Wait Out Part 3 (terrorists target school leavers)

Dr Patrick O’Brien could see no bad in young Jock Steen. “He’s a fine boy,” he’d say in response to his colleague’s protestations. Even when Jock brought his BSA 22 air rifle into school and expertly despatched the school cat’s kittens O’Brien defended him,

“Well the cat’s a dammed nuisance, any more would be too many. And the lad’s a good eye with the rifle”.

As School Head, the staff were in no position to argue with his logic.

O’Brien’s passion for his beloved Armagh, and the Irish struggle, was barely tempered by his need to present his History lessons in unbiased sessions. Jock and his cousins relished the stories of the 1921 uprising and the defeat of British rule. Quotes from rebel songs were answered by the cousin’s tuneful renditions. Jock felt proud, and soon followed their lead.

During the summer of 1968, Jock stood with his Mother and Headmaster, and watched as his cousins departed for ‘a better life in America’. Three weeks earlier they had returned to Belfast, where, unknown to Jock, they had joined the swelling ranks of the IRA’s splinter group, the newly formed Provisional Irish Republican Army. Dr Patrick O’Brien, realising the potential, had been the instigator of the enlistment and now waved goodbye, having secretly briefed them to ‘further the cause’ by acquiring finance and weapons from the sympathetic American Catholics. That done, he turned his attention to Jock…

“ Ah well, tis good luck to them boys, I’ll wish.” O’Brien said as the train pulled away.”

“It’s very kind of you to come down to the station to see the boys off Mr O’Brien”
“It’s a pleasure indeed Mrs Steen. I’ve known these boys for a long time, and had many a good lesson with them, not to mention by them. And, I have to say it’s a pleasure meeting such a lovely lady as yer self”

Agnes Steen’s tiny drawn face cracked, she dipped her head letting her dark brown hair hide her embarrassment,

“Well, you’ve got the gift of the blarney I’ll say that furr ya” she giggled.

O’Brien cast a cheeky glance. Agnes caught the glint in his eye. For the first time she took notice, at forty-five, he stood tall and slim, raven black hair shadowed his craggy features. She looked at her son, he was similar, she thought, but she knew, there’d never been such a glint in his cold eyes.

“I’ve not managed to get to school on open days, I’ve had to work”, she said apologetically, “how’s he doing? ” She asked.

“He’s doing just fine. In a couple of months time he’ll leave with a lot of knowledge under his belt. He’s a fit lad, he’d do well in the forces”. His attention turned to Jock, “ Any ideas about the future?”.
“I’ve a mind to go with them”. He gestured towards the fading train. “I’ll no join the British forces though!”

“Just a thought,” O’Brien said as he wrestled with his jacket’s inside pocket, eventually producing a tatty brown paperback book, which he handed to Jock, he continued, “Have you ever heard of Baden Powell?”

Jock replied without hesitation, “Och aye, he’s the Englishman who started scouting.”

“Indeed he did, but he did a whole lot more besides. Read the book, young man I’d like to have a word with ya about it in the future.”

He took the book without question, knowing full well that if it was recommended by his teacher and mentor, it must be worth reading He looked at the faded cover and read the title to himself, ‘MY ADVENTURES AS A SPY by LORD BADEN-POWELL,’ puzzled he looked back at his mentor.
A smile moved across the Doctors face, “Read it.” He said as he winked his eye.

…