THE FRONT DOOR buzzer sounded downstairs, its persistent, 'squawk', 'squawk' awaking the sleeping household. “All right! All right!” Shaun shouted as he clattered down the stairs. “I'm coming! I'm coming!” In a temper, he threw open the door intending to give the person who had disturbed his sleep a piece of his mind.
His neighbour, Ray Kenny, a farm worker, and therefore an early riser, stood there, an excited look on his face.
“Good God, Ray! Do you know what time it is?”
The man, about the same age as Shaun and similar in appearance, ignored Shaun's antagonism for his mind was on other things. “Your brother, Shaun. Your brother's on the news!”
“What is it, Shaun?” Maureen asked as she arrived at Shaun's side.
Ignoring her Shaun continued his conversation with Ray Kenny. “Michael! What do you mean, he's on the news?”
“The IRA attacked Saint Brendan's Abbey last night. Many dead, they said!”
Shaun paled visibly at Ray Kenny's words and could only stare dumbfounded. Sinead was coming down the stairs in her dressing gown when the words carried to her and she was at once apprehensive.
“Lechaim!” Sinead exclaimed and Maureen turned and saw her daughter standing there.
“Lechaim! He drove Uncle Michael back to the Abbey last night!” Sinead said, an edge of hysteria in her voice.
Shaun had recovered from the shock and he now turned and went down the hallway to his daughter. “Steady, girl. He'll be all right, knowing Lechaim” but his words didn't sound convincing. Tears were starting to flow down Sinead’s face and her father pulled her to him. Holding her there, he tried to comfort her, “Steady, lass. Don't jump to any conclusions!”
“Put the news on!” Ray Kenny suggested as he followed the others into the parlour where a small plastic cream-coloured radio stood on a chest of drawers. Quickly Shaun switched it on and they caught part of what the announcer was saying,
“.....the courage of a British Army officer who was with the monsignor at the time.” Sinead’s face blanched and her knuckles whitened as she gripped the side of the doorframe against which she stood. “The officer, who has yet to be identified, fought off the terrorists but not before they had killed a number of priests. We hope to have more details as they come to hand....”
“Switch the television on!” Ray Kenny suggested as the newscaster then carried on with other news.
Maureen ran over to the television and switched it on as Shaun killed the radio.
As Monsignor Michael Cronin's image appeared on the screen, Shaun beseeched Maureen to turn up the volume but she was already doing so.
“..... and that's all I can tell you for the moment.” The reporters tried to persist but the Monsignor held up his hand “I'm sorry gentlemen and ladies. I have been informed that what occurred here tonight, for the time being, at least, is not to be discussed. Let me just say that but for the gallantry of an officer in the British Army, I would surely be dead now.” Flash bulbs were exploding in his face and he looked completely drained and exhausted.
Reporters tried to break in with more questions but he insisted. “No, I can't say any more at this moment” They pressed closer around him, demanding, but to no avail.
The Cronins and Ray Kenny sat glued to the screen watching Michael as he warded off the hungry reporters. In the background, ambulances and police cars could be seen parked in desultory order. The television interview they were watching had obviously taken place sometime last night. St. Brendan's Abbey could be seen in the background lit up in a mantle of arc lights and they watched as Michael disappeared towards it. The television program they were watching then switched to a news announcer in the studio, a woman, who stated, “Whilst the details are not yet clear, it is known that at least nine men took part in the attack and according to sources, all nine were subsequently killed. It has yet to be officially confirmed, but it is believed that the British Army officer involved fought the armed intruders using only a sword.” The woman newscaster then paused and turned to a man sitting beside her as the television camera panned out to reveal her companion - a priest.
“Father Murphy! This act of bravery by an officer in the British Army on behalf of an Irish priest can only do good for Anglo-Irish relationships and help the cause of peace? Can it not?”
“Most certainly, Miss Brennan” the Father replied. “With the peace talks due to take place in Derry next week between Sinn Fein and the British Government, this single act alone could be the catalyst for reaching a lasting peace in Ireland.” He went to continue but the woman held up a hand to him as she put the other to her ear. “Yes, okay!” she confirmed in a low voice as further news flowed in through her earpiece. “Sorry, Father Murphy,” she said apologetically. “Could I just hold you there for a moment?” then she turned back to the camera and continued. “We are now taking you to a press conference at Ulster House where General Sir William Beatty is about to issue a press statement on behalf of the British Army.”
The picture then changed again and General Beatty appeared on the screen in full uniform complete with medal ribbons. He was standing on a podium fronted by several microphones in a room crowded with people, most of who were feeding frenzied reporters fighting for a place in the front.
“Ladies and Gentlemen”, the General began. “As you are now aware, an armed incursion took place at approximately twenty-three hundred hours last night at St. Brendan's Abbey in Armagh.”
The General deliberately paused for a moment to make his words more dramatic but his listeners were already enthralled. “The reason for the attack is still unclear. There were nine men in the attacking party and they carried a variety of weapons from semi-automatics to hand-held light machine guns.” The General could see that he had a captive audience. “The organization responsible for this attack has yet to be identified, but the IRA has already categorically denied any involvement. The Army and the police will, of course, make every effort to determine who is behind the events of last night.”
The sharks were becoming impatient for more. What of the British officer who had fought these men off, and what had really taken place during the attack? These were the details they wanted to hear.
The General, of course, knew this. The information he was now giving the media had been scripted so that the tension could be deliberately built up. After all, the media were fond of bolstering their stocks by such means. Now, a golden opportunity had presented itself for the British Government, courtesy of a British Army officer, to enhance its image, and the general intended to play it for all it was worth. He continued, with a proud edge to his voice, “An officer in the British Army single-handily repelled the attack using only a broadsword. A broadsword, I might add, that once belonged to Sir Anthony Saint Leger, English lord deputy of Ireland in the sixteenth century.”
“Broadsword!” more than one exclaimed in wonderment while someone else muttered, “Anthony who? Never heard of him!”
The General's eloquent voice carried on the speakers to those at the back as he continued, “Yes, one man, ladies, and gentlemen, using just a sword slew nine men that were well organized and heavily armed, a remarkable feat of courage that will be long remembered. The officer in question, who has emerged unscathed, is Captain Lechaim Francis Lewis, MC of the South-Wales Borderers Regiment. Captain Lewis has only recently returned to duty following injuries received when an armoured car he was in hit a land mine some twelve months ago.”
He paused again for effect before continuing, “Monsignor Michael Cronin, a Vatican priest was staying at St. Brendan’s Abbey prior to his return to Italy. Captain Lewis and the monsignor's niece, a Miss Sinead Cronin, are engaged to be married, and the captain and the monsignor had met last night to discuss these forthcoming nuptials. Hence the reason for Captain Lewis being present at the Abbey when the attack took place.”
The General knew this to be untrue, but the cover story for Lechaim's presence in the abbey that night suited their purpose.
“He's talking about you!” Maureen said to Sinead and then exclaimed, “married?” but Shaun shushed her to silence as the General continued.
“The South Wales Borderers Regiment, to which Captain Lewis belongs, as some of you may be aware, is renowned for its heroic defence of Roakes Drift in South Africa in 1879 during the Zulu Wars. During that action eleven Victoria Crosses were awarded for gallantry. The only time, I might add, that this number of Victoria Crosses has been awarded in the British Army for a single engagement.” His chest puffed up with pride as he concluded, “Captain Lewis' actions at the abbey last night against overwhelming odds were in the finest traditions of the famous Regiment to which he belongs.”
He finished by saying, “That's all I have to say for now. Thank you!” and stepped off the podium before the mob realized what was happening. Then he made his way very slowly out of the room through a sea of pleading faces.
“Sorry! sorry! that's all for now” the General kept repeating as they pursued him relentlessly.
Sinead who had been tearful moments before was now beaming as she exclaimed, “He's all right, dah! Lechaim's alive! He's all right!”
“I told you so!” Shaun replied marvelling at this turn of affairs. Then he remembered. “What's this about your getting married?” but she could no longer hear him. Lechaim was alive and was returning to her.
It didn't take long for the media to track down Sinead and her family that morning. The press corp was on the scent as soon as the name of Lechaim's fiancée was mentioned.
For the Cronins what followed seemed unreal. Shaun, Maureen and especially Sinead had become celebrities in their own right. One by one they were interviewed by not only the Irish press but the world press as well for the story had made world headlines. The Americans who had been trying in their own way to broker peace talks in Ireland played up the story as did the press of most Catholic countries. The English contingent of pressmen was, of course, maniacal in their efforts to promote the story. After all, one of their countrymen was the star performer.
The press had much information to devour that day. Not only were they fed by the Cronins, but the neighbours that were gathered outside were willing participants as well. Details of the night when Lechaim's armoured car had been blown up and what followed were devoured as Shaun's neighbours proved they were not shy in coming forward. Didn't they all say, after all, that the Captain was a fine man! God bless him! Sinead was the lucky girl indeed to be marrying such a man!
The acclamation that poured out in a flood of adoration that day seemed to be almost quisling like to members of Sinn Fein. Still, the general sentiment in Ireland was a positive one. An English soldier had become a hero overnight by saving an Irish priest and anyone identified with him found instant fame. Sinead became the envy of every eligible girl in Ireland. She was the Irish colleen that would soon be marrying the brave English captain. “Sure enough. wouldn't it be the wedding of the year” Irish folk was heard to say to one another more than once in the days ahead.
The Cronins, being human, basked in the limelight. Their initial anxiety when the news first broke had turned to relief and pride. Relief that both Michael and Lechaim were safe and pride that Sinead was the girlfriend of a national hero. Even some of their neighbours who over the years had been less than friendly dropped by to shake Shaun by the hand. As the day wore on, however, Sinead began to wonder why Lechaim had not been in contact with her. Finally, in the early evening, he phoned her.
“Sorry, darling! I've been tied up with my superiors all day.”
“Dear, are you all right?” she asked tenderly.”
“I'm all right sweetheart. A little tired, that's all.”
She hesitated for a moment before replying, “We're all very grateful to you, darling, for saving Uncle Michael's life. You were very brave!”
He remained silent at the other end of the line for a long time, and she wondered what he was thinking. At last, he said, “I killed a number of men, Sinead. That's something I have to live with. There's nothing glorious or noble about killing anyone. However, I had no choice in the matter. It was kill or be killed.”
“Of course, darling. You really didn't have a choice. But still, few men could....would have done what you did. We're all very proud of you.” She paused and then asked, “When will we be seeing you?”
“Tomorrow morning, darling. I'll drive down tomorrow morning.”
“I'd better warn you, sweetheart, the press is here.”
“Oh God! I might have known.”
True to its nature, the media circus was in full swing when he arrived at the Cronins' house the following day. The headlines in the newspapers that morning had ranged from the fanciful, “SAINT GEORGE SLAYS IRA DRAGON”, to the more sedate, “ENGLISH ARMY CAPTAIN SAVES A MONSIGNOR OF ROME”. Immediately, Lechaim was smothered in adulation by all that he encountered until he felt like screaming out, ' '...for God's sake give it a rest!' Even Sinead and the Cronins were effusive in their affection to the point where, late in the evening of the same day, he could take no more.
“Where?” Sinead asked when he broached the subject with her.
“Anywhere, just as long as we can get away from these reporters for a few days!”
“The problem, Lechaim,” Maureen said, “is that you're famous now. Your face is known to practically everybody in Ireland. Where can you go where you won't be instantly recognized?”
Sinead’s uncle, the monsignor, who had postponed his return to Rome for two weeks, and had joined them earlier that evening came up with the answer. “The West of Ireland,” he interjected “would be the place! The inhabitants are less aware of the outside world than most.”
They all turned to listen to Shaun’s brother who had been introspective and withdrawn until now. The recent experience he had undergone was edged into his face but he seemed all right otherwise. The truth was that Michael had no recollection whatsoever of the attack on the abbey. Selective amnesia, the doctor had said after he had been examined. It was probably just as well, Michael concluded, for he had no wish to remember the horrors of that night. From the time the lights had gone out to the point when he had woken up on the ground outside the abbey, his memory loss was total. It was as though the lights had gone out in his mind also “...the memory of what occurred was so traumatic that your mind has shut it out!” the doctor that examined him had suggested. “You should seriously consider councelling!”
But Michael had been adamant that he was okay. Besides, he didn't believe in all this modern rubbish. In his day the best therapy was downing as much Guinness as possible at his local. “Councelling indeed!” he had scoffed to his brother when they had first spoken on the telephone following Michael’s ordeal. Michael had now pushed the experience to the back of his mind and was busying himself with his niece's happiness.
Having paused to reflect, Michael continued, “As a young priest, on a retreat, I spent some time in a place called Dingle Bay on the west coast. It's a secluded fishing hamlet - a beautiful spot with a wild and rugged coastline. Just the place for honeymooners who want to get away from it all”
“Honeymooners!” Lechaim and Sinead exclaimed together.
“Why not?” Michael replied. “Look you two. If you wait until December, your wedding will be turned into a media affair. Why not get married in secret at St. Brendan's Abbey at the end of the month? That's two weeks away. I'll conduct the service myself before I return to Rome. Then, in December, you can get married again just to keep your family and the press happy.”
Maureen, her eyes shining, took her daughter's hand and squeezed it, nodding her assent. Shaun clapped his brother on the back, exclaiming, “It’s a great idea!”
Lechaim and Sinead looked at one another. “Well?” Lechaim asked looking at Sinead.
“Yes, darling,! Let's do it!”
Maureen came over to Lechaim and gave him a kiss and a hug. Shaun joined her and the men shook hands. It was a strong grip and the two men stood there for some seconds looking into one another's faces.
“Look after her, son!” Shaun said and Lechaim could feel behind the words the warmth of the man's affection.
“I'll do that, Shaun!” he replied.
“Well, Shaun! don't just stand there!” Michael exclaimed. “Do you have any drinks in the house to toast the happiness of your daughter and your future son-in-law?”
Shaun's heart swelled as it dawned on him that his daughter was getting married to a man that was now famous in his own right. “You're right, Michael!” he agreed and the two brothers departed into the kitchen to fetch the Guinness. Maureen followed leaving the young couple alone. When her mother too had gone, Sinead came over to Lechaim and slid her arm around him.
“Happy darling?” he asked as he looked down at her. She responded by kissing him passionately. “The happiest woman in the world, my dearest love!” she replied.