by Fred Allen
When they arrived back at the Guards Depot the Orderly Sergeant immediately summoned the Orderly Officer who, on his arrival, sent for one of the Medical Officers. The Medical Officer, after a quick examination of Sharkey, directed that he be put on a stretcher and carried to the Medical Inspection Room. Once there, the
Medical Officer asked for explanations. The MP 2nd/Lieutenant jumped in. “This baldheaded, drunken Irishman attacked me in the performance of my duties, he broke my nose and I think he broke my f…ing jaw. I’ll make sure that he’s court-martialled for this!”
“And Sharkey,” said the Medical Officer turning to Sharkey whom he knew from his regular checking of Sharkey’s surgical dressing, “what have you got to say for yourself?”
“Nothing, Sir,” replied Sharkey. “It’s what he said, I just beat the shit out of the little Limey bastard!”
“But what about these stitches?” Asked the Medical Officer. “It looks as though he’s been beaten.”
“Nothing like that. He just wouldn’t stop fighting. Isn’t that right?’ He turned to the two big MPs who had been with him. They both nodded in agreement. “I’ll make out the formal charges before I leave and I want this man to be placed under close arrest and under guard.
The Medical Officer turned to the Orderly Sergeant and the latter agreed to take Sharkey to the Depot Guardroom. “Don’t worry about the guard,” said the Medical Officer. “This poor bastard isn’t going anywhere except back to hospital. And, Sharkey, where is your walking stick?” When informed that the walking stick was in the MP’s vehicle he instructed Sharkey to keep it with him and that he would be in to check Sharkey’s dressing during the night. “Before they take you away, Sharkey, are you sure you’ve told me the full story? That chest of yours sure looks as though you’ve been beaten.”
“That’s what happened sir. Those bastards-all three of them-couldn’t handle me. I could beat the shit out of all three of those Limey bastards with one hand tied behind my f…ing back!”
Sharkey was back in hospital the following day but in the detention ward this time. He was examined by a highly irate Medical Officer who had treated his original wound and was absolutely furious that all of his work had been undone. His fury was not abated by Sharkey’s explanation that he’d just got into a fight and beat the shit out of some Limey meatheads. Sharkey stuck to his story even under the probing questioning of the RC Padre who had received some anonymous tips from a couple of spectators who had been in the pub the night Sharkey had taken on the MPs.
A few days later, Sharkey was visited by the Adjutant from the Guards Depot who read all the charges that had been laid against him. He advised Sharkey that he would be remanded for court-martial and this would occur immediately on his discharge from hospital. There was a Standing Court Martial operating at the Guards’ Depot and that’s where his trial would take place. He took a statement from Sharkey, but Sharkey merely repeated his previous statements to the Orderly Officer and Medical Officer with no expletives deleted.
It was five weeks before his doctor at the hospital would agree to discharge Sharkey knowing that he would be facing immediate court-martial and, probably, a lengthy stay in the Glass House.
Sharkey spent about a week in the Depot Guardroom before his scheduled appearance at his court-martial. A defending officer had been assigned to his case but Sharkey chose to say nothing in his own defence. The President of the Court was a very distinguished looking full Colonel with one empty sleeve sewed to the side of his tunic. He was obviously a wounded veteran and, as such, was treated with respect by Sharkey.
Late in the court proceedings, the Depot Adjutant passed a note to the President of the Court. He read it and advised Sharkey that the RC Padre wanted to say a few words on his behalf. Sharkey, speaking for once without his usual epithets, told the President that he didn’t want anyone speaking on his behalf. He just wanted the court-martial to be over with and he would do his time.
The court huddled and a decision was arrived at quickly. Directing Sharkey to stand, the President pronounced the sentence of the court. “Private Shawkey you have been found guilty on all charges and this court sentences you to ninety days detention to be served at the Military Detention Barracks in Farnborough. Private Shawkey have you anything to say?”
Sharkey replied. “That’s OK, Sir, I can do that standing on my head!”
“Well, Private Shawkey, it’s a good thing that we have already pronounced our sentence or we would give you another ninety days to get back on your feet!” Then, turning to a Warrant-Officer at the rear of the court. “Sergeant-Major Osbourne, you will be escorting this week’s group to the Glass House. Please tell StaffSergeant Rafferty that Private Shawkey just might be a candidate for one of his special counseling sessions.”
In less than forty-eight hours Sharkey and about a dozen other prisoners entered the front gate of the dreaded Glass House, the world’s toughest military prison. The Glass House was operated by the Military Police and staffed by some of the toughest and meanest members of that Corps. Many of the NCOs on the staff-all to be addressed as either “Staff” or “Sir” by inmates-had seen service at the front and had a particular disdain for inmates imprisoned on charges of Absence With Out Leave (AWOL) or deserters. Everything, with the exception of brief breaks for meals, was done at the double unless ordered otherwise.
As could be readily expected, Sharkey was totally unsuited by temperament for such a structured environment. Despite having been informed of the generous provisions for reduction in sentence for “good time” served, Sharkey was in trouble nearly immediately. Each meal break was attended by a Duty Officer accompanied by a Duty Sergeant. To the standard request from the Duty Officer as to whether there were any complaints about the food, Sharkey immediately piped up with “Yes Sir “with obvious sarcasm on the “Sir”, “I know this is shit but what makes it taste so bad?”
The Duty Sergeant grasped Sharkey by the scruff of the neck. “Just watch your mouth you worthless bald piece of shit!” Those magic words again and Sharkey swung from his heels and knocked the Duty Sergeant right over the next table where he landed flat on his back on the floor.
They were surrounded immediately by other staff members and Sharkey was quickly pinned down as the Duty Sergeant slowly regained his senses. “That’s really going to cost you soldier. You’re going to either lose a big slice of your remission for “good time” or even face another court-martial.” Sharkey was escorted into the area reserved for solitary confinement. There was absolutely nothing in the cell but a heavy wooden bench bolted securely to the floor. This was obviously his bed and there was nothing to throw around as he cooled off.
Sharkey was stretched out on his bed later in the evening when he heard the door to his cell being unlocked and a voice telling the guard to lock the door behind him. Then came the voice “On your feet, soldier!” And the tone was that authoritative he responded immediately. He found himself looking down at a StaffSergeant at least five to six inches shorter than he was. Looking into the face of the little Staff-Sergeant, he found himself peering into the coldest, steeliest green eyes he had ever seen, and the face in which those eyes were mounted was disfigured beyond any Sharkey had ever seen. Both cheeks were heavily scarred, the nose was flattened and one ear was completely missing.
“So this is the tough Irishman, Private Shawkey. Just believe your eyes, Sharkey, I’ve dealt with some real tough guys in my time. You see my face? Well, the Gerries that did that are both very dead. Don’t say a God damn word Private, I’ll do the talking until I tell you something different. I got a little message from Colonel Cromwell who was the President of your court. He is one of the finest officers I ever served under. He was just that brave that he almost got himself killed. He left one arm over there and is now reduced to presiding over court martials of worthless shits like you, most of whom couldn’t carry his swagger stick.
/> “Well Shawkey, Colonel Cromwell, must have seen something in you that he liked. What it was I haven’t the slightest idea but his word is good enough for me. Until I get a look at your full file all I know about you is that you beat the shit out of a little Provost Corps 2nd/Lieutenant and sucker-punched a Duty Sergeant earlier today.”
As Sharkey started to open his mouth he was warned before he could get out a word. “Shut your God damned mouth Shawkey or Sharkey or whatever you call yourself. Well my name is Staff-Sergeant Rafferty and you will address me as Staff or Sir. Sharkey, you’ll soon come to know that I’m your worst f…ing nightmare. You just might be tough enough for a little meathead 2nd/Lieutenant and have a foul Irish mouth, but before you met me you never had the slightest idea as to what “tough” really meant!”
Sharkey finally got a few words in. “You don’t scare me one f…ing bit. I never met a Limey bastard I couldn’t whip with one hand tied behind my back.”
“Just shut up Private before you take on something you can’t handle. My name is Rafferty and just remember I may be half Limey but either the Irish half or the Limey half will make you very sorry that you ever opened that foul mouth of yours. If you want to check me out I conduct one-on-one counseling sessions every Wednesday morning in the physical training hall. I’ll be there but think it over very carefully and I’ll just give you one last bit of advice, Sharkey. Just remember that a man is seldom more than half a tough as he thinks he is!”
With that remark Staff-Sergeant Rafferty went to the cell door, rattled his swagger stick against the bars and exited when the guard unlocked the door.
Sharkey was out with his section at 6 a.m. the next morning and it became immediately obvious that members of the staff had been given all the details about the incident in the dining hall the previous day and were determined to ensure that Sharkey would receive special treatment in revenge for his attack on their colleague. Sharkey, with typical stubbornness, refused to give in to this extra treatment and by the end of the day nearly all demerits that had not been deducted for the incident in the dining hall were gone. He didn’t encounter StaffSergeant Rafferty until the last session of the day when his section entered the physical training hall at the double with, as usual, Sharkey lagging behind in a show of dumb insolence.
Rafferty was in Sharkey’s face immediately. “So, it’s you, that dumb Irishman again. You might be just the dumbest Irishman we have ever had here.”
Sharkey just laughed at him and that was his first mistake. His second was that he didn’t recognize that while the NCO was at least six inches shorter he was built like a brick shithouse.
“Well, Sharkey, or whatever you call yourself, it looks as though you need one of my “one-on-one” counseling sessions. Report here tomorrow morning at 0800hrs and I’ll arrange to have a medical officer here just in case there’s more to you than a foul mouth. Unless there’s a hell of a lot more to you than mouth, it won’t last long enough to need a medical officer.”
Still grinning, Sharkey retorted “Don’t worry, I’ll be there with bells on, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
The following morning Sharkey was escorted to the Physical Training Hall. As they entered the hall Sharkey heard Rafferty telling his escort to close the doors and wait outside. Rafferty was standing in a boxing ring at the far end of the hall, a medical officer was seated beside the ring. “Come up here,” Rafferty told Sharkey. “Now we’ll see just how tough you really are. Here put these on,”he said, handing Sharkey a pair of very light boxing gloves. “Wear these just in case you get very lucky and damage this handsome face of mine.” He turned to the medical officer and asked him to time three, two minute rounds. Each round would be for two minutes or until a knockdown or upon the medical officer’s decision to halt the session.
“Fire away when you’re ready Boyo, “Said Rafferty, moving toward Sharkey. Thinking he had his target fully in his sights Sharkey, swung a mighty right followed by a left and found that his arms merely wrapped around Rafferty’s shoulders as the smaller man stepped inside and completely deflated Sharkey with a right hand to the solar plexus followed by a combination left and right to his face. For two minutes he pursued Rafferty with similar results. When he had Rafferty firmly in his sights, and once when he even had him cornered against the ropes, he swung at that frustrating, smiling, disfigured face and hit nothing but thin air and received the rapid combination of stiff punches coming back.
It was the longest two minutes of Sharkey’s life as he welcomed the medical officer’s call of “Time!”
Sharkey was leaning against the ropes in one corner breathing deeply to replenish his burning lungs. Both of his eyes were swelling up and his nose was very sore and bleeding but his mouth was still working. “Why won’t you stand and fight, you yellow bastard?” he gasped at Rafferty who was now standing in the middle of the ring and appeared to not have even worked up a sweat.
“There’s that mouth again. Yellow am I? No, the difference between us is that I’m smart and you’re dumb, maybe even stupid. You fight like you fornicate, all passion and no control. You’re about to discover that I took it easy on you in that first round.”
The minute of rest ended as the medical officer announced “Time in” and Sharkey quickly realized just what Rafferty meant. He swung again with both hands and hit nothing but air and Rafferty doubled up on his body blows and then, as Sharkey was gasping for air, he nailed Sharkey with two perfect uppercuts and Sharkey’s knees wobbled refusing to support him as he found himself on his knees, and then, seemingly almost in slow motion, he fell on his face on the ring floor.
As Sharkey struggled valiantly to get control over his rebellious legs which had suddenly turned into spaghetti, he heard the voice of the medical officer. “That’s enough! Rafferty, you’ve made your point. Call his escort in and tell them to take him over to my office and I’ll check him out. I don’t think there has been much damage except to his ego and that was over-inflated.”
As his escorts got into the ring and helped him to his feet, Sharkey, although still unsteady on his feet, was still spouting epithet laden threats as to what he would do to Rafferty. As the two escorts supported him the medical officer quickly checked the obvious bruises on his face.”Nothing very serious there, you’ll have two beautiful black eyes, a swollen lip and a very sore nose. I don’t think it’s broken but I’ll check it at my office. All in all, considering that foul mouth of yours, you got off pretty lucky and I have been the official witness to many of Staff-Sergeant Rafferty’s “one-on-one” counseling sessions.”
During the day Rafferty finally had the opportunity to read through the official file of Patrick O’Brien Shawkey and found much that was very interesting. The first thing that jumped out at him was that Private Patrick O’Brien Shawkey had served at the front for nearly five months as a member of his sniper section and had been recommended for a Military Medal on two occasions but obviously there weren’t enough medals to go around that month and all he received was a Mention-in-Dispatches. It appeared that his name was still on the list nominated for the Military Medal until his battalion was advised of his court-martial.
The file also told Rafferty that Sharkey was twenty-years of age but other dates in the file suggested he was not more than eighteen. His father, Sergeant-Major Shamus Shawkey had been a decorated career soldier who had been killed in action in one of the insurrections on the Indian sub-continent. There were two younger brothers, Michael and Sean, who had both been killed in action on their first full day at the front when their patrol had been ambushed.
Rafferty found it of interest that the casualty return announcing the deaths of the two younger brothers had been posted on the notice board at the Depot the same day that Sharkey had broken out and ended up in custody. The file included a note from the medical officer at the Guards’ Depot expressing his suspicions that Sharkey had been severely beaten on th
e night of his arrest.
The file also included a copy of a letter from Sharkey’s parish priest in Ireland, a Father O’Brien. The original of this letter had been addressed to the senior Roman Catholic Padre at the War Office. This letter had been written by Father O’Brien on behalf of Bridget Shawkey, Private Shawkey’s mother, and told of the loss of her two younger sons and the death, in action, of the boys’ father Sergeant-Major Shamus Shawkey. It requested that the tragic experiences of this mother be taken into consideration in deciding the future military employment of her sole surviving son.
In the file there was also a note from Colonel Richmond, the President of Private Shawkey’s court-martial noting that Private Shawkey had refused the offer of the Depot Padre to speak on his behalf. After the proceedings were over the Padre had advised Colonel Richmond that Private Shawkey’s actions on the night of his arrest could probably be attributed, in part at least, to his reading of the deaths of his two younger brothers on the casualty report posted that day. Colonel Richmond noted that the court might have been a little more lenient if they had been advised of these facts. However, as the Colonel said, this could not excuse the attack upon a superior officer that had resulted in severe and painful injuries to that officer.
Just as Rafferty was finishing reading the file he received a message that the medical officer who had witnessed his “one on one” counseling session with Sharkey that morning asking him to drop in at his office. Rafferty’s primary concern was that he might have gone a bit too hard on Sharkey, but these fears were immediately set at rest by the first words of the doctor when he entered the office.
“Don’t worry Rafferty, Private Shawkey is all right. But this must be a first in medical history. You hung a well deserved thrashing on this kid and he ends up with two very black eyes and a very sore nose and, would you believe it, the mumps? I put him in the sick bay and there is an orderly keeping an eye on him. He’s still running off at the mouth so to keep him quiet I warned him that unless he kept quiet the mumps might go down on him and that would mean the end of any future pleasure with the ladies but it could also mean the end of the Shawkey family. I told him that he must keep quiet and keep his feet elevated. I also told him that light was potentially dangerous to the eyes for patients with mumps so I covered his eyes with bandages. It worked and he’s as quiet now as he’s ever been from the time he left his mother’s womb.”