about the Black and Tans; how they had chased people up Careys Road in Limerick, hunted them through shops and private houses, or had dragged suspects into Limerick's William Street Barracks, there trying to make them talk by often threatening them with a red hot poker. Then again and on other occasions, Thady would regale those warders with an unending stream of sheer nonsense, holding their rapt attention in a pricelessly stupid manner. When returning from exercise into the bleak, chilling silence of our prison wing, Thady, once in a while, would let out the most blood-curdling screech and then, immediately, turn around with an angelically innocent face, his big eyes popping wide open in mock horror to find "Who did that??" The warders, without fail, would immediately and furiously yell, "Shut up! Stop that noise!" To which Thady would promptly comment, “See now there ye go again; making trouble for all the rest of us!!" As time went on, Thady became a real menace at his disruptive tactics; and, although totally harmless, they proved very effective indeed. One day, one of the Chief Warders brought me into his office telling me that he had a lot of packages there from Ireland, all addressed to our prisoners. Obviously, many of the packages had already been opened and had been checked [27] for revolvers, knives, files, etc., the usual prison precautions. Included among the parcels was also a rather bulky bundle of newspapers. In quite friendly tone, the Chief explained that he was sorry but the prisoners would not be allowed to receive the packages containing cakes and other types of food - that, despite the fact that not all of our lads had been tried or sentenced. He then added that, he personally, would very much like to hand out the packages to the recipients but that, unfortunately, prison regulations did not allow him to do so. "Truly, there is nothing I can do about the matter", he said to me and, realising his problem I, of course, accepted his apology as gracefully as I could. However, and while this exchange was going on, my eyes had strayed back again and again to the bundle of newspapers; then and there I decided to at least, get them at all costs. So# I agreed with the Chief, saying that it was really a great pity our people had gone to all the trouble and expense to send the packages in the first place, and all that for nothing, BUT, I said, that I thought it only fair our lads should, at least, be told about it. Keeping him occupied with my chatting I, simultaneously, watched him like a hawk and, as the Chief turned to pick up something, I quickly grabbed the bundle of newspapers and stuffed them inside my coat; after a few more friendly words I left quickly for my cell, after suggesting to the Chief that he might best see Maurice Crowe, who was in charge of us, and let him know all about the packages and that they could not be handed over. Safely back in my cell, I hurriedly read all the papers and, next morning, I split them up, handed them to many of the lads, telling them to quietly pass them along and not to leave any of them in their cells for they were bound to be missed. Before I had the chance of getting the papers back from the others, the Chief came to me telling me that a knife was missing and, if it got into the hands of one of the convicts, a most dangerous situation might develop. He then asked me if I had perhaps seen the knife since I had been in his office, and he looked and sounded terribly worried. I then told him quite frankly that I had taken the newspapers and had found the knife hidden inside the bundle, with that I handed it over to him. He let out a sigh of relief, thanked me sincerely for my honesty, and that ended the matter. [28] Meanwhile, the Prison Chaplain, an Irishman with long service with the British, did not seem to like us or our presence, and the first Sunday he felt inclined to give us a very obvious and most unwelcome sermon on loyalty. I protested to rice Crowe and suggested that we go and see the Chaplain. This we did and made it very clear to him that we were not in the least interested in any loyalty to England, our enemy, and that we wanted nothing more but to get away from her and her oppressive imperialism. We told him that we were in Winchester Prison under protest, and that we were only acting as any decent Englishman would act if foreigners had taken over his country. We also suggested to him that he might go and ask people from Cork and find out HOW Lord Mayor MW McCurtain was cruelly murdered by an English murder gang right before his wife's eyes. The following Sunday at Mass, the Chaplain never once even looked our way, but a day later, when he came to my cell, I told him bluntly
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