JEANETTE
BAKER
Table of Contents
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Table of Contents
Chesapeake Summer
Copyright Notices
Other Books by Jeanette Baker
Authors Notes
Glossary
CHAPTERS
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Copyright Notices
JEANETTE BAKER
This Irish House
Copyright © 2002, 2012 by Jeanette Baker
Int’l ISBN: 978-1-62071-001-2
ISBN: 1-62071-001-3
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic means is forbidden unless written permission has been received from the publisher
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
For information address:
Author & Company, LLC
P.O. Box 291
Cheshire, CT 06410-9998
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Other Books by
JEANETTE BAKER
Chesapeake Tide
Chesapeake Summer
The Delaney Woman
The Lavender Field
A Delicate Finish
Witch Woman
To learn more about Jeanette and
all of her books please visit:
www.JeanetteBaker.com
Author's Note
Northern Ireland—or The Six Counties, as the Nationalist/Catholic population calls it—is a land long divided by economics, tradition, religion and bloodshed. Almost five hundred years ago Henry Tudor, surrounded by Catholic Spain, France and Ireland and convinced that England could never be ruled by a woman, was desperate to establish a dynasty, and he decided that Ireland would be his first colony. Displacing the Catholic population, banishing and executing the Catholic aristocracy, and transplanting Englishmen and Scots to lands long held by Catholics, he, and later his daughter, Queen Elizabeth the First, systematically attempted to eradicate the Celtic/Catholic tradition in Ireland. Land, residences, employment, political appointments and education were reserved for Protestants. The Penal Laws became the birthright of Catholics, as did civil rights violations, discrimination, torture and false imprisonment. Even so, because of the fierce nature of Irish independence and the strength of the Catholic Church in Ireland, Henry was unsuccessful at the grassroots level.
Not until forty years ago, when television brought to the world the civil rights movement then taking place in the United States, did the oppressed Irish of the Six Counties find their voice. Out of the ashes of Bloody Sunday and the Belfast and Derry riots rose the Provisional Irish Republican Army. These men and women, most of them not yet thirty years old, were determined that “the croppies of the North” would no longer accept the status quo. As a result, years of bloodshed, murder and martial law ensued, culminating in the Good Friday Agreement, a power-sharing proposal supported by 70 percent of the Irish population. Among the dissenters were the militant, splinter, paramilitary groups on both sides.
At the time of this writing, the Peace Accord hangs by the slimmest of threads. As a result of the IRA’s refusal to turn over their weapons, David Trimble resigned as First Minister. Ireland, Britain and the United States scrambled for terms. The IRA relented and agreed to place their weapons beyond use. Loyalist groups, claiming the terms were too nebulous, have refused to accept them. Shortly after, the IRA rescinded the agreement to turn over their weapons, claiming their statement, issued in good faith, was not met by Loyalist decommissioning nor by integration of the Royal Ulster Constabulary, the police force of Northern Ireland, which is 90 percent Protestant—another sticking point of the agreement.
Meanwhile, red, white and blue paint coats the curbstones of Loyalist housing tracts, while Nationalists raise the Irish flag and sport its colors of green, white and orange. July, the marching season, continues to be a time of tension in the North and, despite rabid disapproval on both sides, the bloodshed, although sporadic, continues.
On a more positive note, opportunity for Catholics has increased dramatically in Northern Ireland. Young people are educated together in universities, work together in businesses and, occasionally, live together in the better communities. Violence is frowned upon, as is the discrimination of the past, and the infamous prison, Long Kesh—or the Maze—has become almost obsolete.
The world is aware of the resources to be found in Ireland, not only its enormous economic potential but the charm and resourcefulness of its people. The Irish are like no other population in the world. Cheerful, warmhearted and intelligent, they continue to delight travelers from all over the world with their wry wit, their ability to tell a story and their wonderful toe-tapping, foot-stomping music.
Kate Nolan, her children, her father and Neil Anderson are purely characters of my imagination. Their actions, conversations and opinions are compilations of countless numbers of people I have come to know in the north and west of Ireland. Because all novels have an element of truth, because I am a mother, because marriages do not always run smoothly and because all human experience bears a resemblance to others who share this planet, this novel is based in reality. Although it has political overtones that cannot be ignored in a novel set in the North of Ireland, This Irish House is primarily the story of a family struggling to come to terms with loss and change.
This book would not have its flavor were it not for Father John Forsythe of Belfast, who put aside his extremely busy Easter week schedule to educate me on the current situation in the North. I am also indebted to Paula Murphy, a teacher in Belfast, who offered her opinions over lunch in a charming restaurant outside Derry, and Patti Greiner of the Ohio Ulster Project, who graciously offered names, addresses and phone numbers of contacts in the North.
In addition, I would like to thank Patricia Perry, Jean Stewart and Stephen Farrell for their careful critique of my manuscript, their thoughtful comments and their willingness to drop everything and absorb themselves, once again, in my story.
Jeanette Baker
January 2002
Glossary
Democratic Unionist Party (DUP)
Right wing, Unionist, anti- Catholic party formed in 1971 by Ian Paisley
Irish National Liberation Army (INLA)
Established in 1975 by breakaway elements from the official IRA
Irish Republican Army (IRA)
Name given to original force group who fought the British for Irish independence
Loyalists
Working-class Unionist Protestants who remain loyal to the union with England
Nationalists
Working-class Catholics who want t
o see the six counties of Northern Ireland unite with the twenty-six counties in the Republic of Ireland
Orange Order
Powerful Protestant society whose annual marches touch off Protestant-Catholic clashes
Provisional IRA (Provos)
Militant wing of IRA that broke away from IRA in 1969
Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC)
Armed Northern Ireland police force made up of Protestants
Sinn Fein—”We Ourselves”
Political party and wing of the Provisional IRA, mainly supported by working-class Catholics
Ulster Defence Association
Largest Unionist paramilitary organization in Northern Ireland
Ulster Freedom Fighters
Pseudonym for Ulster Defence Association death squads
Ulster Unionist Party
Official and largest Unionist party in Northern Ireland
Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF)
Paramilitary body established by Loyalists in the Shankill Road area of Belfast
Unionists
Protestants loyal to the union with Britain and opposed to a united, thirty-two-county Ireland
Unionist Party of Northern Ireland
Power-sharing wing of the Unionist Party
CHAPTERS
Prologue
The prime minister of England frowned at the woman seated before him. He was having second thoughts. Kathleen Nolan looked younger than her forty years, and much too attractive to take on the responsibility of the position he offered. Ireland was not a progressive country. A woman’s voice was quickly silenced, drummed out by generations of violence, by men emasculated by unemployment and poverty. Politics, particularly politics in Great Britain, was still very much a man’s world.
Still, she was Patrick Nolan’s widow. That would give her automatic credibility in the Nationalist community. She also came highly recommended by the first minister, a Protestant Loyalist who never recommended anyone. Quite simply, despite his doubts, there was no one else.
He summoned his most charming grin. “The policing commission is a step in the right direction, Mrs. Nolan. It’s the first step in a force for all of Northern Ireland. I can’t think of anyone better suited for the position of police ombudsman than yourself.”
Kate Nolan wasn’t easily intimidated nor was she prone to flattery, thanks to a mother who considered her most important role in life to expunge all signs of vanity in her oldest and loveliest daughter. Kate had learned her lesson well. It would take a great deal more than party manners, an engaging smile and a compliment to win her compliance, even if the compliment did come from the prime minister of England.
She smiled politely. “I appreciate your confidence, sir. I shall consider your offer carefully and report back to you by the end of next week.”
He blinked, swallowed a gasp and recovered quickly. “I had hoped to welcome you aboard a bit sooner.”
“How soon?”
“Today.”
Kate tensed. “That’s impossible.”
“Are you familiar with the Patten Report, Mrs. Nolan?”
“Not intimately, although I understand the basics.”
“Tell me what you understand.”
She was silent for at least a minute before speaking. He watched her gather her thoughts and carefully form the words. It was a good sign, a woman who spoke thoughtfully, carefully, a woman not given to impulse.
“Chris Patten and other nonpartisan members took fifteen months to craft a document spelling out how the Royal Ulster Constabulary, the Six Counties illustrious police force, should be restructured.”
He noticed she said the Six Counties rather than Northern Ireland. Her bias was Nationalist, no matter what Trimble said. But perhaps that was to be expected, considering who she was and what her husband had been.
“Do you disagree with the findings of the report?”
“Of course not,” she said shortly. “No sane Catholic could possibly disagree considering where we are now.”
“But you have reservations.”
“Yes.” Because she knew he would ask and because it needed to be said, she told him, licking each one off on her fingers. “There is no prohibition of plastic bullets as there is in the rest of Britain. These are lethal weapons and have been used time and again against innocent Nationalists of Ulster. Secondly, there is no mention of the RUC’s human rights violations. In fact, Chief Constable Finnigan is in charge of human rights violations, a conflict of interests if there ever has been. I object to the roles of Chief Constable Finnigan and Secretary of State Peter Mandelson. All accountability still rests with them.” Her lip curled. “Your police board has very little power. I’m not convinced I wish to be part of a committee that has no ability to enforce, particularly when it comes to overseeing Robbie Finnigan.
“Besides—” the corners of her mouth twisted bitterly “—everyone knows that in Ireland the most dimwitted man knows more than any woman.”
He allowed her the full strength of her emotions, saying nothing. He wished this Catholic-Protestant thing would fall into the ocean. Not that he had anything against Catholics. His own wife was a Catholic, although not the rabid, bitter kind found in the North of Ireland.
“What if I said you had the power to enforce?”
“I would ask you what that means.”
“Provision fourteen in the report allows for the board to call upon the chief constable to retire in the interests of efficiency and effectiveness.”
“Subject to the approval of the secretary of state.” Her response was quick, loaded, definitely not the response of a woman who knew only the basics. He smiled pleasantly and changed the subject. “Is the investigation of your husband’s murder progressing to your satisfaction, Mrs. Nolan?”
Her lips tightened and a thin white line appeared around her mouth.
“Six years have passed,” she said slowly. “Progress isn’t the word I would use.”
He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I’m truly sorry it hasn’t been resolved.”
She relented. He watched her soften with more than a little relief.
“The delay isn’t your fault,” she said. “I realize you haven’t been prime minister for long. I deeply appreciate your interest and efforts, for my sake and for my children. For us, this must end sooner rather than later.”
“It must end with a conviction, Mrs. Nolan. The worst we can do is arrest someone without evidence enough for a guilty verdict. The eyes of the world will be on us through this one.”
“Patrick would have laughed to think he was worthy of so much attention.”
He pressed her. “Your husband would want you to take this position.”
“Yes,” she said evenly. “He would. But there are other considerations now.”
The prime minister stood and held out his hand. Kate took it. “Please, make your decision quickly,” he said.
Without using her arms, she rose, gracefully, from the wing chair. “Have you anyone else in contention?”
Once again, he grinned. He looked absurdly young and carefree for a man who’d inherited a powder keg. “Not a soul. I’m counting on you.”
“I may fail miserably, you know.”
He laughed, a boyish man with a ready smile, a head full of wavy dark hair, a wife he loved with regularity and three young children. “Have you ever in your life failed at anything, Mrs. Nolan?”
She stared at him astonished. “Of course.”
“What was it?”
Kate thought a minute. “I’m sure I have as many failures as the next person. Perhaps I’ve blotted them from my memory.”
“Perhaps.” The most powerful man in the kingdom winked at her. “I’m sure it will come to you. When it does, be sure and ring me up. I’ll be anxiously waiting.”
Kate smiled politely. “Good day.”
“Good day, Mrs. Nolan.”
Two days later he finished signing his name at the bottom of a page of his official st
ationery, folded and stuffed it into an envelope, all the while allowing his phone to ring six times. This was new for him. At the beginning of his term he couldn’t wait to find out who was on the other line. Confidence came with experience. He picked up the receiver. “Yes.”
“Neil Anderson is here to see you, sir.”
“Send him in.”
The door opened. The prime minister rose, walked around the desk and held out his hand. “Welcome, Neil. Thank you for coming.”
Neil Anderson smiled briefly and shook the prime minister’s hand. He did not sit down. “I’m not sure you’ll thank me after you’ve read my investigation on Patrick Nolan.”
“It doesn’t signify. I told Mrs. Nolan our report would be completed.” He laughed nervously. “Good Lord, I practically gave her my word. I had no choice in the matter. Whatever you’ve found, we must give it over.”
Anderson held out a thick manila envelope. “This is everything. I trust you’ll know what to do with this, sir. It’s not a pretty picture.”
“You’re a good man, Neil. I don’t know what we would do without you. I understand you’ve taken on the Belfast situation.”
“Only the drug trade, not the bloody holy war they’ve been in the middle of for generations. I’m due for a bit of a break.”
“Shall I offer you tea or perhaps something stronger?”
“Nothing, thank you. I’ll leave you to your reading.”
“Very well. I’ll ring you back when I’ve finished.” Four hours later, the prime minister looked out the bay window of Number 10 Downing Street. His face was pale and his hands shook. The contents of the envelope Neil Anderson had given him lay scattered across the floor where he’d tossed it in a rare fit of temper. “Damn it,” he muttered to himself, “damn it, damn it, damn it.” There was no way in all the world he could keep his word to Kate Nolan.
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