An Irish Affair Ch1

         
         
         
         
CHAPTER 1.

I was fourteen years old and grew up in a small town on the southeast coast of England, called Folkstone. My brother David was home on leave from his fifth tour of Northern Ireland. I was up late watching Rambo, on TV. When as usual David staggered into the house after a night of drinking in the town, and was, as he would describe it. “Pissed as a fart.”

I gave him a glancing look. Here we go again, I thought, might as well forget about the bloody film. Shit, I hate it when he’s drunk.

He fell into the other armchair and began his ranting and raving, always the same after a tour over there.

“IRA bastards, allowed to get away with fucking murder, and us, with our hands tied unable to do anything about it. We have their photos on the walls in every police station; we see them every day walking the streets. What can we do about it? Fuck all! that’s what! Fuck all! It really piss's me off. Fucking government wants to open their eyes and see what’s really going on over there.”

I continued to ignore him, trying to take in the film.

He leaned forward lit a cigarette, took a big deep puff and continued. “Now we have an RUC copper with us on every patrol- Shit! Royal Ulster Constabulary, that’s a contradiction in terms. How they ever got to be named Royal, I’ll never know. They’re worse than the frigging terrorists.  With them around, all we can do to these bastards now is stop and search them at every opportunity, just to piss them off. Not like the old days, oh no, then we could take these bastards down a dark ally and give them a good kicking.”

He paused for a moment, and began searching around the armchair and table in front of him. “Is there any booze in the house?”

Still  looking at the TV, pretended to be taking in the film. “Afraid not,” I replied.

He had been in the Paras for twelve years; it was his life. David liked telling everyone he met how great the Paras are. “The best regiment in the British army, second to none, AIRBORNE.” He would shout. I didn’t really understand why he felt so passionately about the regiment. I had never found anything in my life so far, to warrant such a response. I figured you had to be in it to appreciate it.

********

A couple of years later, David was on another tour of Northern Ireland, however “he said this time it would be different, down on the border in south Armagh and not west Belfast, like the time before.” It would be on his own turf out in the country side and not on the city streets. “At least you can see who is shooting at you out there, and stand a chance of wasting the bastards,” he said. I had just turned sixteen, and have always looked up to David, however, he had never tried to encourage me to join.

********

A knock at the door, woke me, my mother answered; I heard her scream out.

“Oh, my god! It’s David, isn’t it?”

I threw back the covers, leapt out of bed and rushed to the stairs, from the landing at the top I could see my mother bent over with her head cupped in her hands. I saw a back lit silhouette in the doorway. As I got closer, the silhouette turned into a clean cut man dressed in a dark blue suit holding out an army ID card saying, “Can I come in please Mrs. Williams?”

He looked at me, but made no comment on the fact I was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. “Who might you be?” He asked.

“I’m Robert Williams.”

“I think you better help your mother inside, sit her down and put the kettle on.”

He introduced himself as the family’s officer and began to explain.

“I’m sorry to have to be the one to bring you this news, Mr’s. Williams, but your son David, was shot and killed yesterday whilst on a routine patrol of south Armagh in Northern Ireland.”

My mother threw herself deeper in to the big brown armchair, “Jesus Christ, this can’t be happening, not my David.”

He continued, “It was whilst carrying out a routine car check, a sniper fired a single shot hitting David in the back, killing him instantly. It was out of the blue, and I’m afraid nothing could have been done to prevent it.”

Why couldn’t it be prevented? I said to myself. I could feel the anger growing, deep down, in the pit of my stomach. Then suddenly, without warning, I began to feel nauseous.

He droned on about all the help and support my mother could expect from the army in her hour of need. She sat in the armchair trembling and sobbing, I wanted to go back to bed and wake up to find it was all a sick dream.

“Maybe this is not the time to be discussing this. I’ll leave you my card, and please do not hesitate to call me at any time,” said the officer.

He stood up looked at me and without saying a word, gestured with his head to keep an eye on my mother.

“I will call you when we know any more Mr's. Williams, and again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

******** 

A few days later my mother and I were standing on the tarmac at Brize Norton military air base, it was a crisp cold morning, I could still see the dew on the grass glistening in the sunlight. Cold mist was pouring out of my mother’s mouth with every deep breath she let out. We watched the C130 aircraft taxi, the propellers began to wind down and the ramp at the rear began to lower. It seemed liked a lifetime before we saw the first of six soldiers dressed in combat uniforms, carrying a Union Jack draped coffin, marching in slow time heading toward my mother. She was standing dressed in a black dress, holding a handkerchief to her sobbing face, shaking and whispering to herself repeatedly,

“Oh, my god. Oh, my god.”

I put my arm around her, and tried to console her, but she just shrugged me away. “Let me be” she said. I stepped back and stood behind her.

********

After the full military funeral at our local church, I went back to school, and sat my final exams, not caring what the results would be. I had already made up my mind to enlist in the army, and join David’s regiment, the Paras. I knew the training for this regiment was tough, but it wouldn’t be half as tough as breaking the news to my mother. It has only been her and me for the last eight years, after my father died in a motor accident. So, the thought of me leaving home would be grief enough. Leaving to join the army, that was going to devastate her. My mother was sitting in the armchair watching Coronation Street, one of her favorite soaps. 

“Hi, Mum. Would you like a cup of tea?”

She turned and gave me a suspicious look. “Thanks son, that would be nice . . . what are you after? It’s not often you volunteer to make the tea.”

This was true. “What do you mean? I often make the tea.”

“If you say so, love,” she said, with a little smile on her face, and turned back to watch her program.

I looked up sheepishly. “Well, Mum there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh, yes? And what might that be, love?” she said without turning her gaze from the TV.

“Well I have finished school now, and been thinking about what I might do with my life, and well-”

She turned to look at me and interrupted. “Join the army by any chance?”

Surprised I said, “how did you guess?”

“I always figured you would end up following in your brothers footsteps.”

“I have thought long and hard about it, and, it is what I want, Mum.”

“I know, love, and nothing I say will change anything. I don’t have to like it, but if that’s what you want.”

I looked at her lovingly, put my arm around her and kissed her on the cheek.

“Wow, Thanks mum your great.”

“Just be careful, that’s all I ask,” and turned back toward the TV.