CHAPTER TWO
CHRIS LAWLER
When the blanket was finally removed from Chris’s head, he found himself sitting in an almost bare windowless room, containing only a small wooden table and four old steel framed chairs showing their age with signs of rust on the legs. Along one of the walls was a small mirror, which would leave the average person wondering as to why you would ever want a mirror in a bare room. After all, not many people would want to tidy their dress or hairstyle before being questioned. With this in mind Chris came to the only conclusion possible, that it was probably a two-way mirror. After all, isn’t that what is usually portrayed in the vast majority of cops and robber films that are released nowadays.
The man who had removed the blanket was by now sitting on the opposite side of the table. Not directly in front of him, but to his left. While the chair directly opposite was empty. Standing a little further back near the door was another figure, a rather large gentleman who Chris quickly decided was the boss, and in charge of what was going to be some sort of an interview, or whatever was about to happen to him.
After a few seconds the person near the door introduced himself as Harry, as he walked forward and sat down opposite Chris. He then placed a rather thick folder on the table in front of him. Chris immediately subconsciously nick named him Uncle Harry, something he did with most people he met.
Chris could not help noticing that the folder was much thicker than the one Inspector Knights had placed in front of him only a few hours earlier. Glancing at the front cover, Chris read the word ‘Electrician’, which left him wondering what it was all about. Although he made a sure bet with himself, that before he left the room he would know a lot more, than he did when he first arrived. After all something was in the wind, and guessing by the way he had been snatched away from the clutches of Inspector Knights and secretly delivered to his present location, it had to be of importance. Which left him thinking that he might be in the company of Mi5 or 6, and you can’t climb the ladder much higher than these guys.
Once Harry was comfortable and had stretched the silence out as long as he thought necessary, just like a play actor. He then opened the folder and glanced at the first page. After a further period of silence, he looked up at Chris. “I’ve told you my name, now wouldn’t it be polite if you were to tell me yours, that way we could both have a nice cosy little chat,” Harry asked.
Chris was adamant he was not going to talk. So far he had been in Police custody for more than two days, and in that time he had not uttered a single word, so why should he start now. Besides nothing had been offered as bait dangling in front of him. He had no idea who Harry was, or what he wanted, so for the moment he decided to leave things just as they were. However, Chris had already made up his mind that with a folder that thick, if they had known his name it would have been on the front page.
After another pregnant pause of silence, Uncle Harry once again cut the ice, by explaining to Chris that it would be easier and better for him if he had a name, and so for the moment he would like to call him Chris. At least that way it would be easier for him to be able to talk one on one to somebody who had a name.
This caught Chris a little off guard, realising that they did in fact know who he was. Although he decided he would stick to his guns and not to acknowledge the revelation. Anyway, maybe it was all they had on him, and were just fishing, and so for the moment he was not going to take the bait.
Harry started reading from the first page of the file teasing Chris with details of his early life. Catching Chris off his guard believing they were very private. While wondering how they might have obtained such information. Although he had to admit that they were very accurate. However, there were details that only he or very close members of the family would have known.
Gradually Chris became interested in just how much they really did know, although he tried not to show it. However, he listened to everything Uncle Harry had to say, and wondering what was coming next.
Without realising it Chris withdrew into his own little world, as the details of his early history continued. They were accurate and within his mind he started personally filling in the little gaps and to relive the experience of his growing up.
Chris had been born on the colourful island of Singapore in the Far East, to British parents Peter and Irene Lawler. While his father was serving overseas on a special assignment for the British Army. Upon his birth, his mother had named and registered him as Christopher. Although his father had other ideas, and having a forceful nature and reputation, he immediately abbreviated it to Chris, and insisted on its use.
It was January 1947, a time when most people were still trying to get their lives back together after the ravages and upheavals of the Second World War. A time when the British where still bravely showing their flag around the world, in the hope that it was still a sign of their so called world dominance. Hoping it scared other lessor nations into cooperating with them, as they tried to protect their world business investments and interests they had lucratively enjoyed before the war. Trying to give the impression to the rest of the world that they would assist the evolving nations around the world. In their quest to become independent and helped into the twentieth century. As long as they toed the line and chose the Westminster system, and still allowed Britain first choice of any trade. Strange as it might seem their plan seemed to be working okay. Although for Chris he found that part of his life a little hard to recall in minute detail, if at all.
After completing a tour of duty while on loan to HMS Terror Naval Base, Major Peter Lawler was recalled back to England. To be posted to the Military Police Headquarters based in the Suffolk Military town of Colchester. Where he was placed in charge of the detention centre located within the barracks. Ensuring that the Army personal who were incarcerated within as punishment for some sort of military crime. That they were and severely punished and corrected. In military terms indoctrinated by putting them through the ringer. Although some would say they had been hung out to dry. A position he held for several years, while undertaking his role to the full extent of the law.
By nature, he was a man who up held the military rules and regulations quite verdantly, which meant that he did not have many social friends. It was also this same part of his nature that rubbed off on his family life. Ensuring that Chris also adhere strictly to the rules, something he hated but was forced to comply. There was no doubt that he had been brought up knowing right from wrong, and was more than happy to go along with that line of thought. However, what he did object to was the way in which his father ruled the roost, and in the way he usually went over the top. Especially to other members of his own family, and that included his wife. So to say, that Chris was brought up quite strict was an understatement. Knowing no other way of life, he grudgingly he had to go along with it. Secretly Chris always believed that his father should have left the Regimental side of his life in the Army Barracks, along with his military friends.
As the family had always lived on military establishments, Chris had always been involved in the service way of life.
Being an only child, he had grown up missing the basic essentials of life, by not getting used to the sounds of other children playing around him. Missing their screams, arguments, fights, and most of all the closeness and bond that most families of more than one child seemed to develop. A bond that later in life helps them look after, and help each other in most situations. Hence in later life he found it hard when he was around young children at play. It was another reason why he had grown up as a bit of a loner, never relying on anybody. Whatever needed to be done, he would do it himself. In that way he knew the task had been completed and to his satisfaction.
However, being an only child he did not believe that his parents had spoiled him. Something he occasionally heard being said by others. Although only when they thought his back was turned. Just like other children he had received presents, but no more than other families.
During days when it rained, and in the
UK it rained on many occasions during the winter. He would have to try and amuse himself the best way he could, on his own. Chris always believed that it had a large bearing on his life style in later life.
Around the age of ten he managed to secure himself a local newspaper delivery round. The money he earned and tried to save was not a vast amount. However, his father would make him hand over a few shillings each week to his mother as housekeeping money, as it was called in those days.
At the time he did not believe it was fair. However, it was later in life when he realised that the experience had helped him look after his own monetary affairs. Pay your own way was his motto, along with if you have not got the money, save up and buy it. For him, there would be no such thing as on the Tick, Hire Purchase or on the Slate as it was sometimes known. This was discouraged and enforced at every opportunity by his father.
While delivering newspapers around the area, and especially when he collected the payment each Saturday morning, he had made friends with one of his customers who was known as Old Tom. Tom had also gained the title of being the Local Poacher, and was good at it. He was an elderly gentleman who had never married, and had lived on his own for most of his life. He lived off the land and had made an art of secretly collecting his food from the countryside around him. This did include a certain amount of poaching of the local game and it was illegal. It was this activity that gave him a bad name amongst all the towns folk. However, it did not stop Chris from visiting him at every opportunity, and of becoming one of his only friends. There were those from the town that said, Old Tom was supposed to be a Gypsy or of Romany blood. Although nobody ever proved it as it was just idle gossip. However, it gave the local people with nothing better to do, something to talk about.
Tom would take Chris out with him and show him the tricks of the trade where possible. The favourite catch for Tom was always a rabbit, while it is not strictly game, it was still caught on private farmland and this was what made it illegal. The lessons that Old Tom explained and demonstrated to Chris were secrets that had been handed down over the years to only a few select people. These lessons would contribute to his survival in later life, while trying to survive on his own. There was an art to skinning a rabbit and preparing it for the cooking pot. Lessons that Chris learnt well.
One incident that Chris remembered was when they were out late one afternoon. It had been raining and was by then starting to get dark. Old Tom was showing him different ways of coaxing rabbits out of their burrows. Chris put his hand down one such burrow like he had been taught a hundred times before. Suddenly he looked at Tom telling him that something was wrong. It was not like all the other times. This time he had hold of something that felt strange to him.
“What does it feel like,” Old Tom asked. Chris went on to describe something that was long round and about a quarter of an inch in diameter.
“Let it go, and leave it in the hole and slowly withdraw your hand,” Tom told him. Which is exactly what Chris did, he then turned and asked Tom what it was. “It’s probably a rat, you would have been touching its tail. It would not have bitten you because it was in the darkness of the rabbit burrow. However, if you had brought it out into the evening light, then it would have sunk its teeth right into your hand. There’s a good chance that it would have infected you with one of many diseases that they carry.” This was a valuable lesson that stayed with him for the rest of his life.
Once Old Tom told him a story of and earlier London Street entertainer who used a Post Office mail bag in his act. These bags were made up of a very close tight weave, that would not allow daylight to pass through. The entertainer would then be seen to place a few rats into the bag. He would then stick his head in side of the bag and suddenly appear with a rat in his mouth, having grabbed it at the back of its neck. He ended the story by telling him that he used the same principle.
In the past Tom had also shown Chris how to catch a rat, skin and cut it up for cooking in a stew. Although Chris had stopped short of actually eating it, but not Old Tom he had finished off a full plate right in front of him.
Tom also kept four Ferrets in a cage at the back of his house. These were also for assisting in the capture of rabbits. They would be placed down a rabbit hole and as they went through the burrows they would chase the Rabbits out of what were known as bolt holes. These would have been pre-covered with a net so that as the rabbits tried to escape they became entangled in the net and were then very easy to catch. Old Tom would flick the net in a certain way allowing the rabbit to fall to the ground already dead from a broken neck.
The ferrets had very sharp teeth that pointed back into their mouth, just like a Shark or fresh water Pike. This meant that if you were bitten on the hand, when you tried to pull your hand away, the teeth would sink further into the flesh. Chris learnt that you move your hands very slow whenever you were around ferrets. They could also sense and pick up if you were scared of them. This would also have made them bite in order to protect themselves. Chris was very good with them and in all the time that he worked and played with the ferrets he was never bitten. Even Old Tom had been bitten a few times in his career and had the scars on his hands and arms to prove it.
Tom also had a faithful old dog named Bob, who was getting passed his used by date. It was hard to tell what breed he was by just looking at him. He was more of a bittza breed, old Tom would say, a bittza this and a bittza that. He would sometimes use Bob to chase and catch the occasional rabbit that tried to get away from their nets that they had set. Although Bob was getting a little too old for this type of work, he still enjoyed a run with Chris and his master.
Chris’s parents had never allowed him to have a dog. So whenever he could he would always make a fuss of Bob and treat him as his own.
It was also amazing that Chris’s parents did not stop him visiting the old hermit. They felt and believed that at least it was keeping him out of mischief and off the street corners. A favourite saying of his father that he would constantly keep using.
His father could see that Chris was growing up and growing up fast. It would not be long before he could take care of himself. A lot of boys his age was ending up in trouble with the law, while hanging around in gangs on street corners. But not Chris, he was a loner. Although the poaching was against the law, at least his family were eating well and the Police were not knocking on the door on a regular basis. The bonus for them was that he would bring some food home if he had been lucky that day out in the fields. It was not a case of stealing for the sake of stealing and throwing away whatever it was that they had caught. Old Tom had taught Chris well, that you only take what you need. Leave the rest for other people or so that they might multiply for the future. Yes, Old Tom had taken Chris under his wing and he was a very good teacher. Although Chris had become a very good learner and was quick at picking things up.
During the last four years of his schooling as well as handing over the house keeping money to his mother he managed to purchase himself a bicycle to help him deliver his newspapers, an encyclopaedia to assist with his education and knowledge of the world. Along with small camera, that was of poor quality and lasted only a couple of years. Although it was a bit of a god send really, as he could never save enough money to have the photos developed, sometimes being months after they were originally taken.
While still very young and against his wishes his father enlisted him into the Boy Scouts. Once again taking the view that it would be a good way for him to get used to discipline. Chris remembers this part of his life well and in fact enjoyed meeting the other boys many of which were not from Military backgrounds. Especially the instructors, who were friendly while teaching the boys the basics of survival. He became one of the top pupils in rope work and the art of tying knots, most of which were not only used in the military but by many civilian trades. They were also taught the art of camping, cooking, and the basics of looking after themselves, that could also be used in his daily routines back home.
Whi
le at the same time he was also being educated at a local school near the military camp. However, it had all been a great disappointment to his father, when he turned out to be a so called average pupil in his class. Unfortunately, not the genius scholar that his father had always hoped he would be, and had certainly tried his hardest to push him towards.
At the tender age of 15 during January of 1962, he was once again forced by his father to become a boy soldier and to join the ranks of the Army Cadets. Just as he had guessed, the main emphasis of the training was on discipline and the so-called making of the man, as his father had always called it. The hardest part of this whole experience that upset Chris was that he was always expected to be as good or even better than his father. Although there were times when he doubted he wanted that, and if it were to happen he would have found some reason to criticise him. This sort of pressure that was always being placed upon him was laying the groundwork for him to totally rebel against authority at a later time in his life. It was as though his father was living his life for him, and doing what he had wished he had done while he was young.
How could he be as good as his father, after all he was still of school age. While his father was 38 and had twenty years of experience in the Army. With all that time under his belt, how could he not be good at his job? Chris wanted to make it in the world but on his own terms and in his own chosen subjects. To do what others expected of him just seemed so artificial and a total waste of time, as his heart was not in it. Full credit must be given to Chris for the way in which he overcame most of the early obstacles that were placed in front of him.
Although during those four years, he achieved the rank of a Section Leader and stood out amongst all the other lads around him, something that made his father very proud. Although he never once let his guard down to confided in Chris that he was proud of what he had achieved.
By the time he was 18 he had once again been encouraged, although Chris believed that he was forced by his father to move on. To enlist into the Army full time, and to make a full career of it. That meant the possibility of serving his country for at least twenty-two years. Something he had never contemplated or had given it a lot of thought. Therefore, for the first time in his life Chris had only agreed to do so, if he were allowed to become just an ordinary private. Not the Officer as his father had tried to push him into being, just so he could be proud that his son had carried on his family tradition. After a lot of arguing with his father, Chris won the day and enlisted. Being sent to Aldershot to undertake his basic training.
It did not take long before Chris was standing out above some of the others boy, and not because of whom his father was. It was his sheer guts and ability, along with the fact that he had been in the military now for over four years, and so he knew the ropes as they say. Whereas most of the other recruits around him had just simply walked in off the street.
Even as recruits, there are always those that are promoted and placed in charge of the other fellow recruits. In this way, the Officers and Non Commissioned Officers can see who amongst them have leadership potential. It also helped them to work out who of the recruits are going to make the grade, and who were going to fall by the way side.
Therefore, Chris found himself being made up to a Section leader, and the responsibility of mustering up the other new recruits on to the parade ground. His first reaction was that the other recruits might resent his promotion, thinking that it was his father’s connections that had ordered it. However, and to his surprise, most of the other boys welcomed his promotion, for it meant that he was taking the heat and attention away from them. Not many of them wanted the extra responsibility and work that went along with the job of Section Leader. As far as they were concerned, he could have the job. Although for Chris it was their respect that he really wanted. To gain that he was going to have to earn it, prove to them that he did indeed deserve the job, while not looking down on them.
It was impossible for Chris to hide the fact of who his father was, that sort of gossip went around military camps like wild fire. Some of the sadistic instructors would have pounced on to that sort of information. Then there would have been the fully trained soldiers who had been detained and served time under the brutal regime of his father in the detention centre. Not many people would have been able to forget their time spent in the so-called glasshouse. However, he seemed to have been able to weather that sort of attention and most people just left him alone. Especially after witnessing him in the boxing ring something that all recruits had to go through during their basic training.
Chris became a champion even after a bad start when he had to confront one of the instructors who did have a small grudge against him. He then broke one of the golden rules, that you always let the senior instructors win. Otherwise they will do their utmost to break you, for making a fool of them in front of the other recruits. Chris laid the instructor on his back and almost out for the count. He then had to await him getting to his feet and for the battering he expected to come his way. As the fight continued Chris once again almost dropped the instructor to his knees. However, the fight was finally stopped by the Sergeant referee who made them shake hands, and clear the ring, so that the other recruits could have their turn. The instructor then surprised Chris by coming over to him and offering him his out stretched hand in an offer of friendship. He then told Chris that as far as he was concerned he did not need his old man’s help to survive the rigors of Army life, and that he could stand on his own two feet unaided.
His basic training only lasted six weeks and Chris could not believe that he actually enjoyed most of it, and as had been predicted by the Officers he came out as one of the top recruits. Before being posted to a unit, he volunteered for parachute training and to his surprise his request was granted. Within a couple of weeks, he found himself arriving at the Abingdon barracks fit and ready to jump.
Abingdon was not an Army camp, it was run by the RAF (Royal Air Force), an old throw back from the Second World War when the RAF undertook all of the parachute training. Which actually works in the volunteer jumper’s favour. Instead of an Army Sergeant screaming at you to do whatever it is, with the RAF Officers it’s more of a case of them politely asking if you would like to do this or perhaps you wouldn’t mind doing that.
Once again Chris stood out, when he volunteered for anything, whenever the instructors asked for somebody it was always Chris who got his hand up first. It was not a case of him wanting to stand out. It was just that he loved and enjoyed most of what they were doing. During school he had learnt that he who actually undertakes the task, learns far more than somebody who just sits back and writes it down. Therefore, it did not come as a surprise when during the first jump he asked to be the first to exit the Balloon basket from 800 feet. A request that was willingly given to him as most of the others wanted to exit last.
Exiting from the balloon can be very scary to the raw recruits. There is not a lot of noise just the gentle sway of the basket and light wind making gentle whispering noise as it blows past the guide wires. Not like jumping from a plane when the roar of the engine drowns out most of the hesitation within them. It’s why a soldier is taught to scream when he runs at the enemy with just a bayonet on the end of his rifle. It’s still very scary, but at least you won’t hear the enemy scream back when the bayonet makes contact with his body.
The other recruits would not refuse to jump; it was just that they did not want to be the first. It gave them a chance to watch somebody else be the so-called test dummy. Then if they were to do it wrong, or if something was to go wrong. Then they would be able to see it happen to somebody else. So it was that it got to the stage whenever volunteers were asked for, his fellow jumpers would all point at Chris, who took to the challenge with a smile. The instructor’s favourite joke was to tell them that if the parachuted failed to open, they should take it back to the store-room and draw another one.
Each section of the military that are trained at Abingdon is made up of all of
the services, Army, Parachute Regiment, Marines, Navy and even the Special Air Service (SAS). Therefore, it was not a case that Chris was standing out from guys with his own Regiment. This time he was standing out amongst some of the best military personal that was being sent for the drops. At one time, he was beginning to think that he had made a mistake by joining an ordinary Army Regiment. Thinking that he would have enjoyed the life style in the Parachute Regiment far better, with all the excitement of the jumping.
When it came to jumping from the plane that was something different. There was just two long lines of military personnel seated with their backs to the outside of the aircraft. Once you were ordered to stand up and turn towards the direction of the exit doorway towards the back of the aircraft. Above them was a steel wire running from the front of the aircraft to the back. To which they were all ordered to hook on their chutes. Each guy was stood so close to the person in front of him, and as you slowly shuffled your way towards the doorway the guy behind you made sure that you kept going forward. Therefore, even if you wanted to refuse the jump, there was just no chance. Then as they reached the doorway they would turn and faced outward into space. The instructor would then tap the jumper on the shoulder and told to Go. If he hesitated the guy behind him usually pushed him out anyway, as he was also being pushed along by others behind him.
Once they had all made six jumps from an aircraft, one of the instructors informed them, that as they had just completed their sixth jump, they could not refuse to jump at any time in the future. Failure to do so would mean that they would be placed on a charge of refusal.
Un-known to Chris there are always top military people stationed at Abingdon full time, whose job it is to search out the best that attend these courses. Therefore, it was of no surprise that Chris’s name was entered into their little books for future reference. Once again he finished the course as one of the top jumpers, even feeling a little big headed at his achievement.
He was soon brought down to earth with a jolt, when he was ordered to re-join his Regiment still based at Aldershot. Within just a few days they were to be deployed on a six-month tour of duty in Germany.
The Regiment had been posted to JHQ (Joint Headquarters) of the BAOR (British Army of the Rhine) at Rheindahlen, a large military base in Monchengladbach, in Northern Germany having been set up during 1954. It’s function being the main headquarters for the British Armed Forces in Germany, and of the NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organisation) Northern Army Group. Later to be known as the Rheindahlen Military Complex.
This hurt his ego a little as he wanted to travel the world. Although he had always believed that at times his wishes would not always be possibility, and that he could end up in some little out of the way camp miles away from what he called civilisation, deep down inside he had been dreading it.
Chris wanted to see the world, and not be stuck in the German backwoods. Believed it to be sandwiched, between two very large warring countries. This was the time when the so-called ‘Cold War’ was taking place, mainly between Russia and the United States of America, with both counties wanting to rule the world. Having just emerged from the Second World War what better opportunity to make a show of strength. Chris called it Cage or Sabre rattling. Both countries had and had threatened the use of Nuclear weapons. It was left for the rest of the world to decide whom they supported. Needless to say it became an East against West game, as each tried to outdo the other in any subject you could think of.
One silly issue was the carving up of Germany after the Second Word War. There was no way that the victors were going to allow a unified self-run Germany. Instead the Russians took control of what became known as East Germany, and was governed by a Russian Communist Regine. While West Germany was watched over by America, the United Kingdom and France.
For some reason the city of Berlin and its prison, housing the German convicted war criminals, was divided into three monthly periods to Police. Russia, America, United Kingdom and France, and each took control of the prison for three months. When it came to the United Kingdom’s turn, Chris did not want to be part of it, and luck for the moment was on his side. As his Regiment ended up guarding the Rheindahlen Military Complex.
Checking the cars and personnel was a long boring and tedious job. Each vehicle had to be logged inn along with its occupants and then searched thoroughly inside and out. Chris was one of eight fellow soldiers who had to eat, sleep, drink, and be merry as they say. They lived in an old brick guardhouse by the main gate that was heavily fortified with sandbags, barbed wire and booby traps in an effort to protect them and their position. They worked in groups of two. Each group would be on duty for two hours at a time and off for six hours. However, in those six hours there were chores around their quarters that had to be undertaken by the soldiers. Even so there was still a lot of free time to kill. As nobody was allowed out of the sand bagged emplacement at any time, unless they were checking vehicles. This routine was carried out for a week after which they would be relieved by another team of 8 soldiers while they had a week off. A time when they would re-join other members of the Regiment and carry out other military duty’s around the main camp.
In conditions like that boredom can set in and there is always the chance that you could let your guard down. The whole camp relied on them doing their job correctly by protecting them.
At times like this, there are always church groups, especially the Salvation Army who try to make the soldiers life as comfortable as possible. By giving them lots of books to read, jigsaw puzzles and other things of that nature. It was one such gift box that had been sent them that Chris picked through and found a book on the art of Magic. It was not a very involved sort of book, only showing the basic of a few card tricks that some of the Magician used many years earlier. Something different he thought plus deep inside he had always enjoyed watching the magicians perform in the past, and like every other watcher wondering how it was all done. Once he had started to read and go through its pages he could not put it down until he had read the complete book. The next step was to try out some of the tricks he had just read about privately, just to see if they worked. Once he had proved it to himself, then he was not going to be able to contain his excitement wanting to amaze his comrades with the new skills that he had just acquired.
Packs of cards are always easy to find in the services, almost every man has a deck and anyway the Salvation Army had left a few new decks for the guys on their last visit. Chris just amazed himself, the very first trick he tried worked perfectly and to Chris it seemed so easy. It took him just a short time to pluck up the courage to show and completely amaze his opposite number on guard one night. It did not take him long to work out that it was not just the trick that looked good, but it was also the way in which it’s presented. From then on there was no stopping him as he undertook to learn almost every trick in the book. Once he had done that he contacted the Salvation Army members to ask if they could come up with any more books on the subject. To his surprise on their very next visit, they had a small box for him containing five more books. It seemed that other members of the armed services where not quite so interested in the subject, so the field was open to just Chris.
His Tour of Duty in Germany turned out to be a quiet one, only seeing a couple of incidents, when a small group of so called peace activists tried to break into the camp. Although nobody was injured, a few egos of the civilians were brought down to earth.
However, by the time his Regiment returned to England Chris had mastered the basics of a lot of magic tricks, using cards and coins. His party piece was to roll a coin along the top of his knuckles, on his right faced down clenched fist, without the help of his left hand. Chris became so good at the tricks that he even started studying the art of card cheating, and for practical training he used to try it on his roommates in the barracks. Always making a point of never doing it when money was involved, knowing that the repercussions would be enormous, if not deadly. The last thing he wanted was for
that sort of publicity to accompany him throughout his Army life. He became so good that it almost bordered on his believe that he would never be caught out. To cover his actions just in case it was to happen, he always chose moves that were easy for him to find a way out. Or at least give a valid excuse if his mates picked anything up.
The later part of 1965 turned out to be one of the best years of his life, when by chance he met up with a young local girl at a dance being held in town. Chris had taken a little time, plus a couple of glasses of beer, before he had plucked up enough courage to ask her for a dance, when she walked past him returning from the lady’s room. He stepped out in front of her blocking her way, and asked if he could have a dance. To his great surprise, she agreed and so together, they took to the floor to the sounds of a very slow ballad that was being played by the band. This turned out to be good timing by Chris, in order to synchronise to the slow music, he placed both his arms around her waist and she responded in the same way towards him. Together they slowly smooched around the by now crowded dance floor. The music seemed to be the trigger for most of the other guys to take advantage of the slow music, just to cuddle up to their chosen girlfriend for the evening. The one they were hoping to take home after the dance, as was the custom amongst the young at that time.
Chris and Brenda hit it off right from that very first meeting having a so-called whirlwind romance. Within six months they were married even though Brenda’s family did not agree, they felt that she should have waited just to make sure that their relationship was going to pass the test of time. Living in a military town they knew that a lot of so called quickie marriages did not last very long.
Chris got a couple of days leave from the Army and they had a honeymoon by the sea at Great Yarmouth. The relationship between them just seemed to grow from strength to strength, Chris idolised Brenda and in his eyes she could do no wrong, all he ever wanted to do was to please her.
Because of his military life and the probability that he could be posted elsewhere they rented a couple of rooms near the camp, making it easy for him to get to work. Life just seemed to get better for them as they enjoyed each other’s company. Then out of the blue came some good news from the Army. Informing Chris that he would more than likely be station at that same camp for a couple of years, so for the moment they had no problems.
There was nothing that he wouldn’t do for Brenda treating her like a lady of leisure, and she being the realistic girl that she was did not take advantage of his devotion. Instead, she also chose to treat him in the same way, by always being at his beck and call whenever he arrived home.
1967 saw the birth of their first child, a daughter who they named Diane after Brenda’s Mother. Once again, it just made things so much better for them as they now devoted themselves to the little girl. He even became a dab hand at nappy changing, something that a lot of men shy away from.
Chris was still only 20, when later that same year the Army chose him ahead of other volunteers, to report to the Special Air Service (SAS) training camp in Hertfordshire. It being a big honour to be selected, from the hundreds who would have volunteered from all of the Army units though out the country. A lot of the rejected volunteers would have given their eye teeth for just such an opportunity to be selected.
With Chris being away it was going to be a big test for them both, being the first time that they would have been separated. He wanted to go because if he were to be accepted, it would mean that he would be able to bring more money in to the house for them. With little Diane to bring up it was surprising just how much it took to run a house each week. The day he left was very sad for them. There were a few tears and lots of kissing. Chris finally managing to break away from Brenda, reminding her that it was only going to be for a couple of month and then he would be home.
The Special Air Service course is called the ‘Selection’ it is designed to sort out who they think will make the type of military personnel they are looking for. Only about ten out of one hundred and twenty-five people will make it through to completion. For any soldier ‘Selection’ is the ultimate test of endurance and mental strain, and so to be accepted is the prize that awaits them.
One of the first things people think about when they hear the word SAS. Are the images of ski-masked soldiers in black clothing storming buildings, but to the selected few, it’s the word ‘Selection’.
‘Selection’ is designed to break people, for any volunteer it is the ultimate test of endurance and mental strain. It’s broken down into six phases of training, each being a huge mountain to climb. The course begins with Phase one, ten days of fitness training and map reading in the Breacon Beacons and the Black Mountains in Wales. During this time, Chris was one of a group of about twenty volunteers.
One test that was carried out on all recruits was to be blind folded in a darken room. They would then be fitted with a radio head set and hand led to a wooden ladder. Over the head set the recruit was order to climb the ladder. While at times he was given an update of the height level he had reached. Upon reaching the top rung of the ladder, he was then ordered to stop, and feel above his head for a steel bar and to hang from it. After a couple of minutes, he was then ordered to drop back to the floor. After being informed that they were about seven meters from the ground, it was a big decision for them to make.
However, those that chose to drop to the floor were quite surprised to find that they only fell a few feet and landed onto a deep pile of straw. While other climbers decided not to drop and opted to climb back down the ladder instead. It was then decided that these recruits would make good Leaders. Having thought before they carried out the order, knowing of its repercussion, and of re-thinking the situation. Of finding another way of getting back down to the floor uninjured. While those that let go and dropped were classed as followers. Whatever they were ordered to do, they would follow orders.
Phase two follows with another ten days in which they are engaged in long cross county marches in the same area, but this time they are alone. With each route march the Bergen rucksacks on their backs get heavier and heavier. Culminating in a forty-mile endurance march to be completed within twenty hours. In which the soldier’s Bergen must weigh fifty-five pound, plus food and a ten-pound rifle. This time he may travel alone or with other volunteers, which ever he chooses. Phase two, is ‘Selection’ with a capital ‘S’, because when it is over those who are not suitable and have not yet left the course voluntarily are then returned to their parent Army Regiments.
The survivors are then sent on to Phase three, a fourteen-week continuation of the same, during which time he will also be tested for his suitability as an SAS Soldier.
Phase four is the standard Amy parachute course, the very same course that Chris had already trained for and passed with flying colours. Even though he had his wings, he still had to go through the course.
Finally, he faced Phase five, that is all about combat survival training. It includes escape and interrogation methods. Some men are rejected on the final day of this exhaustive process. For the tiny few remaining from the original volunteers, they are presented with the SAS Tan Coloured Beret, and the Regiments Famous Winged Dagger cap badge. This marks their acceptance into the Special Air Service Regiment. The successful volunteer has been capped as they say, now it is up to him to prove himself in live theatres of war though out the world.
The volunteer’s induction is now followed by phase six, specialist training as a member of one of the Regiments. Where Morse signalling, Linguistics, Field Medical care, use of explosives, and pistol shooting are taught. Combined with tactical assignments to one of four sixteen man troops skilled in boat work. Climbing, long distance overland navigation in Land Rovers, and free fall parachuting. By the time the postgraduate’s course is completed, the volunteer has been with the Regiment for almost two years, he is at last able to be called a trained soldier.
Usually they will then spend at least a three years’ tour with a unit, and if fit they might be
able to complete a further three years. Three tours are about the most that they could ever hope to serve as an active member of the Special Air Service.
Chris was just one of four guys who were presented with that famous Sandy coloured beret, as all the others on his course had failed. This now meant that he was going to stay in the Herefordshire area where most of his follow up training was about to take place.
Brenda and Chris had discussed just this sort of scenario before they married, and knew that one day it might happen. However, they both agreed that it would not take long, and then they would be back together once again. What they had not taken in to consideration was that the time they spent apart could possibly escalate if he were to be sent on an assignment. Chris was not sure of his future with the unit, or of what would be expected of him for the remainder of his time in the service. They had also discussed the possibility of what to do if their time apart became unbearable. Brenda was going to move back in with her parents so life would be a little easier for her. Also she did not want to be pestered by other military personnel who were always after the women folk of the area, while their husbands were away. Without Chris’s presents she felt a little vulnerable and did not want to end up in a situation that she could not get out of. Something Chris had always told her, as with a few other friends.
Chris took to the training like a bull in a china shop, using it as a way of getting his mind off the separation that he was experiencing. Like in his earlier training he did well and stood out once again to most of the instructor. He even returned to RAF Abingdon where he under took a High Altitude Low Opening course (HALO) while training with seventy-pound packs and an oxygen mask. Dropping from the back of a Hercules aircraft from twenty-five thousand feet was a big buzz for Chris and he soaked up every adrenaline-rushing minute of the experience.
The one thing that stood out to the instructors was that Chris was a loner and liked it that way. Unfortunately, it was a well-known fact that the SAS liked military personal to work in teams of three. They worked on the principle that a group of three soldiers should be able to sort out any problem that could be thrown at them. So if one of them was a radio operator, a mechanic and weapons expert. Then one of the others would be an electrician, a pilot, or an unarmed combat specialist. Leaving the third to be whatever the first two could not do. All had to be able to pick up on at least three foreign languages and be able to speak them fairly fluently. Then in the eyes of the SAS you had a team that could be parachuted anywhere in the world. Being able to live off the land indefinitely and to look after themselves, but always making the right decision at any time.
However, with Chris it was looking a little different, he did not seem to fit the mould in what they were trying to achieve. It was also noted that he was of such high calibre that the SAS could not afford to let him go. After all there are the odd occasions that the skills of a loner can be used even though such work was limited. The military had in the back of their mind that the Northern Ireland issue was still very prominent, and that they did have a couple of lone soldiers already serving there at the moment.
During the first year of their separation he only saw Brenda and his daughter Diane twice and that was for two days on each occasion. So the day his company commander gave him a two-week leave pass he returned home in record time. To them those two weeks were like being married all over again. They were just like a couple of lovers having met for the first time. The end result was to be seen nine months later by the birth of a son who they named David. So once again there was this loving bond between them and the family, it was as though their little world that they lived in had just been made perfect for them, by the birth.
However, after having been accepted into a SAS Squadron, that was based in Hertfordshire. Chris had to move his family to that area so that he could be close at hand with the military while still having the closeness of his family. Brenda was more than happy with the move. Just the thought of getting away from Aldershot was enough to put a smile on her face. She had hated the place and the fact that any soldier, who came near her, made her feel like she was being propositioned. It was as though the soldiers thought that every girl was fair game, and that they were going to take advantage of the situation. Especially if they knew that the girl’s husband was away on duty somewhere.
Within just a couple of weeks of the birth of David, sadness reared its ugly head when Chris was called away by the military, and sent on an assignment out of the country. What hurt Brenda more was the fact that Chris could not tell her where he was going and even less on what he would be doing. She knew that his work was top secret and dangerous and could not stop wondering and worrying about him. What also hurt him was the fact that he could not give her any idea about how long he would be away. The only hint he had been given by his commanding officer was that it would be at least four months. So with that in mind Brenda decided to move back to Aldershot and in with her parents once again.
Chris found himself on his way to Ireland having guessed correctly that was his destination several days earlier. After reading in the Newspapers that the situation there was deteriorating. No Army can make decisions unless they have the relevant correct information on the situation, and it was to be Chris who was to supply some of that information.
He was being sent into a known area of terrorist activity where he was going to have to live off the land and feed information back to headquarters. Usually when the Army goes in to search such area’s they make a lot of noise and are seen by most of the locals. What Chris was to do was to use the softly approach and to remain in the background. He was to watch for anything that might be of use to the top brass back at Hertfordshire. He was to move mostly at night and during the daytime he was to hide in such places as only he knew and had been trained for. His only means of communication would be a small hand held radio, disguised to look like a normal AM radio, with a very small solar battery charger.
Not even the military in his area would know that he was there and so he had to remain undetected at all cost. The last thing that Headquarters wanted was for their man to be shot by his own people. While at the same time they did not want the locals to know why he was there. If the Army knew of his existence, then there was a possibility that the local Police would know. Which meant that the IRA just might have a mole in the Police force, and the repercussions of that did not bare thinking about.
Chris had to make his own way to Irelands North South border, by way of the car ferry from Swansea to Cork in the Southwest tip of Southern Ireland. From there he made his way north using public transport where possible and even the old well tried and tested thumbing method. Using the cover of a backpacker tourist on holiday from Australia. To cover his lack of an Aussie twang to his voice he always told people that his parents had emigrated there while he was at an early age, from Canada. It seemed to satisfy most who had asked, as they soon dropped that line of questioning. In case his cover was blown the SAS had issued him with an Australian Passport, with a few false entries into other countries to cover his story of a back packer. He had also covered himself well if he were ever to be searched. The only piece of gear that would arouse suspicion was his radio. It was very neat, small and sophisticated, allowing him daily contact with his headquarters. Being made to look like a small hand held AM radio. The small solar battery charger did not look out of place given the fact that he was posing as a backpacker, how else would he be able to charge up the batteries. The binoculars he had around his neck were civilian ones, once again he was hopping they did not stand out too much. He was also to let it be known that he was an ardent bird watcher. The remainder of his backpack was made up of things that would be required for his survival, while not stand out of place. Considering that he was supposedly hitch hiking around Ireland.
Slowly he made his way towards South Armagh and to a pre-selected spot that over looked a major road intersection in the countryside on the Southern Ireland side of the border with Ulster. These roads were k
nown routes of the undercover IRA terrorists, who used them as a means of gaining entrance into Ulster, and to hit predetermined targets in and around the Armagh area. His task was going to be made even harder by the fact that he would not know what a terrorist looked like, as they were just ordinary looking local people wearing civilian clothes. They did not stand out in a crowd wearing a flashy uniform that said, “Hey I’m a member of the IRA”.
South Armagh had a reputation of being one of the worst hot spots in all of Northern Ireland. At all costs Chris would have to stay alert and be on his guard, the last thing he or the SAS wanted was for him to be exposed and captured. The repercussions and the pain that would follow did not bear thinking about.
He selected a spot on the side of a hill, which was only about one hundred meters from a road Junction, just outside of Monaghan, which lay to his right. Ahead of him was the Northern Ireland border and the road leading to Armagh and Portadown. While to his left lay another road leading to the Northern Ireland border, through the towns of Omagh in the county of Tyrone, and Dungannon and Enniskillen in the counties of Fermanagh.
There he found an old tumbled down dry stone-wall that are very common in the area. Having been built many years ago as a wind protection for the sheep and to also keep them fenced in. Fortunately, throughout most of Northern Ireland this type of wall is usually in a bad state of repair, so it suited Chris well. He got down behind the wall and then proceeded to move a large amount of the fallen down stones into positions that would give him all round protection. His aim was to arrange as many as he could around a position where he would be lying, even giving him a little protection overhead. He then removed a couple of small stones from the wall, from an exact position where he would be lying so he could look through the wall and down on to the road.
Finally crawling in to his new home and checking to see that the hole he had made through the wall did in fact line up with the crossroad below. However, it was important that the hole was not too big and noticeable to anybody walking in front of his position. Although it was a few yards back from the road. He was pleased with the result, for even if they walked on to his position from the back it was so well camouflaged that he hoped they would pass him bye without a second glance. To assist in the camouflage, the whole area was covered with lush thick fern vegetation, also affording him a lot of protection. The one thing in his favour was the fact that it was summer, so the night temperatures were not going to be a problem or at least he hoped they would not. The one thing he dreaded was if somebody was to pass close by with a dog, and for that he had to depend of crossed fingers and a short prayer asking for a little help.
So Chris settled in to the long laborious task of recording car numbers and the directions that they were travelling, and radioing every single one back to headquarters twice a day. Most of the traffic he was interested in usually moved at night, so in the evenings he would make his way down to within just a few feet of the crossroad. They’re being no street lighting in the area, he wanted to be able to see the car numbers close up. The protection of another wall right by the side of the road was about as close as he could get. He once made the remark to headquarters that if the number plates had been in Braille, then he would have been able to run his fingers over them.
Chris knew that he was going to be in the area for a few months, so to beat the boredom he got the okay from headquarters to set up another small camp at another minor junction about two miles away in the Omagh direction. This allowed him to move from one camp to the other whenever he felt like it thus helping him maintain the alertness that was required. He would also walk the lanes posing as the tourist he was portraying, occasionally staying at the local public house’s where he could take a well-earned bath, this was also the time when he would try and stock up on food and water.
He seemed to be blending in to the countryside well, but it was no time to drop his guard. The Para Military groups knew that their area had the reputation of being the top hot spot, and that no stupid backpacker was going to be dumb enough to be walking around. In fact, this was exactly what Chris played on, and in fact started to act a little dumb to the locals whenever he had to talk to them in the Public houses or the small shops that he frequented. To help his cover whenever possible he usually let it be known that his Grand Father on his Mother’s side had come from somewhere around the area before emigrating to Canada during the early thirties.
To Chris’s amazement his ploy seemed to work, but at the same time he had to be careful not to draw to much attention to himself. It was not the name of the game, all he wanted to do was to blend in to the background. So his contact with the locals was always as brief as possible.
What hurt him most was that he was not allowed to contact his family, as it had been stressed to him that they did not know where he was. If the IRA were to get wind of what he was up to, then the repercussions and reprisals against his family would be swift and deadly, so it was best kept this way. However, on the long nights of boredom that he always had to endure, sometimes it was more than he could bear. More than once he almost walked to the nearest pub in an effort to ring Brenda, but the military within him always prevailed, worrying about the safety of his family. So to help fight the boredom he would spend hours and hours playing with a deck of cards. That he had brought with him trying to perfect new tricks that came to mind and even trying to invent new moves. The only trouble was he did not have anybody who he could try them out on. He had previously made up his mind that he would not try anything out on the locals in the public houses. Quite rightly that would just bring to much attention to him, the last thing he wanted at the moment.
Then out of the blue he received orders from Hereford to move to a new location, but his orders where the same. To help his cover he let it be known in one of the shops that he was going to head north that he believed he might find a connection with his Grand Father Armagh.
Chris set about dismantling his hide out and camouflaging the area he had disturbed. Hoping that nobody stumbled upon it until he was long gone. As they might put two and two together, and a contract and a price would be placed on his head that might put an end to his snooping around. The people he was up against were not the kind of people one would like to make friends with. Most were killers and practiced their trade at every opportunity.
Upon his arrived at the new location he made up his mind that he would use a different cover. His plan was to use the truth of his past, in such a way that if anybody was to check up on him it might be more credibility. He was going to still use his Mothers Father as the reason he was in the area. He was not going to hide the fact that he had served a short period of time in the British services a few years earlier. The one thing in his favour was that since joining the SAS, it was automatically part of the job that his records in the ministry were made to look like he had left the service. There was always the chance that this highly restricted information might be leaked. At that time there was a lot of Irish people in the British services. However, it could help him if they thought that he might just start working for them, as a few ex-servicemen had done in the past. Another idea he was thinking about was that if he could find a girlfriend he might just look that little bit more believable. Although there was no way he would jeopardise his relationship with Emily. Drawing a line in the sand he convinced himself that sex would definitely be off the menu. It could be any anybody, he did not have to be in love with the girl, just look like he was to the watchers and gossipers.
On arrival at one of the Pubs in Armagh Chris ordered a drink just to show his face, giving the locals their first glimpse of him. All he was carrying was a canvas bag that was slung over his shoulder. He was trying to give the impression that he was a backpacker and wanting a look around the town. After finishing his drink, the landlord pointed him in the direction of a house at the end of the street where an old lady had a room advertised for rent. As he left the pub he could feel many sets of eyes all piecing him in the back of the neck. br />
He took the room and started to look around the town for some sort of work. The room had been the easy part it was the work that was going to be a problem. There was not much employment in this part of Ireland. Therefore, he decided to make the pub his regular haunt in the hope that he might get to know some of the locals. Chris was also a reasonable drawer with a pencil, so he started to carry a sketchbook and pencil with him as a mean of introduction. He also bought himself a pushbike so that he could visit the countryside. Where he would sketch places that he thought might be of interest to the Secret Services back in England. However, he would always try and impose somebody’s portrait into the picture of a location. Just in the hope that it might put any suspecting person off his scent.
While in the pub at nights he would sit in one corner and sketch anybody that caught his eye. At the end of the evening or if that person was about to leave Chris would give them the picture. Some of the old guys took the picture with them while others gave it to the landlord who stuck them up on the walls around the pub.
Un-be known to all Chris was using a duplicate page below each page that he drew on. As he sketched the faces he would press just that little harder so that he was left with a copy in his note book.
Chris was very interested in the younger people that frequented the pub. As they could have been the young bucks that the Para Military were recruiting at that time. If and when he was ever to return to England, he would take their sketches with him.
On one of his trips into the countryside Chris hid the radio that was about the size of two matchboxes, within a dry stonewall that surrounded a field. It was by a hedge and large tree so that it would give him good cover and a prominent feature, so he would know where it was. He had removed one stone then put the radio inside the cavity, and then replaced the stone. He felt good that he had been able to get it out of his room. He knew it would only be a matter of time before somebody searched the place if in fact they had not done so already. The little old lady would have been too frightened and scared to say anything to anybody who might turn up at the house. She also could have been a very active member in the organisation, although he doubted that.
It was almost three weeks before he got into a conversation with someone in the pub. One night as he sat next to a middle-aged gentleman that just happened to have a small building firm and was short of a labourer. Chris, who had just finished drawing him, gave him his picture and accepted the job. His name was Sean and the first thing he asked was to look at Chris’s hands.
“Hope there not artist hands mate, all soft and smooth like a baby’s bum, if you work for me then I expect you to work hard,” he said in a stern voice.
With that Chris thrust out his hands.
“Tell you what mate, if I can’t come up to your standards within the week I’ll leave on my own accord, How’s that,” he said.
“Fine, be outside the pub at seven tomorrow morning sharp”.
Chris was pleased he had made his first inroads into the town life, plus he would be earning some money. His funds had been running a little low lately. To make his cover more believable it had been decided that he would have to live off whatever wages he could earn working locally.
His life on the building site could not have been better, he liked the work and even the small bunch of four guys that he worked alongside. They seem to all hit it off well, and Chris was true to his word showing the boss that he was indeed a good worker. He got to know them during their lunch breaks when Chris answered most of their questions that they would keep firing at him. At one time he even wondered if the IRA had ordered Sean to employ him, just to get what information he could. Although, later he wasn’t so sure it seemed more of a case that people are inquisitive and would just like to know. Chris was probably the newest member to stay in the town for a couple of years. The younger two of the gang had never been out of the Armagh area and were very keen to know what life was like outside of Ireland. Chris used all this to his advantage just to gain their confidence and become good friends with them. Although he made a point to never discuss religion or politics during any of his conversations. That it would be like waving a red flag at a bull in a china shop.
After a month Chris was involved in a minor accident when he fell off the scaffolding around a house they were working on. He fell about eight feet to the ground, landing badly on his ankle in to a heap of sand. Sean got him in his truck and took him back into the town to see a doctor. It turned out to be a bad sprain that was going to put him off work for at least a week.
However, what caught Chris’s eye was the pretty young nurse in the surgery, the one who had to bandage up his ankle. They got talking and the atmosphere became very friendly right from the start. It turned out that her name was Maureen and she had wondered about him since seeing him when he first arrived in the town. The conversation developed to such a point that Chris asked if she was attached, to which she gave a little giggle and answered no, adding that she did not have a boyfriend either. Chris was in like a shot “Well how about letting me take you out for a drink tonight at the pub.”
Maureen agreed and said “But only if you do not walk around on that ankle too much.” Then yes she would meet him there at seven that evening. Chris could not believe his luck she was very pretty and it had been so easy. He was certainly going to play on his bad ankle during the next few days, so she could bandage it daily for him.
That night at the pub they got to know each other while Chris was sketching Maureen. They looked the perfect couple laughing and joking and blended in as locals. Maureen was amazed at the finished picture and showed it off around the pub. She had lived in the town for almost ten years and her skills as a nurse had made her a very popular person. Many of the younger males had been trying to date her for a long time. Chris’s only worry was that he would upset these youngsters. Because he was the outsider, and now it looked like he was the first to score with the locally good-looking nurse. The evening was soon over and time for Maureen to go home. They even got into an embrace with some kissing, once Chris had managed to hobble along escorting her to her front door. They had both enjoyed the evening and plans were laid to repeat the evening. However, as Chris walked away he felt a little bit guilty that he was betraying his wife, and he had promised himself that he would not do that.
They began to meet on a regular bases several evenings a week and it was not long before Maureen fell head over heels in love with Chris, although it was one sided. It wasn’t meant to happen that way, because Chris was struggling not to fall in love with her.
Chris was also worried that others in the town were watching, and that tongues would be wagging, and information might be passed on to the IRA. Retribution would be swift and taken against Maureen and anybody who was connected with her. The IRA was ruthless in demonstrating to the people what they would do to collaborators and sympathisers of the British government.
During one evening while they were together in the pub, Chris noticed that several of the usual drinkers were huddled together talking quietly. Eventually it got the better of Chris and he asked Maureen what was going on. At first she tried to brush him off, that they were probably cracking jokes. Although Chris was quick to point out that there was no sign of laughter taking place. Eventually she told him of an incident that had taken place a few days earlier. That the IRA operating in an area further north, had killed someone they believed to be helping the British. They had dragged him to a river estuary and tied him to an old tree stump sticking a couple feet out from the riverbank and located on the high tide mark. He had been left all night, being able to watch the incoming tide. While the IRA had hoped that the water level would only reach his chin. Being able to watch the water raise and death approach, while not being able to do anything to prevent it. Sadly, he did not survive, and upon the IRA’s return the following morning the lower part of his body had been badly eaten by crabs and other crustaceans. Leaving Chris to remind himself that he could never let his guard down,
and give himself away.
Chris had been very lucky so far and had got away with his deception. However, he had to be on his toes at all times. Remembering his old saying, never let your guard down. You only need to do it once and it could contribute to the ending of your life.
Chris should have been made to repeat those words over and over, as his meetings with Maureen started to cloud his judgement. One night Chris announced to all in the pub that they had been together for two months and wanted to celebrate by buying everybody a drink. This coursed a lot of laughing and joking and general talk about them in the town. In fact, it made them the centre of attraction, something that should never have happened. It starts people talking and asking more questions, and answers that could be listened to by the IRA. However, Chris did detect a little more interest in him. However, behind his back other issues could be talked about. People who he had never spoken to in the past would stop and talk to him quite out of the blue. He started to suspect that something behind the scenes was going on and that it all revolved around him. If he was right, he could only hope that it would not involve Maureen. The last thing he had wanted to do was to endanger her life.
On one occasion two strangers entered the pub both wearing dark trench coats, it looked so obvious to all within the pub. Chris knew straight away that they were IRA you could just feel it, plus the site of those coats. The place went so quiet, that you would have been able to hear a pin drop. Chris reflected about the first day that he had walked in, it had sounded like a dance hall compared with now. Chris used his skill to draw both of the strangers while keeping another couple of portraits handy so he could cover up what he was really doing. The last thing he wanted was being found out what he was up to. This was the sort of information that London wanted so that they could keep tabs on these guys. Chris did something different and out of character the next day when he actually posted both portraits to a safe house in North London an address that he had memorised, but he did not sign it in anyway not even with his code word.
Then one day while he was at work with Sean, a messenger drove up to tell Chris that he had better come back to the local Police station that they wanted to talk to him.
As he entered the Police station he could sense that there was a problem. He was questioned about Maureen, when was the last time that he had seen her, as she had been reported missing. She had not turned up for work that day at the surgery. Chris explained that he had left her the night before at her front door round about 10pm, and had witnessed her going inside. He slumped down in a chair devastated by the news.
She was not found that day or the next, Chris started to panic if she had been taken by the IRA then there was a good chance that they would make her talk. Although she knew nothing, he had never told her one word of what he was up to. If that were the case, they would certainly kill her thinking that she was protecting him in some way. He had hoped that it was a random hit by some local manic, but then on second thoughts she would still be killed. After possibly raping her, whoever it was they would not risk being identified, so he would definitely kill her.
He decided not to tell London just yet about his predicament, feeling that he had coursed this problem it should be he who got himself out of it. Anyway to panic now was unnecessary as he was only guessing at this stage maybe there was a perfectly logic answer.
On the fourth day Chris was once again summoned to the Police station where he was told the bad news that Maureen’s body had been found. A couple of local Policemen had by accident stumbled upon her while searching an old farm house ten miles away.
She was found strapped to a bed with her hands above her head and tied to the bed frame. While her legs were hanging over the top of the bottom bed frame. Her ankles had been tied to the bottom supports of the bed frame near the floor. She had not been sexually assaulted, but there was blood on her knees and legs. It was running from several little holes that had been made in her kneecaps. The Police suspected that an electric hand drill had been used to make these. It’s a method that the IRA uses while trying to make somebody talk. Chris knew this and wiped a tear from his eye. Having heard the grisly details, he then asked, but how had she been killed and why. The chief of Police went on to tell him that she had died from a single shot to the temple by a handgun, one shot and it would have been all over very quickly. Although not the torture part that would have gone on for hours. Nobody knew why she had been killed it was all a big mystery to them.
Chris went back to his room he had to think what his next move would be. He desperately tried to search his memory. Looking for some shred of evidence that he might have missed, something that he could connect with Maureen’s disappearance. The only issue that kept coming back to him was the two men that had turned up in the pub, wearing those dark trench coats. Had there been a spy back in London who had seen the sketches that he had sent. Had someone put two and two together, linking them to him. More to the point, had they got anything out of Maureen or were they just guessing. Either way Chris was feeling a little scared and very vulnerable. The loss of Maureen had been a devastating blow to him after all he had like her. For two days he did not make a move not even leaving his room, mainly because he had no plan and secondly he had the feeling that he was being watched. If he ran now, there was the chance that he would not make it out of Ireland. After all he was on his own he had nobody to turn to. He could not even go out to the radio, just in case he was being watched. One thing he did know and that was the perpetrators of this act would never be brought to justice. He wished that he could dish out the same punishment to whoever it was. He would make them pay in pain, over and over again.
He decided to go back to work and try and act as natural as possible. However, in the meantime he would try and prepare his work mates and Sean with the idea that he might go back home. That he was all mixed up and missed Maureen. He spent about a week and a half with Sean, finally handing in his notice once the funeral was over. It seemed a reasonable amount of time to pay his respects and then he was off. He entered the pub for the last time around early evening telling everybody that his loss of Maureen had left him devastated. So much so that he could not handle it and that he was going home. He had a last drink with them then threw his old canvas bag over his shoulder and with a final. “I’ll be back one day” he vowed, turned and then walked out.
The idea of this charade was in the hope that it would all look as natural as possible to the locals. Not like he was making a run for it, because if they thought that, then he knew he would be a dead man. He caught a bus and made his way across the country to Dublin where he made a phone call to England leaving the message that said, “Sleeper has fled the coup”. Next day while on the ferry he felt a little relieved, but still kept looking over his shoulder something he would probably be doing for a long time to come.