and fire. Anyone in the town hall must be released. Now here I have five automatic Thompson sub machine guns and three 45 colt handguns straight in from a shipment from our brothers in Boston. I want you all to carry ammunition, cause when all guns go blazing I want nothing to go wrong. Dooley tell them the hostages are in the town hall and whatever you do, make sure you collect the money, which will be held in three paper brown bags.

Lads its now or never, we’ll be decorated as heroes by our own community and immortalised in the pages of Irish history as patriots and any who die will not die in vain but shall be martyrs to the cause.”

“Amen, you said it”, shouted out one of them.

The four men jostled each other and laughed, shaking each other’s shoulders and joking in their anticipation.

They filled their guns with ammunition and departed from there hideout and they slipped silently weaving through the woods into a car were a driver awaited them.

“Jim, leave us to Flattery’s pub on the main street”,

said Oshinn to the driver, while the five of them were crammed into the car.

“Lads don’t worry as I mentioned before, I’m going to meet several other men who will assist us in Flattery’s pub. It’s now nine o'clock and that hopefully gives us plenty of time, as were set for half two. Put you’re guns carefully in the shopping bags I’ve given you and if you can stick them deep in any pocket as far as possible then do it.”

The men all nodded in response.

The car drove off the splinter of the country lane and onto the main road. Each man sat in silence and awaited, nervously with their hearts pounding and bulging, they were heavy and resilient with fear on their face but for now they sat in silence.

(2)

Andrew Campbell had slung himself out of bed bright and early that morning at approximately six o’clock. He arrived at Belfast central station at eight o’clock on a sunny and settled Thursday morning, where he joined four other colleagues who worked under him at the criminal investigation department.

They boarded on the train some carried bags containing food and other belongings and two of them brought suitcases in precaution if they had to spend the night in Cookstown.

The five men sat in a carriage all to themselves they looked suave in their suits and they had a sophistication of any policeman and the respect that any decent person gave them. Andrew Campbell sat there facing three men with a constable to his right.

The men were all younger than Andrew two of the men were at lest 27 years old and looked like rookies to the police force but they weren’t. One of the men had severed at the Somme as corporal under the Ulster Volunteer force and was wounded in the ankle when a bullet ricocheted and almost left him unconscious in no-mans land during the offensive and he lay alone in the hollowed earth until he was dragged away and sent to a Red Cross field hospital in France.

Andrew sat smoking as the train chugged along and steam burned fast, as the locomotive went through the winding countryside and passed through town after town with washing lines and church steeples visible from the view with the rolling hills set firmly in the background.

“So gentlemen we received the news that three constables from the Cookstown RUC station in county Tyrone were held at gunpoint when they were attacked at two o’clock on Wednesday morning. Two other officers were knocked unconscious by these brutal men. Were told there was four of them, however, all of course wore scarves over their faces and tried to disguise their appearance.

They left a message and they stated they would release the three constables if we paid fifty thousand pounds to be kept in brown paper bags and left at the town hall at half past two. I know that these men will have something planned, so we’ll be prepared to fight if we have to.

First of all I have with me in this suitcase the weaponry and secondly the money is in this black carrier back here. Fifty thousand has been withdrawn from the bank by the commissioner.”

People began to get on the train and walking past carrying cases and the children carried towels for the seaside.

Andrew then whispered and starred into the eyes of all his fellow colleagues.

“Were going to try negotiate and extract information on the whereabouts of the kidnapped men. However my gut says different, these men could be bluffing; there might be no prisoners even in the town hall. So my advice is this, secure the perimeter of the town hall and I mean watch carefully to any of the roofs around for anyone who might fire. We’ve got firepower and the more the better.

“Andy, should we check out Flattery’s pub on the far side of the main street, that’s a notorious nest for republican activity”, said the man facing him.

“Good thinking Dodds, we’ll get right to it as soon as we arrive.”

“Andy are we getting any back up from the local police at all just in case anything happens unexpectedly”, said the policeman beside him to his right.

“Tyrie, were going to meet at the station in Cookstown first and their the Superintendent in that district is going to inform us on any information which will assist us and its in my discretion under the orders given from the Commissioner whether or not we’ll receive back up.

However I have decided that help is needed if this turns into a sticky situation.”

An hour passed and Andrew and his colleagues stood in the premises of the Cookstown police station there the team met with the superintendent. The men exchanged brief pleasantries and introductions and then the local sergeant informed Andrew on some informer information from a local source that a meeting in Flattery’s pub was under way where several IRA men were in operation. The source was in fact a former anti-treaty republican who was the same source that credited Andrew with information before.

“Gentlemen we must look casual and be calm, we must not give off any signals,

in fact we must dress differently, don’t wear uniforms, wear normal clothes and obviously hide your guns. Now I want Adams and Ferguson to slip quietly down the road, check Flattery’s, and make sure you check it out carefully. I myself will go with Dodds and Tyrie down to the Town Hall and I will stand a metre or more away and we will just watch and wait and see what happens next. The money will be in our custody which we’ll use to extract information on the whereabouts of the three kidnapped men.

I will negotiate on this matter as the Commissioner has instructed me.

I want the rest of you to form a perimeter set up around the radius of the town hall.

Finally all I have to say is this, we must try and hold one of them and question them otherwise three men will have lost their lives and we’ll have failed completely,

any questions at all gentlemen.”

Unanimously everyone agreed and nodded solemnly. The men looked at Andrew who wore his fancy pinstriped suit looking brash and brave and quietly impressed with Andrew speaking thunderously with his fiery words, which gave courage to the men. Andrew could be filled with rage and aggression easily but it took time to invoke it from him and once it came he could get carried away.

He was a man who loved to get thinks done never leaving them to linger. Andrew had a practical approach to everything.

All the men moved out and went into their positions. The men were given previous notice before Andrew’s arrival so they were well equipped for the worst situation. The men slipped into normal clothing some wore suits and fancy black leggings others wore braces with woollen jumpers and caps to hide their faces. They strolled casually down the street and broke off into groups.

Andrew, Dodds and Tyrie went down the main street ahead of the others and stood over a metre across from the town hall they gazed almost hidden from gaze under a tree on the pavement. The trio stared all around they looked straight at the large red bricked building in front of them. No one went in no went out and no signs showed any suspicious activity. Andrew’s eyes trailed to every one that even walked by the building.

“Just wait gentlemen, wait and see, its now ten to ten in the morning,”

said Andrew quietly.

“Sir were set to meet them at half two so why are we here at only ten to ten in the morning?”

Dodds questioned Andrew growing impatient waiting

“Because these men are trying to kill us and take the cash, they are going to arrive early and I can guess that at least one or two will be on the rooftop to shoot precisely at us and pin us down. Then I believe that one will arrive at the front of the town hall carrying demands, looking for the money. He’ll be the bait to suck us all in.

We’re going to storm the building and were going to have a firefight with these bastards. These bastards I believe were responsible for the brutal murders in Pomeroy just the other week. Now let’s just wait and see, the men will arrive back in fifteen minutes.”

Ten minutes had dragged by and several other policemen congregated and were dismissive in their search for the terrorists.

“No, sign of anything suspicious, the pub is half empty, only old drunken men hanging about. By the way several men have formed a perimeter around the building, everything is tightly knit, I don’t think anything can slip by us now,

said one of the policemen.

“Good, spread out. I don’t want anyone to suspect anything, go!”

Andrew smoked a cigarette with his fellow policemen; to the outside eye they could pass for ordinary men having a harmless conversation on the pavement.

Then suddenly the men stood and stared, they peered forward and spotted a man who stood outside the town hall, he covered his face with a scarf and his head was crowned with a cap. In his hand he carried a Smith and Weston pistol. It seemed to be an insane sight to the men who without hesitation realised who he was. They thought to themselves “I wonder is there only one here? Where are the three kidnapped men? and will there be a gunfight after all?”

It appeared to the police that this one man was easily out numbered, but none of them had the foolish naivety to truly believe the terrorists were not coming for a fight.

“Alright gentlemen it begins. I’ll negotiate.

Cover my back and make sure there’s no one on the roof.”

Andrew stamped out his cigarette with the sole of his shoe and crossed the main street to face this intimidating man.

“So you’re in charge obviously,”

said the gunman.

“Yes I’m in charge, and I want to negotiate with you and you’re comrades for the release of the three kidnapped men. My colleagues across the road have the £50,000 as you requested in three brown paper bags. Take a look for you’re self.”

The gunman looked directly across the road to the pavement and spotted the two policemen holding up the brown paper bags and lifting out briefly the tied paper bags.

“Alright then In a minute I’m going to inspect the money myself, but no funny stuff, remember we have eyes everywhere, we’ll be watching you’re every move.”

“No problem I’ll call one of my colleagues over immediately.”

Andrew composed himself well, he was calm and in control and seemed to be seeking to negotiate with the gunman and his fellow brothers at arms.

“I have to ask you some questions, first of all are the men alive?”

“Yes, there all safe we have them hidden”

“Secondly, we need to know are they in the building at all?

Where exactly are they, we wont give you any money if we don’t know where they are”,

Andrew stood face to face with the gunman and he began to grow impatient with the façade that had unravelled. It seemed to be a no win situation for Andrew and the police, so Andrew thought hard and well on what to do next and for a split second there was silence and then Andrew began to feel a fiery anger brew within him and for once he decided to oblige the impulse that he ignored for so long.

Andrew as fast as lightning turned up his fist and it smacked the gunman straight in the face and almost knocked him cold. Then immediately afterwards Andrew produced a small colt handgun which he had concealed and tied to his back.

He grabbed the gunman’s pistol and left it in his pocket and held the man back and ordered him to move across the road slowly.

With the scar removed you could see the youths face, his nose was bleeding and his sandy blonde hair was perspiring with sweat.

Andrew held his arms back and applied a brutal force to keep him on the ground with the police.

“I don’t believe it Andy you’ve shown that Fenian whose boss”,

grinned Dodds, “with a punch and he’s gone.”

“Stop talking, and take out you’re weapons, damn it”,

said Andrew annoyed.

Then he faced the gunman and held a pistol up to his temple.

At that moment groups of police began to arrive on the scene they were amused at the spectacle they witnessed.

“Andy that’s unorthodox we cant get information if we act like this they’ll be no negotiation, cried out one of the policemen that crowded around him.

“Get back you fools, cover yourselves, they’re on the roof damn you!”

“There can’t be. The entire area has been searched; no one can get to the roof,

cried one of the policemen.”

Andy held down the gunman firmly, pressing his arms tightly together almost to the point of seriously harming him.

Andrew began to shout on the top of his voice.

Any person who witnessed the scene kept their distance and was cautious not to get involved but nonetheless ordinary bystanders began to stare at what was happening.

“Come out and drop you’re weapons, I know you are on the roof of the town hall.

I have one of you’re comrades here and his life is in you’re hands. If you cooperate and surrender you’re arms then, I’ll let him live. However I might hold him as a prisoner of my own and keep him in exchange for the three constables.

Don’t forget there are at least twenty armed policemen around the building, so you won’t escape.” Andrew’s rage grew more by the minute and the policemen behind stood and stared up at the roof occasionally muttering to each other.

Then the sound of gunshots went out into the air and four gunmen began to fire down on the police. Bullets whizzed past and one ricocheted from a tree and almost hit Andrew on his left hand shoulder.

“Get the men back behind the left hand wall over there, go run and cover yourselves were under bloody siege go.”

Andrew roared at the men as he pulled up the captive gunman, still holding him at gun point.

“Dodds take him and hold him down. If he tries to escape at all, then feel free to knock him out.”

“Yes sir.”

“Tyrie, Johnson, Jones and Stewart, fire, we’re going to take these bastards out,

I want you to come with me and run as fast as you can across the road were going to storm the building. I want the rest of you to keep firing, keep them distracted and keep them pinned down; we’re going round to put an end to this once and for all.”

“Yes, sir!” shouted the men as Andrew drilled them into order.

The firefight continued and the police and the gunmen exchanged fire back and forth every man fired and then ducked behind to cover himself.

Then suddenly one of the policemen was struck in the chest with a bullet and he fell to the ground unconscious and his wound gushed with blood.

“Don’t worry he’ll be alright, see to him Roberts, you were a doctor before you joined the force weren’t you,” shouted the superintendent.

“Are you joking? I haven’t anything to help him with, obviously” said the bemused officer beside him.

The gunmen shouted to one another and one of them drew out a machinegun and its bullets pounded against the wall going deeper and fragments of stone exploded all around and fell on the police with clouds of dust rising up.

Meanwhile Andrew had sprinted bravely across the road with the four other men under his command. They were directly away from the target of the gunmen and they faced the front door of the town hall. What menace they faced would reveal itself once they went inside.

Then Andrew fired several rounds at the left window to the front door and then the glass obliterated into a thousand pieces on the ground and one of the gunmen collapsed and dropped his weapon.

“Sir how did you know he was there?”

“I saw his shadow moving like a reaper silently against the glass, Johnston”, said Andrew gleefully.

“Come on lets get going!

Kick down the door lads”, shouted Andrew.

The door went down and the five men ran through the empty expanse of the wooden floored hall. No one stirred, and it was silent except for the sound of gunfire coming from outside. At the back of a large stage lay a little backdoor and this drew the obvious attention from the men who ran towards its and jumped up onto the stage in as fast as they could.

The men went through the door and out onto a musty old corridor and found a staircase that proceeded up at the side to the roof.

“Gentlemen I want you to cover me I’m going up there”, shouted Andrew as he ran up the stairs slamming open the wooden doors.

Immediately on the roof Andrew spotted four gunmen firing down below, all of them had their backs turned and failed to notice Andrew who for a brief moment watched them as they ducked and dodged the fire of the police. The rooftop was broad and wide and it extended to the building beside it.

Andrew fired a round and immediately wounded one of the gunmen and knocked him straight to the ground.

Then the gunmen began to panic they started to fire directly at Andrew and the four other men. Andrew hid behind the huge fat triangular ventilation on the roof from the fire of the gunmen.

Andrew and the men all hid behind the ventilation, still exchanging fire and loading their weapons and praying they would survive the bloody battle that ensued, but then almost as though an avenging angel had sown its wrath, Andrew and the men all stood up and fired, they picked off the terrorist who had been firing his machine gun and had them pinned down for five solid minutes like mice with their tails between their legs in terror.

Andrew and his men all walked forward pointing their guns at the two remaining gunmen. One of them dropped his gun while the other man suddenly sprinted off.

“Halt or I’ll shoot, hey you’re surrounded!”

Andrew shouted out and fired but he missed point blank and watched the gunman slip off as he ran down the stairs.

“Lads go catch him, I want to question all of them!”

“All of them?”

, Joked one of the policemen.

“Well all the surviving ones.”

“Yes sir”, said two of the men and they ran down the stairs in pursuit of the gunman.

Andrew borrowed handcuffs from one of his colleagues and bound one of the captured men. Andrew breathed heavily, and his face dripped with perspiration and blood dripped from his forehead onto his shirt.

Both Andrew and the other man were exhausted and they both sat completely content despite the bloody conflict that had occurred. The sun shone down in glory in the cloudless sky and Andrew’s face lit up with a wide smile like beacon on his tiresome face. People shouted and screamed in commotion trying to find out what had happened. The men down bellow roared in commotion and celebration, jubilant in this victory that resulted for the men.

The police had lost track of the gunman that had escaped, the men looked around for him for the rest of the day, up and down the streets and even into Flattery’s bar for him, but to their misfortune he was not found.

Andrew had been a hero to the men, he led the whole operation with a valiant display of courage and quick thinking tactics, with a no nonsense approach that scared the living daylights out of the terrorists and gave hope to the policemen.

However the anger and aggression which had lay dormant in Andrew for years began to resurface in him again, and he began to feel and yes believe that he was the finest criminal investigator in the whole of Northern Ireland and a man who could beat the bull of terrorism with brute force.

The prisoners would answer any questions given them or face a severe beating; this would obliterate their confidence and self-esteem and squeeze like a tube toothpaste the information on the three constables that were kidnapped. The enemy would be liquidated one way or another and the threat neutralized. Violence however has a one-fold effect, it achieves more violence and results in revenge and retaliation and as times unfold only a peaceful approach shows that it alone can achieve peace. So the pacifist must be patient and wait around until the end of time when the healing of the nations shall come into fruition.

Families Part 5- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2007

 Families Part 5- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2007

Chapter 5

The ransom

 The summer heat beckoned forth a flock of ravens, which basked and glorified, lying low, with the sun radiating warmly on their jet black plumage. A multitude of flies stormed high spreading out near a small obtrusive local stream, they moved like clouds that came and went, even so far as to say like to the beat and melody of an unheard music, a grand purpose set by God for all grand living things.

At the side of the stream’s embankment, whips of dust were thrown back from the dry and gravely soil on the pathway, as a car drove effortlessly through the country lanes.

Then suddenly it halted, and the passengers inside it shifted themselves and got out.

The car was a Ford model and it had precisely three doors, two located to the front on the left and right and another at the rear on the right hand side. However, four passengers could easily fit in the automobile.

Andrew Campbell was wearing his favourite pinstripe suit and he looked lavish and well groomed in appearance, certainly well dressed in appearance. He stood on the steps at the entrance of the cottage pondering happily and giving off a smile of gold, with such delightful humour flowing from his demeanour. Out of the car Cecilia Campbell, was followed close behind by David and his sister Emma. The whole family were finely dressed and ornamented with a flowery broach on all of them, the day was in fact a grand momentous occasion, and Andrew had been promoted to Chief Inspector of his own local district in Belfast city. The family all walked through the door one by one and Emma immediately proceeded to cut a loaf of bread in half to prepare sandwiches for everyone.

David sat on a small stool facing the kitchen table chatting to Andrew, while Cecelia went upstairs to have a quick bath throughout all the commotion.

“David, I have worked for the Criminal investigational department for four years now and, I applied last week for you and the commissioner himself is giving it his full consideration.”

David smiled and pondered to himself quietly, still dismal about being unemployed, he felt idle and depressed within.

“Hey David, I have good connections within the RUC and I have something good to tell you, I sent you’re application in to my local branch near York Street and they have agreed to train you in as a constable, you’ll be working with me, rookie.”

Andrew smiled at David; his words seemed to lift his dampened spirit and they echoed through out the interior walls of the cottage. David stared back at Andrew while he combed his slick brown hair back with a comb.

“Ah Dad, you’re brilliant! Thanks a million, when will I start, when!”

“On Monday morning, first thing, at the station nine o’clock, you’ll be inducted, and one day when I’ve passed on, you’ll be commissioner hopefully.”

Andrew’s face was filled with joy and sheer delight at the flood of good fortune he was blessed with lately.

“Inducted”, said David

“Sounds as though I’m being honoured by the King himself. This is a dream come true, I’ll be working with you in the office I’ll be cleaning up Belfast city of all the troublemakers and best part of all I’ll be doing it with you.

I won’t let you down I promise you that.”

“No you wont, I trust in you, soon you’ll earn you’re badge and have a place to call your own away from this stead. With all the horrible recession’s in Belfast lately, you’re lucky to have a job.”

Andrew smiled a toothy grin and stretched out his arms as David hugged him, in gratitude of all that he did for him.

Emma sat beside them on a chair, she devoured her sandwiches, for she was famished for having to go without a breakfast for hours, and she gulped down a hot cup of tea which Andrew poured for her. The three of them sat and eat an afternoon brunch while the sun shone through the windows leaving little shadows beneath the kitchen walls and cupboards. The song of the Robin whistled in melodic harmony as if by chance to the harmonious peace the family enjoyed. The cottage was decorated and ornamented with little hand painted portraits of the family, which Cecelia had painted in oil for them while they were each little children and of course a rather extended portrait of Andrew painted after their wedding day, long ago. Cecelia was a gifted painter with an eye for abstract art, she was like a female Rembrandt, the different tones of light and the shadows in the background were the focal point of her artistic nature.

Andrew sat and sliced himself some Cornish beef and wedged it in between two slices of fine whole grain bread, while he drank a large mug of tea, which he consumed quickly, while occasionally glancing at his coat pocket watch. David crunched on a fine ruby apple, and read the morning’s Belfast Telegraph quietly, without a peep, he reflected in a moment of deep confidence and satisfaction.

Then Emma broke the silence and spoke out.

“Where’s Michael today, why haven’t we heard from him, it must be at least a week since we’ve seen him.”

“Michael works part time at the brewery, you know Caffrey’s Brewery over on the Glen Road in Belfast City. He’s saving all his money to hopefully one day run his own business in Belfast. So He phoned me yesterday and spoke excitedly on the phone, he says he has this absolute gem of an idea; he’s going to run his own supermarket, with butchers, a tobacconist and his own shoe repairs in the back. He said some of his friends from Queen’s would work with him part time maybe even form a sort of contractual partnership on the monetary income they make.”

Said Andrew momentarily breathing in and laughing out loud

Andrew focuses his attention on the two of them and looks directly into their eyes.

“However if this doesn’t come to head he’ll train to become a minister, maybe in the Kirk of Scotland, probably over in Glasgow. Anyway he’s decided to continue studying for his degree in theology.”   

“Dad”, said Emma, interrupting the brief silence.

“He’s had a change of heart, he suddenly thinks big, from his wee job working on the shoes to becoming a shopkeeper, and entrepreneur!”

Aye well he’s been on the road to Damascus on the past few months,”

“Sounds just like it.”, said David butting in.

“Don’t you be getting ideas about him, because what I say is the law around here, I’m sheriff in this town love,” said Andrew humouring them.

“He’ll be a minister; you mark my words he doesn’t know what he’s thinking,

 all Campbell men have always followed a thin line in a category of fine profession’s

from, Policemen to factory workers, manufacturer’s and of course fine good Protestant ministers, many of which had congregations over in Ayrshire and Glasgow.

So I’ve made my mind up on him and that’s the way it is.”

“Anyway finish your food and clean up that mess you made after the sandwiches

Then get changed I think we’ll go out on a fine day like this, just an invitation for the seaside aye?”

They both nodded solemnly and Andrew smiled with a glint in his eye as he went upstairs to get prepared.

He cleaned his shoes shinning them frantically with an oiled sponge and then washed his hands in the sink and proceeded to the bathroom. He reached into the cupboard and pulled in strain to open the tin of hair grease and finally knocked the lid to the floor, he then rubbed it smoothly in his palm and lifted his arm affront caressing and massaging his scalp while combing his hair which left slick streaks like tracks running through the expanse of his jet black hair. The bathroom was painted blue, it was small and ornamented with vases and the sweet fragrance of a bunch of scarlet roses lay posed on the windowsill. Andrew’s eyes were drawn to his hair, which he inspected in the glass of the small bedroom window, while he glanced at his appearance in the mirror, Cecelia entered the room, she was wearing a fancy yellow dress with a navy cardigan on her and she wore fine ruby red lipstick, which matched well her sandy coloured hair.

She stood beside him; he paid no attention but continued concentrating to his daily habits.

“So David will be employed then,”

She spoke, with no mood hidden in her voice.

“Yes, and he will become my trainee, if I can pull a few strings. On Monday he’s going to meet the Commissioner, and certainly now with my promotion, his chance to work with the Criminal Investigational department will come in fruition, and even though my dreams are premature, I believe wholeheartedly that I have a good chance too of joining them.”

Then Andrew quickly changed the topic of discussion.

“Are you ready?” quizzed Andrew.

“Yes”, said Cecelia.

“Where exactly do you have in mind this afternoon?

She asked hesitantly,

“Well the four of us are going to the seaside, at Glenarm and then for our afternoon lunch, maybe we’ll head over to Larne afterwards have some roast beef, with gravy, mash and a few drinks.”

“Well what else have I got on offer at the weekends, nothing.

Here come on we better be going.”

She spoke dismally; about the prospects the afternoon offered her.

That afternoon the family basked in the baking warmth of a finely blessed summers day many people lay on the beach relaxing on their deck chairs while some men wore dungarees with white flannel shirts and small athlete’s shorts covering their legs, Andrew wore a little cotton made vest with a small pair of black laced shorts when he went swimming, he went off by his lonesome, diving and submerged like an offshore dolphin, hidden from the naked eye, he would return twenty minutes later and fall asleep, almost unconscious on the deck chair with his towel wrapped around him.

Emma, David and Cecelia took turns swimming, but they never strayed far like their father from the shore. On many an occasion both Andrew and David went for long walks near the breathtaking forests near Glenarm, but instead today the four of them jointly agreed to go shopping, in Larne, and with a bit of wishful thinking, find a nice spot for a good picnic.

The weekend went by and soon enough the early threads of the Monday morning sun threw up some light at about half past five, and the moon diminished from the crimson, Smokey sky. The family was back in Belfast city once again resting in their home on the quiet atmosphere of their own suburbia. When the clock had struck 8am in the morning, Andrew promptly dangled both his legs out of the side of the bed and emerged, a little tired and feeling overstretched, with work becoming increasingly pro active over his own family life. Down in a modestly decorated kitchen, he sat and drank a cup of tea and head out to work with some thinly sliced ham sandwiches; he prepared the night before in advance. To the Endeavour’s of Andrew’s work on the murder trial, the RUC had retrieved much information from their source in Cookstown, but indeed several men had been arrested and as the local’s were not too courteous, once someone had slipped in advance that the police would show up on that particular night around nine o’clock, Andrew requested help from the local branch, and once several more armed police men fully uniformed arrived, all hell broke loose, and the conflict ended with the arrest of several drunken rioters and two constables were amongst the fatalities of that night,

However the source was luckily enough was plucked and withdrawn from the scene by the violent actions of the squad that night. So in retrospect, the night went not according to plan but the mission was accomplished none the less.

                                                                                        Andrew strolled into the main brown varnished doors of the police station. It rained outside, like cats and dogs; it was silent outside, except for the pitter-patter of the tapping rain against the concrete pavements.

“What about ye, Williams, the weather is bloody abysmal today, damn depressing!”

He uttered to the constable at the main office on the desk who was typing up a report on a type writer.

“Well no man control’s the weather, its damn well unpredictable, like woman,

Actually now women are predictable,

Predictably a bloody pain in the arse!”

He said whimsically, aloud.

“Words of wisdom, my missus would need a fortune teller to predict what’s on her mind, however to make her satisfied, she would have me quit the job and assist her to find another one.”

“Strange aye,”

“Sure is, Andy,”

he responded.

“Well I’m going to report to the Commissioner, any news at all with the investigation, don’t hesitate for a half a second, give me a shout, alright!”

The constable signalled a response with a positive nod to Andrew’s statement.

Andrew walked through the main office where several men were typing up others were on telephones, speaking rather calm and collected, and the commissioner himself was hidden in the background in his own office, completely abstract to the activities of the regular policemen. Andrew tapped against the door with his left knuckle.

“Come in”, said the commissioner.

“Good day to you, sir,”

said Andrew taking off his hat in respect.

“Ah happy with the promotion, I bet you are!

We’ll it was undoubtedly, something that was a long time coming, however, the head of the RUC himself agreed to my recommendations personally, marvellous aye!”

The commissioner was perched in his brown leather chair, smoking his cigar, while his complexion had over time gone ghostly white from all the nicotine in his blood stream.

“Well it’s not everyday, that I get elevated to a position like this, but feel honoured to be awarded such a privilege.”

He spoke in a rather placid way, without feeling in his posture and without tone in his response.

“Have you met you’re constables whom you’ll be working with on you’re new position, with of course your own team of forensic investigators

“I know a few from the ceremony on the weekend, why,”

 Andrew asked quizzically.

“Just making sure that you, are ready for this transition to the Criminal Investigational department, where is our new recruit in the Campbell family, where is you’re son, I was supposed to meet him,”

Said the commissioner enquiring.

“He’s on his way in fact I think I can see him coming in the door just outside,

Wait one moment anyway,” Andrew looked out the small side window while talking.

“I want you tomorrow morning to go directly to Dungannon, I’m afraid there have been awful implications with the investigation, When we arrested that Fenian troublemaker last week I’m afraid we’ve drawn not poison from our wounds but blood! Several RUC men have been kidnapped around the East Tyrone area; we received a letter of ransom, a note containing certain conditions and demands in return for the life’s and safety of these men.”

“Sir, that’s the most abysmal news I’ve heard in a while.”

“Andrew wore an unhappy face and pondered with thoughts that pierced

the sorrow and heartfelt unhappiness he felt for those men kidnapped.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

Then David entered the room, wearing a fresh and newly made blue police uniform,

he was trim and handsome and he was clean shaven and gelled his dark brown hair back into a slick style. He walked slowly in with a smile on his face.

“Ah sit down son, looking smart and handsome,

by the way this is the commissioner of Belfast himself,

Mr. Ronald Davidson.”

They shook hands and exchanged greetings.

“Nice to meet you young man, following the successful footsteps of you’re father aye!

You will be fully inducted and trained in., all in good time.

Being a policeman requires true diligence and responsibility to the community and the fine state we serve. It is a profession that upholds the morals and freedoms of our people,

at the moment the state itself is under siege from republican activists within our state and Free State forces outside, desiring to whip us into a united Ireland, by force of arms if necessary.”

“Sir, that’s a fine speech, truly wonderful but if we could just cut it short, tell him what you told me,” Andrew spoke impatiently.

“Ah yes”, he murmured while he twiddled his fingers with a fountain pen.

“Unfortunately we cannot offer you a position within the Criminal investigational department itself, however you are going to become a fully paid junior constable and I have agreed with you’re father on this matter, that you’re father along with several other senior officers will give you a full induction and help train you in, here are some more forms I would like you too sign, in the meantime I have some important business to conclude, so I will see you nine o’clock tomorrow first thing fresh!”

“Andrew here I have left you a report on the incident we spoke on, I have changed my mind tomorrow morning I want you to help train young David instead.”

He wrapped a scarf around his shoulders and put on a medium sized brown suede jacket.

“Sir, I believe my case means more, it’s my duty to catch those responsible for the murders and for those involved and especially when things like this have arrived up like this ransom.”

David who sat silently in the room, and hardly opening his mouth spoke.

“Father, I don’t mind at all I don’t hesitate for a minute, I’ll work with some of the others, I’m sure they will show me the ropes and train me in, you do what you must do.”

, David spoke with an air of piety and humility in his words.

Andrew looked into his eyes and spoke.

“Yeah, yer one in a million, my wee lad.”

Then Andrew shouted over to the Commissioner who stood at the door and listened silently.

“Sir, could you do something for me?”

“Yes, speak what is it.”

“Inform Caldwell at the front office, to tell Stephenson, Mitchell and Brown to inform and train David Campbell tomorrow at the front desk at nine o’clock, and tell them that I said so.”

“Yes, I will indeed,

however I’m the one who gives order’s and commands around here Andrew!

anyway I must go, I’m in a awful rush, good day to you and good luck David.”

He signalled his departure with a quick wave with his fingers and strolled briskly through the offices and out of sight.

Andrew and David themselves left the building and headed down by City hall, and then proceeded on to a small restaurant off Donegal sq. There they sat indoors in a finely furnished restaurant, where the seating was arranged like deck chairs on a boulevard in Paris and it was newly opened so the citron coloured paint on the walls were luminous and fresh to any unknown observer. They both sat and drank two cups of Italian coffee while they chewed on their ham and chicken sandwiches they ordered. Andrew discussed quite frankly his annoying ordeal with the case and trying to disentangle information from hardened republicans and the various journeys he made over the last couple of years on many investigations.

“Sorry, again if I sounded unreasonable earlier, I honestly feel that I owe a duty of responsibility to the people of Pomeroy, the victim’s relatives and to the case itself, we have a name of notorious troublemakers who we are quiet sure are not just an accessory before the crime, but also actively involved in the crime, and soon as the case is closed and the wrongdoers are brought to trial then I’ll sleep soundly and I’ll have all the time in the world to help you out son.

But for the moment I’ am right up to my knee in it, and I’m thinking irrationally because three men I know in the Cookstown branch, three men I have worked with have been kidnapped and they just might lose their life, if I don’t do something.”

 Andrew was gripped with anxiety and fear as the case grew more intense as more people were drawn inwards.

“Son, its not just an instinct inside me telling this, but I know, the killers are the same men responsible for this, they claim they want fifty thousand by this Thursday to be left in four brown grocery bags to be left at the town hall in Cookstown at half two sharp, they claimed they would be watching every move we make, and if we tried to sweep to arrest them, they would take a life in revenge. They’ll be armed, that obvious, but how many are involved that’s what I’m bloody wondering.”

“Dad, I never knew you had to get involved with scenarios such as these! I’ wish I could work with you, father and son, a sort of Sherlock Holmes and Watson investigation,”

David joked, hoping to lift his pessimistic mood.

“Hilarious, David, but seriously I’m too downcast too laugh right now and I’m on duty so I have too report back to headquarters.

“David”

“Yes, Dad,”

“Here take this key, head home I’ll tell them where you’ve gone, take these notes here in this folder, their of great beneficial importance, report in at nine am sharp tomorrow alright, dress well, and listen acutely to what they say, bring in a proper lunch, and when you get back don’t forget were going out to dinner later tonight all of us, so I’ll be back at five o’clock.”

David listened to Andrews growing informative commands, trying to remember all at once.

“Dad! What time will you be back at tomorrow after work? Are you staying over night in Tyrone, or will you be home for tea.”

“I might be staying overnight, don’t worry though, you’re a fully grown adult and you’ve got to show fortitude in times of great distress and fear, that’s what granddad used to say to me. I know you’re worried don’t be, it will all work out alright in the end you’ll see.”

Then they stood up and left the café and they embraced one another with a warm-hearted hug, they said their partings to each other, and went their separate ways. 

 

Families Part 4- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2007

 Families Part 4- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2007

Chapter 4

On the building site

In a small semi detached house in the recurrent line of council houses, approximately half a kilometer outside the town of Donaghadee, lay Patrick Donnelly inside his small wooden framed bed. He tossed around on the mattress and the duvet cover was knocked on the bedroom floor with all the jerking and twiddling his body mad, while he slipped in and out of consciousness. The clock ticked to its own schedule as it struck half two in the early hours of the morning. Patrick lay idle in his bed like a statute, made of coldest marble he stopped moving and lay still. The house was shabby and the rent was barely affordable, Patrick split his weekly wage and paid for the high accommodation along with two other local men who slept in the spare room in two small bunk beds. Yes Patrick had to share the house with two other men, but it was the only way to afford the rent.

The darkness drowned the light not a living soul could be seen from the view of the bedroom window. Suddenly outside the screeching sound of the male tom cats displaying their aggressive dominance were fighting outside on the garden pillared walls.

The hours dragged by, the clock ticked on and the darkness fled from the triumphant light

Finally the blackbird sung to its heart delight making his mark while wooing the female to his desire. Patrick awakened suddenly from the entangled dreams that scarred his sleep at night. He gazed with his sticky eyes at the silver clock; it was 7 o’clock in the morning. His head felt slightly delirious his legs were stiff from lying in the same position for so long. He grabbed his watch slipped it around his wrist and walked down the creaking stairs. In the small downstairs kitchen he found both his housemates already up, fully dressed with fancy suits, their hair all gelled up, with ties fixed firmly around their shirts and shiny black leather shoes on their feet. They stood up preparing some oatmeal for their breakfast and boiling a fresh cup of tea in a pot on the kitchen counter.

They looked and greeted Patrick.

“Ah, Good morning Paddy, sleep alright.”

“Nah, I have the same recurring dreams, you know the dreams where you dangle on the edge of a mountain pass, or a cliff and then you plummet for a while, but when you’re about to hit the ground you wake up. I shiver, with a cold sweat after when I wake up,”

Patrick responded

He poured himself a cup of tea and he drank black without milk or any cubes of sugar. He scrapped a lump of butter over a piece of wholegrain sliced pan.

“So George what’s it like working as a security guard. Is the pay decent?”

Patrick started a conversation but moved quickly and looked at his watch now and again.

“Well working in the bank can be tedious; standing around all day long while forms are signed money transferred from many hands and the room becomes flooded with people several times a day. The money is more than average, simply because I’ve gotten a raise from my boss, pretty soon in fact I might consider moving out, find a place that’s all mine somewhere near the centre of Belfast where I can find another job.”

George spoke at a hundred miles an hour; he seemed to be in a mad rush.

“Hey Billy, there’s a cup of tea waiting here for you,

A cup of tea in the morning clears the cobwebs inside,”

joked George.

“What a strange expression”

Billy replied laughing.

“My mother used to say that to me at the kitchen table when I was young.

Then shed say, George hurry up and stop daydreaming about, or you’re brain is gonna fall out from underneath you’re head.”

They all laughed, while they wolfed down their breakfasts and slurped on their hot cups of tea.

“Hey, it’s twenty past seven already I better get a move on, hey I’ll see you this evening, goodbye”, said George wiping his mouth at the kitchen table as he ran to the hallway, grabbed his case and ran out the front door in a hurry for work.

“Goodbye”, they both shouted after him.

“Hear, I’m going to have a wash I’ll see you this evening Bill.”

Patrick left the table, and went upstairs to get dressed and washed for work.

Patrick got on his bicycle and cycled across the streets and over past Donaghadee, not far in proximity away from east Belfast. He turned right while he went down a narrow back street near East Belfast and swung into a large dusty looking building site.

Over a dozen other workmen arrived, some carried wheelbarrows with bricks, mortar and cement, while others carried tools and equipment for the job at hand.

Patrick locked his bike at the side of the workmen’s shed, where the equipment, the wooden flooring and the pipes for the plumbing were stored.

Now it was just after nine o’clock and all the workers were arriving on schedule, some had even been working before eight in the morning. The site surveyor, the chief architect and the director of the building site were all out busy engaged in conversation with the hard pressed agile workers. The sun shone out and beat hard on their backs.

At least it was Friday and the workers dreamt about their weekend rest, some however worked on Saturday’s taking only Sunday off as they regarded it as the one genuine day of rest, folk called it the Sabbath day, the Protestant community were strict to enforce it, no building and certainly no football to be played.

Patrick wore old clothes; he wore braces with an old white shirt underneath and a hat to protect his head from injury, he wore old blue denim trousers which were ripped at the sides. He collected nails and tools from a box and after talking to his supervisor he continued on with what he had begun the day before. He hammered nails into long thick planks of wood, which lay in long rectangular lines; he worked on the dining room flooring. Patrick was not distracted and he worked with such effort as a steam train chugs on its long and hurried destination and purpose. He hammered and nailed, chiselled and glued long planks of wood, which he slotted into the floor. On his left and right beside him, men mixed cement and worked on the finishing touches to the grey and incomplete walls of the house itself. The men worked solemnly in the baking summer heat, not a word heard in conversation except when one needed instructions from one of the supervisors. The building site stretched for miles around the compound, the recurrent and incessant sound of labour heard in the shovels digging deep through the mounds of soil to lay the pipes all along. At two o’clock the men were permitted a half an hour’s break to rest their weary soul’s and get a bite to eat. Down the workers went wiping the sweat from their soaked bows. In the workers sheds they grabbed their belongings and formed social groups, they unwrapped their lunches and sat quietly scarcely speaking, focused completely on their jobs at hand. When they all had finished eating most them, rolled their tobacco or smoked their pipe and began to converse to each other.

Patrick tended to congregate with his fellow catholic workmen and they were perched near the walls to the entrance of the construction site on the left corner where they usually sat. Patrick was chatting quietly amongst them and their was a great spirit of camaraderie and friendship, the mood was pleasant, and the weather fine.

Five men sat in a small circle talking; one of them was an overweight, but rather tall looking figure that dominated and lead the course of the conversation.

“Gerry, stop talking and shut up”

, he said in a rude manner to the man beside him.

“So, one summer, on the eve of the twelfth parades, me and Mary moved house from Castlewellan up to Belfast. The council agreed to my demands on housing stupendously on my record of bravery for the British armed services.” He said sarcastically

Patrick interrupted him.

“So you, served on the western front.?”

“Yes at Flanders for two years of service.

So anyway, I moved into this lovely well decorated and well furnished little  

Semi detached house on the lower Ormeau road. We settled in grand and I even found employment working as a partner for a good friend of mine in large greengrocers off Castle Street in the city centre. The Prods would have none of it, no catholic would hold a premises of that size when a Protestant should and could run it more efficiently they thought. So on the eve of the twelfth three years ago we found to our disgust the window panes were all smashed and a letter demanded us to leave quietly in the night or face the music, as they called it.

So next day, with an air of determination in us, I replaced the panes of glass, I worked harder than ever and more customers came to our surprise. Business was good, in fact better than ever and we now sought hard to extend our staff. Time had passed, several months to be precise, we discovered to one morning that somehow some thugs had broken into the shop in the dead of night; they ransacked the place and yes, of course smashed the windows. My wife and I went as quick as we could go to the police and the local council neither did much to help, they promised police protection and yet they would not give an inch to help us and the mobs finished off our hopes and dreams. So my business has closed down and now I’m back here working once again.”

His words left a lasting impression on the other men beside him. There was a quiet pause As the men lamented on his tragic tale to tell.

“And what happened to your partner, the man who helped run the shop!”

One of the men interrupted the awkward silence.

“He moved south of the border, his nerves got the best of him, I still see him occasionally.”

His face was gripped with anger, and his human reason inside had all but diminished.

He combed his long black hair and spoke again, except this time he spoke in a more quiet manner, almost a whisper even.

“Patrick come here for a minute, I need to speak with you!

Walk over here with me, please!”

“What’s the matter then with you?”

Patrick demanded to know.

“Patrick, I’ve known you for a while so can you keep a secret!”

“Yeah what is it Phil?”

“Swear to God, and hope to die, you won’t tell a living sole, now will you.”

“No, I damn well wont, now out with it!

What is it?”

“I know a man involved with the IRA in Tyrone, he’s from Dungannon, and not far from you’re hometown. My wife left me recently, she had an affair with another man, he was an accountant from Belfast, they moved in together and now I live all alone, however in the last three months I decided to join the IRA, we planted devices on local railway tracks, raided and robbed from the rich, shot B men and generally disrupted the Northern state from functioning.”

Patrick looked at him perplexed and astonished with the words ears herd.

Phil looked back warily, and spoke reluctantly.

“I’m wondering, I have a contact if you ever want join, for protection and to defend our community.”

Patrick was certainly not interested, in the affairs of politics and the bloodshed of war and civil strife.

“No, my family would be ashamed of me, if I ever did such a thing.

No, never. Don’t go on about this in such a place as this, if anyone heard you, they’d fire you and have you arrested under the internment act, and probably fire me for having associated with you.”

Patrick worked himself into a rage, his face went scarlet red with fury, and his rubbed his hands through this fine golden blonde hair. Now at this stage workmen began to glance over at what was happening, to listen to all the commotion.

“Hey I know what you’re thinking, don’t scrutinize my life,

 I am not responsible for the murders of those innocent farmers in Tyrone,

I don’t kill civilians, I am a soldier of the republic, and I am fighting to liberate our people against the Brits. They don’t give a damn about you and me and our sort, pat!”

Patrick responded,

“I find it sad that you’ve got to throw you’re life away for a stupid cause, a bunch of uneducated guerrillas, who couldn’t fight a war on conventional lines so they hide and strike in terror. They lost against Collins, so now they try to derail the peace between North and south and kill innocent people while they sleep in their beds at night.

I have no interest; anyway lunch is over, back to work.”

The workmen scattered all around and listened to their work orders from the site supervisors; they grabbed their toolboxes and proceeded back to working.

Patrick began to shovel and remove the waste left over from the building materials.

The day wandered on, the sun moved across the sky its position as restless as the working men. Their hands were covered in mud and their clothes filthy with dried muck and dried cement.

Patrick went sound asleep that night, completely still at one with peace, embracing midnight’s sweet chariot, struck with cupid’s silver bow, he dreamed of the girl who held his heart, she lived back home. Patrick could never pluck up courage to hold her love.

He was a dreamer, one of life’s drifters who came and went, a shadow drifting henceforth amongst clouds of heavy rain.  He was unsure with his destiny and he knew his future hope could not exist within his family’s dreams, which rested upon his shoulders. He was the chosen one, the favourite son in the family and expectation rested on his shoulders maybe too heavy a burden for a human soul to bare. So the night was still once again and the drone of three men snoring could be heard coming from the bedrooms as peace rested such weary men in its arms from the worry and constant troubles of the world outside.