Freedom First, Peace Later

by Jeanette Hewitt

  “Hi,” she called.

  Mary looked up and spotted Rosina.

  “Oh, morning.” Mary glanced at the cigarette in her hand. “I’m supposed to have quit.”

  “Well, given all that’s happened, I think one will be okay.” Rosina tried but failed to keep the amusement out of her voice.

  Mary turned back to stare out in front of her.

  “My lungs, anyways,” Rosina heard her mutter.

  Giggling quietly, Rosina pulled back into the room and closed the window against the cold morning air. Slipping on her dressing gown, she ran down the stairs and into the lounge. Mary had now retreated into the room and stood with her cigarette held out of the window.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Like a log,” Rosina affirmed. “Can I get you some tea?”

  “Nope.” Mary flicked the cigarette out and watched it land on the lawn. “We’re going out for breakfast. My treat.”

  Rosina paused and wrapped her gown tighter around her.

  “Is that a good idea?” she asked. “I mean, people will know who I am.”

  Mary closed the window and turned to face Rosina, a look of determination on her face.

  “I don’t care. I’m not going to let history repeat itself. It’s not going to happen again, not to my boy.”

  With that, she marched out of the room. “Get dressed,” Rosina heard her say as she climbed the stairs.

  With a feeling of trepidation, Rosina did as she was told.

  * * * *

  Bronwyn’s start to the day was not as pleasant. She too awoke early. Too early, she thought as she glanced at the luminous dial of her clock. It was only six o’clock. She sat up and realised that Danny had woken her.

  “Are you coming or going?” she asked coldly.

  Danny pulled the duvet over him.

  “Coming,” was his muffled reply.

  “Fuck,” she whispered and pulled back the quilt.

  “Hey!” He clutched it back, but she was quick and pulled it right off the bed.

  “This isn’t fair, Dan. You come and go when you please, and this isn’t even your house!”

  “Oh, Jesus.” Danny sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “What do you want from me, Bronwyn?”

  Bronwyn paused and took a moment to think.

  What did she want? For Danny to stop with his nocturnal missions for one, for him to stop with his belief that all Protestants were evil and that all Brits should be shot. Suddenly a thought struck her, and she smiled.

  “Let’s not fight,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  Danny raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

  She pulled the quilt back across the room and put it on the bed.

  “You get some sleep. Sleep in as late as you want. And then, this afternoon we’re going to spend some time together.”

  Danny took back the duvet and wrapped it around him. He was obviously suspicious, as he knew how Bronwyn’s mind worked, but he said nothing.

  Quickly and quietly, Bronwyn dressed and picked up her bag. She cast a look at the sleeping man in her bed and smiled. She knew how to make everything all right again. She would take

  Danny to meet Connor. Connor need never know that Danny had anything to do with the shooting, and Danny would be able to see that not all Protestants were worthless.

  * * * *

  Stu Jackson’s day never really began. It didn’t begin because the day before had never ended. They had driven through the night across England, boarded the ferry at Galloway, and crossed the sea into Bangor. Sleep was impossible on the rough sea crossing, and Stu left the Land Rover to stand on the deck as they approached Ireland. Dawn broke as they docked, and he returned to the vehicle as they lined up to leave the ferry.

  He glanced at Tommy and Sam, who were both sleeping soundly, and pulled out the letters that he had written to Ellie during the journey. His first priority was to post them as soon as possible. Then he would search for a phone to call and let her know he had arrived safely. Stu must have nodded off, because the next thing he knew, they were all woken by the vehicle stopping sharply. Stu hauled himself up and peered through the front windscreen.

  “Christ, is this it?” he asked, and the corporal who was driving nodded. Tommy shoved Stu aside and looked out of the window.

  The land surrounding the fields was shrouded in a thin mist. The trees were bare and the fields were also empty – no animals, no crops, the earth itself looked like some sort of rocky terrain that wouldn’t grow anything, even if someone were to try. The land looked like it had been stripped.

  “Looks like a shit heap to me,” he commented. “Are we gonna sit here all day?”

  “Gotta get clearance to take the car through. Security is high here and you’ve been put on full scale alert.”

  “Alert for what?” asked Stu.

  The driver glanced back at Steve.

  “This is Northern Ireland. What do you reckon?”

  Stu shut up and sat back while the driver spoke to the guy in the little security hut. Eventually the iron gates were opened, and the car moved into the camp. Before the Land Rover had parked, somebody was banging on the rear doors and they were yanked open. Another corporal stood there and he regarded the three in the back.

  “Come on out, lads, can’t hang around. You’re like sitting ducks here.”

  Stu jumped out of the car and looked around. His fears were recognised; the scene before his eyes was dismal. The camp was small, maybe a hundred square metres. Four wooden buildings lined the six-foot fence, which was topped with barbed wire. In opposite corners of the camp stood two observation towers, the third Sanger in another corner. There was a landing pad for the helicopters that made daily stops with supplies and post, and not much else. Stu looked back and realised that the others had disappeared. He caught a glimpse of Tommy heading into one of the buildings. The corporal stuck his head out of the door and beckoned Stu over.

  “This is your barracks,” he said. “That one is where you eat, that one is where you shit.”

  With all four buildings accounted for, Stu nodded and felt his heart sink as he went into his sleeping area.

  It was like a concentration camp. Bunk beds lined the walls. The soldiers currently in residence had tried to personalise their sleeping spaces with photographs and posters, but it didn’t disguise the depressing place that would be his home this Christmas. With a sigh, he slung his bag on the bed and sloped off to find a phone.

  * * * *

  Rosina walked alongside Mary with her head down. She had been right to be nervous; Mary’s neighbours were out in force as news of Rosina’s arrival in the Dean household spread along the grapevine. However, when they saw her with Mary they did nothing more than stare.

  “I guess you really are respected,” muttered Rosina as they walked briskly along.

  “Damn right I am. They know what they’ll get from me if they say anything,” replied Mary. Eventually, Mary stopped outside the Cross Coffee House and opened the door. All eyes looked up as Mary ushered Rosina into a booth near the window. Rosina glanced around and blushed as she saw all of the staff and customers staring at her. A waitress came over and, without a word, slammed two menus on the table. The waitress turned and started to walk away. As she passed Rosina, she spoke quietly without breaking stride.

  “I should throw you out of here.”

  Rosina said nothing, but Mary noted that her eyes filled with tears.

  Once the waitress had returned to the kitchen, Mary pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and lit one up.

  “You’re gonna have to toughen up, girl.”

  “It’s hard. I never did anything to these people,” said Rosina.

  “But your father did, and his father before him. This is a war that’s been going on for years, and it won’t stop for a while yet. If you’re serious about Connor, you’re going to have to learn to live with it, or stick up for yourself,” replied Mary.

  “I am serio
us about Connor. I love him,” said Rosina.

  “And what about your parents? You’re going to have to speak with them sooner or later,” said Mary.

  “I won’t speak to my mam again. And my dad’s dead.”

  Mary frowned as she studied the menu.

  “How did he die?”

  Rosina shrugged and it suddenly struck her as odd that she didn’t know the details of her father’s death.

  “I don’t know. Mam never spoke about him, except to tell me that he was dead.” Suddenly, she was embarrassed. “Doesn’t it sound silly? Mary…I don’t know anything about him.”

  Mary frowned.

  “Who was he? What was his name?”

  Rosina shrugged.

  “I don’t know. I asked mam about him once, when I was old enough to realise the other kids all had a father, even if they weren’t around.”

  “And what did she say?” Mary was intrigued now.

  “She got mad—really angry.” Rosina reddened and looked down at the table top. “She hit me.”

  Mary shook her head and bit back the barrage of abuse that she wanted to spit out about Rosina’s mother.

  “Okay, well…” Unable to find any words of comfort, Mary settled for patting Rosina’s hand.

  “You’re with us now, okay? Order what you want and then we’ll go up to the hospital. See if we can’t get Connor out of that place.”

  Rosina brightened at the prospect of having Connor back again. As she opened the menu and studied it, she forgot for a while that she was currently the most hated girl this side of Crossmaglen.

  * * * *

  When Danny heard Bronwyn leave the house, he jumped out of bed. He opened her wardrobe and pulled out the bag he had stashed there upon his return in the early hours. Pulling on his clothes, he made his way downstairs, hoping that the rest of the house was empty. It wasn’t.

  Barry sat in the kitchen, nursing a steaming cup of tea and staring into space. He started when he saw Danny.

  “Hey, Dan. Didn’t realise you were here.”

  “Just on my way out actually,” Danny said uneasily.

  “Oh, well, don’t let me stop you. Catch you later, yeah?” Barry picked up his tea and went upstairs.

  Danny waited for a moment until he was sure Barry had gone. When he was satisfied, he left quietly by the back door.

  Barry stood on the landing and, pulling back the curtain, peered out of the window. He waited for a while after he had heard the door close, but saw no sign of Danny leaving the house. A thought struck him and he hurried across the landing and into Bronwyn’s room. Looking out of the window, he was just in time to see Danny disappear into the shed at the end of the garden.

  “Jesus,” whispered Barry to himself.

  Danny must be using their deserted shed as a place to stash his weapons, arms and God knows what else for the I.R.A.

  He moved back and sat on Bronwyn’s bed. This was something he should report straight to Johnny, but this was Danny.

  The guy he thought of as his brother.

  In the shed that had not been used since Barry’s father had left them, Danny was hard at work. He cleared a space on the worktable and pulled the supplies out of his bag that Andy, his cell leader, had given him. Along with these, he pulled out a sack of fertiliser and set about making a

  batch of mixed bombs. He made six of these and packed them carefully back in the bag. Next, he turned his attention to his own personal favourite; the blast bomb. This particular explosive was derived from a mixture of weed killer and sugar. A simple, but deadly, mixture that he packed tightly and carefully into empty beer cans.

  His job done, he wiped off his hands and looked around the shed. Spotting a half-full box of nails, he couldn’t resist making two hefty nail bombs for the forthcoming attack that he had discussed with the cell the night before.

  Finally finished, he hid the bag containing the explosives underneath the table and left the shed.

  Minutes later, Barry came into the shed and looked around. Danny had left empty-handed. Whatever he had done was still here. There was not much to search; the cupboards were empty, tabletop clear. He looked under the bench and carefully pulled out the bag that Danny had held when Barry had seen him in the kitchen. He opened it and cautiously pulled out the beer cans and the packages. From his time undercover in the I.R.A, he knew immediately what it all was. Mixed Bombs, blast bombs and nail bombs. It could only spell one thing; Danny’s cell was organising a horrific attack, and it was up to Barry to stop it.

  But, that would mean grassing on Danny.

  Barry sank to the floor as he realised that he had a terrible choice to make.

  * * * *

  “Connor will be able to go home tomorrow,” said the nurse, and Mary and Rosina exchanged glances of relief.

  “Can we see him now?” asked Mary.

  “Of course.”

  As they were about to enter Connor’s room, Rosina heard her name being called. She turned to see Bronwyn dashing down the hall.

  “Hey, Bronwyn,” said Rosina, delighted to see her friend.

  “How is he?” Bronwyn stooped over to catch her breath.

  “He’ll be home tomorrow,” replied Rosina. “We’re just about to go and see him.”

  “Why don’t you two go in? I can come back later,” said Mary.

  “Are you sure?” asked Rosina.

  “Of course. He’ll have enough of me clucking over him when he gets home!” said Mary.

  “Thanks, Missus D,” said Bronwyn.

  Connor was sitting up in bed looking quite bored when they went in. His eyes lit up when he saw the two girls.

  “You look much better,” said Rosina and pulled a chair up to his bed. “Have you been told about going home?”

  “Yeah, can’t wait. And it’ll be so great with you being there,” replied Connor. “Hi, Bronwyn.”

  “Hi. Do you reckon you’ll be up for a trip to the pub tomorrow?” asked Bronwyn.

  “Well, they’ve given me those,” Connor gestured to a pair of crutches. “I’m sure I could stagger down to the pub.”

  “Is that a good idea?” Rosina asked anxiously. “Mary took me to breakfast this morning and you should have seen the looks and comments I got.”

  “Fuck ‘em!” retorted Bronwyn. “I’m bringing Danny, and once they see you two with him and me, nobody will touch you.”

  “Danny!” Rosina exclaimed. “We all know how he feels about, well, people like Connor.”

  “Who’s Danny?” Connor looked confused.

  “He’s my guy. And he’ll do whatever I tell him to, so don’t you two worry,” Bronwyn stood up and blew a kiss. “Tomorrow, we’ll be at your place early evening.”

  Bronwyn took the bus home and, on a whim, she got off three stops early and stood at the Divide.

  It was not a physical divide. No fence, hedge, or visible border distinguished it from one part of town to the other, but all of the residents knew exactly where it was. Nobody crossed it, unless it was Republicans crossing to make trouble like they had for Connor the other night. Even kids no longer dared each other to cross the Divide.

  Years ago, her mother had told her, Republicans and Loyalists had lived all over the town, side by side. When the troubles turned ferocious around 1969, the council had moved the Protestants to council houses on the other side of town. That was when the Divide was born. Bronwyn couldn’t fathom the complexities of the war that ravaged her home country. It was just two religions, two

  sets of beliefs, two different chains of thought on whether this country should be joined with another. Why couldn’t people agree to disagree?

  She took two steps and found herself in Protestant territory. It was strange; she shivered, feeling suddenly naked and vulnerable. She moved back over to her side and stood there for a while longer, looking around. Eventually, she pulled her scarf tighter around her and started to walk home.

  * * * *

  “What do you think about Protestants
, Ma?”

  It was early evening and Bronwyn found herself alone with her mother. Alia stopped stirring the Irish stew and looked over at Bronwyn.

  “I was friends with a Prod once,” she said, a faraway look in her eyes. Bronwyn sat up straighter.

  “Tell me,” she demanded.

  Alia turned the temperature on the stove down and came to sit with her daughter.

  “It was such a big part of my life, yet I never told anyone. Not even your dad.”

  “Tell me,” Bronwyn repeated.

  Alia sighed, and began her story.

  Chapter Eight

  Alia

  Crossmaglen 1952.

  “It was hard work for my mam. There were ten of us, you see, and it wasn’t so bad during the school term, but the holidays were a nightmare for her. Da worked the mines all day, literally from dawn ‘til dusk, so ten of us running around the house was a handful. So every summer holiday us kiddies would be split up. Some of would go to Belfast to me Nan’s and the rest would go to me Auntie’s in Portadown. We didn’t mind at all, it was our summer holiday and it gave me mam a break so everyone was happy. I always went to Belfast with my three brothers, the twins, who were sixteen and your Uncle Ryan, who was eighteen that first year I went. Of course, they didn’t want their kid sister hanging around and after the first endless week baking everyday with Nan I got bored. So, the next week I went out on my own, and I felt so grown up, not being allowed out far on my own at home. That was when I met Cally.

  “I went down to Lake Neagh and it was beautiful; it seemed like the ocean to me. There were even sandy shores all the way around it, and because it didn’t lead into the sea there were no oil slicks or anything to spoil the beauty of the water. I sat there for a while, and it was the first time in my life that I’d ever known peace and quiet. After a while, I realised that I wasn’t alone, there was another girl there. She was on the opposite side of the lake and I looked around for her parents, but she was alone too. I waved, hesitantly like, and she gave a sort of half wave back. I wanted desperately to talk to her. I hadn’t thought that there were any other ten-year-old girls in Belfast but, like kiddies that age, I didn’t dare. Stupidly, we both sat on our own sides of the lake until the sun began to set and I skipped back to Nan’s.