Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [61]
“The terrorism of the Reds is really much worse than anything I have read of, and to those in this country who believe the story is exaggerated I would only say go out and see for yourselves.”
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THE PSYCHOLOGY OF TRIUMPH
Marshal Foch’s Analysis
In conversation with a representative of the Echo de Paris Marshal Foch said that he had won the war by avoiding unnecessary emotions and conserving all his strength so as to devote himself whole-heartedly to his task. “War requires an ingenious mind, always alert, and one day the reward of victory comes. Don’t talk to me about glory, beauty, enthusiasm. They are verbal manifestations. Nothing exists except facts and facts alone are of any use. A useful fact, and one that satisfied me, was the signing of the armistice.”
In conclusion Marshal Foch said: “Without trying to drag in miracles just because clear vision is vouchsafed to a man, because afterwards it turns out that this clear vision has determined movements fraught with enormous consequences in a formidable war, I still hold that this clear vision comes from a Providential force, in the hands of which one is an instrument, and that the victorious decision emanates from above, by the higher and Divine will.”
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Nineteen-twenty. One, two, three weeks of January—grey, cold weather, fog in the streets, dirty snow underfoot—elapsed before the Major finally found another letter from Sarah propped against the toast-rack on the breakfast table.
“Dear Major,” she wrote, “it was wrong of you to read that letter when I told you not to. I was ill when I wrote it and had a fever, as I’m sure I said. You needn’t expect me to apologize, however, since I took the trouble of warning you not to read it. It’s your own fault if you came across something that didn’t please you. About Mr Mulcahy, I regret very much making fun of him as he’s a decent enough sort of person and I exaggerated a great deal. As for being rescued from the Irish swine, as you remark, I can assure you that there’s really no need for that as they and I agree very well (perhaps because I’m one of the same swine myself). Also, as regards London, I’m perfectly content where I am. Nevertheless, I must thank you for your offer, because, though unsuitable, I’m sure it was kindly meant.”
“Ah,” thought the Major, chastened, “she’s angry with me and no doubt thinks that I’m contemptuous of Kilnalough. Perhaps my letter was tactless.” And he hurriedly wrote to apologize, pleading with her to forgive his tactlessness. Would she not satisfy his curiosity anyway? He was devoured with curiosity to know how the affair between Máire and Ripon had come out? And what was this thing that the twins had done to Fr O’Meara? And how was Edward bearing up under the strain?
All she knew (Sarah wrote back) was that Ripon and Máire were living in Rathmines with “a little one” on the way. Had he run away in the middle of the night with his fiancée? Had he been thrown out of his father’s house without a penny? Nobody knew for sure, but several stories were circulating in Kilnalough. According to the one she believed (or liked to believe, anyway) Ripon had half run away and half been ejected. What had happened (so this story went) was that Edward had given him a sum of money, driven him to the railway station and put him on the train for Dublin with strict orders to stay there and get up to no mischief until he, Edward, had settled the affair in Kilnalough. This done, he had arranged to meet Mr Noonan at the Majestic to talk things over. Meanwhile Ripon had only allowed the train to carry him to the next station up the line. There, after a long argument, he had finally succeeded in extracting a refund from the station-master on the rest of his ticket to Dublin. Then he had returned with all speed to Kilnalough, climbed the Noonan’s garden wall causing poor Máire to faint (she thought he was a tinker), revived her, informed her she was liberated (she had been “confined to barracks” by her military-minded father), helped her to pack a suitcase, bribed a man he saw standing at the gate