rake and
arrived before it hit the ground.
' It's der
first time I had tea with der Customs!'
' Like a
dash of whisky ?'
'I'll accept dat, sur.'
'Say when.'
' I certainly will not!'
'Found this bottle on a mourner at
Dan Doonan's funeral.'
'Oh well, some of dem needs it. Especially the bereaved. I knew a feller so bereaved he
could hardly stand.'
In the face of such hospitality,
Milligan felt a twinge of conscience, just below the knee. For the last three
weeks they had let him through the border without even searching him; in return
he had spent his time surreptitiously loosening the earth round Dan Doonan's
grave in preparation for the event. All that remained now was for Father Rudden
to give the word.
Father Rudden was all ready to give
the word but for the unexpected arrival of two ragged-arsed men both smoking
the same cigarette and pushing a coffin. Strange. He'd
not been notified of a funeral.
'Please, Father,' said Shamus, 'we
are poor illiterate farmers, we can't read, write, or post letters. We have
pushed the coffin of our grandmother a hundred miles for this burial. We would
be grateful if you would officiate.'
Father Rudden was about to refuse
when Shamus produced a wad of pound notes. ' Father ,
we would like to donate dis to the church. . .'
Before Shamus had finished, the
priest, never taking his eyes off the money, sprinted backwards to the vestry
and returned fully robed with the book open at the service.
One hour later, the customs were
examining the beautifully forged passport of the late Mrs Eileen Ford. There
followed a solemn burial of two hundred and eighty pounds of t.n.t. Amen.
It was dark when Constable Ah Pong
had followed the poacher Rafferty to the vestry of the church. Peering
slant-eyed through the window he saw five men donning ragged clothes and
whispering. So! Rafferty was the leader of a poaching gang.
Disgrace to Ireland! The men were
putting pliers and knives down their socks, two were
coiling ropes round their waists; their blackened faces made identification impossible.
By removing his helmet, remaining still, silent and subservient, Ah Pong could
hear the conspirators' conversation.
' It will
take five of us to lift it.'
Ah Pong was puzzled - even more
difficult, he was puzzled in Chinese.
'What is it poachers caught that took
five men to lift?'
He would wait and see. He ran to a
tree as the vestry light went out and five shadowy figures came silently from
the back door.
Goldstein was tying a handkerchief
over his face.
' I got to
wear it,' he said. ' If anyone sees my nose Rabbi
Brody will have me up fer helpin' Catholics.'
Commando-like they tiptoed noisily
towards the barbed wire and were swallowed up in the night. His boots round his
neck, Ah Pong tiptoed after them.
Chapter Ten
How he'd got on to the wrong side of
the border was beyond the comprehension of the idiot Foggerty. He'd been
dancing happily alone at the Halloween Ball in the Corn Exchange. Everyone was
dressed as a witch or a banshee. Him never having seen
either was put to improvising. Foggerty had whitened his face, stuck three
chickens' feathers in his hat and painted the sleeve of his overcoat yellow; as
an after-thought he stuck little balls of cotton wool on his trousers and
boots. He hadn't won a prize but people had pointed him out. He was well
pleased. He had gone outside to relieve himself when the country gas supply had
failed. In the dark he lost his direction and sprayed all over a man called
Flood, who gave chase with a stick. For an hour now he had been stumbling
oaf-like across unfamiliar territory.
' Hellooooooo !'
he wailed. 'Helloooooooo! I'm getting the hang of
this,' he chuckled.
There was no moon; even with it,
Foggerty would have been none the brighter. So, collecting evening dew in his
hat and calling 'Hello!' he wandered into Northern Ireland, a strange and
awesome sight. Even a hungry black panther skulked to the safety of the trees.
In his flight Foggerty
arrived before it hit the ground.
' It's der
first time I had tea with der Customs!'
' Like a
dash of whisky ?'
'I'll accept dat, sur.'
'Say when.'
' I certainly will not!'
'Found this bottle on a mourner at
Dan Doonan's funeral.'
'Oh well, some of dem needs it. Especially the bereaved. I knew a feller so bereaved he
could hardly stand.'
In the face of such hospitality,
Milligan felt a twinge of conscience, just below the knee. For the last three
weeks they had let him through the border without even searching him; in return
he had spent his time surreptitiously loosening the earth round Dan Doonan's
grave in preparation for the event. All that remained now was for Father Rudden
to give the word.
Father Rudden was all ready to give
the word but for the unexpected arrival of two ragged-arsed men both smoking
the same cigarette and pushing a coffin. Strange. He'd
not been notified of a funeral.
'Please, Father,' said Shamus, 'we
are poor illiterate farmers, we can't read, write, or post letters. We have
pushed the coffin of our grandmother a hundred miles for this burial. We would
be grateful if you would officiate.'
Father Rudden was about to refuse
when Shamus produced a wad of pound notes. ' Father ,
we would like to donate dis to the church. . .'
Before Shamus had finished, the
priest, never taking his eyes off the money, sprinted backwards to the vestry
and returned fully robed with the book open at the service.
One hour later, the customs were
examining the beautifully forged passport of the late Mrs Eileen Ford. There
followed a solemn burial of two hundred and eighty pounds of t.n.t. Amen.
It was dark when Constable Ah Pong
had followed the poacher Rafferty to the vestry of the church. Peering
slant-eyed through the window he saw five men donning ragged clothes and
whispering. So! Rafferty was the leader of a poaching gang.
Disgrace to Ireland! The men were
putting pliers and knives down their socks, two were
coiling ropes round their waists; their blackened faces made identification impossible.
By removing his helmet, remaining still, silent and subservient, Ah Pong could
hear the conspirators' conversation.
' It will
take five of us to lift it.'
Ah Pong was puzzled - even more
difficult, he was puzzled in Chinese.
'What is it poachers caught that took
five men to lift?'
He would wait and see. He ran to a
tree as the vestry light went out and five shadowy figures came silently from
the back door.
Goldstein was tying a handkerchief
over his face.
' I got to
wear it,' he said. ' If anyone sees my nose Rabbi
Brody will have me up fer helpin' Catholics.'
Commando-like they tiptoed noisily
towards the barbed wire and were swallowed up in the night. His boots round his
neck, Ah Pong tiptoed after them.
Chapter Ten
How he'd got on to the wrong side of
the border was beyond the comprehension of the idiot Foggerty. He'd been
dancing happily alone at the Halloween Ball in the Corn Exchange. Everyone was
dressed as a witch or a banshee. Him never having seen
either was put to improvising. Foggerty had whitened his face, stuck three
chickens' feathers in his hat and painted the sleeve of his overcoat yellow; as
an after-thought he stuck little balls of cotton wool on his trousers and
boots. He hadn't won a prize but people had pointed him out. He was well
pleased. He had gone outside to relieve himself when the country gas supply had
failed. In the dark he lost his direction and sprayed all over a man called
Flood, who gave chase with a stick. For an hour now he had been stumbling
oaf-like across unfamiliar territory.
' Hellooooooo !'
he wailed. 'Helloooooooo! I'm getting the hang of
this,' he chuckled.
There was no moon; even with it,
Foggerty would have been none the brighter. So, collecting evening dew in his
hat and calling 'Hello!' he wandered into Northern Ireland, a strange and
awesome sight. Even a hungry black panther skulked to the safety of the trees.
In his flight Foggerty
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