by Anne Doughty
‘“What are ye doing here,” says I.
‘I’m looking at the fires to see if we need to move out, says she. Cool as a cucumber, our Sarah. And at this point she didn’t know it was me. I could have been any black-faced rebel with a gun.
‘I told her she needn’t worry about the fires for it had started to spit with rain and the worst of them were still a fair bit away anyhow. I could see better from up behind the chimney pots than she could from inside. And she still didn’t catch on who I was, till I told her it was a long time since she and I had played football in the field near the school in Creeslough.’
‘Goodness, Brendan, what a way to meet,’ Emily burst out, as Brendan paused for breath. ‘What did she say when you told her?’
‘To be honest, I don’t remember, for at that moment I heard English voices on the roof and I thought we might have someone else dropping in to join us. They’d been after me all day. So I signalled to her to get down and I slid back into the darkest part of the attic. The pair of us were there for goodness knows how long. Poor Sarah told me later she was under a pile of old carpet and she’ll never forget the smell of it. But we were saved by the rain. A great drumming storm of it sweeping across the roof. That got rid of whoever was wearing the boots we’d heard tripping over the skylight and we were able to go downstairs.’
‘And have some supper?’ asked Emily, with a smile.
Brendan laughed.
‘There was one small difficulty about that. Food supplies had been completely disrupted. All Sarah had in the kitchen was half a small loaf and a pot of Aunt Rose’s jam she’d brought as part of a present for Lily and enough milk for a cup of tea each for breakfast, for her and the children and Lily and Uncle Sam who was down visiting Lily as well.’
‘So what did she do?’ asked Emily anxiously.
‘She filled an eggcup with milk for Lily’s tea, cut a slice from the loaf for Lily and one for each of the children and gave me all the rest of the milk and all the bread made into jam sandwiches. I’ve never tasted anything so wonderful in my life,’ he ended with a flourish.
‘That’s quite some story, Brendan,’ said Alex quietly. ‘I’d never heard that one before, but it fits the lady perfectly.’
‘Yes, it does,’ he agreed readily. ‘I often think these days when I hear people talking about courage and bravery and people winning medals and so on, that some of the bravest things people do are never recognised. People like Sarah in Dublin with the children, just doing their best in circumstances entirely beyond their control,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘The way I’ve come to see it is that doing what she did was far braver than doing what I did. However dangerous it was up on that roof, at least I’d been warned and I’d had some training. Sarah just had to do her best without any warning or any help. Now that seems to me to take real courage.’
CHAPTER THREE
Emily was chopping shallots at the kitchen table when she heard the knock at the front door. For a moment, she was so surprised to hear such an unfamiliar sound, she didn’t even begin to worry what it might mean. These days, every woman dreaded the knock at the door that might bring the telegram or the formal letter to say that a husband or a son was missing. Emily herself had thought often enough of such an event in the dark hours of the night when she woke and couldn’t get back to sleep, but it never occurred to her as she pulled off her apron that the caller could be anyone other than someone who didn’t know her well enough to come round to the kitchen door.
As she rinsed her hands hastily under the tap, she thought it might be a collector for the Red Cross or one of the other local groups raising funds to support the forces or the prisoners of war.
She hurried along the hall and opened the heavy door. At that moment, her heart did leap to her mouth for there on the doorstep stood a tall, heavily-built man wearing the dark green uniform of the Royal Ulster Constabulary. She’d never laid eyes on him before and didn’t much like the way he was studying the outside of the house.
Before she’d time to speak, he’d taken out his notebook, confirmed she was Missus Hamilton and said he wanted to ask her some questions.
Only as she led him into the sitting-room and sat down herself on one side of the empty, well-swept hearth did she realise she should have asked for his identification. There wasn’t much point now she’d let him in. If he wasn’t who he appeared to be, she’d just have to keep her wits about her.
‘Have there been any strangers about the place that you are aware of, ma’am?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Do you mean round the actual house here?’ Emily responded, puzzled at his question
‘Roun’ the house or anywhere about this area up here.’
‘No, I can’t say I’ve seen anyone.’
‘So you know nothing about a lorry parked on the hill last night over beyond your gates,’ he came back sharply.
‘Yes, of course I do,’ said Emily, relieved that his business couldn’t possibly be bad news about any member of her family.
‘So what can you tell us about that?’
The tone was abrupt and instead of looking at her as he spoke his eyes moved round the room as if he were making an inventory of all the furniture and furnishings.
‘The lorry was driven by my husband’s cousin. He called to see us.’
‘A social call, that would be?’
‘Yes, it was a social call and no, he was not using petrol improperly. We were on his route home from a delivery.’
‘And this delivery was to …?’
‘If you want to know I can give you the name of his employers.’
‘So you are not willing to tell me where this person was before coming to park on the hill.’
‘No, I’m not,’ said Emily crossly. ‘I’ve told you who it was and why he was here.’
Emily couldn’t remember what she’d read about never giving the name of a military installations, but even if she could, she’d keep it to herself, for she’d taken an instant dislike to this man.
‘He’s employed by Fruitfield Jams, outside Richhill. He is one of their most senior men and entirely reliable.’
‘His name?’
‘Sam Hamilton.’
He wrote down the details laboriously, leaning on his knee, his shoulder half-turned from her like a child writing a message it didn’t want anyone to see.
‘And what about your other visitor?’
For a moment, Emily couldn’t think what he was talking about. They had no visitors these days. Her older sister, living in Enniskilen, hadn’t been to stay since before the war, Sarah and Hannah were over in England and James, who used to come to see them regularly, was probably as short of petrol as everyone else, even if he was in the Government.
She sat looking at him, about to reply. He had the sort of red face that looked as if he suffered from high-blood pressure or was permanently angry, or both.
‘You were seen, Mrs Hamilton, last night walking up the hill with a stranger. We are reliably informed he had a southern accent. Perhaps the gentleman was another cousin of your husband’s making a social visit,’ he suggested, the sarcasm in his voice only thinly veiled.
Emily was so taken aback, she said nothing.
A part of her mind was trying to figure out her exact relationship to Brendan. If Sarah and Brendan were cousins and Alex and Sarah were cousins, did that mean Alex and Brendan were cousins? It was like one of those puzzles you got in the Brainteasers section of the women’s magazines. And it didn’t matter whether he was or not. It was still none of this wretched man’s business.
‘The gentleman you are referring to was not actually a visitor. He is an old friend who needed a bed for the night after his car was damaged by an Army vehicle and the hotel was unable to put him up.’
‘Which regiment?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And whereabouts did this so-called accident take place?’ he went on without looking up from his notebook as he continued to write.
‘
Somewhere near Banbridge.’
‘And what was this friend’s business in the Banbridge area?’ he persisted, scribbling furiously.
Suddenly and without warning, Emily lost her temper. Was it not bad enough that the war made life difficult day and daily, even apart from the continual anxiety and regular bad news, but now, because of it, this horrible man could come into her home, ask her questions and imply she wasn’t telling him the truth. It was just too much.
She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again as she heard footsteps on the stairs. Her visitor heard them too.
‘There is someone else in the house?’ he asked accusingly.
‘Yes. My son is here.’
‘And why’s he not at school or at work?’
‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’ she replied, standing up and striding across to the sitting room door, not trusting herself to say one word more.
Still in pyjamas, his fair hair tousled from sleep, looking much less than his almost eighteen years, Johnny glanced at his mother’s face and sized up the situation in a moment.
‘What seems to be the officer’s line of enquiry, Mother?’
‘He hasn’t told me what he wants,’ she began steadily, looking Johnny full in the face. ‘He has merely asked a great many questions, some of which I consider quite unnecessary,’ she added sharply.
‘You don’t decide what is necessary ma’am. I do that,’ said the officer, standing up and drawing himself to his full height.
‘May I see your identification, please?’
Emily couldn’t believe her ears. Her son, given to communicating in short, rapid bursts in a mixture of the local dialect and the argot of gangster movies, had walked across the room and was now holding out his hand for the warrant card with a look on his face she had never seen before. Not exactly arrogant, but determined and certainly self-possessed.
The card was produced, whereupon Johnny walked over to the window and took his time to examine it closely in the bright light.
‘Good,’ he said briskly, thrusting it back at the waiting officer. ‘That seems to be in order. Now, if you’ll be so good as to tell us exactly what you are investigating and in what particular way we can help you, we will give you our full attention. Won’t we, mother?’
‘You really would have been proud of him, Alex,’ Emily said, as she brought a tray of tea into the sitting-room after their late supper.
‘I keep telling you there’s more to Johnny than he cares to let on,’ said Alex slowly, sinking back wearily into his comfortable fireside chair and closing his eyes for a brief moment.
‘Are you very tired tonight,’ she asked quietly, knowing how much he hated her making what he called a fuss over him.
‘No, no worse than usual,’ he replied honestly. ‘But I want to hear the end of your story.’
‘Well, there’s not a lot more to tell,’ she said. ‘Once Johnny appeared, your man sang a different tune, as the saying is. It seems some sticks of gelignite were stolen from the quarry and it must have been last night because the security man checks them last thing in the evening and then again in the morning. It was perfectly reasonable for him to be making enquiries. What was so annoying was the distrust. As if we’d be helping someone to come and do a thing like that,’ she said angrily. ‘Why on earth didn’t they send a man from our local force who knows everyone round here?’
Alex shook his head slowly.
‘I think it’s policy not to use local men for something like this,’ he said, leaning forward and taking his tea from the tray. ‘Do you not remember Sam telling us about when his two eldest sons joined up? They were posted all over the place. Anywhere but Richhill. They’re both sergeants now, but I think one is in charge of Moy and the other is down near Larne.’
‘Johnny said to me afterwards that he thought your man would do well in the S. S.’
Alex smiled ruefully.
‘You get his sort everywhere, love. They’re not very bright, but they’ve been in the job a long time and finally got promotion. A wee bit of authority and it goes to their head. Men like that will always boss women if they get the chance. There are plenty like him in the mills.’
‘I didn’t handle it well and I know it was because I had a bad moment when I saw the uniform. But I won’t be so slow if it were ever to happen again,’ she went on firmly. ‘As Johnny pointed out, in this country one is supposed to be innocent until proved guilty, but your man was assuming guilt in everything he was asking. Until Johnny turned up, that was.’
Suddenly and unexpectedly, Emily laughed.
‘What’s the joke?’ demanded Alex.
‘I’ve just remembered, love. He called me ‘Mother’. I didn’t notice at the time, I was so busy watching your man’s face when he saw he’d got a different customer to deal with.’
Alex grinned and took several large mouthfuls from his tea.
‘What did you say about Brendan?’ he enquired, as he emptied his cup.
‘Not a lot. But we did not mention maps,’ she said, as she picked up the teapot and came over to him. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when I’d tell a lie to a policeman.’
‘But then, Emily, you hadn’t had the experience of policemen you’ve just had. There’s good and bad in every group. You and young Jane tend to see the best in people. Women often do. But maybe we all have to be careful these days.’
He paused and shook his head, aware she was watching him closely.
‘No, I don’t just mean like the posters, ‘Careless talk costs lives’, and so on. That’s only good sense, and I suppose we do all need to be reminded of it … what I mean … well, you can’t always tell … even people you trust …’
‘Alex, what’s wrong?’ she asked quickly, reading the look on his face. ‘Was there trouble again at Millbrook with the engine men?’
‘No, it wasn’t Millbrook, it was Ballievy. There was a explosion sometime during the night. No fire, thank goodness, and the two watchmen safe enough at the opposite ends of the building, but the main countershaft was badly damaged.’
‘Oh Alex,’ she said, knowing now why he’d looked so exhausted when he arrived home. ‘Why didn’t they send up for you? When did you find out?’
‘There was a message waiting for me at Millbrook when I got there, but there was no point sending up here for me. I couldn’t touch anything till the police had been. Anyway, the senior men knew there was nothing we could do ourselves, so there was no point pulling me back from Millbrook or Seapatrick when I’d be coming to Ballievy anyway.’
‘So what’ll happen now?’
‘Well, I’ve spoken to Mackie’s in Belfast. They’re the only people that can help, but with their quotas for armaments, our machinery wouldn’t be high priority with them these days.’
‘But you’re on war work too,’ Emily protested. ‘What about the tent duck? You can’t have fighting men with no shelter in the desert or the jungle.’
‘Priorities and paperwork, Emily,’ he said wearily. ‘Some Civil Servant somewhere who might not know a countershaft from a Bren gun carrier will decide whether we get a licence for the repair or not. Even when we get it, there’ll be materials needed for the job and that’ll be the same process all over again. We could be out of production for weeks and then the War Office will be on our backs for the tent material. I’ve called a Board Meeting for Monday. Maybe someone else can think of something I haven’t thought of already.’
‘Oh love, as if you didn’t have enough on your hands. You don’t think your explosion could possibly be connected with those sticks of gelignite from the quarry?’
‘It had occurred to me,’ Alex replied sharply, with a brief nod. ‘Brendan said last night de Valera had given the I.R.A. short shrift in the South and they were nearly a thing of the past down there. But its been going round that some of them might think us a softer option so they have moved up here. Rumours thrive, as you know, but someone’s spreading bad feeling in the mills,’ he went on. ‘Secu
rity was doubled the last time we had an arson attempt, so whoever did the job at Ballievy must have had good inside information to be able to get in and out again without being seen by either of the two night watchmen. That’s the hardest part for me to stomach. Which of the people I’ve worked with for years is putting lives and jobs at risk?’
‘Ma, what in the name of goodness are you doing?’ Johnny demanded, as he came into the kitchen next morning, a little before noon, his face still damp and gleaming from his weekly shave.
He stood looking down at his mother’s bent head and the bizarre assortment of objects on the kitchen table.
‘You’re up early, love,’ she said, glancing up at him over the piece of wire she was twisting. ‘Are you sure you’re getting enough sleep? Did you get any at all at the factory last night?’
‘Oh yes. I had an hour or two. With three of us on, we can all have a couple of hours on the couch in the office, but sometimes I use part of my time off to work on the plane. Not everybody gets the chance to sit in a cockpit and go through specifications at their leisure,’ he explained, as he sat down opposite her at the kitchen table.
‘Can I help?’ he asked, sizing up her struggle with a large pair of pliers rather too large for what she was doing.
‘I’m not making a good job of this,’ she replied, breathing heavily, ‘but I’m not letting it beat me. This piece of wire has to go round this thimble, but the wretched little thimble keeps slipping out.’
‘Have you got a bigger thimble?’
‘Yes, I could thatch a house with thimbles, as the saying is. They were your grandmother’s,’ she explained, nodding towards the large, well-stocked sewing box in front of her. ‘But it has to be this one to go into the milk bottle,’ she said flatly.
‘Right, this thimble it is then,’ he said, trying to keep his face straight, as he took the thimble and wire from her.
She watched in amazement as he encircled the offending thimble in one deft movement and secured the wire firmly in place using only his finger and thumb.
‘Anything to oblige,’ he said, handing it solemnly back to her and then breaking into a huge grin.