Chapter Twenty
The Price Of Innocence
Not that the young fox ever knew it of course, but what happened later in the sunlit farmyard on that same June evening was partly his fault.
The British military convoy had left Howth much earlier than expected and therefore arrived at the farm sooner than anticipated, giving the Volunteers little time to finalise their makeshift preparations, which was why the sudden appearance of the Morris Oxford on the scene was such a God send; here was something they could use to form an improvised barricade, with which they could block the road, behind which they could shelter, and then … open fire.
However, the earlier than expected arrival on the scene of the two lorries and the accompanying staff car meant also that the Volunteers did not have time enough to ensure that all members of the Kavanagh family who rented and farmed the land hereabouts were safely assembled in the back kitchen well away from the front of the building and so hopefully out of harm's way.
And it was this simple fact that, ultimately, was to lead to tragedy.
For when the Volunteers had appeared out of nowhere and commandeered the farm in anticipation of their injudiciously planned attack on the army convoy, along with Jiggs, eleven year old Joseph Kavanagh had been in the jacks across the yard down by the milking shed.
Seeing his parents, two younger brothers, and sister being shepherded inside the farmhouse at rifle point, hearing the rumble of the approaching army lorries on the road from Howth, seeing the other Volunteers dispersing themselves into cover as best they could, in and around the entrance to the farm and down along the lane, guessing what was about to happen, telling Jiggs, a two year old Border collie and Joseph's pride and joy to keep quiet, young Joseph decided he was better off staying put where he was.
He had no especial concern for his parents, brothers or sister. He knew they would come to no harm, having recognised two of the Volunteers across the yard, one of them sixteen year old Jimmy Connor, as neighbours of his parents. So, with a boy's unconcern, accompanied by Jiggs, young Joseph sat quietly in the jacks, peering through a crack in the door, and waited to see what happened.
What happened was Jiggs got out.
Of course he wouldn't have done so, had young Joseph not opened the door to the jacks ever so slightly so as to get a better view of the arrival of the two army lorries.
It was then that Jiggs caught sight of the fox up on the ridge above the farm. That was all it took. Jiggs was out of the jacks and across the yard faster than a ferret down a rabbit hole. And, with all thought of the army convoy and the Volunteers now forgotten, young Joseph fairly bolted after him in hot pursuit.
The escape of Jiggs coincided with moments later the forced entry at gunpoint of both Tom and Sybil into the farmyard, at the same time that all hell broke loose in the road outside with the army convoy coming under repeated bursts of small arms fire from the Volunteers sheltering behind the grey Morris and hidden in the dense undergrowth along both sides of the narrow lane, with the British soldiers, present in much greater numbers than had been anticipated, returning withering fusillades of blistering rifle fire from their superior positions aboard the two army lorries now stopped close to the farm entrance.
It was at this same moment, midst the deafening noise of rapid and sustained gunfire, the ricocheting of bullets, the screams of the injured and of the dying, that Sybil caught sight of the young boy running across the sunlit farmyard in pursuit of his dog.
She screamed out loud.
But it was too late.
Disorientated by the noise of gunfire, hearing flying footsteps racing towards them from across the farmyard, fearing a sudden flanking movement from behind the farm buildings by the British, the two Volunteers simply turned and, at point blank range, opened fire.
Amongst others, young Joseph never stood a chance ...