‘Leave me out of that,’ said Noble, under his breath. Jeremiah Donovan looked at him hard. ‘All right,’ he says. ‘You and Feeney get a few tools from the shed and dig a hole by the far end of the bog. Bonaparte and myself will be after you. Don’t let anyone see you with the tools. I wouldn’t like it to go beyond ourselves.’ We saw Feeney and Noble go round to the shed and went in ourselves. I left Jeremiah Donovan to do the explanations. He told them that he had orders to send them back to the Second Battalion. Hawkins let out a mouthful of curses, and you could see that though Belcher didn’t say anything, he was a bit upset too. Te old woman was for having them stay in spite of us, and she didn’t stop advising them until Jeremiah Donovan lost his temper and turned on her. He had a nasty temper, I noticed. It was pitch-dark in the cottage by this time, but no one thought of lighting the lamp, and in the darkness the two Englishmen fetched their topcoats and said good-bye to the old woman. ‘Just as a man makes a home of a bleeding place, some bastard at headquarters thinks you’re too cushy and shunts you off,’ said Hawkins shaking her hand. ‘A thousand thanks, madam,’ said Belcher, ‘A thousand thanks for everything’ – as though he’d made it up. We went round to the back of the house and down towards the bog. It was only then that
Jeremiah Donovan told them. He was shaking with excitement. ‘Tere were four of our fellows shot in Cork this morning and now you’re to be shot as a
reprisal.’ ‘What are you talking about?’ snaps Hawkins. ‘It’s bad enough being mucked about as we are without having to put up with your funny jokes.’ ‘It isn’t a joke,’ says Donovan. ‘I’m sorry, Hawkins, but it’s true,’ and begins on the usual
rigmarole about duty and how unpleasant it is. I never noticed that people who talk a lot about duty find it much of a trouble to them. ‘Oh, cut it out!’ said Hawkins.
