by Joan Lingard
The eleventh was a quiet day in the Catholic area.
In the morning Kevin and Brian pushed Mr McCoy to the garage in his brother Albert’s car. He stayed dry whilst they got wet. He sat at the steering-wheel shouting at them through the open window. ‘Nearer the kerb… No, no, not that near. Eejits!’
They got the car to the garage, and the boys waited outside for Mr McCoy.
‘You’d think it was all my fault he ever got mixed up with the car at all,’ grumbled Kevin. ‘Why do we get blamed for everything?’
‘I suppose we’re handy,’ said Brian. His father was nursing a sore head this morning. He had picked a fight in the pub last night. He had been looking for a fight ever since he’d been done out of one with the Prods in the afternoon. He was a great fighting man, afraid of no one except his wife. She had a tongue as tart as lemon when her husband came in reeking of drink. Brian grinned at the thought of her laying into him.
Mr McCoy came out of the garage shaking his head. ‘I don’t know what your mother’s going to say, Kevin. It’ll cost a pretty penny to get that lot sorted.”
‘Maybe it’s not worth it, Mr McCoy,’ said Brian. ‘It might be better selling it for scrap.’
‘My brother wouldn’t care to hear you saying that.’
‘Uncle Albert’11 pay for most of it surely,’ said Kevin. ‘It was falling to bits when you borrowed it.’
‘Oh, you know your Uncle Albert. He never has two pennies to rub together. He’s never in a job two days at a time. And him with ten mouths to feed…’ Mr McCoy grumbled the whole way home.
‘Never mind, da,’ said Kevin. ‘I’ll be working next year. I’ll keep you in comfort in your old age.’
‘Aye, that’d be right! I can see you being like your Uncle Albert the way you’re going on.’
‘I might make a fortune.’
‘Pigs might fly. They’ve as much chance.’
‘Kate’s father’s making one.’
‘Scrap iron.’ Mr McCoy nodded. ‘He’s got his head screwed on all right. You could do worse than get in with him.’ He went into the house and they heard him yelling for Brede.
‘Do you fancy working for ould Kelly?’ asked Brian.
Kevin shrugged. ‘I haven’t really thought about it.’
‘If you get in with him you’ll get his daughter thrown in wrth it.’ Brian grinned. ‘Kate’s sweet on you anyway.’
‘Stow it!’
‘Don’t you fancy her?’
‘She’s not my type.’
‘No? Who is, then?’ Brian cocked his head to one side. ‘I think you fancy that blonde devil.’
‘Her! She’s a Prod.’
‘It’s a pity that. Here comes Kate now. Oh, look at that smile on her face when she sees youl She’s nearly running.’
Kevin swung out his hand but Brian ducked.
‘Good morning, Kathleen,’ said Brian. ‘We were just talking about you. Kevin was wondering where you were. And how are you the day?’
‘Rich.’ She held out a pound note.
‘Dear save us! I think your da must be making them himself.’
‘I thought we might go to the zoo today.’
‘Hey, that’s a good idea. What do you say, Kev?’
Kevin shrugged.’ I’m not fussy.’
Brede was delighted at the idea. The zoo was on the side of Cave Hill. The air was fresh up there and you could look down on the city. And it would keep Kevin out of trouble.
‘We’ll have a picnic,’ she said. ‘I’ll cut some sandwiches.’
In the end Kevin went, with a show of unwillingness, though, as Brede knew, he would not let himself miss out on anything. They had to take the younger children with them but they did not mind. It was often the price they had to pay to get out.
The park was busy. People pressed against the cages staring at the animals. The monkeys chattered and swung from branch to branch; the lions snoozed and from time to time opened their mouths in powerful yawns; the sun shone hot and strong.
‘It’s a brave day right enough,’ said Brede, who did not mind the crowds up here since there was enough space and air.
Birds, reptiles, fish: nothing was missed out. At the end of it all they retreated to a quiet place on the grassy slope of the hill to eat their sandwiches. They passed round two large bottles of fizzy red lemonade. Down below lay the city sending up puffs of smoke, and cutting into it was the blue of Belfast Lough with its ships and gantries.
‘’Deed maybe I should go into scrap after all,’ murmured Kevin as he lay back and closed his eyes.
‘Why, were you thinking of it?’ asked Kate, but Kevin did not answer.
He was asleep. His chest rose and fell gently, his mouth was slightly parted. Brede smiled.
‘He can sleep standing up. He’s either going full tilt or he’s felled like a log.’
They stayed up on the hill until the air cooled. A hazy grey mist was setting over the rooftops as they packed their bags and zipped up their anoraks. A few lights twinkled here and there.
‘Da’ll be mad,’ said Brede, but she did not feel very concerned. ‘We should have been home hours ago. He’ll be starved.’
‘There was nothing to stop him getting his own tea,’ said Kevin.
‘He’s handless in the kitchen, and well you know it You’re not that much better yourself.’
‘I think men should help in the house,’ said Kate. ‘They do in England. My uncle who works over there says you see them out wheeling the pram and doing the messages.’
Kevin snorted. ‘This isn’t England, thank goodness. We’re Irishmen. You won’t catch us wheeling prams.’
‘Times are changing,’ said Brede. ‘Even here.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve got eyes, haven’t I?’
‘In the back of your head I’m thinking.’
Kevin whistled as they came down from the hill. He carried the youngest child on his shoulders. They smelt smoke.
‘They’re lighting their fires,’ said Kevin.
‘Wish we could have a bonfire,’ said Kate wistfully.
‘Ach, sure, don’t we have our own times?’ said Kevin. ‘You wouldn’t catch me lighting a fire on the eve of the “Twelfth”.’
On their way home they caught sight of a few fires and heard the noise of singing and laughter. Even Kevin slowed his pace to watch.
Mr McCoy was starving, as Brede had predicted. He complained all the time she cooked his supper. She went on cooking and paid no attention. She was thinking of their day up on the hill.
It was late by the time she had cleared up and put the little ones to bed. When she shook the crumbs out of the tablecloth into the yard she saw that there was a little light left in the sky.
‘I think I’ll just take a wee walk,’ said Kevin.
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘At this time of night!’
‘I said I’d meet Brian.’
‘If you go out you’ll get into trouble. I know you. So stay in.’
Brede picked up a book, though tonight she found it difficult to read. She felt almost as restless as Kevin for once, and wanted to be out in the night air. The mood of the city had reached out and touched her. Kevin sat slumped in a chair swinging one foot, Mr McCoy watched the television.
When the programmes finished, he yawned and said he was going to bed.
‘Don’t be long yourselves.’
‘We’ll be up in a minute,’ said Kevin.
Kevin and Brede sat without speaking. Their father usually fell asleep quickly. After a few minutes Kevin tiptoed out of the room. He came back smiling.
‘He’s away with the angels. Making enough racket to keep the whole street awake. Come on.’
He caught Brede’s hand and she went with him. Their father was snoring, Kevin was right. The noise of it followed them out through the hall on to the pavement.
A fresh breeze was blowing up. With the wind in their faces they ran through the streets to
Kate’s father’s scrapyard. It was there that they had arranged to meet Kate and Brian.
Brian was sitting behind the steering-wheel of a battered old car with Kate curled up on the passenger seat beside him.
‘There you are!’ she cried. ‘We’d almost given you up.’
Kevin had a look round the yard examining the old pieces of bent iron and smashed machinery. He liked junk. You never knew what you were going to turn up next.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Kate, who saw enough of the junkyard. ‘I’m cold with all that hanging about waiting for the two of you.’
‘Aye, let’s go,’ said Kevin.
They fell into line. Kate linked arms with Brede, the two boys walked a little apart from them. They knew where they were going without a word being said. It was as if they were being drawn by a magnet. A few other children tagged on behind.
On the fringe of their area they paused a moment.
‘Now don’t go attracting any attention,’ Kevin warned them. ‘Just walk quiet and keep your mouths shut.’
They turned into the main road. There was not much traffic on it now. They had a clear view across it.
‘Well, well.’ said Kevin softly. ‘Our friends are waiting for us.’
There, on the opposite pavement, were Sadie and her brother and several other children. Catholic and Protestant faced one another, with only a strip of road separating them.
Chapter Sixteen
The Fight
For a moment there was silence. They could hear the hum of the city traffic in the distance, but they were only concerned with what was going to happen here, in this street. This is what they had been waiting for all week: to stand face-to-face, on either side of the road. One or two shivered, either with fear or the thrill of expectation. But none moved away. It was as if a magnet held them there irresistibly.
The moment of quiet passed. Now the voices were raised, soft and taunting to begin with.
‘Dirty Micks!’
‘Filthy ould Prods !’
Tempers flared. The voices grew louder.
‘Kick the Pope!’
‘To hell with King Billy!’
No one knew who threw the first stone. One seemed to come from each side simultaneously.
It was as if a whistle had been blown. Suddenly, children appeared from every direction; they came swarming out of side streets, yelling, cheering, booing. Their hands scoured the ground for any ammunition they could find, large stones, small ones, pieces of wood, half-bricks. They advanced on to the road. The gap between the two sides narrowed.
Sadie was in the front line. Her face glowed, and her heart thudded with excitement. She felt as though a fever possessed her. And then for a second she paused, a yell trapped at the back of her throat. She had seen Brede’s face. Brede stood behind the Catholics, not shouting, or throwing, just standing.
At that moment a brick flew high over the heads of the crowd. Sadie saw Brede duck. But she was too late; the brick caught her full on the side of the head.
Brede went down and disappeared amongst the swirling bodies of the Catholics.
‘Brede!’roared Sadie.
Brede was hurt. Brede… why Brede? Inside Sadie felt cold. There was no fever now, no excitement only a desperate need to get across and find out what had happened to the fallen girl. With another roar Sadie surged forward.
‘Come back, Sadie,’ someone yelled behind her. ‘They’ll murder you.’
Sadie fought through the lines, hauling children out of her way. She felt hands trying to grasp her, but the strength in her body was so great they could not stop her. She reached the group gathered round Brede’s body.
A boy caught hold of her roughly.
‘Leave her be,’ said Kevin McCoy quietly, looking up from where he knelt beside his sister.
Sadie knelt beside him.
‘Is she bad?’
‘Think so.’
Brede lay still, her arms sprawled at her sides, her eyes closed. There was blood on her head.
The sound of a police siren screamed further along the road. Children flew to right and left, dropping their ammunition as they ran. By the time the police car arrived the street was almost empty. Only four children remained.
Tommy crossed the road to join Sadie and Kevin. He squatted beside them, staring down at Brede.
‘Stupid,’ he said. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’
The car doors slammed; two policemen got out and came towards them.
‘Now then, what’s been going on?’
‘We’ll need an ambulance,’ said Kevin.
An ambulance was summoned, and arrived within minutes with its blue light flashing. The other three children stood back to allow the men to lift Brede on to a stretcher. They covered her with a blanket and carried her into the ambulance.
Sadie, Tommy and Kevin went into the back of the police car. They swept through the late-night streets behind the ambulance, watching its flashing light, listening to its wail. The sound made Sadie shudder.
At the hospital the lights were bright and blinding. Brede was taken away; doors closed behind her.
The waiting-room was warm, but Sadie could not stop shivering. Kevin took a bar of chocolate from his pocket and broke it into three pieces. They ate in silence, sitting side by side on a bench.
After a few minutes a police officer appeared to take down their statements. He shook his head.
‘Why can’t you kids keep to your own sides of the road?’
‘Will she die?’ Sadie burst out, unable to control the question any longer.
‘We don’t know yet’
The door opened, and in came Mr McCoy looking white and shaken. He began to shout when he saw Kevin.
‘I can’t trust you kids an inch. I knew you’d end up in trouble. And there’s your ma in Tyrone…’
‘Come on,’ said the police officer to Sadie and Tommy. ‘I’ll get someone to take you home.’
‘Can’t we wait and see how she is?’ asked Tommy.
‘Your parents will be worrying about you. Don’t you think you’ve caused enough trouble for one night? But I’ll see if there’s any news before you go.’
Sadie looked back at Kevin.’1 hope she’ll be all right.’
Kevin nodded.
They left him with his father. As soon as the door closed they heard Mr McCoy starting to shout again. They waited in the corridor whilst the policeman went to inquire.
‘If I got my hands on the one that did it!’ said Tommy.
‘Does it matter?’ said Sadie wearily.
‘You mean it could just as easily have been me?’
‘Aye. Or me.’
The policeman returned.
‘They’re going to perform an emergency operation,’ he said. ‘They’re getting her ready for the theatre now.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘The Glorious Twelfth’
The twelfth of July. The Protestants were astir early, polishing their shoes, laying out their clothes, their sashes and their bowler hats. Mr Jackson brushed his and laid it on the hall table. Mrs Jackson hurried over to Mrs Mullet’s to cook ham and eggs and brought them back sizzling in the frying pan.
‘Time you were up,’ she called up the stairs. ‘Linda’s up and dressed.’
She dished out the breakfast and still there was no movement overhead. She climbed the stairs and pushed open Sadie’s door.
‘Breakfast’s out. If you don’t come now it’ll be cold.’
‘Not hungry.’ Sadie’s voice came from beneath the bedclothes.
‘Suit yourself. Your father’ll eat the extra. Tommy, are you wanting your breakfast?’ she called through to him.
‘No.’
‘It’s no wonder the two of you aren’t hungry after that carry-on last night. A right disgrace it was! If you’re not careful you’ll end up being late.’
Whilst Mr and Mrs Jackson ate their breakfast they discussed again the happenings of the night before. When Sadie and To
mmy had returned home in the small hours of the morning they had had to give a full account of what had taken place. At the end of it they had been told they would be allowed to walk in the parade, even though they did not deserve to. ‘So as not to let the Lodge down,’ Mr Jackson had impressed upon them. ‘Otherwise you’d have had it!’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Jackson as she mopped up the egg yolk with a piece of bread, ‘it was that other lot. They’re always wanting to cause trouble on the “Twelfth”.’
Mr Jackson nodded. He took another piece of toast He needed a good breakfast under his belt before he set out on the long walk to the ‘field’. Mrs Jackson would take a picnic and join them there for the speeches.
She went to the foot of the stairs again. ‘Get up or you’ll miss the procession altogether.’
She took her basin of dishes across to the Mullets. Mrs Mullet was dressing Linda’s hair, teasing it into ringlets and tying it up with ribbons.
‘I believe your two were in hot water last night,’ said Mrs Mullet, speaking awkwardly through a mouthful of hairpins. She took them out. ‘I just heard when 1 went to the shop for rolls.’
Mrs Jackson unpacked the dirty dishes and put them into the sink. ‘There were more than my two in hot water,’ she said and looked round at Linda, who looked back with wide, innocent eyes. ‘But the rest run off to save their skins.’
‘Your Sadie’s a one, though, you can’t deny it.’ Mrs Mullet tweaked one of Linda’s ringlets to make it more like a corkscrew. ‘You can always count on her being there when anything’s going on.’
‘She’s not a coward. I will say that for her.’ Mrs Jackson turned to her washing up, regretting bitterly that she had to take advantage of Mrs Mullet’s hospitality.
‘Is she ready?’ asked Linda. ‘Will I go over for her?’
‘No, not yet. I’ll send her to call for you when she’s dressed.’
Mrs Jackson returned home with the clean dishes. Sadie and Tommy were still in bed. She climbed the stairs again.
‘This is the last time I’m telling you. If you’re late now it’ll be your own faults.’
Sadie was lying with her eyes open, her arms above her head on the pillow.
‘Ma.’ she said, ‘I’m not going.’
‘Not going?’ Mrs Jackson laid her hand on her throat. ‘Do you mean you’re not going to walk?’ She was almost spluttering. ‘Are you all right? Are you sick, or what?’
