‘I’m perfectly all right,’ she assured them. ‘Just rather stupidly went a bit too near the hatch. I think I gave Captain Newenham a fright.’ She did not look back, but holding on to the rail she made her way back down the stairs towards them. If she had fallen, the clerks would have borne witness to the fact that Robert had shouted to her to take care, but none, in the dim light, would have been able to see that she had been pushed. She was uncertain whether any harm had been meant to her. On the one hand, it would be feasible that Robert Newenham was so used to the hatch that he might not realize it could be a danger to a visitor. Nevertheless, it was also possible that he had seen it as a way of getting rid of a threat. As a soldier he would have been used to acting swiftly on the impulse of a moment. She dismissed the thought from her mind. Now she had to get safely away. Later she would ponder on what was possibly an attempt to murder her.
‘Perhaps,’ she said calmly, ‘one of you might be good enough to phone for a taxi for me.’ She directed her request at a pimply-faced young man with a pen behind his ear and he nodded cheerfully and went clattering down the next flight of stairs. She turned then towards the captain and held out her hand.
‘Goodbye, Captain Newenham, and thank you very much for showing me around this magnificent building. Don’t worry about taking me home. I’ve just remembered that you live at the opposite side of town, at St Luke’s Cross, isn’t it? And I certainly don’t want to take you out of your way.’
She had recovered her equilibrium more quickly than he did. His hand, in hers, trembled slightly and there was a clammy feel to its skin. Murder, she thought charitably, must be a stressful business, especially if you are new to it.
But the thought occurred to her as she sat in the back of the taxi that Robert Newenham had probably killed dozens, if not hundreds, during the Great War.
And, perhaps one more man after the war was well over.
SIXTEEN
Alan Ellis
Reporter on Cork Examiner:
‘There had been sporadic gunfire all evening and my ears had grown so accustomed to it that I did not really notice it. I then became aware of the thud of nearby explosions. I knew by then what a bomb sounded like. There were numerous groups of Auxiliaries, men recruited to make up numbers in the depleted Royal Irish Constabulary.’
There was not much traffic on that Tuesday afternoon as they sped away from the jail. From behind them came the ear-splitting sound of the siren from the army lorry. Eileen clung to Eamonn, her two arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her head against the space between his shoulder blades. And despite the dangers, despite her fear that Sam might be caught, she was conscious of a thrill of excitement. She loved to go fast and seeing the way Eamonn’s bike wove its way in and out of the early-evening traffic, she felt optimistically that they had a good chance of getting away from the heavy lorry. It might, she thought, have been easier to evade the large vehicle if he had decided to go the back routes through Glasheen and Togher, but Eamonn was not a native of Cork city and it was probably best for him to go the straightforward route that was familiar to him. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder. Danny, with Fred tied to him, was just behind them and a little further back were Liam and Sam.
By the time that they reached Victoria Cross, the lorry had almost caught up with Liam and Sam and she bit her lip in agony of worry. Perhaps Sam should have gone with Eamonn. His was the best bike.
Luckily there was not too much traffic at the crossroads and they dashed across. The warning siren from the army lorry had its effect and cars were pulling in to the side of the road. A man with a horse and cart were just ahead of them and the horse took fright and started to rear up in a dangerous fashion. Eamonn slipped neatly past, overtaking on the left-hand side. He was weaving erratically in and out of traffic now and she did not dare to look back again, but just clung tightly to him, body and head pressed against his back, doing her best not to impede him in any way. She briefly noticed the telephone exchange as they roared up the hill. Would the soldiers think of stopping there and phoning ahead to a Garda barracks? It would be a good idea but the thrill of the chase had overtaken the soldiers and the lorry’s siren continued its raucous sounds.
Stupid, thought Eileen contemptuously. Didn’t they realize that the diesel-belching monster could never overtake their lithe, swift bikes? What fun they would have tonight, she thought, imagining the telling of the tale to the others in the house and the applause and the laughter and the jokes and toasts. Perhaps one of the boys might slip down to the nearby public house for a few beers. The siren, she thought, contemptuously, was probably worse than useless. The incessant, deafening noise was confusing people, causing horses to panic and cars to swerve. Pedestrians began to cross the road and then, like frightened hens, turned back again. Horns blew, horses neighed and dogs barked hysterically.
We’ll easily get away, thought Eileen as she snuggled into Eamonn’s back. On the whole, whatever their political loyalties, the people of Cork were opposed to seeing citizens pursued by armed forces on their streets and roads. There were, she thought, several cars which could have got out of the way more quickly and one or two who had deliberately turned around in the middle of the road after the bikes had sped past.
And then came a piece of the most appalling bad luck. As they roared up the hill and passed through Dennehy’s Cross, above the sound of the siren and the blowing of car horns, came a deep, sombre note. The church bell was ringing. Eileen sensed how Eamonn slowed down. She straightened up and peeped over his shoulder.
Coming out of the entrance to Christ the King church was a hearse and behind it, dressed in solemn black, came the mourners, two by two, a weeping woman supported by a teenage boy, behind her two priests and then a procession of men, women and some children.
And behind them, moving at walking speed, was a procession of cars and horses and carts.
Eileen was a city girl and she knew what these city funerals were like. Every single one of the neighbours, every friend, everyone who knew the deceased, everyone who knew any of the mourners, everyone who lived in the immediate neighbourhood of the church; all of these would be attending. It might take at least fifteen minutes for the procession to come out from the church.
And after that there would be the long slow walk up the hill towards the cemetery.
Eamonn did not hesitate. Immediately he swung to the left, bumping his machine onto the pavement. A minute later she saw, from over her shoulder, that Danny and the wounded Fred had joined him and then there was another roar in her ear and she hoped that Liam, carrying Sam, had also got onto the pavement. She could not be sure, however, because there was a scream from a woman at a gate and a yell of, ‘Get off that pavement, you young hooligans!’
Eamonn lurched back onto the road. Looking back Eileen could see that the hearse, with its coffin and its wreaths, was now about a hundred yards behind them. The road ahead had only the usual traffic. There was no sign of the lorry. She breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps the funeral was a lucky break for them. There was no way in which that big heavy lorry could travel on the pavement. She managed to take a look backwards. A second, and then a third motorbike had emerged onto the road and now they were all on a clear road racing up towards Wilton. They swung onto the Bishopstown Road without a problem. This was well outside the town and the traffic was light at this hour in the evening. If only the funeral could hold up the lorry. There was a great respect for funerals in the city. Perhaps the Free State troops would decide that they should stay behind. Eileen began to wish that she still believed in prayer. It would, she thought, be a great blessing to be able to breathe a Hail Mary and have confidence that the request would be listened to. But it was no good. Another glance over her shoulder made her heart sink. The funeral party, despite their deep mourning, had moved to the side of the road and had allowed the insistent klaxon of the siren to override their grief.
The lorry load of soldiers was still on their tail, and no dou
bt they were still resolute about capturing these six people who had rushed out of the gaol and had made their getaway on motorbikes. Whether they knew or not that a man called Sam O’Mahony, accused of murder, had fled the gaol, she did not know, but she could imagine their triumph when they discovered that one of the six was dressed in a prison uniform. She cast an agonized glance over her shoulder. She so intensely wished that she had her own motorcycle and that she could ride it. If only she had Sam behind her, she felt that she would be capable of any feat in order to escape recapture and possible death sentence.
The three motorbikes were now quite near to each other as they roared along the almost deserted road of Bishopstown. But the lorry was not that far behind and in the absence of other traffic it was making good progress. They reached Hawkes Road and then swung on to Waterfall Road. Now they were out into the empty roads of the countryside and it would be a matter of who could go the fastest and whether the motorbikes could outstrip the lorry sufficiently in order to risk betraying their place of refuge by turning off to Ballinhassig.
A nice long stretch, but it benefitted the lorry even more than the motorbikes. Their advantage had come and gone amongst city traffic where they could weave in and out, but here where there was no other vehicle to be seen, their chances of escape began to diminish. There was an ominous, clonking sound from the engine of Eamonn’s bike, almost as though it were protesting at the rough usage that it had been subjected to. Eileen did not dare to look back. Eamonn’s bike was lovingly maintained by its owner; she was not sure that Liam paid that much attention to his.
They were now heading steadily down the Waterfall Road, going underneath the viaduct where the railway between the city and Bandon ran above the road. Another few miles and they would be able to turn off to Ballinhassig.
But while the lorry was on their trail, they dared not betray their hiding place to the enemy. Eileen wished that there was a possibility of talking, of a discussion of what might be the best thing to do, but that was impossible with the high-pitched whine from the three motorbikes and in the distance the roar of the diesel engine, punctuated by the beat of the siren.
But the lorry sound was beginning to fade. For a moment Eileen thought that it was her imagination; that it was just wishful thinking, but after a minute of careful listening, she began to feel her courage returning. There was no doubt that the sound had diminished. Perhaps, after all, they would be able to turn off on to the Ballinhassig Road. In any case, Eamonn was clever and quick-thinking. She had little doubt that he had some plan in his mind as they sped along at a speed that whipped her bobbed hair straight back from her head and made her cheeks burn with the wind. It was good to be out of the city, she thought. Not a trace of fog, just clean fresh air blowing in from the Atlantic. She glanced over her shoulder. She could see the other two bikes quite near to them.Danny, with the wounded Fred behind him, had moved out into the middle of the road. Eamonn glanced in his mirror and then pulled in a little, allowing Danny to overtake. For a moment Eileen worried. Why was Danny overtaking? Had Fred’s wound started to bleed, again? But she had a glance at him as they passed and his head was up and he seemed alert.
Then a new sound came to her ears and she realized why Danny had overtaken them. He, alone, must have heard it. It was not the lorry. This sound was coming from ahead of them, ahead and to the right. A clattering sound and then the sudden beep-beep of an alarm.
They rounded a corner and Eileen heard herself cry out in dismay. She had forgotten all about the level crossing. Lights were flashing. Danny’s motorbike accelerated. An official came out from the small cottage on the side of the road. He was carrying a lantern, a warning light which cast a red beam on the road. Danny shot past him, and the man shouted something after him, but it was too late. Danny’s bike had bumped across the railway line and had gone speeding down the road before the other two bikes came up.
It was too late for them. The gates had shut with a clang. The man gave a sour nod at them as they pulled up with a squeal of brakes and then went back into his cottage. A clear plume of blue-grey smoke rose up from the chimney and Eileen could picture him sitting in front of a cosy fire, perhaps eating his supper, and waiting for the parting shriek of the train before he came out again to reopen the gates.
‘Quick!’ she said urgently in Eamonn’s ear. ‘Let’s get off the road.’ She swung a leg over the pillion seat and was on the ground, looking all around for the best place to hide.
He understood her point straight away. Once the lorry came up, they would be like sitting ducks, stuck in front of a barrier with ten rifles aimed at them. In a second he too had slipped off the bike and was pushing his machine towards a gap in the roadside hedge. Eileen delayed only long enough to signal frantically to Liam and then she was behind the bike, helping to push it over some very uneven ground and into the field. A herd of cows had broken through here, she thought and blessed them, though the ground beneath their feet was boggy and uneven. A sharp smell of water mint came to her nostrils and then they were through and on the other side. A minute later Sam and Liam had joined them and all four looked around them in dismay.
It was a terrible field. Some careless farmer had overwintered his cows in it and the land had turned into a sea of mud, pitted with humps and hollows. There would be no prospect of even pushing the bikes through it and it would be impossible to ride across it.
‘Let’s scatter,’ said Eamonn. ‘That will confuse the issue. No point in keeping together. We’ll meet up at the house after dark.’
‘I’m taking Sam to the hiding place,’ said Eileen defiantly. He was a city boy and he had no knowledge of this place. During the year when she had been a Republican Volunteer, hiding out in the safe house, Eileen had developed a good knowledge of the surrounding countryside. Now she was sure that she could see, in the distance, Goggin’s Hill. She was looking at it from an unfamiliar angle, but screwing up her eyes she could just see the viaduct where the train entered the tunnel.
‘See you tonight,’ she said firmly and seized Sam’s hand and began to set a quick pace up the side of the field, keeping close to the hedge. Eamonn and Liam were heaping the remains of a mouldy bale of hay over the two bikes. When they had hidden them completely they would probably scatter; one man by himself in this farming community was much less noticeable than a pair, but she had to take care of Sam. She was beginning to shiver; Sister Mary Immaculate’s bloomers, though made from the best flannel, were not as warm and windproof as the tweed breeches and the threadbare, ancient shawl was nothing but a nuisance. Still she dared not discard it; the bright pink of those wretched bloomers would show up in this countryside of browns and greens. What can’t be cured must be endured; where had she heard that? And then she remembered the Reverend Mother had set the top class an essay with this title, followed by the word ‘discuss’. She had been very pleased when Eileen had argued vehemently against this spiritless acceptance of the status quo, though she had forced her to defend her thesis against the rest of the girls, and the Reverend Mother herself. It was, remembered Eileen, after that the idea of going to university with a Honan scholarship had been introduced.
‘Run!’ she whispered to Sam as she pushed her way through one of the badly maintained hedges. Now they were in a straight line to Goggin’s Hill. She could see the church tower in the village of Ballinhassig and Waterfall Ridge was clearly visible.
When they reached the field where Aoife and she had picked the cowslips only a few days ago she heard a new sound, over and above the monotonous sound of the siren in the lorry. She had giggled a little at the insistent raucous note. What did those stupid soldiers think that the man at the crossing could do? Everyone knew that it was impossible to stop a train at a moment’s notice. The lorry would have to wait its turn before going through. But now quite suddenly the siren was switched off. The noise was gone and only the singing of a thrush on a bare, leafless ash tree could be heard.
Had they been seen?
T
he sudden cessation of noise was almost more shocking than the previous wailing, uneven note that had been in their ears for what seemed like hours. Eileen dragged Sam towards the ditch.
She was straining her ears for a sound and when it came she knew that her worst fears had been realized. Triumphant shouts! The bikes had been discovered. Could she possibly get Sam into the underground tunnel before the soldiers captured them? It crossed her mind briefly that she could go to prison for the crime of helping a prisoner to escape. She eyed the ash tree. For one who had spent her childhood swarming up slippery, dripping wet gas lamp posts, waxing a gazza, as they said in Barrack Street, this did not present much of a challenge.
If only she were not wearing those pink bloomers and the threadbare shawl that fluttered in every breeze. No good asking Sam, she thought reluctantly. His eyesight, even with his glasses, was very poor and he did not seem too competent in getting up the sloping field and tended to trip over clods of earth and random stones.
Swiftly she dropped the shawl and put a stone on it so that it would not blow away. She had thought of a use for it. And then, heroically, she stepped into the ditch and smeared the bloomers with some rich brown liquid mud. The magnificent elastic stood up to the extra weight but they began to feel cold and clammy and she could feel the wet penetrate her own drawers. Still she couldn’t bother about that and at least her feet, inside her woollen socks and her knee-high boots were cosily warm.
‘Wait here. Keep down,’ she whispered to Sam and then cautiously began to scale the ash tree. There were some ten soldiers in full uniform climbing the hill about five hundred yards away from them. They were, she thought with relief as she climbed back down again, following the trail left by Eamonn and Liam and had not seen herself and Sam.
A Shocking Assassination Page 19
