though mostly reworking sections I'd already written to have them better match what I've got. And i saw some repetition that may be removed...or may not; it sort of makes sense, at the moment. But we'll see.
Here's a bit from immediately after the attack on the People's Democracy march at Burntollet Bridge, just after New Years 1969. Eamonn is still in the hospital from it. This is eight months prior to the
Battle of Bogside; the protestant Royal Ulster Constabulary has decided to reassert its dominance in the Catholic area using brute violence...
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Our side of Nailor’s Row and Walker’s Place were hit hard, I think because we were slated for demolition and redevelopment once housing was available, so there would be little condemnation for the destruction. Perhaps they even thought they’d be applauded for saving the Corporation a bit of scratch. But they also poured through Butchers Gate and up from Waterloo, and it was clear from the start they were out to prove they were lord and master of us all in the harshest way possible. Uniforms. Batons. The howling matched with wild faces of animals let loose. Windows smashed. Homes rousted. People beaten for standing there letting them do it. And not a care that reporters and photographers were catching it all. Every last moment, like they had but three months earlier.
Ma was still at Altnagelvin with Eamonn, so Mairead and I grabbed coats and put them on the wains as we heard the crashing getting closer and hurried them into our back yard to hide in the hutch. Then I helped Rhuari over the back wall and he tossed back stones for me to use.
We heard them burst in and begin wrecking anything they could. Glass. Ma’s bit of china. Chairs and tables. Curtains ripped. Growing closer and closer to the back door.
Pots and pans clattering. Dishes smashing. Our table splintering. Each sound closer and closer.
Mairead kept Maeve and Kieran quiet with soft words and bites of hard candy, earmuffs on each of them to muffle the noise. A smile on her, steady and sure.
I closed the door to the hutch and waited as I heard the chaos grow nearer. I quaked within. I coughed but managed to keep it soft. Still I waited, fair-sized stones in each hand, another pile next to me. Rhuari kept tossing over all he could find and I was letting them build behind me.
Then the back window was smashed from within and one bastard stuck his head out and saw me and I shied a stone straight into his head. Caught him in the eye. He howled like a hurt dog and fell back.
Another kicked at the door before deciding to open it from within, and the moment it was wide enough I shied stone after stone at them, hitting some, most missing but causing them to back away in shock. I didn’t let up. Made it seem like there were more than one of me...but my pile of stones was dwindling fast.
Another fat bastard tried to come at me but I hit his knee with a brick and he crumbled, screaming like a child. The man behind him looked at me in horror, and behind him I could see two of them with blood on them, so I sent more stones and bricks and rocks their way and they roared like unfed beasts...but backed away from me. I’d have laughed if I had any breath left in me from it all.
I yanked open the hutch door and said, “Get over the wall, fast. I’ll drop the wains to yous.”
I must have had some look on my face for Mairead didn’t even try to argue. Over the wall she went then I lifted Maeve and Kieran over to her.
She held up her arms to help me, last, saying, “C’mon, Bren.”
I shook my head. “Go. I’m gonna have fun with these bastards.”
Her eyes went wide with horror. “No, you can’t -- “
But I heard them storming back into the house and dropped down to sit on a stone and put on the most innocent face I could as they burst from within, ready to face a horror of men against them. They skidded to a halt upon seeing just little old me.
“Are you done, yet, so I can get to cleaning up before me Ma gets home? She’ll toss a fit at the mess you’ve made.”
One ugly bastard snarled up to me. “Where’s the rest of ‘em?”
“Rest of who?” I shot back. “It’s only me here.”
He yanked open the hutch, saw it was empty, then looked over the wall. He was growling as he hopped back down. I learned later Maeve and the wains had scurried around the corner instead of down the hill, so were out of sight. The ugly bastard grabbed my shirt and gave me the back of his hand. I felt my nose bleeding, again.
“So you shied those rocks at my men?”
I didn’t try to wipe the blood, just glared at him and said, “I did! I’m in me yard and suddenly there’s smashing and breaking in my home and I’m here by meself and some bastard breaks the glass so yes, I shied a rock at him. Shied more till I saw it’s the peelers. Bunch of bloody cowards trying to -- “
He slapped me, again.
“You assaulted a copper,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “We’re takin’ you down to Strand Road and -- “
One of his mates come up and said, “Sir, there’s reporters in front. Photographers. He looks what -- nine, ten years old and he’s got blood on him? I heard over the radio -- BBC’s already called the Executive asking what’s going on. My girl at Malone’s said reporters have already been calling in stories about this and weeping about the poor little Taigs. You want a photo of him, for them?”
The ugly bastard straightened up then slapped me, twice more, and slung me to the ground.
“I got my eye on you, you little cunt,” he snarled.
I just looked at him. Blood smearing my face.
They stormed out, breaking the last of what wasn’t broken as they went.
I sat up, my ears still ringing, and step by step rose to my feet to go inside. Everything was shattered -- from tables and chairs to doors on cabinets to Ma’s little Dresden figurine. I picked it up and saw it wasn’t beyond mending so found a cloth to put the bits into and held them. I could handle that, tomorrow.
I ran water from the tap and cleaned my face. My nose had slowed its bleeding so I pushed a torn bit of cloth up into it and sat on a half-broken stool and just looked around. I had no idea what to do or where to begin.
I must have sat there for an hour before Mairead returned.
“Brendan?” I hear her calling, her voice shaking.
“Aye,” I said, not really thinking about it.
“Oh, good,” she said, getting closer. “I was afraid they’d snatched you.”
I realized I was sitting in a shaft of soft moonlight whispering in through the broken window. And it was cold, but I didn’t care. She picked her way into the kitchen and saw me, and her face grew very still. The moonlight made everything else seem dark so I couldn’t tell the expression on her, but her voice went gentle. “It’s quite the mess.”
I shrugged and held up the cloth with the broken figurine. “I think I can mend this well enough.”
She nodded, came over, pulled a dishcloth from beside the tap and wetted it. Then she squatted beside me and put it to the side of my face. Christ it was cold, but felt so good I wondered at not thinking of doing that, myself.
“Did they hurt you much?”
I shrugged. “No more’n Da ever did.”
“We’re down at Mrs. O’Canainn’s. She has a phone so I rang Ma and she said we’re to stay there till the place is livable, again.”
“Did they go upstairs? The peelers?”
“I haven’t been up but I don’t think so. Looks like they started but...”
I smiled. “Then we’ll be fine. I got twenty-two quid.”
She blinked then nodded. “I’ll talk with Terry. We should be able to get a decent table and chairs, second hand. Or third. Some plates and such. I’ll also ask about repairing the settee. It doesn’t look so bad.”
“We...we’ll need glass for windows.” My voice was beginning to break. “I can put them in if Terry’ll lend me a cutter.”
“I’m sure you can and he will.”
I nodded. I dared not say anything more.
She checked my nose, murmuring, “I think it’s stopped. So let’s go down and have our tea. We can face this in the morning, once we’re fresh.”
I nodded and rose with her.
We walked out into a street filled with the remains of the chaos. Neighbors milled about, snarling curses on the peelers, every one of them. Their voices went soft as they saw me pass with Mairead.
One little girl -- I think it was Jenny Dougherty but can’t be sure; I wasn’t paying her any mind -- rushed up and said, “Bren, is it true you beat the peelers back?”
I know I looked at her, and she gasped and ran back to her mother. And then we were at the O’Canainn’s and going inside. And I was sat at the table and given a bowl of the finest stew ever made on the face of the earth. It didn’t seem so long since I’d have Mai’s fish fingers, but I found I was starving and the smell of it killed any hesitation on my part. Of course, I had to eat careful but I finished every bit...though all I could eat of the bread was the inner part; the crust was harsh and hurt to chew. And as I ate, Mrs. O’Canainn set a glass before me and poured a dark ale into it, saying, “I think you earned this, tonight.”
I know I smiled my thanks. I know tears were in my eyes but I didn’t let them fall. I know I sipped it and it went well with the stew. And I know afterwards I washed and slept on her settee till after morning’s light.
And when I woke, it took me half an hour to recall that it had not been a dream.
