his colleagues and asked him to take the woman and children to their neighbour’s and ticked off a name on his clipboard. Another of his colleagues linked arms with an old woman who looked barely able to support the bull’s wool army greatcoat around her shoulders. The warden stopped him and asked who she was and ticked her name on his list. Then he went to the next house and shone his torch through the hall door which was hanging half-open on one hinge and called out names. There was no response.
Duggan spotted a major dispatching more men to help the gardaíset up a cordon and saluted and introduced himself. ‘Is the battalion intelligence officer here?’ he asked.
‘Lieutenant Kelly,’ the major pointed to an officer standing by the crater in the road, stopping some soldiers from shovelling debris into it.
Duggan joined him and they swapped names. ‘Might be some bits of the bomb in there,’ Lieutenant Kelly said. ‘Might identify whose it was.’
‘Were there one or two?’
‘Two. Another fell behind those houses. On the banks of the canal. Didn’t do so much damage.’
‘Many dead?’
‘There’s two children unaccounted for in there,’ Kelly pointed towards one of the demolished houses where the rescue workers were lifting out a large sheet of ceiling. ‘They got everyone out of the other one. A clergyman and his family. From the church down there.’
‘How many wounded?’
‘Don’t know exactly. Ten or twenty gone to hospital. ‘
‘Anyone see the bomber?’ He looked up at the clear sky: the stars were sharp in the frosty air but were blacked out to the west by a cloud. More snow coming.
Kelly shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. Heard the fucker myself. I wasn’t long in the bed. Thought at first that he’d hit the barracks.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Nothing sobers you up faster than that. We were here within minutes. Total chaos. Screaming and shouting. People running everywhere. Debris still falling. Choking dust.’ He shook his head at the memory. ‘I didn’t think anyone could come out of those houses alive.’
The major interrupted them to order Kelly to get more men to clear all the gawkers back behind the cordons. ‘And don’t let anyone back into their houses if they’re damaged. Tell them we’ll keep everything safe if they’re afraid of looting.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Duggan wandered back towards Griffith barracks, past a Presbyterian church with all its windows gone. Its wayside pulpit still proclaimed, ‘The Lord is good to all and His tender mercies are over all His workers.’ Someone was inside with a flashlight and he caught a glimpse of the pews covered in chunks of plaster and dust. He came to the cordon on that side of the scene before he reached the barracks and turned back.
‘They’re all right,’ one of the rescue workers at the demolished houses shouted. There was a ragged cheer and somebody began clapping. The ambulance moved forward along the path cleared for it and a couple of men went to the scene with stretchers. Duggan watched from a distance and then decided to go back to the Red House: he wasn’t doing anything useful here.
There were fewer people in the immediate area of the bomb now as the gardaí and soldiers cleared the area. Ahead of him, Duggan saw a soldier trying to move back a young woman with an overcoat over what he thought at first was a red nightdress. She had her arms folded tight across her stomach and was ignoring the soldier and his orders, staring over his head at the rescue scene.
Duggan looked at her again and realised it was Gerda Meier. But she doesn’t live here, he thought, confused. She raised a hand to push back her hair over her right ear and he saw a tear-drop earring and then a glimpse of a necklace above the top button of the coat and realised she was wearing an evening dress.
‘D’you live here or what?’ the soldier was saying, exasperation rising as she remained oblivious to his
Duggan spotted a major dispatching more men to help the gardaíset up a cordon and saluted and introduced himself. ‘Is the battalion intelligence officer here?’ he asked.
‘Lieutenant Kelly,’ the major pointed to an officer standing by the crater in the road, stopping some soldiers from shovelling debris into it.
Duggan joined him and they swapped names. ‘Might be some bits of the bomb in there,’ Lieutenant Kelly said. ‘Might identify whose it was.’
‘Were there one or two?’
‘Two. Another fell behind those houses. On the banks of the canal. Didn’t do so much damage.’
‘Many dead?’
‘There’s two children unaccounted for in there,’ Kelly pointed towards one of the demolished houses where the rescue workers were lifting out a large sheet of ceiling. ‘They got everyone out of the other one. A clergyman and his family. From the church down there.’
‘How many wounded?’
‘Don’t know exactly. Ten or twenty gone to hospital. ‘
‘Anyone see the bomber?’ He looked up at the clear sky: the stars were sharp in the frosty air but were blacked out to the west by a cloud. More snow coming.
Kelly shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. Heard the fucker myself. I wasn’t long in the bed. Thought at first that he’d hit the barracks.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Nothing sobers you up faster than that. We were here within minutes. Total chaos. Screaming and shouting. People running everywhere. Debris still falling. Choking dust.’ He shook his head at the memory. ‘I didn’t think anyone could come out of those houses alive.’
The major interrupted them to order Kelly to get more men to clear all the gawkers back behind the cordons. ‘And don’t let anyone back into their houses if they’re damaged. Tell them we’ll keep everything safe if they’re afraid of looting.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Duggan wandered back towards Griffith barracks, past a Presbyterian church with all its windows gone. Its wayside pulpit still proclaimed, ‘The Lord is good to all and His tender mercies are over all His workers.’ Someone was inside with a flashlight and he caught a glimpse of the pews covered in chunks of plaster and dust. He came to the cordon on that side of the scene before he reached the barracks and turned back.
‘They’re all right,’ one of the rescue workers at the demolished houses shouted. There was a ragged cheer and somebody began clapping. The ambulance moved forward along the path cleared for it and a couple of men went to the scene with stretchers. Duggan watched from a distance and then decided to go back to the Red House: he wasn’t doing anything useful here.
There were fewer people in the immediate area of the bomb now as the gardaí and soldiers cleared the area. Ahead of him, Duggan saw a soldier trying to move back a young woman with an overcoat over what he thought at first was a red nightdress. She had her arms folded tight across her stomach and was ignoring the soldier and his orders, staring over his head at the rescue scene.
Duggan looked at her again and realised it was Gerda Meier. But she doesn’t live here, he thought, confused. She raised a hand to push back her hair over her right ear and he saw a tear-drop earring and then a glimpse of a necklace above the top button of the coat and realised she was wearing an evening dress.
‘D’you live here or what?’ the soldier was saying, exasperation rising as she remained oblivious to his
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