Pool_2

"Not to me," he whispered back with a big grin as John confirmed his insight. "Exactly. The Dungannon hand-holding singing march from Queen’s University, as a gesture of public assent of a higher level of public fairness, wound up as a televised blood bath under the battering of the Ulster Police. Brains, educated college brains were strewn on the streets. Those marchers were exactly half Catholic and half Protestant. It didn't matter that equal numbers of singing Protestants got their freedom singing heads bashed in, it was called - a Catholic uprising - a disturbance of law and order - and was crushed in the name of democracy. Crushed. But televised. Those old time-worn brutalities did not play well on the tube. Gestapo savagery was not to be hidden. All over the world, people were aghast at what they saw. Belfast broke out into massive rioting. Scholars still haven't settled the tally of world organizations which officially and vehemently protested Ulster inhumanity. Businesses pulled back, way way back. It was five years prior to these national events that the personal tragedy of the seventeen year old Gavin McGuiness began. As the tale was told of Katherine being beaten up by Ulster Police thugs, Marcus muttered, "I almost ordered the stuffed peppers," to a circle of quizzical stares. He just waved them off. "Peppers? Am I keeping you awake with this?" John goaded. " 'S nothing. It's another.. oh, uh.. go on, tell us about McGuinness. Doesn't sound to me that they turned him. You make it sound like he just got more poetical. Suffering and art, they complement." John almost agreed, but drew back, "Depends." "On what?" "Who's suffering. He could take his own. He suffered to diminish hers. Young