Morning Surprise

MORNING SURPRISE
A cautionary tale by Eamon Henry 1 July 2008

Shortly after six o’clock on a bright warm morning of early July 1923, a train from Dublin stopped in the railway cutting a bit short of reaching Mayfield railway station. This military tactic meant that the trainload of Freestate army troops – some three hundred in all – could not be seen from either the Mayfield station nor from anywhere in the surrounding terrain. The soldiers quickly fanned out towards and around Mayfield village for “stop and search” general procedures. In a surprisingly short time, two Lewis machine guns were mounted inside the windowed top of the local Protestant Church tower. These guns could fire on anything or anyone moving along any of the four main roads of the locality – a psychological as well as a military advantage.
Paddy McBride was a young unmarried man of the locality, aged about thirty, making a frugal living out of a small farm. He grew potatoes on rented “conacre” land, this year by way of a half-acre of spuds growing in a townland called Kilmackeown, this name in English translation meaning “the church of MacKeown”. As the time of year was early July, his potato stalks would soon need to be sprayed so as to protect them from the blight.
Paddy decided to cycle the mile or so from home to his potato crop and have a good look at the growing stalks, so as to see how soon he should organize their spraying. Shortly after nine o’clock as he rode his bike towards the intended destination, he found himself among some five or six Freestate soldiers, who had jumped out of hiding on the sides of the road. “Where are you going?” was the question. Paddy gave the honest reply: “I’m going to Kilmackeown”.
The sound of his words had a galvanising effect on the military men. Two of them pulled his arms back and handcuffed his wrists together behind. Another spoke: “MacKeown might be going to kill you instead. You are under arrest”. Poor Paddy could hardly have known that one of the top brass in the national army and police force, cobbled together only a year ago, was a man of the name MacKeown. Anyway, Paddy was escorted to a military lorry, his hands were released, and he was driven to the village. His bike was abandoned on the roadside.
Paddy with some dozen other young men was held in a large ground-floor room of a house in the village. They had seating available, and were guarded by a single soldier holding a rifle. The soldier sat beside the closed room door, and near him was a large window, opened wide for ventilation, its lower pane slid away up inside the upper pane. They had been told in a few words that “fairly soon each man would on his own be taken for questioning, and then let go if all went well”. Talking was not allowed, they were to stay silent. In the Army view, these young men were possible guerillas, but had had no guns or ammunition in their possession when arrested.
Paddy felt mounting anger and frustration, as the time passed by very slowly. He had done nothing wrong, and yet here he was forced to stay on such a lovely sunny day, with his bike at risk of being stolen and his potatoes needing attention. He was seated on a chair fairly near the soldier. He thought that, once out of the window, he could quickly get out of sight. He also thought that he would not be recognized nor noticed by soldiers not involved with him already, provided none of these spotted him coming out of the window. It was worth a try.
Paddy jumped at the soldier and knocked him sideways off his chair, while giving him a blow of his fist on the side of the head. He then rushed at the open window.
This soldier was like so many others of the Freestate Army. He had been in the British Army and had survived the trenches of the Western Front, throughout the 1914-18 War. He was battle-hardened and had experienced many worse emergencies. He really hated being knocked down by this “culchie pup”.
He quickly looked up from his sprawl on the floor and saw Paddy’s back large and dark in the open window. He just raised his rifle, which was still in his grip, and fired once. The bullet tore through Paddy’s heart and he fell outwards and passed from view.
Deep questions may be asked about Paddy’s misfortune. Deep answers are not available. He took a risk and it cost him his life. Paddy on his bike did not deserve to die, and yet his own act of folly proved fatal. A further comment might be that civil wars are always bad news, and can sometimes do great damage to people least involved.