Free Hateland by Bernard O'Mahoney Page A

but I had the feeling she was analysing every word we said for signs of Catholicism or blasphemy. For instance, I might have said, 'My friend Patrick has got one of those cars.' And she'd have said, 'Patrick? That's a Catholic name. Is Patrick a Catholic?'
        After dinner, we sat down again in the sitting room to watch the Queen's Speech. It was a first for me. Fortunately, they kept the television on after the speech, so at least I had a little respite from talking and the constant danger of betraying myself. But watching television held dangers too. Something happened on screen which made me say, 'Oh, God! I don't believe it.' Elizabeth's mother breathed in sharply, clutched her chest and walked out. Elizabeth whispered angrily, 'I told you not to swear!'
        I tried to settle down into my new life with Elizabeth, but an uneasiness had crept into our relationship which hadn't been apparent before. Perhaps it was my fault. I'd expected something different from my new life. I suppose I'd almost expected to have my old army life back, but with more perks, such as the freedom to live outside camp with a woman I was fond of. But life as a civilian was very different. None of my friends was around and even from those very first days, I began to feel extremely isolated. I tried to enjoy myself, but deep down I knew I'd made a mistake in going back.
        Shortly after my arrival, I went to the main RUC station in Enniskillen and enquired about obtaining a firearms licence. If the Provos did pay me a visit, I wanted at least to have the chance to defend myself. The policeman at the desk summoned a colleague who dealt with such applications. He asked me why I wanted one. I explained my background and what I was doing in Northern Ireland. He nodded sympathetically and said he didn't think that, as a former soldier, I'd have any problems. He asked me various questions from a prepared list. Was I on any medication? Had I ever received treatment for, or been diagnosed as having, a mental illness? I got through everything all right until he came to the question I'd been dreading. Had I ever been convicted of a criminal offence?
        I suppose I could have lied, but I knew that, as a matter of course, he'd run my name through the police computer and find my record. Then I'd have committed another offence by lying to obtain a firearm. So I told the truth. I said I'd faced a few minor charges. He asked what they were. I said, 'Eh, assault, robbery, theft, threatening behaviour, possessing an offensive weapon and criminal damage.'
        His manner became a little frosty. He told me I'd be wasting my time applying. There was no way someone with my record would be given a firearms licence. Not even if the Provos put up 'Wanted' posters of me. I was annoyed. I said I'd only recently spent four and a half months patrolling Fermanagh with a firearm. He shrugged his shoulders.
        I had better luck with the UDR. After a short interview with an officer at St Angelo, and the lengthy processing of my application, I was told I'd been accepted into the ranks, although I'd have to wait six months to join the new intake.
        I liked Elizabeth a lot. She was a lovely person, kind and gentle, and much of the time we got on fine. But we came from such different backgrounds that inevitably I began to feel how alien we were to each other. In the past at St Angelo, she'd laughed with me at the stupidity of some of the sectarian bigots at the base.
    She'd often said, 'We're not all like that.' But living with her, and meeting her friends and family, I felt at times the evidence told me different. She certainly didn't hate Catholics, but the world she lived in had been formed by 'the Troubles'. Almost all her friends and family were involved with the Crown forces in one way or another. They saw themselves as frontierspeople barricading their homesteads against marauding natives. It was all hands to the pump-action