The Twelfth Day of July

by Joan Lingard

  ‘My hat please?’ asked the constable.

  Rafferty presented it to him with a little bow.

  ‘I think we’d better all go down to the barracks.’ said the sergeant. ‘We can sort this out in peace.’

  ‘Who’s all?’ asked Pat Rafferty.

  ‘All concerned.’ The sergeant put on his official voice. He was getting hot under the collar. He scanned the crowd for any sign of black or dark green uniforms coming up as reinforcements but there was not a hint of one. ‘The girl and her brother and father and those she alleges did the kidnapping.’

  ‘That’s those two.’ Sadie pointed to Kevin and Brian.

  Pat Rafferty pulled back the crowd to get nearer the centre of the action.

  ‘You’re taking these two boys nowhere. They’ve done nothing. Brian was in his bed at nine o’clock last night, never left it. His mother’ll tell you the same.’

  ‘If necessary I’ll have to come back with a warrant. I’ll take them if I need to.’

  ‘Over my dead body.’

  ‘And you, Rafferty, could be charged with obstructing the police in the course of their duty. It wouldn’t be the first time.’ The sergeant had to shout now, the noise had grown so loud.

  Brede stood on the step of old Mr Mooney’s house. She felt safe with the door open behind her knowing there was a place to retreat to. The sergeant was wiping his forehead with his handkerchief and the constable, who was quite young, was watching the crowd anxiously. Pat Rafferty was tearing a strip off Mr Jackson and Mr Mullet; Kevia was shouting at Sadie; and Brian was arguing with Tommy. The Protestants were looking more and more nervous. Brede did not blame them for they were outnumbered by at least ten to one and the odds were lengthening against them all the time.

  She leant over and tapped the sergeant’s shoulder. She put her mouth close to his ear. ‘If you come up to our house four doors along we can clear this up. We have evidence.’

  ‘Evidence?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Right, boys, move along. Up this way. Shove.’

  Sadie, realizing where they were going, tried to stand fast. ‘I want to go home,’ she yelled.

  ‘You’re afraid,’ Kevin yelled back. ‘You don’t want to be confronted with your own handiwork.’

  They pushed and shoved and the crowd moved four houses along the street until they came to the McCoys’ door. It was open. Inside went Kevin, Brede, Brian, Kate, Sadie and Tommy, Mr Jackson and Mr Mullet, and the two policemen. The door was shut and bolted before Pat Rafferty could get his foot in. Those left outside clamoured and banged.

  They went through to the back of the house. They filled the kitchen. ‘There,’ said Kevin, pointing at the table.

  The policemen and Mr Jackson bent over the table. The sergeant read aloud: ‘King Billy was here. Long Live King Billy.’ He looked up at Kevin.

  ‘She wrote it. She came over here in the middle of the night to do it. I caught her in the act.’

  ‘Are you telling me she broke into your house?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘That door was open,’ said Sadie.

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘Well, he broke into our house. He nearly frightened the wits out of me mother. I was only paying him back.’

  Mr Jackson turned to Kevin. ‘So it was you, was it?’

  The sergeant pushed his cap on to the back of his head. ‘It would seem that one side’s as bad as the other. I think maybe we should leave it at that and all be getting home.’

  ‘I want them charged with kidnapping,’ said Mr Jackson stubbornly. He was thinking of his wife. She would lecture him for a week if she didn’t see justice done.

  ‘How can I do that when she came over here of her own free will?’

  ‘And then she ran away and hid,’ put in Brede. ‘She hid all night in old Mr Mooney’s house.’

  ‘We found her sitting in the kitchen,’ said Kevin, ‘eating his biscuits.’

  Sadie glared at him. ‘I was half starved.’

  ‘But you weren’t kidnapped?’ said the sergeant.

  ‘Well… not exactly. But I was a prisoner in a way. I couldn’t get out. They were patrolling the street like policemen.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of this. Come on, you lot! We’ll have to get that rabble broken up in the street. What a waste of an afternoon this has been!’ The sergeant wiped his forehead. He felt boiled alive. He longed to get home, take off his thick jacket and put his feet up. ‘You kids keep out of trouble, do you hear, or I’ll have you at the barracks and charge you with disturbing the peace next time. And stay away from one another. Keep in your own areas. That way you’ll keep out of trouble.’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ offered Brede, who felt sorry for the man. He was all hot and bothered, red in the face, and was getting himself worked up into a terrible lather.

  ‘No thanks, no time for tea. I’ve got to get this lot –’ he indicated the Jacksons and Mr Mullet ‘–out alive.’

  ‘They could go over the wall,’ said Kevin.

  ‘There’s our friends in the street,’ said Mr Jackson.

  ‘Right then!’ The sergeant squared himself up and straightened his hat. He marched to the front door followed by the constable and the others. When he opened the front door two men fell backwards into the hall. Scuffles had broken out in the crowd. The sergeant took his whistle and blew a sharp blast on it. There was a moment’s silence during which he had time to shout: ‘Break it up there!’

  His demand had no effect at all. He had scarcely expected any. He was helpless. The situation was bad but before it was finished it could be really ugly. And then help arrived from an unexpected source.

  It was fortunate for the sergeant – less fortunate for Kevin – that Mr McCoy chose that moment to return home. Nor did he choose it exactly, for he was at the mercy of his brother Albert’s car.

  The car came careering up the street, horn blaring, scattering the crowd to right and left. Women screamed, jumped into doorways for safety; children climbed on to window ledges. The car came to rest on the pavement just past the McCoys’ house.

  The sergeant unbuttoned his pocket, took out his note book and advanced slowly towards the car.

  ‘Right, boys,’ said Mr Mullet. ‘Let’s skedaddle!’

  ‘Come on. Tommy,’ said Mr Jackson. ‘Sadie!’

  Sadie looked back regretfully at the car, annoyed that she would miss further developments. She took her father’s hand and ran with the rest.

  ‘He’ll be in a fine mood after that lot,’ said Brede, looking over at her father. Kevin rolled his eyes.

  The sergeant was writing in his book, muttering as he wrote. ‘Dangerous driving… In possession of an unroad-worthy vehicle… Not insured for third party…’

  ‘Will they put him in jail?’ asked Brede, alarmed.

  ‘No, he’ll get fined.’

  ‘Oh dear! He’ll kill us. Kevin.’

  ‘It’s not our fault he got caught driving a ropey old heap.’

  ‘But it’s our fault the police were here at all. That’s all he’ll think of.’

  Brede was right. When everyone had gone and the shouting died away, Mr McCoy addressed them. He said they were not fit to be trusted, he couldn’t turn his back for two minutes but they were getting themselves into trouble and bringing disrepute upon the street and the good name of McCoy.

  ‘You’re no credit to me at all,’ he went on. ‘I’m stopping your pocket money to pay for my fine. And you can get to your beds now and stay there all night. All night, do you hear, Kevin?’

  ‘I hear.’

  ‘God help you if you leave this house before morning!’

  Kevin was tired so he did not mind an early night. He needed sleep. Tomorrow was the eleventh: bonfire night for the Protestants. They lit their fires and danced and sang. They couldn’t let that pass without having some fun of their own. Anyway, he hadn’t really paid Sadie Jackson back yet for flinging flour all over him. It was Brede who had scrubbed the kitch
en table clean.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Eleventh Day of July

  Tonight the bonfires would be lit! Excitement leapt in Sadie at the thought of them crackling and spitting. She loved a good bonfire.

  At the moment it was raining, the first rain after several days of bright sun. It beat straight down on the street curtaining the houses on the opposite side. But it was only a shower. A snatch of blue showed above the rooftops. The sun was waiting up there to dry out the bunting and flags.

  Sadie spun round on her toes and snatched the purple outfit from its hanger. She pulled it on quickly and thrust her feet into the white boots. Then she marched up and down her room twirling her baton. Three steps to the window, turn, three steps back again. She sang ‘The Sash My Father Wore’.

  ‘What’s going on up there?’ Her mother’s voice came from below. ‘The ceiling’s shaking like nobody’s business.’

  ‘I’m practising.’

  ‘Well, you can just give over or we’ll have the whole house round our ears. It’s going to happen sooner or later. And the rain’s coming into me kitchen…’

  Sadie sat on the bed and swung her feet. She could walk to Derry if she got the chance, twirling her baton the whole way and keeping her knees high. She didn’t know what to do with herself today, she felt so restless. She had been warned to stay out of trouble. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t get to walk tomorrow.

  Her mother poked her head round the door.

  ‘Get your coat on and go round to Mrs McConkey’s for me. Take your costume off first and those boots. I know you, Sadie Jackson. You’d be dancing in and out of the puddles in them.’

  The ginger-haired boy was in Mrs McConkey’s. He was leaning against the counter drinking coke from a bottle. Sadie glowered at him.

  ‘I heard you had a fire?’ He grinned.

  ‘There’s some might say you were responsible,’ Sadie snapped. ‘Anyway, you’ll have ten bob to give our Tommy the night. We’re planning on having a party with it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on k.’ He put his bottle on the counter and slouched out

  ‘You’re in fair fighting mood this morning,’ observed Mrs McConkey. She leant her bosom on the counter. ‘I heard you were kidnapped by some wild Roman Catholic youths, spent the whole night over there. I heard they shut you up in a dustbin? Whatever nextl We’re not safe in our beds at night. You must have had a desperate time?’

  ‘I survived it,’ said Sadie airily. She was saying very little about her outing to the other side. Linda was telling plenty of fancy tales for her, and she had overheard Mr Mullet describing to his neighbour how he had taken on a huge man, about six foot four, with fists like hams…

  Sadie took the messages home and sought out Tommy and Steve.

  ‘We’ll need to keep an eye on Ginger,’ she said. ‘I fancy he could have sabotage in his mind.’

  ‘We’ll stick close to the street’ said Tommy. ‘We’ve more stuff to get for the fire anyway.’

  The rain stopped and the sun came out with a welcome burst of warmth. They were joined by Linda who had not been allowed out until the rain stopped. Her mother was fussy about wet feet.

  They trudged up and down the street collecting bundles of flammable material to add to the pile on the small piece of waste ground at the end of the street. All the other children helped, and by lunchtime the stack was enormous.

  Mrs Jackson came out of the Mullets’ house carrying a pan of soup.

  ‘We’re going to have a good fire, eh ma?’ said Tommy.

  ‘Don’t talk to me about fires!’

  They ate in the parlour. Sadie sat by the window watching the street. Suddenly she shot off her chair and dashed out of the room.

  ‘What’s that girl up to now?’ demanded Mrs Jackson.

  Tommy ran after Sadie. The end row of bunting lay slashed in the road. Sadie stood at the corner panting.

  ‘I only saw his heels but that was enough. Great fat heels they were too! Just as well I saw him when I did. I’ll keep guard while you go and finish your dinner.’

  Ginger did not show his heels or his face again that afternoon. They bought new bunting and tidied up the rest of the decorations. The women cleaned their windows and polished their letter boxes. Tommy’s bet was well known and they all wanted their street to win. It was drenched in red, white and blue, purple and gold. It was transformed.

  Mr Jackson and Mr Mullet took a stroll round the next street.

  ‘Not a patch on ours,’ they reported, and they had tried to be objective and keep in mind that they were biased.

  ‘You’ve not done badly,’ said Mrs Jackson. ‘I haven’t seen the old place look as well for years.’

  ‘I must say a bit of colour does cheer you up,’ said Mrs Mullet. ‘You can tell our Linda’s had a hand in it. The teacher always said she was the artistic one.’

  The women brought out their chairs and sat on the pavement. Some, like Mrs Jackson, did their knitting and some, like Mrs Mullet, sat and smoked with their legs crossed. A feeling of holiday pervaded the air.

  Sadie and Linda paraded up and down under the archway of banners and bunting. It seemed that the afternoon would never pass. Sadie thought she would burst before night fell and they could put the first lick of flame into the bonfire.

  After tea Tommy brought out his flute and played. The girls danced in the road and the boys tapped their feet

  ‘I must say I always enjoy the “Twelfth”,’ said Mrs Mullet. ‘It’s a good crack.’ She had unwound her rollers and brushed her hair out into a bright yellow fuzz. She was wearing her highest heels too, with the points so small they caught in every crack of pavement.

  ‘You’ll break your leg if you’re not careful,’ said Mr Mullet before he went off to the pub with Mr Jackson.

  ‘Bring us back a bottle of Guinness,’ Mrs Mullet called after them.

  ‘Everyone’s in a good mood,’ said Linda. ‘Maybe she’ll let me stay at home and not send me to Lurgan. Depends if there’s any more trouble.’

  ‘What trouble could there be?’ asked Sadie innocently.

  ‘It’s a rare night for a bonfire,’ said Tommy, sniffing the air. ‘It’s going to be fair.’

  ‘I hope the minister hasn’t forgot,’ said Sadie. ‘I think you should go and remind him. He’s a bit forgetful like.’

  Tommy and Steve went off and returned with the minister, who smiled and greeted everyone on his way down the street.

  No, no, he hadn’t forgotten, he assured them. ‘I was just attending to a few little church affairs. Well, well, what a sight to behold!’ He held out his arms. Sadie swelled with pride even though she remembered him telling them in Sunday school that pride was sinful. ‘Glorious, simply glorious!’ he declared.

  ‘You’ll need to have a look at the other street, too,’ said Tommy.

  ‘It’s not up to much,’ said Linda. ‘It’s hardly worth you looking.’

  Sadie elbowed her in the ribs. ‘He’ll soon see for himself.’

  They followed him into the next street. Ginger was waiting with his friends on the pavement.

  ‘Well, well, what a glorious sight!’

  ‘He has to say that,’ Sadie whispered. ‘He can’t tell them it’s rotten.’

  ‘Their tatty old bunting’s falling to bits,’ said Linda. ‘It won’t last the night.’

  The minister walked the length of the street and back down the other one again followed by his train. At the Jacksons’ corner he paused and turned to face them. He cleared his throat.

  ‘And now for my verdict.’ Everyone kept very quiet. ‘To strive is the most important thing, to do one’s best, to do credit to one’s street, one’s family, one’s city, and one’s God.’

  ‘I wish he’d get on and tell us,’ said Sadie.

  ‘And so –’ he cleared his throat again ‘– I must declare this competition to be a draw.’

  There were mutterings amongst the crowd.

  ‘And now I must be on my wa
y,’ he said. ‘I have other business to attend to.’

  ‘Cowardy, cowardy custard,’ sang Sadie softly.

  ‘Sadie Jackson,’ said her mother when the minister had turned the corner, ‘don’t let me hear you being rude to the minister again!’

  ‘But you know ours is the best!’

  ‘All that work for nothing,’ said Linda.

  ‘Ah, forget it,’ said Tommy. ‘At least I don’t have to part with ten bob.’

  ‘But you’re not getting it either,’ said Steve.

  ‘Come on, let’s light the fire.’

  ‘The fire!’ The cry went up.

  In a moment it was blazing. Flames licked in and around the old clothes and wood and bundles of paper. They sparked and spat and made the children jump. Within minutes the heat forced them a few steps backwards.

  They stood in a big circle round it, their eyes glowing, their faces ruddy in the red and orange light. The smoke went straight up into the darkening sky.

  ‘It’s a good fire,’ said Tommy.

  ‘It’s great,’ shouted Sadie, catching Linda’s hand.

  They danced round the fire and sang.

  When they stopped to rest, the fire was fiercely hot, right to its centre: a big cone of red, yellow and orange heat. Blue and purple flames flickered round it. They stood hypnotized by the colour and movement.

  Then Sadie took a step back.

  ‘Let’s take a walk,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and have a look at the other fires.’

  Linda fell in beside her. Tommy and Steve walked behind. All the fires had been lit but none, they agreed, was as high or as hot as theirs. They walked on.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Tommy suspiciously.

  ‘I thought it might be interesting to see what was going on across the way.’

  ‘You’re not crossing the street You know what’ll happen to you if you do. You want to go out in the parade tomorrow, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve no intention of crossing,’ said Sadie. ‘But there’s no harm in looking, is there?’

  Chapter Fifteen

  On the Other Side