by Peter Murphy
Seán laughed.
‘Quite true, you haven’t. Well, then, we will just have to try to guess, won’t we? So, let me review the situation. The Queen is going to create her son Prince of Wales in July, and here you boys are in Belfast in April not liking that idea one little bit and asking for our help in making a bomb. So, let me see. What could you possibly have in mind? Come on now, Caradog, give me some credit, please. I’ve done one or two laps of the circuit in my time, so please don’t insult my intelligence. We were getting on so well. Don’t be spoiling it, now.’
Dai Bach looked at Caradog, who nodded.
‘I apologise. I didn’t mean to insult your intelligence. I was just being careful.’
Seán nodded. ‘Very well, then. Dai, what have you to say for yourself?’
‘They have raped our country,’ Dai Bach replied, ‘and they have taken everything they want from us for hundreds of years. No, I can’t give you a lecture like Caradog, but I feel it just as much. You have Oliver Cromwell to remember England by, don’t you? I don’t need anybody to tell me why we have to stand up against people like that. We’ve had the same kind of people in Wales, I assure you. Many of them, over the centuries, and even today it goes on. They won’t stop – not until they have killed our language, wiped out every last trace of our culture, and stolen as much as they can from us.’
Seán looked at him thoughtfully.
‘Aye, we have had Oliver Cromwell and many others since. That’s true enough, Dai. And you have had the same. And you want to do something about it. As do we. As would anyone who gave a damn about his nation.’
Seán turned towards Trevor.
‘And Trevor, what account do you give of yourself?’
‘I keep a book shop,’ he replied.
‘Do you, now?’
For the first time, Klaus seemed to spring to life. He sat up, drained his beer, and slammed his glass down on the table. He suddenly laughed out loud.
‘My God, he is the most dangerous of all these Welsh men,’ he said. ‘Anyone can make a bomb and blow a few people up. But with a book shop you can destroy whole civilisations.’
Seán stared at Klaus for several seconds. He then started to laugh also, and eventually the laughter spread to everyone.
‘Conor,’ he shouted, in the direction of the barman. ‘Set up another round for us, there’s a good fellow. These mad Welsh men are in town. Anything can happen. It calls for a drink.’
‘Klaus will take Dai into a room in the private area of the house,’ Seán said. They had moved to a table away from the main throng in the bar, and were quieter now. ‘He is the real expert here. I’m telling you, these Baader-Meinhof boys – and girls too – are far more advanced than we are. We ask their advice ourselves, I don’t mind telling you. He will show you what you need to know.’
He leaned across the table towards Dai Bach.
‘Make notes if you want, but make sure it’s nothing that could be understood if you were to get yourself arrested on the way home. Nothing in writing leaves here unless Klaus and I both approve it. So listen to him very carefully and commit as much as you can to memory. Not that you’re going to get arrested, of course. But we have to guard against every contingency, don’t we? We are giving you some high-grade information here, state of the art, you might say.’
‘What about us?’ Trevor asked.
‘You and Caradog can have another drink and keep me company,’ Seán replied. ‘You can tell me all about your book shop.’
‘Have you boys thought through all the consequences of what you are doing?’ Seán asked, when Klaus and Dai Bach had returned, over an hour later. ‘I mean, do you understand the forces you are calling down on your heads with this?’
‘We know there will be a big reaction, regardless of how far we are successful,’ Caradog replied quietly.
‘A big reaction? Well, that’s one way of putting it, I suppose, if you like under-statement. Caradog, if you harm one hair of Her Majesty’s head or one hair of Prince Charles’s head, they will pursue you to the ends of the earth and they will not rest until they have destroyed you; do you understand that?’
Caradog nodded.
‘They will spend any amount of money, employ whatever resources are needed, to hunt you down. Even if you don’t harm them, the attempt itself will be enough. They will make sure there is no place for you to hide.’
‘We are aware of the consequences,’ Trevor said.
‘Are you, now? Well, I’m glad to hear that. You see, Trevor, the reason I’m bringing this up is that I don’t want myself or my friend Klaus being dragged into it. I don’t want our names being bandied about, if you take my meaning. I have to think about the people I represent, you see, and things are getting hot enough for us in Belfast as it is. We already have enough of a British presence to worry about in our fair city, thank you, what with our Loyalist friends over in the Shankill Road and the RUC backing them up. We don’t want you bringing them down on our heads in even greater numbers. So I strongly advise that you have your escape plan set in stone before you make your move.’
‘I understand,’ Trevor said. ‘You’re telling us not to come to you if things go wrong.’
‘I’m saying, don’t come to Belfast,’ Seán replied. ‘I’m not casting you adrift altogether. You are comrades in arms, after all, and I have to admire your spirit in taking on the target you are aiming at without any prior experience. I think I speak for Klaus and myself in saying that we are in awe of your ambition.’
He took a small folded piece of paper from his pocket.
‘If you choose to come in the direction of Ireland, which would be a natural enough choice from Caernarfon, go to Cork and find the pub named on this piece of paper. You will have to memorise it. I’m not giving you anything in writing. There are people there who will be on the lookout and will try to steer you safely to the Continent. You won’t be able to stay in Ireland. It will be too hot for you here. But these gentlemen have some experience of helping folks on their way safely. You must understand that getting into Ireland in the first place will be the real challenge. You had better build yourselves a good legend.’
After they had left, Seán and Klaus sat quietly together in the bar.
‘So, did our friend Dai learn something?’ Seán asked.
‘Yes. But whether he will blow up the Queen or only himself cannot be predicted. The chances are about even.’
Seán laughed. ‘Ah, so he is an own goal waiting to be scored, is he? Well, you can’t blame yourself for that, Klaus. There is only so much any of us can do.’
They were silent for some time.
‘What did you make of our book seller?’
‘He is a serious man,’ Klaus replied at once. ‘The most serious of them. The stakes are higher for him for some reason, I think.’
18
28 June 1969
Caradog lifted the duffle bag gingerly from the trestle table and tried to sling it over his left shoulder. It still felt too heavy for him. It fell back on to the table, and all three men in the garage jumped involuntarily.
‘Damn it!’ Caradog said. ‘Why can’t you help me? I’m going to set the damn thing off.’
‘No you won’t,’ Dai Bach replied patiently.
They had been attempting the manoeuvre for some time, and Caradog was showing signs of frayed nerves. From his first night at work as a watchman at the Castle, Caradog had made the large duffle bag part of his legend. As he arrived for work each night with the bag slung jauntily over his shoulder, its vivid design – red, yellow and black shapes on a grey background – became familiar to those on duty, and after three or four nights it became routine, nothing to be questioned or examined. It was an effective way of taking items into the Castle. But the device Dai Bach was building posed a problem.
The device would fit snugly inside the large bag
with careful placement, but for stability it was housed in a heavy steel carrying case. Its weight made it difficult to lift on to the shoulder and hold there for any length of time. Caradog had begun with light items, sandwiches and magazines. Gradually, he had started practising with books, and most recently with five heavy tomes supplied by Trevor from the Tywysog. But the practice had not prepared him for the reality of the device. It was now ready, and the Investiture was only two days away. Two days later he would have to walk from the far end of the Maes to the Castle, and then to the site he had chosen to plant the device, all without giving anyone reason to suspect him. He had to master the bag, with its increased weight, and so far he was not succeeding.
‘It’s dynamite. I can’t just throw it around.’
‘I’ve told you, man. It’s not armed. There is no way you will make the connection by accident, and you’re not going to make this stuff detonate by dropping it on the table. It’s stable and it’s in good condition, and it’s in its carrying case, so it’s not going to be flopping around. You just need to concentrate on getting it up on your shoulder.’
‘You jumped just as much as I did, the pair of you, when I dropped it,’ Caradog said.
Dai Bach smiled. ‘Aye. Well, let’s not pretend we’re not nervous. It’s hard not to react when you see it come down. It is safe, though.’
‘It doesn’t feel safe.’
‘Couldn’t he just carry it like a shopping bag?’ Trevor suggested.
‘No. It’s too heavy for that. He would be changing hands every few seconds, and with the distance he’s got to cover, it would be far too obvious. Besides, he goes in every night with it over his shoulder. That’s what they’re expecting. He must look the same as he always does.’
‘It’s too heavy to be over my shoulder,’ Caradog protested. ‘Even when I get it up there it’s almost pulling me over backwards. Besides, I don’t think the bag will take the weight. It’s going to fall out and smash all over the floor at the entrance to the Castle.’
‘No, it’s not,’ Dai Bach replied. ‘I’ve strengthened the bag. Look here, now. All the straps have stitched-in supports. It’s not going to come apart that quickly. It’s not much heavier than it was with those books you’ve been practising with.’
‘It feels much heavier. It weighs a ton.’
‘You should have played in the scrum for a couple of years.’
‘Well, I didn’t, and it feels as though I’m going to drop it.’
‘That’s because you’re scared of dropping it. You need to throw it around a little more, get used to it, get some confidence in it. Throw it like you did when it had the books in it. Come on. Let’s try it again.’
Caradog tried it again, with the same result. The bag fell back on to the table with a bang.
‘Look,’ Trevor said, ‘why can’t you help him, Dai? You are both going to be there for the handover.’
‘I can help him at the handover, but not if he needs to re-adjust it on the way. The bag could start to slip off his shoulder at any moment. He’s got to be ready to put it back in place. Let’s try again.’
This time, Caradog threw the bag over his shoulder so violently that it almost spun him round, and he had to fight to keep his balance. Trevor reached out both hands to steady him. Dai Bach applauded.
‘There you go, boyo. How does it feel now?’
‘As if it’s going to yank my shoulder out of its socket.’
‘It won’t. Try raising your shoulder a bit, to support the strap, like.’
Caradog took a few tentative steps.
‘How do I look?’ he asked.
‘Like a night watchman carrying a bomb,’ Dai Bach replied.
19
30 June 1969, 18.30
‘Let’s go over it again,’ Caradog said.
‘We’ve been through it three times already,’ Dai Bach protested.
‘Yes, and we are going to go through it a fourth time, because we are not going to meet again before the event, so we need to be sure we are all on the same page,’ Caradog replied.
They had gathered at the house in Pretoria Terrace. They were seated quietly around the dining table now, and the mood was tense.
‘We are going to spend the evening separately. The police have already started picking up people they have identified as trouble-makers. If we are on that list, there is nothing we can do, except to keep out of sight and hope for the best.’
‘I haven’t noticed anyone paying attention to me,’ Dai Bach said.
‘You wouldn’t,’ Trevor said. ‘Not until it is too late.’
‘I agree,’ Caradog said. ‘But we have been careful not to give them a reason. I don’t think I would still be working at the Castle if they had any suspicions about me, and you two have been posing as peaceful protesters for the last week, so if they’ve noticed you at all, they should put you in that category. Hopefully, they will be preoccupied with arresting assorted members of the FWA, and the Mudiad, and you will pass unnoticed.’
‘So Dai and I put in an appearance in the Maes,’ Trevor said.
‘Yes. The regular evening protests are dying down. Most of the protesters are leaving town for the duration now, so I don’t think a lot will be going on there. But you should put in an appearance. Let’s say between 8 and 10. The rehearsal at the Castle should be over by then, so there will be people around. I will be on my way to work of course. After that…’
‘After that, Dai and I go our separate ways,’ Trevor said. ‘I pick Dai up in the car outside the Castle Hotel at 11.45. We drive to Bangor, collect the device. You leave work, bringing the duffle bag with you, and meet us at the corner of New Street and Chapel Street at exactly 1.15.’
‘Correct,’ Caradog confirmed. ‘Dai arms the device, we put it in the bag, and the rest is up to me. We go our separate ways to await developments.’
‘And don’t forget to wipe your fingerprints off everything you touch,’ Trevor added.
‘What about clearing out the garage?’ Dai Bach asked.
Trevor shook his head.
‘I don’t want to draw attention to the garage. We can clean up any time in the next few weeks. I’m going to continue renting it for a few more months yet, as cover.’
‘And you’ve checked the dimensions of the space where you’re going to plant it?’ Dai Bach asked.
‘Several times,’ Caradog replied.
‘Well, excuse me for being anxious,’ Dai Bach said. ‘Better safe than sorry.’
‘That’s it,’ Trevor said. ‘We don’t need to sit around all night asking the same questions and making each other even more nervous than we already are. There is no more we can do now until tonight.’
20
30 June 1969 23.35
Dai Bach felt cold as he stood alone outside the Castle Hotel in the Maes, with his watch indicating 11.35. The evening had gone as planned so far. Caradog had left for work, the duffle bag over his shoulder, after the miserably small demonstration had ended some two hours earlier. An understanding had grown up among the protesting population that leaving Caernarfon not later than the eve of the Investiture was the only form of protest still left to them, and many had already done so. The town would be abandoned to the English for the day as a token of their disgust. Most of those who had stayed to stand in the Maes in the earlier part of the evening had dispersed, having made a futile attempt to make themselves heard in the Castle during the final rehearsal for the ceremony to take place the following day.
There was a strong police presence in town, but that was only to be expected. It would all die down by the time he and Trevor returned from Bangor, and they were going to do nothing to attract suspicion. Arming the bomb was the work of half a minute if he didn’t get too nervous about it, if he was systematic and didn’t panic, if his hands didn’t shake. Caradog and Trevor would keep a look out while he
did it. It would take the Devil’s own bad luck for anything to go wrong up to that point. After that, it was up to Caradog and his shoulder.
Even with his protest placard beside him as a prop, Dai felt uncomfortably exposed, standing there by the entrance to the hotel. There were fewer people in the square now, but there were several police officers, a few taxi drivers who would continue work until the town centre was closed to traffic at 3 o’clock, and one or two stragglers who, for whatever reason, still had not made their way home. Increasingly, he had the feeling of being stranded centre stage in the glare of the spotlight when the rest of the cast had exited for the interval. He suddenly could no longer remember the explanation he was going to give to police for his presence, should they ask. He cursed and forced himself to concentrate. Of course, he was waiting for his friend to give him a lift home. His friend would be arriving in just a few minutes. It was almost true, as far as it went.
This thought prompted him to look at his watch again, and when he did, he saw that 11.45 had come and gone, and there was no sign of Trevor. The panic started instantly. Dai Bach had no right to criticise anyone for lack of punctuality; his own failings in that department were legendary. But not tonight. Tonight he had made an effort, and even he, Dai Bach, had arrived early. For Trevor to be late was like Big Ben being five minutes slow. It didn’t happen. Trevor was precise and self-controlled. How could this be? There might have been traffic, he reasoned. At this time of night? A police check-point, perhaps? Nobody had said that was going to happen, but you never knew. Or perhaps something more prosaic? He had to stop for petrol, or his car had developed a fault. None of it seemed very likely. He had no way of contacting Caradog. There was nothing for it but to wait. Surely, Trevor would not be long.
When 11.55 had come and gone, he could not endure waiting any longer. Leaving his placard outside, he walked quickly into the hotel. Reception was quiet. Testing the steadiness of his voice, he asked the night clerk if he could use the phone, muttering an excuse about his friend having mixed up his times. The clerk agreed indifferently and returned to the football magazine he was reading. Dai dialled a number. A female voice answered.
