The chief amusement of the local gunmen on leave, and of their friends, male and female, was now to spend their time joy-riding through the countryside, flying Sinn Fein flags on their commandeered lorries and singing the “Soldier’s Song” whenever they passed any police or a barracks.
One expedition of this kind went out to Ballyrick on a Sunday and returned to Ballybor about midnight. Blake happened to be passing down the main street at the time, and encountered a party of drunken bank clerks trying to see how much row they could make.
Blake remonstrated with them, and told them that if they did not go home quietly he would have them arrested. One clerk at once started to sing the “Soldier’s Song” at the top of his voice, and another shouted at Blake in an insolent voice, “What about the truce, Mr B——, D.I.?” Blake saw red—he had borne and suffered much for many days,—and he gave the bank clerk a full drive on the chin which sent him flying. The whole party then swiftly retreated in silence.
The following day Blake paid a visit to the bank, and said to the clerk he had ousted the previous night, “Look here, Mr Bank Clerk, don’t think I hit you last night because you were drunk. There’s a fine open yard at the back of the barracks, and if you will come round now, we can fight it out.” Abject apologies from Mr Bank Clerk, and Blake left the bank.
One morning a woman arrived at the barracks in a state of great distress and asked to see the D.I. She told Blake that she lived in a small house in Cloonalla, which she rented from another woman in the village. Twice her landlady had tried in a British court to evict her, and had failed. The landlady then applied to the local I.R.A., who promptly turned the unfortunate woman with all her furniture and belongings into the street, and there she remained. When she remonstrated with them they showed her a warrant signed by the village Sinn Fein magistrate and left her.
Blake at once applied to the County Inspector for instructions, who applied to the higher authorities. Back came the answer, “See circular so-and-so,” which on being turned up stated that all breaches of the Truce should be at once reported. Meanwhile the woman remained homeless: neighbours in an Irish village nowadays fight shy of an I.R.A. victim, and circulars are not substitutes for roofs.
Again Blake tried to get leave to take action, and this time the answer was to forward four copies of the case to the police adviser in Scotland. In despair he put his pride in his pocket and applied to the I.R.A. liaison officer of the district for help.
And the next day the liaison officer arrived in Ballybor—an ex-soldier and a well-known murderer. Blake felt that he could hardly stand this final insult to an honourable uniform; but duty is duty, and a truce must be kept.
The liaison officer went out in a car to Cloonalla, and ordered the local braves to put the woman and her furniture back in her house, which they flatly refused to do. And that was the end of the matter.
After some weeks’ rest the chiefs of the I.R.A. issued an order calling all men to the colours, whether they liked it or not.