Probyn glanced at Mick to see if he understood what was being said, though it was obvious that the man’s anger was not directed solely at the infantrymen. The youths seemed not quite so menacing now, one of them offering apology as the man slapped each around the head and herded them outside demanding an explanation, all conducted in Gaelic. The pipesmoke had a ridiculously comforting effect on Probyn – he might well have been in his Uncle Owen’s cottage were it not for the murderous mutterings outside. Alert to any opportunity of escape, he strained to hear what was afoot. Even in the foreign tongue it was evident that no one was sure what to do with their captives. Through the open door came much heated exchange, the man seeming to have the upper hand, for one exciting moment it appeared that there was to be salvation, until they overheard the forceful suggestion in English from the black-haired youth, obviously for their benefit – ‘I want them dead!’ – thereby robbing them of all hope.
‘Oh, Jesus Christ!’ Mick could not prevent a frightened exclamation and began to pace and mutter dementedly.
Afraid as he was Probyn became furious at these craven antics as Mick prayed and muttered and paced the bare floor. If he were going to die he would die like a soldier. Keep calm! he urged himself, trying to sustain his courage, yet it was almost impossible not to be affected by Mick’s demented gibberish. Sweat sprang to his armpits, his gut felt twisted inside out. In horror of his own demise, he was about to furiously castigate the other for doing this to him when he realized that, between the lines of invocation Mick was trying to tell him something.
‘Be ready to run!’ whispered Mick, interspersing his words with more prayer. ‘Hail Mary full of grace …’
Through the open doorway the older man cast a sharp glance at the soldiers who appeared to be hatching some mischief. Aware of the enemy’s observance Mick began to jabber more loudly, ‘Blessed be the fruit of thy womb—’
The plotters had finished their angry discussion and were coming back inside. Chanting even more loudly, Mick danced agitatedly on the spot, his rain-streaked face even ruddier than normal, his back to the glowing turf fire. Praying that his friend was about to make some relevant move, Probyn waited heart in mouth, every nerve tingling, saw Mick’s hand move behind his back and cast something upon the lire before moving quickly aside …
He did not have long to wait for the outcome. Within seconds the room exploded with noise, bullets whizzing all over the place, shattering the window panes, ricocheting off the walls. Assuming they were under an infantry attack each would-be assassin leapt for the nearest stick of furniture, crouching behind it, arms wrapped tightly around their heads as the bullets zinged dangerously close.
The pandemonium lasted only an instant but in that brief glorious diversion Mick lurched for the open door with Probyn immediately at his heels and before anyone could realize what had happened they were away and running for their lives down the wild rain-lashed slope. Ignoring the jaunting car for it could not offer the speed they required, they instead relied on the sheets of rain to hide them, their aim to put as much distance as they could between them and their attackers, stumbling and tripping and barging into each other as they tried to avoid tussocks of grass and gorse, running, running, running …
Glancing feverishly over his shoulder to see if they were being pursued, Probyn was encouraged that there was no sign and, legs furiously pumping, ran on, immediately falling headlong, rolling over and over down the slope before picking himself up again and with Mick’s help dashing onwards.
They ran until they could run no more, whence, lungs rasping, they fell heavily upon a springy mound of grass, ears cocked for any sound other than their own laboured panting and the pitter-patter of rain on their backs. Finally, to their great joy, it became clear that their liberty was won.
Even then they dared not so much as whisper, their only communication being a joint gasp of relief as they locked eyes, each silently thanking the Lord for their deliverance.
His heartbeat beginning to return to normality, Probyn allowed his tensed muscles to unfurl, sitting upright and massaging his aching shoulders. His clothes were smeared with black peat, his tunic ruined. Still, he was alive. For now.
After a period of silent contemplation, he finally spoke. ‘Can you see a track anywhere?’
A worried Mick narrowed his eyes against the drizzle. ‘Not a thing.’
Probyn felt the desperate urge to relieve his bowels. ‘No point trying to find our way back in this lot we could get even more lost or run into those blokes again.’
‘Ye mean spend the night out here?’ Mick sounded incredulous. ‘Jesus, we’ve hours ahead of us, and ’tis terrible cold.’
‘Keep your voice down!’ hissed Probyn. ‘It’ll carry for miles out here.’ Despite the shroud of drizzle their red tunics acted as beacons on this wasteland. ‘You want to think yourself lucky you’re not permanently cold.’
‘Oh, and who have we got to thank for that?’ Mick studied him quizzically.
Probyn stared back for a moment, then looked suitably grateful. ‘Aye, well … thanks it was a good bit of thinking. Where did you get the ammo?’
‘Snuck ten rounds in me pocket after musketry practice the other day. I was going to play a trick on Ingham but never got the chance.’
‘Thank God.’ Probyn eased his painful joints, marvelling that they could discuss this as if it were nothing. They had almost been murdered! ‘Come on, we’ll get some shelter under that big rock over there while we decide what to do.’ Checking to ensure they were unobserved, he and Mick darted for the cover of a huge boulder and, using grass to cushion their rears, leaned heavily against it. Thankfully, in its overhang the ground beneath was relatively dry. ‘I wonder what time it is?’ It was hard to tell being prematurely dark because of the rain but he guessed it was about seven o’clock. ‘They’re bound to have noticed we’re missing by now – they might already be looking for us. Best if we stay put. If they haven’t come by the time it gets light we’ll set off.’ He closed his eyes as if for sleep.
Mick affected to settle down too, but kept scratching and fidgeting, and besides it was impossible for either of them to relax, not simply due to cold but from what they had just encountered. Their mouths were dry with fear that the men might suddenly pounce. Even the mere thought of the cold wet hours ahead of them was enough to deter any form of rest.
‘God, I need a pony and trap!’ Mick jumped up and went around the other side of the rock.
Temporarily alone, Probyn huddled into himself for warmth, and when Mick finally came back he suggested, ‘We should sit as close as we can, keep each other warm.’
Grimacing as if in pain, Mick shuffled his buttocks until his hip came into contact with the other’s, pulled his elbows into his sides and curled into his damp tunic. Again he tried to sleep, but the monotonous patter of rain drove him to distraction.
‘D’ye think they’d really have killed us?’ he asked eventually.
‘I wouldn’t put it past the treacherous dogs, and will you keep bloody still!’ Probyn’s fear was now being overtaken by anger. ‘Lord, if I could meet them one to one – and those blasted politicians who talk about Home Rule!’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘They’ve obviously never even been here. I ask you, who in their right mind would suggest giving these thugs power? Well, if that’s going to be the case I hope they throw out all the teagues in England who’re enjoying the benefits of a civilized country!’
Suddenly aware of the tension in his companion’s shoulder he sought to qualify his rantings, ‘Sorry, Mick I’m not including you, just the ones who cause trouble. It makes me bloody furious.’
‘I’d never have guessed.’
‘Well, what do you make of all this Home Rule business then?’ demanded Probyn.
‘Ah well,’ sighed Mick. ‘Ye can’t blame people for wanting a say in the way their country’s run.’
There was instant retort. ‘Aye, but you can’t think much to the place if you chose to live
in England.’
Mick was shivering. ‘I didn’t exactly choose it, I just went where my father told me to go. There’s no work here.’
‘That’s exactly what I mean! You lot are happy enough to be British when it suits you.’
‘Have ye ever imagined how ye’d feel if the boot was on the other foot?’
Probyn was silently thoughtful for a while, then conceded, ‘Aye, well, maybe. Let’s agree to differ.’
Mick became more vociferous. ‘Oh, ’tis not to say I don’t agree with yese about those murderous hooligans though! I’ll make jam with their goolies if I catch up with them.’
Probyn winced. ‘Don’t mention goolies. It was following mine that got us in this trouble. Well, there’s nowt so sure as I shan’t be led astray by another lass in a hurry.’
Mick was even more adamant. ‘Huh! Never again for me. The last one was enough to finish me for good.’
Sensing more to this than met the eye, Probyn delved beneath the surface. ‘I got the feeling you weren’t keen on joining the girls in the first place. Is summat up?’
‘Ye could say that!’ After the initial outburst, Mick appeared hesitant to say more, merely tendering, ‘Have you … ah, don’t let it bother ye.’
‘Go on!’ Probyn sounded irritated. ‘I’ve nowt else to do but listen.’
‘Well, em, I don’t know how to put this.’ The rain still falling around them, Mick hugged his legs and rested his chin on a damp knee. ‘Have you encountered any ailment since you were in York?’
‘What sort of ailment?’
‘If ye’d had it you’d know what sort of ailment I mean.’ For a second Mick prayed to the heavens, then blurted, ‘Oh God, ye might as well know, I’ll have to tell someone or I’ll go mad! Ever since those two in York … I’ve had trouble with me rod.’ He did not look at Probyn as he explained the symptoms of his malady.
‘Aw no, it sounds like you’ve copped a packet!’ breathed Probyn.
‘That’s what I feared,’ moaned the other, clutching his legs tighter. ‘And ’tis getting worse by the day. Me goolies feel like lead. Oh Jesus, whatever am I going to do?’
‘Well you’ll have to see the doc for a start.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t!’ Mick emerged like a jack-in-a-box from his huddle. ‘He’ll put me in the dirty hospital!’
Probyn was firm and fatherly. ‘You’ll have to do summat or it’ll drop off.’
Mick groaned, rived frantically at his crotch, then hugged himself again. ‘The shame of it. And you’ve been perfectly all right you say?’
‘Aye.’ Probyn was thoughtful. ‘If I were going to get it I’d have had it by now.’ Still, this episode had taught him to be more discerning about his women in future – in more ways than one.
Gratified by his own rude health, he sought to put Melody at ease. ‘Don’t worry, they can cure it.’
‘’Tis the cure that worries me,’ wailed Mick. ‘I’ve heard they stick something up it.’
Probyn’s stomach lurched in horror. ‘That’s rubbish!’
Laying great store by his friend’s knowledge, Mick sounded encouraged. ‘Ye’ve had it yourself then?’
‘Nay!’ It was said with a growl of disgust. ‘But I’m sure it can’t be right.’
A sigh in the dark. ‘They say ye can get stuff from the chemist but I daren’t go in and ask for it.’ He underwent a hopeful pause.
‘Best leave it to the experts,’ advised Probyn.
Mick’s disappointment and shame was almost palpable. ‘Ye won’t let on to anyone?’
‘’Course not.’ Probyn was rather thankful that Mick’s predicament had served to divert his mind from what had just happened, but within seconds of this realization the fear came flooding back and he struggled to channel his thoughts along a different route.
A period of silence followed.
‘What’re you thinking about?’ asked Mick.
Probyn chuckled and shifted position against the rock to ease his muddy, aching limbs. ‘Oh, I were just eating one of Aunt Kit’s dinners. I’m famished.’
Mick forced a smile, and after a thoughtful moment, said, ‘Your aunt doesn’t like Irish folk very much does she?’
Probyn could not see his friend’s face but sensed his hurt. ‘Oh, I don’t think—’
‘I saw her expression at the station,’ said Mick.
Probyn could not pretend otherwise. ‘Well, she’s really nice and kind, I’m sure if she knew you personally she would hate to think she’d offended you, it’s just that my whole family has this prejudice towards Catholics.’ Feeling comradeship towards Mick for rescuing him and sympathizing with him over his ailment, he felt the need to offer some token of intimacy.
‘In my view, it’s all a bit hypocritical – all right, I know what I said about Home Rule but that’s a political matter, and I’ve learned enough to know that not all Irish people are the same. I really like Aunt Kit but she’s hardly one to throw stones when she had two children before she was married.’ In response to Mick’s gasp of amazement he added, ‘I was too young to know how it happened then, I just knew it was shameful from the way folk behaved towards her. So you see my family’s got no cause to look down on anybody.’
Urging his companion to divulge more, Mick listened assiduously without interruption. Probyn was happy to talk. What else was there to do in order to while away the hours until morning? Eventually, though, he suggested they make a supreme effort to get some sleep for they would have a very long walk in the morning. Balanced uncomfortably on their tussock, backs to the unyielding rock, they closed their eyes, each tense body trying to leech heat from the other, and eventually they dozed.
* * *
Their awakening gave birth to apprehension that their assailants might return to finish the job, but the landscape was completely deserted, at least it was as far as they could see, for a layer of fog made it almost impossible to navigate. Ravenous with hunger, they eased their aching bodies upright and wandering down the slope began to search for a track, a task that seemed nigh impossible in this bleak half-light. They could be wandering around in circles for days, could die of starvation or tumble into a bog and no one would be the wiser. But no! Graced by fortune they finally stumbled instead on a road, whereupon they set off eagerly in what they hoped to be the right direction.
The fog had begun to lift, yet this was no signal to relax for, without any signpost their location was still unclear. But just when the exhausted young men were at their wits’ end they heard the sound of wheels and through the mist materialized an elderly man leading a donkey cart.
Certain that such a cheery face could offer no violence, Probyn rushed forward. ‘Excuse me, sir, could you tell us the way to Birr?’
Taken by surprise, the man studied the two forlorn faces for a moment before pointing. ‘Well now, if you go down here a few miles you’ll come to a sign that says Birr, I should think that would take you to Birr.’
Thanking him, the pair set off eagerly, this surge of optimism to be reinforced some half an hour later when, a few miles after seeing the signpost, there also appeared a band of men in red tunics, one of whom let out a whoop to his superior.
‘Found ’em, Sarge!’ Seizing credit, Ingham rushed forth.
Enveloped by their peers, who laughingly reproached them for getting lost and hooted over their mud-caked appearance, Probyn and Mick were quick to set the record straight, especially when the sergeant began to dole out reprimands for their stupidity.
‘Sergeant, it wasn’t lost we were but kidnapped!’ revealed an earnest-looking Mick.
Initially this was treated by Sergeant Faulkner as an attempt to escape punishment. ‘Melody, who in their right mind would want to kidnap thee?’
But when Kilmaster who was known to be a sensible chap gave confirmation, a whole new light was cast on the matter. Angry murmurs rapidly displaced the merriment as the swaddies listened to their comrades’ tale, vowing to get even.
‘There’ll be no
ne of that talk!’ The sergeant called his men to order, warning of the repercussions this could have. ‘We’d better get back to the garrison. Fall in!’
Faced with another lengthy walk, Mick fell in with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
Though similarly tired, Probyn offered an encouraging grin at the one who had suddenly attained kudos. ‘Never mind, chum, think of the medal that awaits you – you’re a hero!’
7
‘Right,’ said the sergeant, upon their grateful entry to the barracks. ‘I’ve managed to wangle you a bacon sandwich. Soon as you’ve wolfed it, get yourselves bathed and your uniforms cleaned up – you’ll have to get yourself a new tunic, Kilmaster – then I want to see you both outside my office.’ He went off to visit the company commander.
Never had bacon tasted so good, the happy heroes helping it down with mugs of tea whilst being badgered by their pals for details of their extraordinary adventure.
Enjoyment of this celebrity was not to last for, arriving at the quartermaster’s store Probyn learned that it would cost him a month’s pay to replace his ruined tunic. The injustice of it! But there was little time to grouse for he was soon having to rush off for a bath.
Cleansed and refitted, he and Mick hurriedly presented themselves at the sergeant’s office, from whence they were taken before Major Kirkpatrick. With their section commander present, they were asked to give the whole story, which Kilmaster provided, it having been agreed between the two of them that Mick would say as little as possible. At this stage it was unnecessary to lie, but when asked by the major if there had been any precursor to the abduction, any situation that might have caused it, Probyn was to suffer guilt. Monty Kilmaster had raised his children to face the consequences of their actions and detested any form of untruth, he would surely despair of his son now.
‘I’d never met either the driver of the carriage nor the girls before, sir.’ This at least was the truth. ‘There was no hint of danger when we set out on the trip.’
A note of rebuke. ‘You were aware, Kilmaster, that you were meant to stay within a mile of the garrison?’
Family of the Empire Page 18
