Leon Uris (36 page)

The order she read to her father called for three divisions
of troops to sail from England to Ireland immediately, this day, seize Camp Bushy, arrest all officers who had resigned, and charge them with mutiny and treason.

Furthermore, any British officers offering resignations in sympathy would likewise be treated as mutineers.

Thirdly, Ulster was to be placed under martial law with dawn-to-dusk curfew.

Caroline read it once more, slowly.

“He’s bluffing,” Weed said.

“Do I take that as a rejection, Freddie?”

“Hold on.”

Silence…muffled background conversation…curses…silence.

“What do you think, Caroline?”

“Isn’t there something in mythology or some such that says that I am only the messenger?”

“I’ll call you back,” Weed answered.

Churchill shook his head with a definite no, pocketed the order, and got up to leave.

“It won’t wait,” Caroline said quickly.

Silence…muffled curses.

“It’s fucking blackmail!” Weed shouted.

“Freddie, Churchill has left my office.”

“Well, grab the son of a bitch before he leaves the building and tell him he has a deal!”

“Lawrence! Get Mr. Churchill and bring him back, at once.”

“Yes, m’lady. He’s at the lift…Mr. Churchill! Mr. Churchill!”

As Winston reappeared Caroline held a thumbs-up. “Father, are you there?”

“Where the hell do you think I am!”

“I want you to remain calm, take your medication, and call for Dr. Symmons. I’ll catch the overnight and be in Belfast in the morning.”

“What the hell for! Damned if I want communists in my house!”

“I happen to love you, Father. Now, will you get yourself calmed down?”

A petulant pause. “It will be so good to see you,” Weed said. “It’s been a fortnight and I’ve missed you.”

The Camp Bushy mutiny dissolved along with all records of the resignations, the Irish would get a home army, the Militia had an arsenal at Lettershambo Castle large enough to conquer a continent, the Home Rule Bill was put into a dead letter file, perhaps forever, and serenity ruled the land.

As war on the continent inched closer, the Balkans exploded in what was apparently a preamble to the big show. Churchill felt it might be a good time to go over to Ulster and smooth things over.

They did suffer a sense of isolation over there and Winston could promote the unity theme as his father had done thirty-four years earlier.

Astute politician that he was, Winston, as First Lord of the Admiralty, might follow up a successful Belfast rally with a speaking tour across the province.

Caroline Hubble, one of the few important Liberals in Ulster, became one of Churchill’s sponsors, although she warned him not to make the trip. She told him once again that if they discussed the same thing at the end of the century, the Unionist position would not have changed one iota. Churchill, seeing too much future political coin to gain through a unity call, did not take her good advice.

As Churchill’s ferry crossed the Irish Sea, Weed called in the press.

“It is lamentable,” Sir Frederick said, “that this man, Churchill, deliberately comes to this loyal city to voice the line of the John Redmonds, to espouse treason, and defile the very same platform his beloved father, Randolph, spoke from so gloriously in behalf of our liberty.”

Weed was asked by a reporter if the Liberal Party was or was not entitled to free speech in Belfast.

“Free speech,” Freddie snapped back, “is not extended to turncoats. Winston Churchill has renounced his magnificent birthright and heritage and bolted the Conservative Party to consort with those radicals who would destroy the empire. Do not be taken in by his cunning. He is the most provocative orator in Britain and this visit is nothing more than an arrogant exercise at a time and in a place where the immortal words of his revered father still ring in our ears—‘Ulster will fight and Ulster will be right.’ In my frank opinion,” Weed concluded, “Winston Churchill is no Englishman.”

Landing at Larne, First Lord of the Admiralty Winston Churchill met with a far different reception than had been accorded Lord Randolph.

A great crowd had gathered and the mood was ugly. Churchill was booed along the route from the Midlands to the Grand Central Hotel. Effigies hung from lampposts and thousands of placards bearing the gravest insults were waved.

Churchill looked out at men edging to the brink of violence, shaking their fists, spitting, and screaming oaths at him. Rock throwing broke out and, at one juncture, two wheels of his vehicle were lifted off the ground and the auto shaken jarringly.

His welcome was only the beginning. After hasty consultations the Constabulary said it could not guarantee Churchill’s safety if he spoke at Ulster Hall, the site of his father’s triumphant speech.

At the last moment, Parnell Field, a rugby ground in the Catholic Falls section, was used for the rally. The mission was a complete fizzle.

Churchill recrossed the Irish Sea needing no comfort from Caroline Hubble. They had played rough; he had played rough. The British people did not want a pussycat to lead their Admiralty. No grudges to be held, no scores to be set
tled. He might need them sometime in the future and they might need him. The main thing was that the Liberals were still in power, the Irish situation was on hold, and he could now concentrate full time on the coming war.

In August of 1914 the Great War began and the British Navy was ready.

A few months afterward the Ulster Militia’s arsenal at Lettershambo Castle was destroyed by a small, swift raiding party of the Irish Republican Brotherhood.

The meaning of the destruction of Lettershambo Castle sent a number of messages to a complacent Ulster. All of the Protestant arms schemes, all of their illegal gunrunning, all of their flouting of the law had largely gone up in one big blast.

A shock wave of fear they had never known ran through the Protestant population. Always feeling safe and with the British Army at the beck and call, the Orange factions were suddenly faced with a new set of facts. The Irish Catholics, held in little esteem, had secretly developed a fighting capacity capable of inflicting great damage. There would be no more free riots, no more tossing pennies down on Bogside without reprisal.

The Brotherhood had won the respect of their enemy and at the same time won the respect of the Irish people. The most devastating of all their messages was that Ireland was not going to abide by a deal to “lay low” during the war. Lettershambo’s destruction said that England’s war and Ireland’s struggle for freedom had nothing to do with each other.

Henceforth the Irish had to be reckoned with, and England in Ireland had to keep looking over its shoulder.

Wally Ferguson halted his fist in midair, gulped uneasily, then rapped on the door of the Chief Matron of the hospital.

“Come in, please.”

“Hello, Georgia,” Wally said.

It was a familiar place for Wally. Sheepmen, cattlemen, timber men, miners, and sailors often checked into Wally’s Exchange with something in need of repair or something busted up after an altercation on the premises. Georgia could make out someone standing behind Wally, as was often the case.

“Sister Georgia, this is Squire Liam Larkin.”

“Yes, we’ve met. He brought his son in with some cracked ribs. Won’t you have a seat, lads?”

Eyes danced among the three. All of them were in the business of sizing up people rapidly. Liam removed his hat, a gesture he performed profoundly since he was recognized as a squire. Outside it was a usual sunny day. Inside the atmosphere turned gray.

“I’m looking for my boy, Rory,” Liam said directly.

“Are you here for consultation or confrontation?” Georgia asked.

“Liam came to me,” Wally interceded quickly. “We go all the way back, as you might know. I was Rory’s godfather. So he figured you would be the one to speak to and, knowing
we are friends, you and me, I should introduce the two of you.”

“What did you tell him, Wally?” Georgia asked coolly.

“I don’t know where the hell Rory is or where he was going,” Wally lied with the innocence of a lamb in one of his holding pens. “The boy was all shot down over the death of his uncle, Conor Larkin, and he said he needed a hundred quid which the Squire would repay. Hell, I figured he went on a tear or something. He made a mess out of Oak Kelley.”

“Yes, we put Oak together here,” she said. “I’m rather surprised Rory didn’t confide in you, Wally.”

“It’s like this, Sister. I’m loyal to both these men. I’m sure Rory didn’t want to put me in to an awkward position with his da. I’d like to know where he is as well.”

Wally looked like a man standing over a trapdoor. “This is really between the two of you so I’ll wait outside, Liam.”

Liam had already started his reading on Georgia Norman. She wasn’t a chief matron before the age of thirty because she could be easily bullied about. She was much more attractive than a head nurse ought to be, nicely curved and certainly able to hold her own with a man. He wasn’t sure what to expect but was rather surprised at Rory’s good taste.

“Do you know where he is?” Liam asked.

“I’m not sure, but it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out,” she answered.

“The recruiting people haven’t given me much help.”

Georgia shrugged. “I don’t know if you know, but I did serve in the military.”

“I heard about that.”

“What I mean to say is that he could have easily used another name. In wartime the recruiters aren’t going to let a specimen like Rory get away.”

“I suppose you’re right. Rory’s a good enough liar to hoodwink anybody.”

“Rory is not a liar,” she said with eye contact to let him know he was starting his own war. “I was also underage
when I went into combat zones during the Boer War. What’s the difference now? He’s not coming back.”

Liam liked the lady’s toughness. The army had made her solid, like his own Mildred. She was damned well good-looking enough to stand alongside Rory. Hell of a lot more stature than the flippies he had waltzed around with. Did Rory see her as more than anything but an occasional romp between the sheets? To what avail, Liam caught himself. She was a married woman, married to a doctor and screwing around no sooner than he caught the boat to go to war.

Liam decided not to leave an adversary. The woman had character, some good, some bad, but on a level that you could talk pretty straight to. He stood to leave.

“I’m glad we had a few minutes, Sister. When you hear from him, you might mention that I was inquiring after him. His mother and sisters and brother would like to know how he’s getting on.”

“I’ll do that. Anything else you want me to convey?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The farm will still be here if he ever decides to come back to New Zealand. No, that’s family business. Besides, he’s not coming back. We both know that, don’t we?” Liam muttered.

“When I get his address, why don’t I give it to you so you can write and ask him if he wants to come back?”

“All right, Sister, stop jerking my line.”

“About what?”

“Write to him about what? The way he hurt his mom? His drinking and hell-raising? Sleeping around like a bull in heat?”

“With half the married women in Christchurch,” she said.

“You said that, I didn’t, Mrs. Norman.”

“He just figured that married women were safer after what you put him through with June MacPherson’s pregnancy. But Rory’s not to blame because all of us whores wanted him.”

Liam slammed his hat on as only a squire can do when a deal has soured and made for the door.

“I’ll tell you what you can write him,” Georgia said, her eyes now bubbling with anger. “You can tell him how grieved you are for the pain and anguish you’ve laid on him because you’ve looked down on him all your life as your bastard son.”

“Who told him about that!”

“Certainly not his father and mother, the two people who should have.”

“You are deliberately angering me to cover up your own filthy behavior, Mrs. Norman!”

“Dr. Norman and I were finished long before the war started. I filed for divorce over a year ago. I decided to keep it quiet so as not to hurt him professionally but with the understanding that our marriage was over. I was already divorced when Rory came into my life.”

“Rory knew about this?”

“No, no one knows, not even Wally, just you and me. Rory has a bad view of things about women, starting with the way his mother hurt him by her silence. He liked getting women in bed because it helped him get even with you and his ma.”

“You’re lying! Why didn’t you tell him you were divorced!”

“Because I love him. If he knew I was free I was afraid he’d flee from me.”

Liam shook his head. Christ, the woman was a virtue. What unclean thoughts he’d held for months and months. Aye, there was a girl and a half, all right. She’d go right alongside any man, wouldn’t she?

“Does he love you?” Liam asked at last.

“What does it matter? We had what we had and that is fine with me. I’m not making any more out of it than it is. It’s a long way home for him, if he ever does come back, and I’ll be just a featureless, brown, rumpled photo.”

Liam wandered back to his chair and slumped into it. “Can I call you Georgia?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Liam.”

“Squire suits you,” she said, almost friendly.

“How long has Rory known about me and Mildred’s problems when he was born?”

“Since he was a kid. Since he was taunted in a schoolyard. Gave him a bit of an attitude growing up, you know.”

Liam was bewildered and ashamed. His being felt soggy. “Oh Jesus,” he wept.

“Want to hear about me and my family?” she said with irony.

“Why do we make the same fucking mistakes our da’s made with us! Why the fuck don’t we learn anything!”

“I think it’s called life,” she said.

“Is there anything I can do?” he cried.

“I’m not a Catholic,” she answered quickly.

“Is there anything I can do!” he pleaded.

“God figured out when he separated us from the rest of the creatures that if we have the power to reason and justify and make decisions, then we are going to make a lot of mistakes passing through. Big, big, big mistakes. God understood that, then gave us the ultimate human power, the power of redemption.”

Liam lay his head on his hands and down to the desk and let his anguish flow to softness.

“It’s a shocking discovery that a deep wrong has to be righted and it might take the rest of your life to do it, so don’t try to do it overnight.”

“What can I do? What can I do?”

“Keep the fields of Ballyutogue Station green and let him know how the land longs for him. And, in time, it won’t be all that hard to tell him you love him.”

They were interrupted by an urgency in one of the wards.

“I have to go, Squire. I’m sorry about your brother, Conor.”