“Yes I believe you.”
“Thank you Dom. You’ll never know how much that means to me.”
After a pause Dom continued. “You know, when I discovered who you were I didn’t like it at all. It brought back very bad memories: memories about very troubled times. It was years since I told my family about it and how my brother was killed in those times. And, of course your name came into it: it had to. But, it was something we hadn’t talked about for many a year. I thought we had put it all behind us. I hoped we had.
Then, when the word got around about who you were, they all started asking questions again, especially young Joe. He was living at home then and he was pestering me every day about it. We didn’t know what to do, if anything. If left to me we’d have done nothing. There was a time when I felt different, but then I believed it should be left in the past: that’s where it belonged. Some of my lads, though, didn’t agree. They thought we should as least confront you. And then there was my brothers; Paddy in London and Joe in Cardiff. I’m not sure about Joe, but I know that Paddy still has strong feelings on the subject. If we told him I don’t know what he’d do.”
“The next Sunday afternoon, as many of us as could make it, met at my daughter Theresa’s house. There is a big family of us: four boys and two girls. I think they were all there except young Joe. They asked me to remind them again about that terrible day, especially about your involvement. I told them what I knew, which was, briefly: Seamus Cox and our Jimmy were the only ones in the barracks that day. Seamus who survived reported that he saw you running away.”
“It was Theresa who asked some awkward questions of me. She asked if I knew for certain that that was what Seamus reported. I had to admit that I didn’t know for certain, but it was what was widely believed at the time.”
“She gave me a rough time over that. ‘It was no more than a rumour that Martin was there; let alone done anything,’ she said. ‘Yet you might have killed him.’
“She made me feel ashamed. But, that was how it was, I told her. Justice was rough. It was revenge; not justice. We wanted revenge that much we didn’t stop to think. We had someone to blame and we didn’t give much thought to what evidence there was of his guilt.”
“Well, it’s not like that now” she said. She’s a bossy bugger, our Teresa. She made us all listen. She pointed out that the time for revenge was over; if ever there was such a time. So telling my brothers, at that time was a bad idea.”
“We talked about whether we should approach you, as it only you and Seamus Cox, as far as we knew, that witnessed what happened that day.
We didn’t think that at that time it was wise to approach you. It would be difficult, we thought, rightly or wrongly, to get the truth out of you. If you were guilty, we didn’t think you would admit it, and if you were innocent we wouldn’t know if you were telling the truth. In any case you moved away, to where we didn’t know, so the option was not there. But we did agree that we should try to get more evidence that you were who we thought you were.”
“That just left Seamus Cox. He was the only other person who could help us, and I’d heard nothing of him for over forty years. I knew he cleared off to America soon after that day, but I had no idea where he was then, or even if he was still alive. I thought his brother Tom was still living on the farm in Ireland, but I wasn’t even sure of that.”
“Hearing that Theresa said, ‘leave it to me.’ She wasted no time. The next day she sent a letter off to Tom, asking if he knew where his brother was and if it would be possible for her to write to him. We didn’t have much hope, but within a week we got an answer back from Tom, giving the address of his brother in Boston. ‘It’s a long time since I heard from him,’ wrote Tom, ‘But as far as I know he’s still there. Write to him if you wish. You might do better at getting a reply than I do.’
“It seemed that he gave her the address without even getting permission from his brother. So, again, we didn’t think there was much chance of a reply, but she wrote anyway.”
“About a month later, when we’d almost given up hope, this letter arrived. Peggy,” asked Dom “Will you pass that letter to Martin: the one behind the clock.” Peggy handed Martin the letter. “Take your time now and read it for yourself.”
Dear Theresa.
Thank you for your letter. I’m sorry for not answering sooner. But, believe me, since receiving your letter, I’ve thought about little else. No, I don’t think you’re being intrusive in asking that question. Some years ago that’s how I would have felt, but not now. I now know, at last, that I must face up to what happened on that dreadful day in Ballaghaderreen. So I’m glad you asked the question. It’s true it’s upsetting. It was such a dreadful experience. Even now, after over forty years, the nightmares occasionally come back. Of course, not like in the weeks, or months, immediately after. I was in a terrible state then. I used to dread going to sleep for fear of the nightmares.
Then, when I got a little better, I just wanted to get as far away as possible. When I got the opportunity to go to America I jumped at it. Here, I’ve tried to put it totally out of my mind. I never talk about it. My family, apart from my wife, don’t even know about it. It’s only since receiving your letter that I have been able to think about it. And now I’m ready to confront my demons, as they say.
I have a lot of regrets about what I did and what I didn’t do. You mentioned Martin Prendergast. Well, I’m convinced that he was totally innocent of what he was blamed for. I don’t know what part he played in that terrible deed. But, I’m satisfied that he never meant to hurt anyone. And he probably saved my life.
From what I can remember, Ireland was in a terrible state at the time. At a time when we should have been united we were a divided people. And it was so important that we worked together. Instead we were fighting each other. We hated the “Tans” and with good reason. But, when the “tans” left we seemed to turn that hatred on each other. Each side was too ready to blame the other for everything that went wrong.
Jimmy and me had been palls for a long time. We both enlisted on the same day...Being young and adventurous, like joining the IRA previously, for us, joining the army was just another adventure. And we were very excited about it: so excited that we didn’t notice that it made us so many enemies.
Our sergeant though, was well aware of it. That was the reason he gave for not allowing us into the town on that fateful day. The town, he said, would be full of republicans and us locals might be inviting an attack. We were to be sent away to some other part of the country soon. Also, I suppose, because we were new and inexperienced, we were left behind to guard the barracks.
We weren’t happy about it. We wanted to be where the action was. But, in the army you did as you were told; even in that makeshift Free State army.
The rest of the men left immediately after dinner. We had instruction to wash and tidy up after them, but there was all afternoon for that. At the kitchen table, we started playing cards. We played cards all afternoon. Then, suddenly we realised that the men would be back soon, and we hadn’t even started to tidy up. In a panic we rushed around putting everything in place. I left Jimmy to finish off while I went to the front to open the gates for the wagons to enter.
As I approached the front door, after opening the gates, I heard my name being shouted. “ Seamus, Seamus, don’t go in.” I turned round to see a young lad running towards me furiously waving his arms. He stopped just a few yards from me and repeated the warn
ing, “Seamus don’t go in. It was then that I recognised him, Martin Prendergast. But, before I could say a word he turned and ran back out through the open gateway, leaving me puzzled and confused. I didn’t know what he meant. I considered chasing after him, but decided against it. We were instructed not to leave the barracks.
I stood in the doorway for a few minutes wondering what to do. Then I heard a God almighty bang and a scream from Jimmy. I was terrified. I didn’t immediately rush to his aid. Petrified and panicky, I was torn between wanting to run away and knowing that I must go to Jimmy’s aid. Eventually, (after how long, I don’t know) I ventured in. I could see smoke coming from under the kitchen door. I opened the door. Flames were everywhere. Jimmy was lying on the floor just inside the door, but the ferocious heat forced me back out. In a second attempt, on my knees, I got hold of his collar and somehow managed to drag him out to the hall.
When I looked at Jimmy, he was an awful sight, which I can’t bear to describe. I was sick on the floor and I think I briefly passed out just as the men arrived.
I was barely aware of what happened next. I know we were both taken to hospital, where, sadly, Jimmy died that night.
I was told I could go home next day. Physically, I was all right, but mentally I was far from it. I returned to my parent’s home never again to go back in the army.
My parents had a rough time with me for a long time. I couldn’t eat. I was having nightmares. I kept seeing jimmy’s face: what was left of it. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. What little talking I did I bitterly regretted after. I should never have told the sergeant about Martin Prendergast. Martin probably saved my life.
I agonised over my actions, or lack of then. If I had gone in sooner could I have saved Jimmy’s life? If only I understood what Martin meant and rushed in immediately. But, Martin said, “don’t go in.” I now don’t believe Martin knew that there was anyone else in there. But, Martin got blamed for it all. I owe that man a big apology.
I should never have mentioned his name. It was a time when I wasn’t thinking clearly. Stuff, was going round and round in my head, but I couldn’t talk to anyone about it: it was too painful. On the morning that I left the hospital, the sergeant was so persistent, asking the same questions over and over again. “Did I see anyone that shouldn’t be there?” Desperately wanting the questions to stop I gave him Martin’s name, and immediately regretted doing so. I tried to add that Martin couldn’t have been responsible for what happened but he sergeant wasn’t listening. He got a name. That was all he wanted.
Yours,
Seamus
Martin read the letter slowly, intently observed by Dom and Peggy, who were awaiting his opinion on it. Occasionally he nodded his head as in agreement with what he read, but no verbal opinion came. However, there was no mistaking the tears in his eyes as, without comment, he handed the letter back to Peggy.
Embarrassed, Martin wiped the tears away with his hand. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. Such a display of emotion was not in his nature. Was it a dream? Even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t considered such an outcome. He was there to plead his innocence. The best he had expected was a fair hearing. But, he was prepared for hostility, even to be ordered out of the house and told never to darken the door again.
Eventually, it was Dom who broke the long silence. “Well Martin, what do you make of it?” he asked.
Martin, staring into the fire as if in a trance, after a long pause turned to Dom, but the only reply he could manage was an emotional “thank you.”
“Don’t thank us. It’s not Just Seamus Cox who owes you an apology. We all do. We should never have jumped to conclusions the way we did.”
“Well,” said Martin pulling himself together, “that’s the way it was. But, I’m grateful for the trouble you took to find out the truth, especially your daughter Theresa: she’s a great girl.”
“Oh, indeed she is. When she sets her mind on something there’s no stopping her. But, she hasn’t finished yet. She wants to meet you herself. It’s a pity, herself and her husband, they’re both teachers, are away this weekend at some kind of conference.”
“Yes, I’d like to meet her and thank her myself.”
“Aren’t you staying down here now?”
“No. I just came down for the weekend.”
“Are you going back to Broadfield then? Yes we know where you were living.” Dom was responding to Martin’s surprised look. “Although it’s only lately we found out.”
“When you disappeared, like you did,” Dom continued, “a lot of people were concerned about you. Big Brendan, in ‘the antelope’ said the number of people who were asking about you was unbelievable. Our son Paddy goes in there a lot. We asked him to keep his ears peeled but not to tell anyone why he was interested in you.”
“A couple of things caused people to be concerned about you. Your real name not being what people thought it was and then you disappeared. Neither of those was very unusual. Lots of Irishmen use false names, avoiding tax or for some other reason. And, of course Irishmen are always moving to where the work is. But, the two things happening together got people talking. Brendan though allayed their fears somewhat. He said you were always a loner and you wouldn’t want anyone to know your business..”
“One man, though, kept asking about you. You know the man: Michael Ruane, the man who shouted your name outside the church.” Martin nodded as Dom continued. “He’s a bit of a loud mouth, as you know. I don’t think he started coming in ‘the antelope’ until after you left. He doesn’t come in very often. He lives out in Aston, but he comes in the odd weekend because he likes the Irish music and the craic.”
“The reason he kept asking was because it turned out that his landlady knows you and after he mentioned meeting you she kept asking if he heard any more about you. Then one Saturday night about a month ago he announced at the bar that he knew where you were. It seemed that week his landlady Ellie had a visit from her sister Maggie. Maggie lives up in Broadfield near Manchester. Well, Michael heard the sisters talking: by accident he said, but you know what he’s like. Anyway he was in the next room when he heard the conversation. It seems an awful lot of people are interested in your whereabouts. Maggie said Martin Prendergast was living in Mary’s lodging house in Broadfield. I think the lodging house is well known around there.”
“Oh, Indeed it is.” Martin stood up. “Well thank you for your hospitality and everything else. But I’m afraid I can’t stay. I have a few other things to do.”
“Thank you Martin.” Dom struggled to his feet. “I hope we’ll see you again soon.”
“You will.” With no more ado Martin left.
***
There was an extra spring in Martin’s step as he walked briskly to the bus stop. He was feeling elated. Suddenly his life had changed for the better. The outcome of the visit he had so dreaded was more perfect than he had ever dared to expect. The Casey family were aware of the truth. That was all he could ever ask for. It was like a cloud lifted from his brain.
Although it seemed likely that the youngest son was part of the gang that carried out the assault on Michael O’Malley Martin didn’t then believe that the rest of Casey family had had anything to do with either that as
sault or the previous threats on him. From them, he had on longer anything to fear.
Neither had he anything to fear from those who were responsible for the assault. They would be satisfied that their mission was accomplished.
Martin could then leave his past behind. He could go back to Broadfield and carry on with his life, no longer looking over his shoulder. He could forget everything he’d planned for the weekend and simply get the next train back to Manchester.
But, of course, he couldn’t. It was a tempting thought, but one that had to be put out of his mind. He reminded himself of his reason for being in Birmingham. Ingratiating himself with the Casey family, satisfying as it was no more than a distraction from his objective. His reason for being there was solely because of what happened to Michael O’Malley. Michael was still lying in a hospital bed, and Martin, in spite of Father Downey reassurances, felt responsible for what happened to him.
Martin knew that he should have gone to the police when he read the threatening letter. Also he should have warned Michael O’Malley of the danger he was in. Martin knew Paddy Foley had told that man that Michael O’Malley would be in the club that Friday evening. Simply advising Michael not to go, without telling him the real reason why, was clearly ineffective. However, to explain the danger to either Michael or the police would have resurrected Martin’s past: something, for his own selfish reasons, he was not prepared to do.
Then, a week after the assault Martin was in a totally different frame of mind. Unfortunately, he thought, a man had to almost lose his life, and might still die, in order to bring about the change of attitude. On the bus, approaching Sparkbrook, emboldened by the unexpected turn of events at Dom’s, Martin was determined to do whatever it took to get justice for Michael O’Malley.
No longer was anything to be excluded, even, in spite of his past reservations, going to the police. He had, in fact, then come round to believing that was exactly what he must do. He would go the police and explain, as he should have done immediately after he heard of the assault, that it was he who was the intended victim. In doing so, he knew, he could no longer hold anything back: his false identity, his many false declarations as well as his distant past, would all have to come out