The 'RA versus My Ma

The 'RA versus My Ma (or 'How They Didn't Stand A Chance')

“You’re to get your hair cut. Go into town to The Tivoli – short back and sides, and plenty off the top. Here’s ten bob – that's 10p for your bus into town and back, and 40p for the haircut. Keep the change!”
 
West Belfast 1973, a chill Saturday morning in April, and I needed my hair cut. Our local barber had been interned and my sister’s communion was that afternoon. So with the warm 50p piece from my Ma in my hand I boarded the bus into town, bought my token and sat down.
 
Fifteen minutes later, halfway into town, the bus came to an abrupt stop. The doors squeaked open and two men dressed in army surplus gear got on, wearing balaclavas and carrying guns, one a pistol and one a rifle. Our bus was being seized in the name of “the cause”.
 
There were a couple of muted cheers from the teenage boys behind me and much rolling of eyes and tutting from the adults on the bus, as everyone shuffled to the front to get off. I stayed exactly where I was.  The last passenger left and I gripped the metal rail of the seat in front tightly as the gunman with the rifle came up the bus to me.
 
- Off, son.
- No.
- Get off the bus, son. Anois.
- I can’t.
 
The man with the rifle knelt down in the aisle beside me and spoke again, more gently.
 
- Don’t be stupid now son, just get off the bus. You can get the next one into town.
 
I’d closed my eyes and was still gripping the seat in front as tightly as I could.
 
- I can’t.
- What?
- I can’t get off.
- Why not?
- I only have enough money to get the bus into town, get my hair cut, and get the bus back. If I have to pay for another bus in, I won’t have enough for the bus home. And if I don’t get my hair cut and get back for my sister’s Communion my Ma’ll kill me.
 
There was a long silence before he spoke again.
 
- Wait here.
 
The gunman returned to the front of the bus and I opened my eyes. He was talking to the driver and waving the gun around. Not in an aggressive way, but using it to point, as he would his finger were he not carrying the rifle. I saw the driver reach under his seat for the leather pouch the drivers used to keep their cash in and closed my eyes again.
 
- How much do you need?
 
The gunman’s voice beside me made me jump and I opened my eyes to look at him, but I didn’t answer. He asked again –
 
- How much?
- What?
 
I could hear my voice sounded higher than usual and I’d begun to shake, but I wasn’t getting off that bus.
 
- How much do you need, son?
- I need 5p to get the next bus into town. Then I’ll have enough to get my hair cut and get home again for our Marian’s Communion.
 
He reached his gloved hand toward me and I flinched, unsure if he was going to strike me, or grab me, or even shoot me. Instead, he put something on my lap.
 
- Here’s 10p. Keep the change.
 
END