‘hot July’

It was seven months later when Maggie finally got to meet Sean again but not in any of the romantic settings she had been creating in her imagination.
Sectarian tension had been widespread in Belfast throughout the winter months and people had been killed on both sides of the religious divide. The political uncertainty in the south of Ireland had a huge impact on the people of the north. Whilst politicians in London and Protestants in the north of Ireland, wished to keep Ireland within the British Empire, amongst the Catholic majority in the South was a strong desire for independence. The Protestants of the north were prepared to do anything necessary to maintain their connection to Britain.
Because of this political aspiration the authorities in the north turned a blind eye to the constant attacks on the Catholic population and never investigated properly any acts which resulted in deaths of Catholics at the hands of Loyalists. The Markets area was prone to frequent sectarian attack, and as the intimidation increased so did the prospect that Maggie might have to use her weapon to defend herself, her family and her people.
She had always imagined that she would be fighting the British but now found herself wrestling with the fact that she might have to use her gun against those she considered to be fellow Irishmen, even if they saw themselves more as Ulstermen and part of the British Empire.
An especially hot July seemed to increase the anti-Catholic feeling and, as the Twelfth of July approached, tension among the Loyalists rose to fever pitch. As part of their celebrations commemorating Protestant King William‘s victory over Catholic King James in 1690 at the battle of the Boyne, bonfires were lit on the night of the eleventh of July and the Lambeg drums thundered out from the Loyalist Shankill Road.
Leaders within the Ulster Volunteer Force had been planning attacks for many months and were poised to do something spectacular on this particular eleventh night. Volunteers in both the IRA and the Cumann na Bhan were on high alert as there were rumours that a Catholic Church was being singled out for destruction. Nobody was certain where the attack would take place and so rotas of ‘watchers’ had been put in place at all Catholic churches across the city.
In the streets of Catholic areas the cobble stones had been dug up for use as weapons in case there were any incursions, although clearly these would be little protection against guns. Maggie and her neighbours waited for the inevitable onslaught on their area as they listened to the attacks already taking place on Catholic areas elsewhere in the city. Suddenly there was gunfire and it seemed to be very close. It was relentless, both rifle and handgun fire.
Maggie was poised to tell everyone to get off the street when a neighbour, Frankie McGivern, came staggering round the corner clutching his bleeding right arm
‘They’re attacking St Malachy’s Church. Fr Cairns is down. He thought he could stop them but they just shot him and the rest of the watchers are pinned down by gunfire. We should have had weapons but Fr Cairns insisted there would be no weapons inside or near his church.’
Maggie asked, ‘Frankie is it the front of the church or the side where they are attacking from?’
‘They’re all over the old timber yard opposite Maggie and they are firing down from the roof.’
‘OK, you get fixed up. I’ll sort something out.’
Maggie dispatched one of the local lads to get word to the Officer Commanding the 3rd Battalion IRA that they needed help urgently. Maggie then rushed back to her house and into her bedroom where she threw back the rug, lifted the floor boards and pulled out the Bandoleer and the Lee Enfield rifle.
Maggie set off running towards the church, shouting back to the men behind her to get ready to protect the street in case the attack on the church was a diversion. With her heart pounding she arrived at St. Malachys. The firing now seemed to be totally indiscriminate, with the intention of doing as much damage as possible. She slowed to walking pace, controlling her breathing. She identified at least four gunmen on the roof of the timber yard and quite a number of other ominous figures at street level. They looked as if they were getting ready to rush the church.
The priest’s house was to the right of the church on Maggie’s side of the Markets and she quickly determined that, if she could gain access through the back door, she could get to one of the upstairs windows and open fire on the gunmen. The door was locked but with the sounds of gunfire and breaking glass from the street no one noticed as Maggie smashed the glass panel in the back door and forced open the door.
Once inside the house, Maggie charged up the stairs and into the front bedroom. Slowly she eased the window open and, watching where the flashes of the loyalist guns were coming from, she took aim. She fired one round and there was a scream from the roof top opposite. The firing stopped and Maggie could make out shouting,
‘I’m hit. I’m bloody well hit. Did anyone see where it came from?’
The mob in the street, were now looking frantically around to see where the shot had been fired from. Now that they had stopped firing Maggie had time to take in the whole scene. A figure was lying in the grass near the statue of Our Lady. She assumed it was Fr Cairns and thought he must be dead for the statue had clearly been used for target practice and looked the worst for wear. Maggie was about to take aim again when a figure entered the room and speaking quietly said,
‘Wait till I get to the skylight on the roof and begin firing. I’ll be much higher than the ones on the timber yard roof and I can take them out. You concentrate on the ones in the street.’
Maggie trained her Lee Enfield on the street and when the first shot was fired from the attic skylight above her she started shooting at the mob in the street. Two of them fell and had been clearly hit. They were dragged away pretty quickly. The Loyalists on the rooftop opposite her returned fire on the Priest’s House. Maggie supported the unknown volunteer perched on the roof above her and returned fire on the Loyalist gunmen. The mob on the ground had wisely moved out of rifle range. Soon two more volunteers arrived in the room with Maggie and took up positions at the adjoining windows. The exchange of fire lasted for another ten minutes or so until the Loyalists on the roof made a tactical retreat and withdrew completely from the area. Maggie and her fellow volunteers waited to make sure the withdrawal was genuine.
In the silence they could hear that the gun battles continued in other parts of the city. As Maggie was standing silently thanking God that her area was safe, for the moment at least, the volunteer who had arrived first came back into the room.
‘Well done, you did enough to hold them till we got here. By the way, I hope I’m right but I think I just saw Fr Cairns move slightly. Let’s get down there and see what the score is.’
In the dark they made their way to where the priest still lay on the ground. There was blood oozing from a wound in his head, but he was lucky, a bullet had grazed him on the temple and knocked him unconscious. The statue had saved his life. Our Lady was badly damaged, but most of the bullets had not got past her to hit Fr Cairns. The older parishioners later called it a miracle and Fr Cairns became a somewhat reluctant icon throughout the city thereafter.
The volunteers carried Fr Cairns into the kitchen and when Maggie put the lights on she cried out, ‘God save us, Sean Cunningham I thought I’d never see you again!’
‘Believe me Maggie Forsyth I haven’t thought about anyone else since I met you in this very kitchen all those months ago.’
Fr Cairns began to stir and muttered,
‘Look when you two have finished talking and gawking at one another I’d appreciate a little help, please.’
‘Sorry Father. Here let me take a look. It seems tonight I’m getting a chance to practise all the things I have learned with the Cumann.’
Sean smiled at her and stood back to let her attend the priest.
‘Could one of you boil the kettle? We’ll need hot water for cleaning the wound and while you’re at it a cup of tea wouldn’t go wrong.’
One of the volunteers was about to protest at being given orders by Maggie but Sean glared at him, ‘Go on, get on with it. It could be you lying there some day and you’ll be glad if it’s a slip of a girl who’s organising things.’
Maggie was tearing cloths to make bandages and rounded on Sean.
‘So, I’m a slip of a girl? Was it a slip of a girl that was holding the line till you lot finally decided to turn up? And anyway how did you know my name. I never told you?’
‘Would I be some kind of volunteer if I divulged my sources?’ and he winked at Fr Cairns.
‘Well then. Where have you been these past months and me thinking you were dead or in prison or something?’ Maggie asked him.
‘It was certainly something, but I can’t talk about it now. Anyway, why would you be worried if I was dead or in prison?’
Maggie finished bandaging Fr Cairns and he came to her rescue
‘Right, come on. Get me on my feet and see if I’ll be fit to say seven o’clock Mass in the morning. Though God knows the church might be in no fit state for Mass or anything else. Whatever shape it’s in it will have to do, for I won’t be intimidated by those thugs.’
He looked at the two of them.
‘I declare to God all you young ones think about are yourselves, and you expect us poor priests to marry you and baptise your children.’
Maggie and Sean laughed. They looked into each other’s eyes with the word marriage unspoken between them.
The tea was now ready and the volunteers had found Fr Cairns’ biscuits. Some of the parishioners had arrived to see if they could do anything to help and they were sent off to see what repairs were needed to the church. When they returned they reported that many pews had splinters gouged out of them, the broken glass from the smashed stained glass windows had been brushed up and sheets of wood were nailed across the gaps.
‘Our Lady’s statue is a lost cause Father.’
‘Well if that is the only loss we’ve been lucky. Frankie was the only one hurt and Maggie says he’s ok. I’d never forgive myself if any of you had been killed.’
‘I think their intention was to burn the church to the ground Father. Eamon found
cans of petrol that they had left behind.’
‘The church is important but it is only a building at the end of the day and can be repaired or rebuilt. I know it represents our Catholic religion but the community, the people, their well-being is more important than any building. So, thanks be to God for the quick action of Maggie and the arrival of the volunteers.’
The men all stood looking at Maggie admiringly. She still had her Bandoleer across her shoulder. Jim Morrissey who was one of the quietest and most devoutly religious men in the parish blurted out,
‘It’s a lucky man who’ll have you in his corner to fight for him Maggie Forsyth never mind the country.’
‘Hear, hear.’ said Sean Cunningham, a bit too eagerly. They all laughed with the tension of the evening beginning to fade.
‘Well if it’s all right with everyone I’m off to bed and thank you for everything.’
‘Father I think I should stay a bit longer just in case they come back.’ Sean suggested.
‘OK Sean. Thanks. Now the rest of you off home and take care. Goodnight.’
Maggie left with the others and as she walked towards home said good night to the parishioners and the volunteers. Upstairs in her bedroom she returned the Bandoleer and the rifle to their hiding place. She was about to get undressed but decided to go back to the parochial house. She had made up her mind! Sean Cunningham wasn’t getting away a second time.
When she slipped back into the kitchen of the Parochial House, Sean was lying back in his chair with his feet resting on the table, his eyes closed and a cigarette smouldering between his lips.
‘I hope you don’t mind. I thought you might need a bit of company?’
Sean lifted his feet pretty smartly off the table, put out his cigarette and said,
‘Maggie Forsyth you and I have a lot to talk about.’

When Fr Cairns came down to the kitchen the following morning Sean was in his chair sleeping with his head resting on the table.
‘Well young Cunningham? Sorry to wake you. The rest of the night thank God, was uneventful then?’
Sean smiled up at Fr Cairns
‘Aye Father, that’s right.’