After the Wake Read Free Page B

Gerry whispered, ‘they died two minutes ago.’
    Down the long rows of brown-clad Remands and in the convicted pews where the blue uniform of the Borstal Boys contrasted with the grey slops of the Penal Servitudes one could see on every Irish face the imprint of the tragedy that had been enacted that morning in another prison and that was to every Irishman present a personal sorrow. Ned and Gerry nodded to me. ‘O.K., Brendan, say the word.’
    I stood up in my pew and raised my hand in the signal we had agreed upon the previous Sunday.
    ‘Irishmen, attention!’
    A rigid silence gripped the chapel. The warders stood bewildered. No doubt many of them thought it was a special ceremony of the Church in which the congregation took part. One young warder fingered his baton nervously.
    ‘Irishmen, attention!’
    Ned and Gerry were already on their feet.
    ‘We will recite the De Profundis for the repose of the souls of our countrymen who gave their lives for Ireland this morning in Birmingham Jail.’
    Gerry (who knew it) began. ‘Out of the depths have I cried to thee, O Lord …’ Back down the serried rows came the response, ‘Lord hear my voice’. An old Corkman serving seven years for manslaughter was standing in the back rows reserved for elderly Preventative Detentions. In front of him was a big Mayo lad awaiting transfer to Parkhurst orDartmoor. ‘And let my cry come unto thee …’
    Suddenly the Principal Officer appeared to regain his composure. He shouted orders. ‘Remove Lawlor and Behan to their cells. Sit down the rest of you. Damn you! Silence!’
    Soon I was struggling as two warders grabbed me. Ned, the big Carlow soldier, was fighting madly. Gerry’s head went down amid the impact of batons. The old Corkman I last saw as they were removing him, a scarlet gash showing vividly against his white hair. Raising my head I saw a baton poised ready to strike. I crouched, tensing myself for the blow, but it never came: the P.O’s voice cut in clear above the din. ‘Don’t strike Behan! He’s for court to-day.’
    I was removed to my cell and told that I was damned lucky that I was being discharged that day as otherwise I would have been reported to the Governor with the others and have got No. 1 (bread and water) ‘to cool me off’.
2
    Some hours later my door was opened and I heard the ‘away’ call: ‘Right, two away for Liverpool Assizes.’ I was one; the other was an alleged murderer whose trial was reaching its concluding stages. I was taken alone, however, to the reception room. There I saw six men standing in line and a seventh standing alone by the desk. He must be the alleged murderer. He smiled pleasantly and wished me ‘Good morning’.
    I was motioned into one of a row of cubicles and told to undress and have a bath. Having bathed I returned to my cubicle and dressed. I had been wearing prison clothes, as my own had been removed for examination and analysis by Home Office experts.With what a thrill of pleasure I now put my hands in my trousers pockets! I was next called out to sign for the money and sundries that I had had in my possession when arrested.
    ‘It’s a waste of time with you, Paddy, doing all this bloody signing. We all know damn well you’ll be back to start your twenty years!’
    The warder winked at one of the escort.
    ‘What d’you reckon you’ll get, Paddy? ‘Anged, drawn and quartered, or just plain ’anging?’
    ‘Benefit of the Probation Act and ten shillings out of the Poor Box to mend my boots,’ I replied.
    ‘Yes, if you can slip that stuff over on old Mr. Justice Who-is-it, all about you bein’ only sixteen years of age and so on! What is your age, Paddy – straight-up – between what’s present like.’
    ‘I was born the ninth of February, nineteen twenty-three.’
    ‘Yes? I bet you was sixteen when Charley Peace was president of the Everton Valley Band of ’Ope. Oh well! Argue it out between yourself and Mr. Justice Who-is-it.’
    And I stood