Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [77]
“How d’you like that for cheek?”
The Major stepped forward to read it.
1. Whereas the spies and traitors known as the Royal Irish Constabulary are holding this country for the enemy, and whereas said spies and bloodhounds are conspiring with the enemy to bomb and bayonet and otherwise outrage a peaceful, law-abiding and liberty-loving people;
2. Wherefore we do hereby proclaim and suppress said spies and traitors, and do hereby solemnly warn prospective recruits that they join the R.I.C. at their own peril. All nations are agreed as to the fate of traitors. It has the sanction of God and man.
By order of the G.O.C.
Irish Republican Army
The Major had read of these posters in the newspapers but this was the first he had seen with his own eyes.
“The ruffians slip in during the night when they think they’re safe. Murphy should be here in a minute; I told him to bring along something to scrape it off with.”
“But what I don’t see,” said the Major with a smile, “is why they should think that ‘said spies and bloodhounds’ are anxious to conspire in your drive. After all, they could surely have found a more visible spot.”
“We have a few young chaps staying at the hotel at the moment,” Edward told him. “Ex-army officers brought over from England to give a hand to the R.I.C. They’re supposed to be the first of a new auxiliary force they’ve started recruiting. You won’t have seen them about yet, I expect, because I’ve quartered them in the Prince Consort wing by themselves. They didn’t get on with the old ladies. The Prince Consort wing is over the stables, can’t see it from here, of course. They have their own mess there and so forth. We had them in the main building at first but they were rather boisterous, just schoolboys, really (though they’ve done their bit, mind you, they’ve been in the trenches)...Trouble was they kept teasing the old girls; one of them kept on whipping out a bayonet and pretending to cut their throats...But they’re not a bad lot of chaps. Expect you’ll run into them round about. They use the tennis courts a bit. Ah, there’s Murphy.”
Murphy had appeared, carrying a hoe. Edward directed him to scrape off the notice and the old manservant advanced on the lodge feebly brandishing his implement. But the notice had been stuck well up on the wall and was out of his reach.
“We need something to stand on,” the Major said.
“Right you are,” said Edward. “Come here, Murphy. Major, you hand me the hoe and I’ll climb on Murphy’s shoulders.” He gave the hoe to the Major. “Come on, man, we haven’t got all day,” he added to the decrepit manservant, who was shuffling forward with every sign of reluctance. The Major looked dubiously at Murphy’s frail shoulders.
“Maybe we’d better get a ladder from somewhere.”
“Nonsense. Now hold still, Murphy. Hang on to the trunk of this tree while I’m getting up. For God’s sake, man, we’re never going to get anywhere if you’re going to wilt like that every time I touch you.”
But time and time again, just as Edward seemed on the point of throwing his glistening shoe and beautifully trousered leg over the old servant’s thin shoulders, he would begin to wilt in anticipation. Edward stormed at him for having no backbone and ordered him not to be so faint-hearted—all to no avail. In the end they had to leave the notice where it was. Edward stalked angrily up the drive. Murphy, relief written all over his cadaverous features, vanished into the trees. And the Major was left to his own devices.
He spent the afternoon in the company of the twins. There was a row going on between them and Edward; he did not know what it was all about but suspected it had something to do with their being sent home from school. In any event, Edward was taking a firm line with them (or so he told the Major). Any disobedience or lack of respect should be instantly reported to him and they would be dealt with. Part of their punishment, it seemed, was to spend the afternoon with