The Wake - Table of contents

The Wake - afters (25)

“I see you’re limping. You were in the march, weren’t you? With Aisling O’Connor? Hop in and we’ll catch up with them in no time.”

“How do you know Aisling O’Connor?”

“Aisling? I met her in the Grandstand Bar in Derry one time before the fifth of October march. There were representatives from about half a dozen political organisations there I think but she sort of stood out. Fiery girl. I’m in the Civil Rights Association.” He reached his hand across towards the open window. “My name’s Frank Gogarty.”

I looked at him properly for the first time. Clean-cut, friendly, gentlemanly. He was trying to help me. I shook his hand.

“Thanks, I will take a lift if you don’t mind.” I opened the door and got in. “Sorry for being so suspicious. It’s just that, you know ...”

“Don’t apologise. You’re right to be careful. Having trouble with the feet?”

“It’s my own fault. I didn’t come prepared. I’m Jeremiah Coffey by the way.”

The car eased off. “Pleased to meet you. I don’t think any of us did. Come prepared. How could you in this country?

The seat felt so good I could have slept on it. The radio was playing soft music volume low. Something from Brahms maybe, I love Brahms, didn’t get a chance to listen right with him talking though.

“I drove down from Belfast this morning just to keep an eye on what’s happening. I think these students are amazing. Are you a student?”

“Naw, that’s all behind me. I came because I ...”

Why did I come? Not for civil rights anyway. For Aisling. The whole lot of the rest of them could go to hell.

“I think we all come at this from different directions. One of the spurs or I should say two of the spurs for me were Conn and Patricia McCluskey.”

“Right?” I’d never heard of them.

“Yeah, they started the Campaign for Social Justice you remember. They’re an example to us all so they are. Never give up, that’s their motto. And always thinking outside themselves.”

I was nodding knowingly, not wanting to let on.

“How did you know I knew Aisling O’Connor?”

“I saw you with her when I was getting petrol in Claudy.” There was a smile in his voice. He’d waited for me to come out of the chemist’s and sat watching me probably when I was trying to fix my feet. Why had he done this? I was nothing to him.

“There they are,” he said. “They’ve made good progress.”

We eased up behind them and some people at the tail end turned their heads to us. One of them waved. Left hand side of the road, orderly march, solid citizens, you wouldn’t have thought some of them were out to bring down the state.

“I could let you out now but if you wouldn’t mind I’d like to go on ahead a bit to see something. I’m nervous to tell you the truth about what might be up the road and I want to check it out. I’ll come back then and drop you. Is that okay?”

“Okay.” A lazy lassitude had settled on me, delayed reaction probably to my night with Aisling and the backlog of lost sleep, and I was so comfortable I felt like I might have to be winkled out of the seat when the time came.

We overtook the marchers then with some toots of the horn and inside of about five minutes I saw something that got me sitting up straight. Just across the road from the bridge at Burntollet there was a line of RUC jeeps and a couple of men with big sticks in their hands were standing talking to four or five cops.

“What about that,” Frank Gogarty whispered, driving on trying not to make it obvious he was looking at them but they couldn’t have missed his head turning. We went on up the hill at normal speed and when we got round the next bend he did a quick reversing job into a lane and headed slowly back down towards Burntollet.