by Mick Moran
“What’s up?” asked Michael
“What’s up? What’s up? He’s only got himself seen by Seamus.”
Michael looked at Martin with more pity than anger. Then turning to Ted, his voice quivering in near panic, he urged, “Let’s go. We can’t hang around here any longer. We’re too near the barracks.”
“I’m going this way.” Resolutely Martin set off again. “I’m going home.”
Ted followed him and again grabbed his arm. “Martin! You can’t do this to us.”
“I’m going home,” insisted Martin, struggling to free himself from Ted’s grip.
“All right,” agreed Ted. “But, the way we’re going is shorter.”
Martin hesitated. He no longer trusted Ted.
“Come on. We’ll show you the best way.” Urged Ted.
Reluctantly, Martin followed.
No more was said. They quickly set off again along the route chosen by Ted. Ted led the way, in places battling through thick undergrowth. Martin, then beginning to understand the need to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the barracks, kept up with the others. He wasted no more time asking questions. However, he fully intended to leave the others as soon as he reached a road that led back to the town. From there he knew his way home.
In his naivety, Martin did not realise the seriousness of the position he was in. He understood the enormity of the deed carried out by Ted and Michael. However he didn’t see himself as part of that operation. He still saw himself as an outsider looking on, which, in reality, he was. Getting home was uppermost in his mind. And as they scrambled along he was becoming increasingly worried about that. There were only a few hours of daylight left. He couldn’t possibly make it before it got dark. However, as there was a full moon, if only he could make it to the road he was familiar with before dark he’d be OK. But, that was on the other side of town.
That, of course, was never to be. Never again would Martin set foot on that road. Deep down he must have been aware of the gravity of his position. However, as he trudged along behind Ted and Michael, any thought of anything other than going home that evening was unthinkable.
After about an hour, to Martin’s relief, they finally reached a road. “This road must go into the town,” pronounced Martin hopefully.
Ted and Michael turned to face Martin, both gravely shaking their heads. Martin could see that what they were about to say was more serious than information on the road. Looking him in the eye, Ted informed him solemnly. “Martin you can’t go home tonight.” He could have added, Martin thought later, or any other night. But, Ted left it at that, watching for Martin’s reaction.
Martin, not unexpectedly, was outraged. “Of course I’m going home tonight,” he retorted angrily. “Where else would I go?”
“Don’t worry about that. We know where you can stay.” Clearly, it was something Ted and Michael had already discussed. But, Martin was having none of it.
“I’m going home and that’s that.”
“Martin, if you go home, the soldiers will be waiting for you. They’ll pick you up long before you reach your house.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Martin, they know you. You were seen.”
“Seamus might not tell.”
“Of course he’ll tell: he can’t not tell.”
“But, I have to go home.”
“Martin, you’re putting all our lives at risk.”
“I wouldn’t tell on you.”
“Martin, you don’t know those soldiers. They’d make you.”
It was just until things blew over, he was told. His stay at Michael’s house would be short. Then he could go home. If Martin thought for a minute that he would never see his family again, there would have been no question of him agreeing to it, whatever the danger. He firmly believed that within days, at the most, he would be back with his family.
“You just need to lie low for a few days,” was what Ted said. “Until we get news that it is safe for you to go home.
“Lie low! Where can I do that?”
“You can stay at Michael’s house. It’s not far away.”
Martin looked doubtfully at Michael who was nodding in agreement. No doubt, Michael had already given it some thought. “There’s a room there, going spare,” he said. “There’s only myself and my mother. We’ll be glad of the company.”
“Your Mother. What will she say?”
It was Ted that answered. “Don’t worry. She’s a nice woman.” Then turning to Michael, “Don’t ye often have a man staying?”
“Indeed we do. When we can get one. There’s too much work on the farm for the two of us. We had a man up to last week, but he’s gone to England. He said he he’ll get more money there than we can afford to pay him.”
“There you are,” says Ted. “a job and all.”
Martin shook his head. “I don’t want a job. I’ve plenty work at home.”
“Sure, we know that. We’re only trying to keep you safe, and there’s no place safer than Michael’s farm. Hardly anyone ever comes near it.”
“What about the army?”
“No one knows Michael’s involved. You’ll be dead safe there.”
In other circumstances Martin would have enjoyed his stay at Michael’s farm. He had a comfortable bed and Michael’s mother fed him well.
Of course, she was not aware of his reason for being there. She thought he came to work on the farm.
“It will be best,” said Michael, as they approached the house that evening, “if I tell my mother that you’ve come to work for us. That‘ll stop her asking awkward questions.” Martin just nodded. He was past arguing. He was in Michael’s hands then. He had, eventually, to the relief of the others, agreed to stay, “for a day or two,” at Michael’s farm.
“I think we’ll give you a new name as well,” said Michael. “When my mother goes into the town, She might be telling people about the new man she has working for her. What about Jim? Jim Cassidy.
Martin again just nodded. Then, looking at him, Michael added, “You could add a few years to your age too.”
Before they entered the house, Michael stopped and, seemingly unsure that Martin had understood, him asked, “What’s your name?”
“Jim Cassidy.”
“And how old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
Michael smiled. “You’ll do,” he said.
Michael’s mother was friendly and made him welcome. Also she seemed pleased with his work and he gave no indication that he was unhappy. But, he was never one to show his feelings. In reality he hated every minute of it. He couldn’t wait to get away and get back with his own family. His mother, he knew would be worried sick. Ted promised to get a message to her, assuring her that Martin was O K. But Martin was not convinced that it would happen.
Martin’s way of coping was to throw himself into the work. It would have been interesting work in other circumstances. It was a mixed farm, lik
e his own, but much larger and the land was richer. He had often wondered what such a farm was like. Then, however, his only concern was getting away from it. What kept him going for the first few days was the belief that his stay would be a short one.
It was on the third day that the life shattering news came. About noon, martin was assisting Michael cleaning out the cow-house, when Ted appeared at the open door. For a brief moment, Martin, hoping for news that he could go home, was pleased to see him. But, his hope was immediately dashed.
Looking deadly serious, Ted put his finger to his closed lips. Then he nervously looked round before closing the door. “Where’s your mother,”
he asked Michael in a low voice.
“She’s in the house making dinner.”
“It’s best if she don’t see me,” Ted was clearly worried. Michael was puzzled. His mother didn’t trust Ted and had previously made it clear that he was not welcome on the farm, but that wouldn’t normally bother Ted.
“I’m afraid I’ve brought bad news. Jimmy Casey is dead.” Ted looked for reaction from one face to the other. They were both simply stunned. No elaboration was necessary. Nevertheless, to clear any lingering doubts, Ted continued. “The man who was in the barracks.”
Michael nodded. He must have been half expected it, although that made the news no less devastating. For Martin, it was the outcome that, up to then, he couldn’t bear to contemplate. Both had their worst fears confirmed. For a time nothing more was said. All three just stood motionless, Michael and Martin absorbing what they had just heard. At last Michael broke the uneasy silence. “Ted,” he asked, fearfully, “what’ll we do?”
Ted clearly, had already given his answer some thought. “Don’t do anything different,” he said. “Just carry on as before. Only go into the town if you have to. Don’t let on to your mother or anyone else that you know about this. If anyone mentions it act surprised.”
“Don’t worry Martin. We’ll look after you.”
Although Martin made no reply, Ted knew that his reassurance was less than convincing. The fear in Martin’s eyes was enough.
“We must keep calm,” continued Ted. Clearly, in that respect, it was Martin that mainly concerned him. It was vital that no one panicked. All of their fates depended on it. And it was Martin who was the least predictable.
It was Martin that was probably- at that stage, no one could be sure- wanted by the law, such as it was. It was a time when justice was rough, swift, and brutal. No mercy could be expected, especially for killing a soldier. If caught, even at his young age, it was unlikely that Martin would get away with his life. And, no doubt, however unwillingly, he would also bring the others down with him.
Whatever plan they came up with, therefore, relied, crucially, on Martin’s co-operation. Ted knew that Martin must be fully aware of the seriousness of his position, yet not be so frightened as to become panicky.
Ted repeated his reassurance, trying to show as much conviction as possible. “Martin you’ve no need to worry. We’ll keep you safe.” “But”, he continued, “You have to realise that this is a dangerous time. We never meant this to happen. But, a man is dead, and you were seen at the place where it happened. So, it’s likely they’ll be after you. But, they won’t get you. We’ll make sure of that.”
Ted watched, anxiously for Martin’s reaction. He needn’t have worried. Martin still felt numb. From then on, he became docile and compliant, accepting, without question, that his fate was in the hands of others.
Next morning Martin was put an early train to Dublin; the boat train.
“You’re not safe in this country any more,” he was told. He left the farm before Michael’s mother got out of bed. “It’s best if she don’t see you,” whispered Michael. “I’ll explain to her later.”
Michael carried the suitcase, which he’d helped pack the night before: the suitcase, which Michael had presented to Martin only three mornings earlier. Before martin had got out of bed on his very first morning, Michael carried the case into his room and placed it on the floor by his bed. “This case is yours,” me informed Martin, keeping his voice low so his mother didn’t hear. “If you didn’t have one, she’d want to know why.” Michael opened the case, which had seen better days. “I think these clothes will fit you. They’ll do for working here.” The case was full of old clothes, which did fit Martin, more or less.
“There are couple pairs of boots there as well. What size do you take?”
“Nine.”
“There’s a pair of nines and a pair of tens there.”
Three days later Martins stay was over. Michael didn’t leave the farm. Another man, with a pony and trap, met them at the farm gate and took Martin to the station.
All the stops were pulled out to get Martin safely out of the country. He was accompanied all the way to the boat. On the train journey, the man escorting him, who he only knew as John, gave him advice on where to go and what to do when got to the other side. Soon all that would be forgotten, he was told: but, in the meantime how he behaved was vital. He was told not to use his own name and to say he was a few years older than he was. His youth was taken away from him.
Martin was given an address in Manchester of a man who he was told would help him. Also he was given some money, “to tide him over until he got some work.”
All that happened over forty years ago, he thought, and here he was, still in cheap digs. Still looking over his shoulder.
There was a knock on his bedroom door, and a shout. “Martin. They’re boiled.” It was Mick.
“Thank you,” Martin replied, without much enthusiasm. He felt weary, more tired than hungry. He looked at his pillow. To lay his head down and sleep was the more inviting option. Nevertheless he resisted the urge, but decided to wait another few minutes. If the food were already on the table the pressure to make conversation would be reduced
Chapter 7. Decision time.
Tuesday morning Martin had breakfast with his fellow lodgers as usual. With no job to go to he could have stayed in bed longer, but he was always an early riser. Even on Sundays when he was not working he always got up early. Although sleep had been patchy he was feeling much better that morning. His mind was made up. He knew what he had to do.
Conversation that time of the morning is kept to a minimum. He got some curious glances, but no one asked Martin what his plans for the day were. It was common knowledge that he’d lost his job and how he lost it. Although all were sympathetic with Martins position the subject was too touchy for that time of the morning. However, dressed in his Sunday best, as he was, it seemed unlikely that job hunting was on his agenda for the day.
They all left for their various jobs. Jimmy, as usual, was last out, leaving Martin alone at the table: he was hanging on to have a word with Mary.
Feeling a draught, he turned round to see Jimmy holding the door open and talking quietly to the cat. “Pussy, pussy, come in pussy.” He must be going soft thought Martin. Jimmy never has time in the morning to bother about the cat.
After ushering the cat in with his boot, Jimmy quickly closed the door and left. Only then did Martin realise that Jimmy was up to his mischief again. The cat had hold of a big dead mouse with his mouth.
Although feeling better, Martin had no wish for the drama
, which Jimmy had clearly engineered. He rushed and opened the door in an attempt to get the cat, and mouse, out again before Mary saw it.
He was too late. Mary entered the room just as the cat, looking pleased with its action, proudly put the mouse down in the middle of the floor. Mary screamed and swung the brush at the cat. The cat scrammed through the open door, leaving the dead mouse behind.
“That bloody cat,” exclaimed Mary. “That’s it now. Henry’s will have to get rid of it. I don’t know why he brought it here in the first place.”
“It was a stray. I think it just wandered in.”
“I, and Henry took to it, buying it cat meat and all that. No wonder it won’t go away. Well this is the last straw. It’s the second time it’s brought a mouse in the house.” Mary wrapped the dead mouse in newspaper, being careful not to touch it with her hands. “If the food inspector saw it, he’d shut us down.” Holding it at arms length she took the dead mouse out to the dustbin. “I wonder what excuse he’ll have this time,” she said after disposing of the dead mouse.
Martin smiled behind Mary’s back. He was remembering the last time the cat brought a mouse in the house. It was a Friday evening. It must have happened shortly before Martin got in from work. As he entered the house he could hear raised voices in the living room. Normally he would go straight upstairs for a wash. But, amused he stayed in the hall for a while listening.
Henry was claiming that, being a good Catholic cat; it couldn’t eat the mouse on a Friday. “It was saving it for Saturday,” he said. It sounded like Henry was giving no indication that he wasn’t deadly serious.
If it was a joke Mary certainly didn’t get it. “Well let him save it somewhere else,” she shouted angrily. “Not in my house.”
Then Mick, siding with Henry stuck his oar in. “If the mouse is left outside,” he said. “Some other Protestant cat will come and eat it.”
“Just bloody get rid of it,” screamed Mary. The kitchen door slammed. Martin quietly climbed the stairs.
“Today is Tuesday,” said Mary. “He can’t use that excuse this time.”
Martin shook his head, wondering if she was serious. “But, you know,” he said, struggling to keep a straight face. “Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. Maybe the cat just got the day wrong.”
