The two fallen men regained their feet. O’Connor stood in the rain, his hands raised above his head, as the water ran down his cheeks, his hair sticking to his head like a damp pall. The driver stood beside him, shaking, his bloodied face smeared in dirt and swollen but with his hands raised. The […]
Templeman: On the Border – part 3 Read More »
Moran, a stocky man with thin lips, a broken nose and salt and pepper hair, extended a muscular hand in welcome in a gesture that could have been interpreted as a blow to the stomach. “So, London doesn’t trust us to keeps tabs on one Fenian,” he said, half mockingly. Templeman decided to omit reference
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The road from the village of Newtonbutler in Fermanagh toward the town of Clones in the Republic, crossed fertile farmland that rose and fell in thick waves of earth. Closer to the border the road passed between two low ridges, the land there was green and wooded and watered by countless streams and brooks. On
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