Moving right along...

I've slipped into the smoothest part of the rewrite, now that Brendan's personality is established and his attitudes settled in. I also found the perfect spot to show him learning to use a knife and fork on a drumstick.

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Of course, the Protestant crowd was growing more and more difficult with us. As if their threats and calling of names would stop the marches and demonstrations and actions being taken throughout the year. It's like their side believed that to give us the same as everyone meant there would be less for them. There were also many on our side who said we should just keep ourselves apart from the Unionists, completely, with the comment usually followed by something like, They cannot be trusted. So I made sure to tell all my mates...no, my Chinas that religion and politics were to be kept from my house. 

"If you don't," I said, "you're in for an hour's lecture about the history of Ireland in full detail, from my mother, and you do not want that. Believe me." 

"Yeah," said Paidrig, "get enough from the brothers, hi." 

"And priests," said Danny. 

"Father Demian treats you to history lessons, does he?" asked Colm, jostling Danny, who just shrugged and said no more. 

Fortunately, Ma never saw Billy with me, again. Which was good, because the gossip was growing about a group of Catholic boys being seen with him. 

He lives in The Fountain, don't he? 

It's not good for him to be mingling in with our lads. 

What d'ya think he's after, hi? 

Somethin' sneaky, that's for sure. 

That's a low thing to say about a child. 

I seen him going after Proddies with stones. 

He's the one with the catapult, hi? 

Brand new, and a good eye with it. 

Well, if he's firing stones at them, he can't be a bad 'un, can he? 

A lot of that gargle was due to this one time, during a July Orange Parade, Billy and me were on William Street and got caught in the middle of two gangs chucking stones at each other, one Catholic and one Protestant. I was near hit by a fair-size piece of pavement that came from my side, so I'd howled and shied it back at them, without a thought. Then I'd followed it with more. 

Billy had laughed and begun grabbing pebbles to fire at the Proddies, using that catapult. We were like loonies in the bin...till both sides had forgotten about each other and come after us. Fortunately, we were also good runners. 

I'd known Mrs. Bannon was home so we'd bolted up to her door and scurried inside, me crying, "Mrs. Bannon, we've come for tea!" 

She'd come tottering down the hall, an older lady in just her shift and apron, eyes wide and wary. "Tea," she'd asked. "What do you mean?" 

"Don't you remember, Mrs. Bannon?" I had said, full innocent. "You invited me for tea, today at...at..." This old grandfather clock of hers had shown 5:49, so I'd continued with, "six o'clock, but I'm a bit early. Sorry if that's a trouble." 

"I did?" She had started frowning at herself. 

"Surely you've not forgotten?" I'd asked. Billy was about to fall into laughing so I'd jostled him and added. "I brought a friend, Billy, with me. I hope it's all right." 

She had huffed then smiled and shrugged and said, "Come along. Seat yourselves at the table I'll have it ready in a jiff." 

So we did. And she'd fed us part of her chicken dinner, with mushy peas and carrots, with a fine Ceylon Black tea. We'd sat at the table, where I'd noticed she used a knife and fork to cut the meat off a leg. Without thinking, I'd tried to emulate her, and she had been kind enough to give me direction on how best to hold the cutlery; instead of gripping it like I was going to stab something, hold it like you were going to poke some lad's fat arse.

"It's so much nicer this way," she'd said. "Isn't it?" 

Well, it was certainly nicer than tearing it apart with your fingers, and the mechanics of it were simple. Dig the fork deep into the meat and slice between it and the bone. Carefully. Like working with a delicate telly. I'd felt very grown up being able to do it, and a bit guilty for taking some of her food away from her over a lie. 

Billy'd never said a word, just watched me and her with our finest manners. 

We'd still had a lovely chat about how glad she was we'd stopped by, despite all the noise and carry-on with the march. She also had four cats that came strolling out, one after the other, all orange tabbies, of course, and only one willing to be touched. None had tried to get on the table but instead placed themselves around her, standing at attention, almost like they were guarding her. When we'd finally left, she made us swear to come, again, and next time she'd be sure to remember inviting us. 

Billy had laughed at me the whole way home, saying over and over, "I can't believe you did that!" 

"Got us away, didn't it?" I'd said, proudly. "And well-fed." 

"Me mother's gonna wonder why I'm not hungry, now. And where I was." 

"Tell her we had tea and cakes at the Diplomat." 

"Yeah, she'll believe that. You're loop-de-loop, me China." 

"Maybe next time I'll let you get pummeled." 

"I'm faster than you in a run." 

I'd just laughed at him.

We'd crowed about our battle to Colm and Danny, the next day, and they'd told me I was mad, to which I'd answered, "I was. The bloody thing missed me by an inch. Whoever threw it should get glasses or training."

 They then refused to believe our visit with Mrs. Bannon. I didn't bother to convince them. Instead, since I had no jobs lined up, we hit up to Long Tower and had a fine game of footy.