by Joan Lingard
On the opposite pavement a crowd of boys in their early teens were hanging about doing nothing except make a noise. Amongst them she saw the dark head of her brother Kevin. They were cracking jokes and passing remarks about the three girls who lounged nonchalantly against the wall of a near-by house pretending to take no notice of the boys. The girls had left school and were too old for Brede.
Brede leant against her own wall. Above the roofs of the houses the sky was blue. A few whiffs of white trailed across it It would be nice in the country on a night like this. She had been reading about children who lived on a farm before she had been evicted from the kitchen. She fancied walking along lanes between high hedgerows culling wild flowers…
‘Hi. Brede!’
She looked round. It was Kate, her best friend.
‘You were miles away. Dreaming again!’
Brede grinned at her. Kate never dreamt. She liked always to be doing something, had no time for books. Yet they got on well together.
‘I’ve money for chips,’ said Kate. ‘Me da gave me a tanner. Are you coming?’
‘I’ve no money,’ said Brede. And there was no hope of getting any. But Kate’s father was in business – he bought and sold scrap iron – and was not short of tanners. He dispensed them liberally amongst his children.
‘Ah, sure it doesn’t matter.’ said Kate. ‘You can have a share of mine.’
They linked arms and walked along the street together, skirting the chalked numbers on the pavement for the hopscotch and the twirling ropes of the skippers.
‘When I’m rich I’ll buy you a poke of chips every day,’ said Brede. ‘To make up for all the ones you’ve bought me. The only problem is how to become rich.’
‘You could buy and sell scrap iron, like me da.’ Kate laughed. ‘I heard him saying there was a fortune to be made if you knew what you’re doing.’
The chip shop was crowded and hot. The lights were on. Kate and Brede joined the queue.
The man and woman behind the counter worked hard, shovelling chips from one place to another, scooping them into bags, vigorously shaking on salt and vinegar. Sweat ran down their faces. Brede and Kate were quiet in the queue. They watched the man and woman and the sizzling brown chips and the pieces of crisp golden fish. Their mouths watered.
They shuffled up the queue until their arms rested on the counter beside the sauce and vinegar bottles. Kate put up her sixpence.
‘One minute,’ said the man, holding up one finger. ‘We are waiting for fresh chips.’ He wiped his hands down his dirty white coat. He was Italian and spoke with a heavy accent even though he had been living in Belfast for thirty years.
‘They always seem to stop when they get to me,’ said Kate.
The door opened with a flurry that made everyone look round. The gang of boys that included Brede’s brother invaded the shop.
‘Not so rough,’ said the Italian sharply. ‘Or you get outa my shop.’
The woman shook the basket of chips and decided they were ready. She filled a bag until it almost overflowed.
‘Salt and vinegar?’
‘And sauce,’ added Kate.
She took the hot bag, and she and Brede squeezed out of the shop. The chips were so hot that they had to shuttle them about in their mouths to avoid getting burnt. The taste was delicious. They ate fast, standing still whilst they ate.
The boys surged out behind them carrying their bags of chips.
‘Hi, Kevin,’ said Kate to Brede’s brother. She was sweet on Kevin. She edged nearer him. Brede hung around on the fringe of the group wishing she had a sixpence. The chips had made her hungrier than ever.
‘Have a chip?’ Brian, Kevin’s friend, offered her his bag.
‘No… no thank you.’
‘Ah go on! You’re terrible shy.’
She felt herself blush but the light was fading in the street now so he would not notice. She always blushed When boys spoke to her. Except for her brothers of course. Kate said she was daft, but she couldn’t help it. She put out her hand and took one of Brian’s chips.
The group moved away, Brede and Kate now a part of it. Kate giggled and talked too loudly. Brede was silent.
‘Kevin and me have taken a dare,’ said Brian.
‘What to do?’ Brede asked quickly.
‘We’re to go into the Prods’ area and paint “Down With King Billy” under one of his murals. We might give the old boy a lick of paint too while we’re at it.’
‘You’re a brave pair,’ said Kate.
‘They’ll kill you,’ said Brede.
‘They’d have to get the hold of us first now, wouldn’t they?’ said Kevin.
‘Aye, you’ve a good pair of heels on you, the both of you,’ said Brede.
‘When are you going to do it?’ asked Kate.
‘Tonight,’ said Brian. ‘When it’s right dark. Shouldn’t be long.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ said Brede.
‘Don’t you dare tell our da,’ warned Kevin.
‘Don’t be silly. You know I wouldn’t split on you. But be careful!’
They walked to the bottom of their street where they stood in a cluster. The boys talked in low voices as if they were planning a big military operation. You’d think they were going to raid the Bank of Ireland, thought Brede, as she stood shivering slightly now, feeling the night air cool on her bare arms. Kate was giggling with excitement.
A policeman came round the corner. He stopped when he saw them. He spoke in a friendly enough way but they didn’t trust him.They watched him carefully, ready to break and run if necessary.
‘What’s going on here then, lads?’
‘Meeting of the I.R.A.,’ said one bright lad who liked to offer up cheek to policemen, teachers, or anyone else who came round asking for it.
They all laughed, even the policeman, but his laughter was hollow. The I.R.A. was the Irish Republican Army, an illegal body which had often cost the Royal Ulster Constabulary a lot of trouble, as well as lives.
‘We’re going to blow up the Albert Bridge.’
‘Aye, that’d be right. I could just see you! Blow yourselves up first.’
He went on his way.
‘You never know the day,’ said Kevin. ‘Start small, end big.’
They were full of talk, thought Brede. But in a way it was exciting. They all liked a bit of thrill and danger, even Brede.
‘Have you the paint?’ asked someone.
Brian went away to fetch it and two brushes from his backyard where he had hidden them earlier.
‘See and write large,’ said Kate.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Kevin. ‘When Brian and I do a job we do it properly.’
Brian came back. He handed a brush and a pot to Kevin. ‘Are you right then, Kev?’
‘Right.’
‘We’ll walk with you part of the way,’ said one boy. ‘You girls go on home. Women are no use at a time like this.’
‘Up the Rebels!’ shouted another. That raised a cheer.
‘Quiet, for dear sake,’ said Kevin. ‘Or we’ll have that peeler back round our ears.’
The boys moved off.
‘You’d think they were really going to blow up the Albert Bridge,’ said Brede with disgust. ‘They don’t half think they’re great. Splashing paint on walls!’
‘But Protestant walls,’ said Kate. ‘You wouldn’t like to risk your neck doing it, would you?’
‘I couldn’t be bothered.’
‘Well, I think Kevin’s awful brave. It’s lucky you are, having such a fine brother.’
‘He’s all right. A bit daft at times.’ Brede kicked at the edge of the kerb with her toe. ‘I’ll need to be going.’
‘I hope they come back.’
‘Of course they’ll come back.’
‘They could get beat up.’
‘They’ll have asked for it if they do. See you tomorrow, Kate.’
Brede walked down the now deserted street. The kids had all gon
e home leaving their hopscotch marks for another day. It was quiet, but in the distance she could still hear the sound of the Lambeg drums. They practised far into the night. She hated the ‘Twelfth’, was glad when it was over. The drums made her feel uneasy.
She turned in at her door.
‘There you are then,’ said her mother, who was feeding the baby. ‘Kevin not with you?’
‘No.’
‘Where is he?’
Brede shrugged. She surreptitiously slid her hand up to the shelf and found her book.
‘Have you seen him at all?’
‘Saw him down at the chipper. Expect he’ll be in in a minute.’
Brede held the book behind her back. Her mother sat the baby up. He burped and a sliver of milk ran out of the side of his mouth.
‘Away up to your bed.’
Brede went up the narrow staircase. In her bedroom her three younger sisters lay sleeping. One was snoring, open-mouthed. She was waiting to go into hospital to have her tonsils taken out.
Brede took off her frock and pulled her nightdress over her head. Then she went to the window and crouched there with her book propped against the sill. There was a street light right outside their house. A bit of luck that. It was just enough to see by.
While Brede was reading, Kevin and Brian were crossing from Catholic into Protestant territory. They were alone now, and did not speak. They walked on the balls of their rubber-soled feet, making little noise. They carried the brushes and pots of paint inside their jerkins, with their hands in front of them supporting the weight. They felt as if they were carrying dynamite.
Chapter Three
Act of Provocation
‘Put your light out, Sadie,’ Mrs Jackson called up the stairs.
‘Yes,’ Sadie called back, but did not move. She was lying, fully clothed, on her bed drawing up a list of possible jobs.
(1) Running messages
(2) Sweeping backyards
(3) Minding kids
(4) Polishing door brass
At the thought of the polishing she wrinkled her nose. She hated domestic jobs. She would rather run messages than any of the others, even if some of the old skinflints were determined to get their last pennyworth and sent you off with a list as long as your arm. Old Granny McEvoy two doors up was a good one for that: she sent you to ten different shops for ten different things so that she could save a penny here and tuppence there.
The kitchen door scraped open again.
‘Put it out!’
This time Sadie moved. She slid off the bed and put out the light The kitchen door closed again.
It was a warm night and Sadie did not feel a bit tired. The room was small and stuffy. She opened the window wide and leant her arms on the outside sill.
The street was silent now. Nothing moved except the bunting which stirred when a puff of wind caught it. Now, a cat went by, black with white paws, slinking close to the wall. Sadie leaned out further to watch it go. It was Granny McEvoy’s.
As Sadie was drawing in her head she caught sight of some movement at the far end of the street. She paused. Two youths were coming, walking softly, not even speaking. They were about the size of Tommy. She knew everyone in the area but did not recognize them. As they came closer and were shown up by a street light, she saw for certain that they were strangers.
She observed them closely. They passed beneath her window and stopped at the corner of the house. One went out of sight for a few seconds, then rejoined his friend. His whisper was excited and reached Sadie. She had sharp ears. Too sharp, her mother often said.
‘There’s a good one here!’
Sadie frowned. A good one?
The boys vanished round the side. She listened again, and heard a soft slapping noise.
She went through to Tommy’s room. He still wore his jeans and T-shirt and was making up a model aeroplane kit.
‘Tommy, there’s something odd going on round the side of the house.’
‘Odd? What are you blethering about?’
She told him what she had seen. He put down the kit and wiped his hands down the side of his jeans. They went out on to the small landing. A band of light showed beneath the kitchen door. The television was on: they could hear every word from where they stood. They tiptoed down the stairs and were quickly out into the street.
They heard the slapping noise plainly now. Tommy motioned Sat’.e to be quiet, then he flattened himself against the wall and edged along it as far as the corner. He knew how to do it properly, thought Sadie admiringly. They had often watched it on the television.
He twisted his head a fraction.
‘You dirty stinking Micks!’ he yelled suddenly, leaping out from the wall.
Sadie leapt after him. She saw a pot of paint tipped over on the pavement, huge white WORDS DOWN WITH KING BILLY spread across the gable wall, and two boys running for their lives.
‘After them,’ shouted Tommy.
He skidded straight into the paint that streamed out of the tin. He went down on his back, full-length. Sadie did not wait to help him up. She went after the boys.
She was a good runner, always came first in her class in the school sports. With a bit of training she could go far, her gym teacher said. For a while she had been carried away by dreams of being a second Mary Rand, a golden girl, standing on a step bending her neck forward to have a gold medal hung round it. And the crowd in the stadium cheering…
There was no crowd cheering now as she ran. Nor was she thinking of medals or Olympic Games. She kept her eyes on the dark fleeting shapes in front. They had not had much start on her and were running at about the same speed. Her feet flew effortlessly, skimming the ground, not faltering even where the pavement was cracked or the kerb broken away.
They were heading for the Catholic quarter. They were Micks, as Tommy had said, no doubt about that. And they had been defacing their King Billy! She lengthened her stride.
Two more streets, and the boys would be safe. As they crossed the first of them, one slipped. He went down on one knee. The other hesitated.
‘Run on,’ gasped the fallen one. ‘It’s only a girl.’
The other went on.
Only a girl indeed! Sadie flung herself on top of him as he was rising. Her weight felled him. He lay squashed against the pavement, gasping for breath. She sat astride him and looked down into his face. He had dark eyes and dark hair that came down nearly to his eyebrows. They both breathed heavily for a few moments, recovering from their run, then he said:
‘You’re a wild one for a girl.’
‘You made me wild. You were defacing our picture.’
‘Ould William needs defacing.’
‘So does your silly old Pope.’
‘We don’t have pictures of him on our walls though.’
‘But you’ve plenty statues in your churches.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’
‘Graven images!’
He laughed. He seemed not to be too bothered about lying on his back on the ground – Protestant ground. His body was quite relaxed beneath hers.
‘You’ve a cheek right enough,’ she said, ‘coming over here bold as brass –’
‘I like to see how the other half lives. The underprivileged.’ He laughed again. ‘You’re raging, aren’t you? You must be a grand little loyalist, a real credit to your ma and da. I bet you’re going to walk on the “Twelfth” and maybe twirl a wee stick. Ah, I see by your face that I’m right’
Sadie cocked her head and heard running footsteps.
‘And I think this is my brother Tommy coming to beat you up.’
‘Is that right now?’
Suddenly, he put out his hands and thrust her back by the shoulders. She sat down hard on the pavement He was free.
‘You didn’t think a wee girl like you could hold me prisoner, did you? Ta-ta !’
He went off at a jog-trot, not even hurrying. Tommy came puffing across the road.
‘Did they get away?�
��
‘I had one but I couldn’t hold him any longer. If you’d been a bit quicker…’
‘I couldn’t help it. My feet are all paint. You try running with your soles covered with wet paint. Ma’ll kill me when she sees my clothes.’
Sadie looked across at the main road which separated the two areas. The boy was on the other side now. She could just make out his dark figure.
‘We’d better get back and clean the wall,’ she said.
They limped home and found a crowd gathered at their gable wall. Mr and Mrs Jackson were there, and a policeman, and even old Granny McEvoy had left her bed and come out with a grey shawl wrapped round her shoulders. There was a lot of talk going on, and the exclamations were loud.
‘It’s a crying disgrace!’
‘Sacrilege!’
‘They should be put to the jail for that.’
‘And look at our Tommy,’ said his mother. ‘He’s been daubed and all!’
‘I fell in the paint, ma.’
‘Now there’s no need for any covering up, son. We can all see what happened to you. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘Were any of you here eye-witnesses?’ asked the policeman.
‘I seen four youths walking down the road about half an hour ago,’ said one woman. ‘It’d be them that did it, sure as fate. Great big fellas they were. Swaggered as they walked.’
‘Did you get a good look at their faces?’
“Deed I did. I was just putting my milk bottles out at the time.’
‘I saw it all,’ said Sadie.
‘That’s right.’ said Tommy. ‘There were only two of them. About the same age as me.’
The constable turned to them. They told the whole story. The crowd gathered in closer.
‘You’ll get them, won’t you, constable?’ asked Granny McEvoy.
‘I doubt it.’ He put his notebook back in his pocket and fastened it up. ‘How do you think I could go over there and look for two boys answering to those descriptions? I’d never find them. And even if I did their mothers would swear blind they were in their beds at eight o’clock and never left them.’
‘You’re feared, that’s what it is.’
‘I’m not wanting more trouble than I’ve got already. And I’ve more to do with my time than run round this city looking for louts with pots of paint.’
