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The Patriot Game
Part One – A Terrible Beauty
by Brendan Gisby

Genre: Drama
Swearwords: Some strong ones.
Description: It is 1961, forty years after the end of Ireland’s War of Independence.  In a village in the north of County Longford, Eire, an elderly man recalls the part he played in that War.
Come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing,
For the love of one's country is a terrible thing.
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame,
And it makes us all part of the patriot game.
 
Dominic Behan, The Patriot Game

​​I see that fella Dominic Behan has written a new song.  You know the fella I mean.  Brother of Brendan Behan, the playwright.  Likes the drink, does Brendan, so I hear.  A bit like me, I suppose, except I’m not the toast of New York City these days.  Not that I’ve ever been the toast of anywhere, of course – not even here in Moyne, my own village, despite what I did for my country, despite what I went through for dear ould Ireland.
 
Anyway, that song by the brother, Dominic.  I’m just after hearing it being sung down at McCloskey’s.  Brought a tear to my eye, so it did.  And brought back all those memories from the War – not that the memories are ever far away, mind you.  Aye, it’s a grand song.  The Patriot Game, it’s called.  Apparently, it’s about the young fella who was killed during that IRA raid across the Border a few years back, the New Year’s Day raid on the RUC barracks up in Fermanagh.  ’57, I think it was.  There’s already been a song written about the raid, Seán South of Garryowen.  You’re bound to know it.  It’s sung in all the pubs.
 
Now, what was the name of the young fella again?  O’Hanlon, that’s it.  Fergal O’Hanlon.  Aye, it’s in the song: My name is O'Hanlon, and I've just turned sixteen.  I joined the IRA when I was about the same age, but that was more than forty years before young Fergal did – and of course I didn’t get myself killed.  It might have been better if I had, you know, if the Tans had taken me out the back of that gaol and shot me, like they did the others.  It would have saved me and a load of other people a lot of trouble…
 
Ach, but that’s just stupid talk.  One Bushmill too many at McCloskey’s, making me feel sorry for myself again.  Of course it wouldn’t have been better if the Tans had shot me.  Where would all my beautiful children have come from, eh?  And grandchildren now, I believe.  Grandchildren I’ll probably never see.  I’m sixty-one now and very ill.  That operation in Dublin a few years ago was meant to fix the problem, but I think it’s done for me.  I doubt if I’ll live long enough to celebrate my next birthday.
 
I shouldn’t be dwelling on all that, though.  It’s the song I was talking about, The Patriot Game.  Sure ’n’ it took me right back to the day I joined.  It was 1917, the year after the Rising.  I was seventeen, and a smaller, skinnier and more gangling boy you couldn’t have come across.  After what they did to the leaders of the Rising, the whole country was on fire.  And the fire burned brightest among us young lads.  We all wanted to fight for the cause.
 
You know, when the Rising took place, most of Ireland, and particularly the Dublin folk, thought it was a nuisance, the work of some lunatics that would be put down quickly.  And that would have been that, the whole incident forgotten about after a few years. But, no, with their usual arrogance the Brits decided to execute the leaders – to teach us all a lesson, they said.  And what a fuckin’ botch they made of it.  The story was that yon sick, ould man Tom Clarke was shaking in agony after surviving the firing squad and that an officer had to put a bullet in his head to finish the job.  And what about Connolly, eh?  He was already at death’s door and also in agony from his wounds.  He couldn’t stand, so they strapped him to a fuckin’ chair before they executed him.  It was just like in Behan’s song: They told me how Connolly was shot in his chair, his wounds from the fighting all bloody and bare.
 
Aye, a total botch it was.  What was it Yeats wrote in his poem?  A terrible beauty is born.  Those executions were what made me want to fight.  Forty years later, I’ve no doubt those same stupid actions by the Brits were what inspired young Fergal O’Hanlon to join the IRA.  A terrible beauty, for sure.
 
Anyway, back to that day I went to see Seamus Brady, the Commanding Officer of the 5th Battalion.  He looks me up and down with those cold grey eyes of his before saying, “And how is a skinny runt of a farm-boy like you goin’ to be of any help to us in the struggle?  Fuck, never mind the Brits, the first strong wind that got up would blow you over.”
 
I have to admit I was trembling with nerves and stumbling over my words, but Jim McNamee, our neighbour and a second-lieutenant by that time, put in a good word for me.
 
“It’s all right, Seamus,” he says, “I’ll vouch for young Pat here.  I know his father Hugh well and his uncle Patrick.  They’re both good men, loyal to the cause.  And this skeleton of a boy might bend with the wind, but he has some special qualities.  He’s a genius with his hands.  Sure ’n’ he built that motorcycle of his with his own hands.  And he knows about guns, all types of guns.”
 
Well, Brady looked at me with fresh eyes after that.  It was the motorcycle that did it, I think.  Up here in North Longford, they needed riders who could move quickly round the countryside, delivering messages and the like between the different Companies.  And they needed men who knew the countryside like the backs of their hands.  Sure ’n’ didn’t I know every inch of the Three Corners – every inch of the country where County Longford meets County Leitrim and County Cavan?
 
“All right, you’re in,” says Brady.  “But don’t you be letting me down, you hear?”
 
That was it.  I was now in the Irish Republican Army.  I was a member of what became known as Moyne Company, 5th Battalion, Longford.  And so began my glory years with the bold fighting men.

Continue to Part Two.

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About the Author

Brendan Gisby is McStoryteller-in-Residence.  He's the author of three novels, three biographies and several short story collections.

His official author's website is Blazes Boylan's Book Bazaar at http://the4bs.weebly.com.

And his books are displayed at these links on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.