“When’s that?”
“Sure and it’s the same day sometimes, or it’s two days or three days.”
“And what happens after that?”
“Indade, and if you can explain things you can go. And if you can’t it’s to Ballykinler Internment Camp you go.”
“What’s that like?”
“Sure, and I hear tell it’s not bad in summer. Plenty of sports and games, and a chap gets a rest; but it’s no place at all at all in winter, but wind and rain.”
Somebody else joined in the talk.
“They got me on Monday. They had me up for interrogation two days ago and put me back. They put you back to find out more about you. One of them says to the other, reading it off a paper, this man’s a lieutenant in the I.R.A. Their intelligence men are very good.”
The man like a Spaniard spoke. “When they got hold of me one man said to the other, ‘Take care of this fellow, we want him. He’s a prominent Sinn Feiner.’”
I found everybody rather inclined to hint at his value as a Republican; but I had no intention of following the good example when I went up for interrogation. I found in these people the trait common to all men who come together in difficulties. They made a great show of cheerfulness and good humour, finding a joke in everything and laughing at nothing.