The Kilkenny Cat
Book Three: 'Freedom'
by
William Forde
© William Forde. July 21st, 2005
First Edition 300 copies print run
Published by William Forde (July 21st, 2005) Mirfield, West Yorkshire, England.
© William Forde, July 21st, 2005
Cover Illustration by Joel Stephen Breeze.
All text, characters, reproduction, manufacturing, exploitation and artwork copyright reserved by William Forde.
Revised publication, November, 2011
Copyright November, 2011 by William Forde
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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The Kilkenny Cat
Book Three: 'Freedom'
By William Forde
(Dedicated to my sisters Mary, Eileen and Susan, and my brothers Patrick, Peter and Michael Forde).
Author's Foreword
The Kilkenny Cat has been written as a trilogy. Book One deals with the theme of 'truth', Book Two with 'justice', and Book Three on the theme of 'freedom'.
All three books seek to show that truth, justice or freedom cannot exist in isolation, and that the only way one can experience any of them is when one is able to experience all three.
Book One is set in the country of Ireland, the land of my birth, Book Two in Jamaica and Ireland, both countries I know well, with Book Three being predominantly set in Northern England, the place where I have lived for most of my life.
The trilogy is designed to show that every country on the face of the Earth exercises discrimination against some of its citizens. The nature of discrimination may subtly change and vary from one country and situation to another in both shape and form, but it will always be present in some degree for those of us who care to look.
Particular forms of discrimination looked at in this trilogy include the issues of colour, race, religion, age, culture, sexism, disability, homophobia, gypsies, asylum seekers, refugees and economic migrants.
These issues are looked at through the eyes of travelling cats, whose experiences mirror those of human society. Overarching all the themes of this trilogy is the issue of 'Good' versus 'Evil', where the terms 'God' and 'Satan' are used to denote opposing values, qualities and lifestyles.
The speech of the cat characters who come from Jamaica is distinguished from the speech used by non-Jamaican cats by changing the word 'you' to 'ya' and its linguistic associates, and no attempt has been made to replicate the patois more commonly used by many Jamaican citizens.
Book Three is set in the English North and has as its backdrop, the riots that embraced this area from the 1990s onwards. Recent riots all around the country merely reflect how deeply rooted the 'gang culture' of Great Britain has since become.
My heartfelt appreciation is given to the artist Joel Stephen Breeze for the cover of all three books. I also extend my thanks to 'cat expert' Silvia Williamson for the invaluable information she gave me at the research stage of this trilogy.
My eternal gratitude, however, is reserved for my deceased parents, Paddy and Mary Forde, all of the Forde and Fanning family, and the Brennan family of Kilkenny, Ireland, all of whom provided the inspiration for this book's setting.
By better understanding how we became who we are, we can more easily understand the nature of the person we have become.
William Forde
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Chapter One
'The English North'
Imagine a world of wickedness, a place of thick darkness in which it seems pointless to look ahead, where dreams possess no purpose to hold and hope of brighter days to come cease to exist. Imagine!
Imagine a land where the sun no longer shines and the wind of tolerance refuses to blow, a place where birds no longer sing because they've nothing to sing about. Imagine!
Imagine a country in which its laws are ignored, where life is cheap and death can be purchased by a wayward glance in its streets of anarchy: a place where all fresh food tastes sour, a land ruled by the forces of evil spirits who devour the flesh and blood of goodly creatures. Imagine!
Imagine the forfeiture of all freedom, the imprisonment of life itself: being too blind to see, too deaf to hear, too emotionally distant to touch, too poor to provide, too powerless to act, and too different in colour, character, culture or nature to belong. Imagine!
Imagine the confusion of the innocent young, fighting for identity, sanity and understanding in the war zones of cultural conflict, economic blight and employment abandonment. Imagine having to see the hate in the eyes of your brother, simply because the cause they choose to fight makes an enemy of your beliefs. Imagine!
Imagine having found first love in the partner of your dreams, only to abandon her in the flush of pending motherhood. Imagine feeling anger, but unable to express it. Imagine the silent screams of the spent arrow, the hurtful word, which cannot be taken back and the wrongful act which cannot be undone. Imagine!
Imagine all this and you will gain an inkling how Eowa felt to be trapped in his land, country, home and nature during the Northern England riots of the 21st Century. Imagine!
One hundred years earlier, Oldham and its surrounding areas were at the heart of England's industrial north. Its towns were filled with white textile workers and their families. The rows of identical terrace houses that filled its cobbled streets accommodated poorly paid workers who toiled fourteen hours of their day for dignity and livelihood. They spun, twisted and wove the finest of the world's cloth, dispatching to the four corners of the globe the type of clothes they could never afford to buy for themselves or their families. And although they often went short of this and that, there was never a shortage of good manners and neighbourliness. They were a community steeped in national pride, who taught their young of the right to dream.
It was rare to see a black face, unless one happened to visit the country's seaports and docks. Being relatively untraveled and uneducated by 21st Century standards, most English people believed what their betters told them. To them, England was the richest and most powerful country on the face of the Earth. Its army, navy and defences were unconquerable, and its monarch was the crowned ruler to half the world. The English flag had never flown so proud and so extensively and, the English people, be they commoner or Lord, effectively believed themselves to be the kings of their castles. The black person was believed to be inferior to that of the white, and anyone who was born outside English shores was seen as a foreigner, a second-rate person invariably viewed with suspicious eyes.
And so it was in the life of all English creatures, be they cat or human. Everyone grew up on English soil knowing 'their place' and accepting the order of things. English culture was the marrow of English backbone; class coursed through English blood, and nationalism filled the core of every English heart.
Whereas the 19th Century had seen one hundred years of unparalleled wealth, power and glory, the following century witnessed a time of change and fluctuating fortunes, uncertainty and decline. Two world wars in the first half of the 20th Century severely tested the might and courage of the English citizen, and left this once great country with a questionable sense of its own greatness. The English soldier had fought valiantly but had, on a number of occasions, looked defeat in the face. A realization was beginning to emerge that, without the protection of its island waters, the assistance of its European allies and the late intervention of the Americans, the Second World War would have been undoubtedly lost.
The 1950's, 60's and 70's blew in the winds of change, and the country that was once more commonly known as 'England' began to be called 'Great Britain'. Towards the end of the century, the term 'Great' was rarely used in its title, and a more European partnership of customs and ways was being strongly fostered by the Government of the day.
The second half of the 20th Century witnessed colonies of the British Empire rise up against their white masters and press for their independence and self-rule. As the conscience of the British people was stirred into acknowledging the past wrongs of its colonial ways, the British rulers assuaged their collective guilt by attempting to wipe the slate clean.
England had dropped its pretence of being any more than one more player in the game of world domination. Its border controls became more relaxed and large numbers of immigrants were invited to its shores.
By the 1980's, however, a new form of repression in the shape of 'political correctness' was being forced upon the English citizen by a ruling class of politician, whose eagerness to redress the balance resulted in their noble aims being pursued by questionable motives and unpopular methods with the masses.
Bit by bit, the very identity of 'Englishness' was being systematically eroded. Even the English flag was rarely flown above half-mast. Being English had radically begun to have new meaning. The concept of 'class' was abolished, and yet still existed. An English person could think what they wanted, but had now been legally deprived of the freedom of voicing their thoughts outside their own company. In many areas, the practice of 'positive discrimination' seemed to provide more benefits and rights for the immigrant than the English native had ever enjoyed. A feeling of unfairness rapidly spread.
Whenever a wrong is perceived to have occurred, wrongful actions by those most aggrieved invariably follow!
Towards the end of the 20th Century, English natives started to rebel against this perceived cultural invasion of their land and government suppression of their ways; none more than in the northern counties of England where riots broke out with seeming effortlessness. The English cats felt no different than the English humans in the gravity of this perceived wrong. Their fear revealed the thin veneer of their civilization that covered this cultural sore.
The English North was more vociferous than the sedate southern counties in voicing its opposition to these changes now being forced on them and, like their ancestors (the textile Luddites), they became determined to retain their own traditional customs and ways.
Between the years 2,000 and 2,008, riots broke out frequently in the industrial north, and Bradford, Oldham and Burnley became ungovernable. Open warfare erupted between the English native and the immigrant and, before long, extremist gangs from both sides began to exploit the ever-widening divide which separated black from white, Christian from Muslim and east from west.
By 2008, Bradford, Burnley and Oldham had become the epicentre of all discontent and cultural intolerance: 'no go' areas where only the most violent of cats was prepared to walk the streets after dark or cross alone into another gang's territory.
"Eowa," his mother Molly mewed anxiously, "gather this kindling together quickly and let's get out of here before it gets dark and the street gangs start to prowl."
"Yes, Mum," Eowa replied.
He collected the loose pieces of wood they'd gathered, quickly bundled them together, and then tied them with a cord that was attached to his neck so that the wood could be more easily taken back to the family squat.
Eowa knew that it would get too dark in about half an hour to travel back home without danger. He wanted to get off immediately as he didn't relish the prospect of them getting ambushed on their way back by one of the non-white gangs.
Since his two older brothers had been killed by The Terrible Turks two years ago, Eowa was his parents' only remaining offspring. He therefore felt an additional responsibility to stay with them in this troubled place, given that his mother (who'd lived here all her life), had no intentions of moving to more settled climates. When it came to making a decision, Molly was always one of the quickest to make up her mind, and the last to change it!
Eowa's father, CGAT, would willingly have moved to a safer part of the country after the killing of his two oldest sons, but all efforts to persuade his partner to do so had proved futile. It was like trying to push jelly up a hill.
"There's no way that any gang of foreigners is going to push me off my turf, CGAT. I was born in this street and although I now live closer to the bottom of it, I'll not move out of it! All my family's buried here. This street has been home ground for six generations. It's my castle and I won't be driven out or persuaded by you to move on!"
"If that's your last word on the matter, Molly, then so be it," CGAT calmly replied. "But if you stay, so do I."
"Me too, Mum," Eowa mewed.
This show of family unity had done little to reassure the anxieties of Molly, who quite frankly knew that the continued presence of her partner and son was representative of no extra protection at all. In many ways, where her survival was the issue, they were more hindrance than help on the mean streets of Oldham. And yet, it hadn't always been thus. Molly could still remember her days of courtship with CGAT and, in particular, the risks he would take and the lengths he would go to defend her honour.
He had always been a gentle and considerate cat, even pacifist by inclination, but if ever he was pushed beyond the level of reasonable toleration by any other tom, he would always defend his ground.
But over the years of their union, CGAT had changed, and she held little love and admiration for the tom he now was. Indeed, some of those peaceful qualities, which had once endeared Molly to him, were now viewed by her as being a curse upon their union.
CGAT's nature changed after he'd first come into contact with Merlin the Wizard. Having done a good deed for the wizard (as CGAT would willingly have done for any cat in need of help), Merlin decided to reward CGAT with a generous gift, never before given to any earthly cat.
Merlin had been so impressed by CGAT's gentle nature and his search for the non-confrontational response to any situation that he faced in life, that he presented CGAT with the gift of peace itself.
"Take this," Merlin had told CGAT, handing the English White a phial that contained a colourless potion. "Take this and swallow its contents."
"What is it, Merlin?" CGAT had asked curiously.
"It is my most recent discovery," the wizard replied. "It is an extra chromosome which contains the Gene of Peace. Once it has entered your bloodstream, its immediate effect shall automatically remove all hostile and aggressive responses from your behaviour pattern. You shall no longer need to search for the peaceful response, as it will always be inside you."
"What's more" the wizard told CGAT, "this is not just a gift for the present day. The Gene of Peace shall be passed down from yourself to every offspring you father."
Upon receipt of Merlin's gift, CGAT couldn't have been happier. No longer would the expression of opposing emotions need to wrestle with each other. He would no longer need to exercise control over anger and his aggressive drives, whenever occasionally, the situation he was in stirred his annoyance. Control of anger would no longer be required, as he would simply be incapable of expressing such emotions.
The time eventually followed, soon after, when Molly and CGAT had three kittens to their union. Both parents loved the three male kittens to bits, and their obvious happiness appeared to herald a lifetime of blissful partnership for the loving duo.
But no sooner than the three kittens were one month old and had been placed in the company of other kittens, it then became clear to Molly that their peaceful natures, alongside their inability ever to express aggression or hostility, was hampering their development instead of advancing it.
Initially, the signs were barely noticeable, as their pronounced gentleness and non-aggressive responses made them appear more loveable to their parents and non- threatening to their playmates.
Gradually, however, as the mother watched over her growing young, Molly began to notice that her three sons were constantly being pushed out and taken advantage of by the more boisterous and aggressive kitten. And then the bullying started.
The other kittens soon realised that whatever they said or did to the sons of Molly and CGAT, not one of the three brothers would retaliate with force. Nothing incites the emergence of aggressive traits in the more boisterous than the purr of a pacifist!
"Move it!" one of the street's kittens had growled at Steady, the oldest of Molly and CGAT's three sons.
The rough playmate of Steady had pushed the quiet cat out of line as he'd waited his turn in the queue of other cats at the water pump.
"Go on, scram, Buster!"
"Okay," mewed Steady calmly as he allowed himself to be pushed out of place and towards the back of the queue. "There's no need to be aggressive. If you wanted my place, all you had to do was ask and I would gladly have given you it."
"Ask!" mewed the other cat. "Ask you? That's a laugh. If you want to get on in this life, 'Mama's boy', you've got to learn to take!"
Whenever Molly saw any of her sons being bullied, her maternal instincts would lead her to intervene on their behalf. CGAT, on the other hand, couldn't view it the same way as his sons' mother.
"They'll have to find their own way out of their situations, dear," he would frequently tell Molly, "without resorting to scratching. You can't expect them to walk the path of peace unless you allow them every opportunity of first finding it. Fighting solves nothing. If the only tool you possess is a hammer, then all you'll see are nails."
Whenever Molly heard such pacifist remarks from her partner, instead of persuading her to his argument, she'd find herself emotionally exploding in exasperation.
"You…you're a hopeless lump of lard," she'd mew angrily. "Throw you in the frying pan and you'd melt before you'd scream out! Can't you see that if nobody teaches them how to fight back and stand their ground, they'll never have any to defend – and if you won't do it, then I will!"
"It's not a question of 'won't' dear," CGAT replied, "I 'can't'. It's just not in me. You know I can't go against my nature, and neither can they. Having the Peace Gene doesn't come without a price. It obligates the holder to find the road of non-conflict."
Molly blew her lid when CGAT provided her with this explanation. Ever since the Wizard Merlin had given him the Peace Gene, his entire thoughts, feelings and actions has become totally non-confrontational in all circumstances and conditions.
Molly eventually concluded that her partner's inability to see only one side of the argument was making him wholly unreasonable. She also discovered that living with a saint was insufferable. She would frequently berate him for the unnaturalness of his constant calm. "What's the point of having this so-called Gene of Peace if it doesn't bring us any?" she would mew.
Whenever he came under such reproach from his partner, CGAT would simply endure Molly's abuse and emotional blows, and would stay silent.
When their three sons were one year old, the two oldest were on their way back home one evening when they suddenly found themselves under attack by a gang known as The Terrible Turks.
Steady and his brother Ride it Out had strayed onto the turf of The Terrible Turks, and before they realised it, they'd found themselves cornered by Attilla and thirteen of his gang.
Attilla (who'd always prided himself on being the best street fighter between Burnley and Bradford) decided to show off to his gang members. Waving a blade beneath Steady's chin, Attilla offered the two white hostages a choice.
"This is your lucky day, Whites," he mewed, "you can either die like warriors or the cowards that most of your breed are!"
Ride it Out had replied, "And what choice is that you offer me and my brother?"
"Either fight me to the death or have your throats cut where you stand," Attilla had replied.
"We've no intention of trying to harm you," Steady mewed nervously. "We've no desire to fight you either."
"Then suffer the death of the snivelling cowards you are," Attilla said sneeringly.
He then approached Steady and Ride it Out and, without a second thought, he cut their throats with a single swish of the blade to their jugulars.
Molly and CGAT found the discarded corpses of their two sons the very next morning. Their deaths caused a rift between the parents, a rift that would never be reconciled for the duration of their partnership.
This sad event had occurred two years earlier, time in which the loss of their two oldest sons had seemingly aggravated Molly's wounds instead of healing them.
In March, 2008, the snow fell heavy on the cobbled streets of Oldham. CGAT had been making his way back home for the night when three drugged-up white cats approached him. The three druggies had previously mugged two queens and an elderly tom earlier that day, but not wanting to return to their squat without another fix, the three decided to mug the next cat to cross their path and rob their victim of any belongings they carried. Spying CGAT, the three muggers pinned him up against the wall and the oldest mugger snarled, "Give us your weed or we'll snuff you out!"
CGAT swallowed hard and replied, "I don't have any weed to give you. I never touch the stuff, it's harmful."
"Well then," snarled the oldest, "if you've no weed, hand over anything else you've got – anything we can trade!"
"I've nothing to give you except friendship and understanding," CGAT replied to the three white muggers.
He'd intended to try and talk his way out of the corner he was in, but before CGAT could say another word he was instantly kicked to the ground. The muggers kicked him about the head and body mercilessly and then ran off, leaving CGAT unconscious, lying there in a pool of blood.
He eventually regained consciousness and stumbled back home holding his ribs. His chest felt like it had caved in and he began spitting blood. Upon seeing the state that the muggers had left her partner in, Molly realised that CGAT had at least three of his ribs broken. She bandaged him up tightly and left him in bed for the next two weeks so that he might recover.
With her partner laid up in bed, Molly assumed his duties, including those of looking for firewood in squats farther up the road. These squats were in the process of being demolished. When Eowa and his mother eventually returned to their squat, they found the bandaged CGAT still in bed where they'd left him before going for firewood.
"We're back, Dad," Eowa mewed as he re-entered the squat and unloaded the bundle of kindling.
Molly didn't speak to CGAT. She was still angry with him, having come home, yet again, battered and bruised.
As Eowa made up a fire to keep the trio warm, he kept looking across at the stillness of his mother 's face nearby. He was conscious of the angry silence, which had recently crept into his parents' relationship. And while his father hadn't changed from being the cat he'd always known, his mother had. It was as though she'd given up all prospects of the two of them ever being happy again that she'd thrown in the towel. She'd effectively stopped trying to change the tom she'd once loved, and had now stopped loving him at all.
Over the years, since Eowa's two brothers had been killed, Molly seemed to have given up on all enjoyment of life. Now she only went through the motions of doing whatever needed to be done. She had stopped arguing with CGAT. She had stopped trying to persuade him to her ways and she had almost stopped talking to him at all, unless it was unavoidable!
While Eowa could well appreciate his mother 's position, his very own natural desire for peace at all cost inevitably led to a greater identification with his father 's values and philosophy. As time to settle down for the night approached, Eowa could hear his mother cry in the corner where she now slept. Most nights of the week, Eowa would witness her crying, as she'd now done for two years. She cried for her two sons, Steady and Ride it Out. She cried for her inability to provide them with the necessary survival skills, which may have saved their lives. She cried for their crucifixion on the Cross of Peace. She cried for her lost love, and the growing realization that it would stay lost between herself and CGAT.
"Oh CGAT," Molly mewed mournfully, "how could you have let it happen? How could you bury our sons without wishing revenge upon their killers? If… if only you'd given them the skills of survival instead of that worthless Gene of Peace, then they'd still be alive. They'd be here today. How could you? How could you?"
Across the other corner of the room where Eowa's father slept, the heavily bandaged CGAT also began to cry . As Eowa looked across towards his father's sick bed, he could see the tears running down his father's cheeks. CGAT tried to stifle all sound of his tears and cry in silence. He knew that he couldn't possibly provide his partner with a reply that she would find comforting. He had grown accustomed to hearing these accusations from her lips too many times in the past. He'd been down this road of recriminations too many times, and he'd no desire to get himself trapped down this emotional cul-de-sac ever again.
As the three whites slept, the March wind blew across the English North with the ferocity of a wild beast on the prowl. It was too cold to snow. Every now and then, the howling wind would beat against the boarded-up windows of the derelict houses in the street where they lived, raising dustbin lids sky-bound and blowing them around like flying saucers.
Ten years earlier, these rows of terraced houses on the east side of Oldham had been the homes of human families, but as crime in the area rapidly increased, all surrounding properties began to collapse in value. Homeowners started to leave – to sell up and get out to safer areas. The rot continued and, eventually, the homeowners couldn't give their properties away. So they boarded them up and left in droves to live elsewhere.
Once the humans had abandoned the east of town, the stray cats moved in. Initially all breed of cat managed to live side-by-side, but as more cats moved into the east side and space became a premium, tempers began to flare. Whenever the conditions of one's environment start to decline, the search for scapegoats begin. It is an accepted axiom of all 21st Century creatures, that whenever anything goes wrong, 'someone' should be held responsible – 'someone' is to blame!
And as the sight of foreign faces and eastern accents became more common on Oldham streets, the English White didn't need to look far to find their preferred scapegoat. The Oldham cat took their lead from the humans who'd lived there before them. Bradford, Oldham and Burnley became seen by the asylum seeker and economic black migrant as the Mecca of the North. These were the places that they headed for as soon as they placed their feet on English soil.
However, creatures looking from opposite sides of the fence very rarely see the same view. Thus, the black newcomer saw the English North as 'the place to be', whereas the English native began to see their homeland becoming 'the dumping ground' for foreigners and migrants.
Around the year 2000, the blacks and whites in Oldham lived in an uneasy multicultural mix of neighbourhoods, but as the fighting between natives and settlers started to increase, spontaneous riots would break out in the streets between black, brown and white; native and immigrant.
Over the following six years, the cult of street gangs started to spring up and, gradually, a regrouping of street occupation occurred. By 2006, the fifty-four terraced streets of boarded-up houses in Oldham East had become the segregated boundaries of cultural ghettoes.
The fifty-four streets of terraces had now become the ground for turf wars between the gangs, with the more powerful of the gangs fighting for supremacy and the weakest struggling for survival at the bottom of the heap.
The houses of Oldham East were built on a sloping terrain, with those in the bottom rows of terraces experiencing much-less favourable living conditions than the terraces higher up. The English Whites naturally occupied the higher-up houses, while the weakest gangs of all were obliged to squat in those at the bottom. The only direction to signal any advancement in one of the gang's fortunes and power base was to find a way of moving up the street.
Some terraces housed English Whites. Farther down the chain came Irish Gingers, followed by West Indians, then Sikhs, Jews, Afro-Caribbean's and some European cats. The bottom rows of terraces would later become occupied by the Pakistani cat and the Egyptian, and the very bottom of the pile would be those new arrivals from Albania, Afghanistan, Kossova, Turkey, Saudi Arabia and Iraq.
Once established on their own turf, the street gangs would fight to the death to maintain it. Often, street gangs might increase in numbers, and this would give them the confidence to try to 'out' those cats on the next turf up.
By 2008, every squat in Oldham East was filled to the rafters. With every space filled and the immigrants still arriving in vast numbers, 'holding on to one's turf' became the first priority of every gang leader.
And it was to be the explosion of the cat population which sparked off a series of riots across the North of England as the vast numbers of various cultures became crammed into one overcrowded area.
Deprived of space, power, influence or the freedom to practise their own culture and ways, every cat started to believe themselves 'badly done to' and discriminated against. Their rising expectations became increasingly frustrated, and the years of repression and simmering anger started to erupt into more violent protest as one gang entered into battle against another gang of different origins and beliefs.
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Chapter Two
'Oldham Exiles'
When all cats think alike, then all individual thought evaporates! The discipline of the northern gangs was essential to keep them on track. To the gang leaders, there was no point in making rules unless they were rigidly enforced. Keeping the gang code was the only way to survive in the community, and any creature who knowingly broke it was earmarked as a 'traitor '.
Towards the end of March, 2008, Molly, CGAT and Eowa were woken from their sleep by a great commotion in the street outside their squat. Next, the trio heard the clashing of dustbin lids; the sign that an enemy gang had entered their turf with the intention of doing battle. This was quickly followed by a call to arms, as one of their neighbours began to pound upon the terraced doors all the way down Blake Street.
"Get up and get out here quickly!" Callus yelled to the occupants of number 16 Blake Street.
Callus lived next door to Eowa and his parents, and being the lightest sleeper on the street, he performed the gang duties as Warden of the Watch.
"Get up!" Callus yelled as he banged noisily on the door. Molly was the first to wake up. It took her no more than seconds to register the meaning of the noise outside and the wake-up call. She immediately shook Eowa from his sleep and urgently warned him that their turf was under attack.
"Get yourself up now, Eowa! Get up quick. They're here again," Molly mewed as she grabbed hold of a large wooden club and proceeded towards the door. "And wake your father," Molly added, "although I doubt he will be of any use."
Eowa woke up with a start. He quickly shook his father CGAT, who was still suffering the effects of his recent mugging and cracked ribs. Molly picked up another baseball bat and handing it to Eowa said, "Get out there and defend your street."
Looking into his mother's eyes, Eowa, who'd refused to take hold of the wooden bat that she'd held out, replied, "You know I can't, Mum. It's no use shoving that cosh into my hands. You know I'd never use it."
"You…you shame me," Molly said disapprovingly. "You shame me and all I stand for in this community, you and your father alike. I didn't raise my young to sit it out on the back of the bus when there's fighting to be done up front! You're no better than him there. You shame me and our family name. Stay indoors then, both of you. I'll do your share of the fighting!"
The tone of her parting words was one of contempt and bitter disappointment. As she went out of the door, Eowa urged her, "Be careful, Mum." Molly ignored his words of caution and didn't even give him the courtesy of a final glance.
The noise outside had rapidly grown in volume and now overwhelmed the eardrums as approximately 400 English Whites prepared to do battle with an army of brown invaders called The Punjabi Panthers. The Punjabi Panthers had already torched four or five houses at the bottom of Blake Street and now seem determined to burn down the rest. Belches of smoke clouds started to fill the sky above the burnt-out dwellings, and two large explosions were heard from farther down the street.
Ignoring the warning of her son, or perhaps in open defiance of it, Molly pushed her way through the crowded ranks of the whites in an attempt to get to the front line of battle. Every white soldier that she passed was armed with some weapon of attack, albeit it club, blade, homemade petrol bomb or machete. Some of the younger whites were proudly waving guns in the air as they loudly vowed to repel the browns. And despite their seeming determination to defend their turf at any cost, both the look of anger and fear fought to gain prominence in their faces.
By the time Molly had pushed her way to the front line, the fight between the two gangs was at its bloodiest. All around her lay fallen cats with smashed skulls, maimed limbs and cut throats. Blood and guts covered the ground like an unwashed butcher's abattoir. Blazing buildings to both sides of the street spat out sparks and fumes; the airwaves filled with screams of death.
Heading the gang of English Whites at the forefront of the fighting was their leader No No. He was a warrior cat whose courage knew no bounds. A leader without a shred of fear, he always insisted upon being in the front line of attack. No No had gained a reputation in Oldham for being as strong a defender as they were ever likely to get for the English way of life. His followers viewed him as a leader who would do his utmost to maintain the white's position in the top six streets of terraced squats.
No No had been badly wounded about the head, which bled profusely, but he refused to leave the front line in search of respite until the battle had been decided in his favour. Instead, Molly saw him grab the nearest brown to him, and having no weapon to hand, No No grabbed hold of an abandoned Flag of St George. Ripping the flag from its wooden upright, No No twisted the red and white textile in plaited tightness, placed it around the brown invader 's neck and garrotted him. The strangled brown slumped to the ground, lifeless. Then looking around to his soldiers behind him, No No took the opportunity to remind them why they were risking their lives. He needed to raise their morale. He wanted to incite their anger into a frenzy, strong enough to combat any level of fear that they might hold, and powerful enough to encourage them to make one more push.
Standing upon a disused water pump, No No yelled words of encouragement to his followers. "Come on, you English Whites! You've got the better of them. Come on, you can do it. Just one more push forward and they'll be beaten back. Come on!"
Twenty minutes later, Blake Street was firmly back under the sole control of its white residents. What few able-bodied browns remained standing had been forced back down the hill in retreat. As The Punjabi Panthers were forced back down the hill, their leader vowed to be back in greater number. His words were however drowned out by the cheers of victorious whites whooping wildly in celebration.
As the fighting ended, Blake Street took on the resemblance of an open burial ground. Brown and white corpses were strewn everywhere and the stench of putrid flesh brought out the rats. Around 150 whites had died in the fray, with another 120 badly wounded. Some of the wounded had lost limbs or eyesight. 300 Punjabi Panthers had been killed and no wounded prisoner was taken.
And yet, as his victorious warriors rejoiced in having beaten off their enemy, No No knew that it would not be the last time that they'd have to defend their streets from The Punjabi Panthers. No No knew that it would only be a matter of time before The Punjabi Panthers would be back to do battle with the whites once more. Self-respect would demand it!
Tonight had represented just one more night in the lives of the cats who lived in Oldham East. As No No and the other whites started to search the surrounding mounds of bodies for any still alive, Callus came across the face of a close friend whom he'd once hoped to partner in his youth; a queen whose favour had been given to another white tom instead.
"Oh no!" mewed Callus as he stared at the poor queen who'd been stabbed and then scalped. "Oh no!" Callus mewed in grief. "It's …Molly. The Punjabi Panthers have done for poor Molly!"
"Where's CGAT and Eowa?" No No asked, adding, "they'll need to be told unless they're dead also."
"No chance of that having happened," Callus replied to his leader. "They're where they always are when there's fighting to be done. They're inside!"
"Are you sure?" No No asked Callus.
"I'm sure," mewed Callus. "I warned them myself when the fighting started, but as usual, only Molly dared to show her face. I'll never understand how she could ever partner such a waster as CGAT. And that son of theirs is also spineless. Poor, poor Molly."
One hour after the battle, Blake Street had quietened down, and the dead bodies, which filled the cobbled road had been lined up all along the pavement on both sides of the street to await morning identification and subsequent burial. No No issued some orders to a small troop of six white toms, who then marched to 16 Blake Street with their instructions to pass to the occupants of that address.
The banging on the door led Eowa to open it. Looking at the faces of his six white visitors, Eowa could instantly sense the nature of the bad news that they had come to impart. As Eowa stood there apprehensively facing the six whites, he knew before they spoke that his mother Molly was dead. "Where is she?" Eowa asked anxiously. "What's happened to my mother? She's…. she's dead, isn't she?"
A white called Wild One, who held no liking for the pacifist nature of Eowa and his father, replied tersely, "The mere fact that she survived for the past five years in this street is testimony to her own courage and is of no thanks to the likes of you and your conchy father! As far as this community is concerned, you and your old man are a dead loss – a worthless waste of space. You've got 24 hours to get out of Blake Street, 'cos if you're seen around these parts ever again, Waster, you and your old man will be kneecapped! You've been warned!"
"But… what about mum?" Eowa asked. "She'll need burying. We'll go immediately after her funeral."
"They'll be no funeral attendance for the likes of you," Wild One sneered. "Molly will get the type of funeral that she deserves. She'll get a soldier's funeral with full warrior burial honours— the type of funeral which any English loyalist can expect – the type which has no cowards in attendance. It would have been kinder to poor old Molly if she'd partnered someone else and you'd never been born. You've got 24 hours and then it's kneecapping for the both of you."
"Get out, without seeing Molly below ground?" Eowa's father mewed. "I couldn't do that."
"You've been given No No's message. Get out!" Wild One said. "The next knock on this door will be The Death Squad. Get out! That's your last warning. 24 hours!"
The following afternoon, all the fallen dead of Blake Street were buried. The 300 Punjabi Panthers were all piled into a mass mound, and had petrol poured over the corpses, which were then set alight. As for the 150 dead whites, 150 graves were dug in Potter's Field, where each was ceremonially buried.
As the leader of the whites, No No provided the final addresses to those dead whites who had no other family members present at the burial to speak on their behalf. Despite the warnings of being kneecapped if they were spotted, CGAT and Eowa just couldn't bring themselves to leave Oldham East without attending Molly's funeral. So the couple joined the other mourners present in Potter 's Field, but ensured their presence wasn't noticed. Shielded from the mourners by thirty metres and a cow's food trough, CGAT and Eowa snatched glances of the burial. As each dead white was buried, every corpse was wrapped in the Flag of Saint George before being covered and filled in with soil.
"And now we come to Molly, one of England's finest and Oldham's best," No No said as four cats lifted the queen's corpse across to its graveside and lowered it down. "All of you will have known her as a patriot to our cause; a good friend to those in need and cheerful neighbour – a fearless foe to all our enemies. Sadly, she tied herself up with that pacifist white, CGAT, and he brought her down. Remember Molly in your thoughts, and let her courage be an example to every English White."
As Molly's corpse was lowered into the ground, her next door neighbour Callus threw in a red rose. Seeing their partner and mother disappear from sight brought instant tears to CGAT and Eowa. "God bless you, Mum," Eowa cried softly as his mother was laid to rest.
"Bye, my dear Molly," CGAT mewed. "I'm so sorry that I couldn't see things your way. So sorry, my dear."
CGAT was still bandaged around the ribs, and standing motionless for so long behind the food trough had created too much pain in his side and discomfort in his legs. Then without warning, CGAT twisted his body and let out an involuntary groan. The sound carried and was heard by one of the white mourners at the graveside who turned towards the direction of the two concealed cats. As soon as the graveside mourner looked away, Eowa sensed that it was time to get out of Potter 's Field before their presence was uncovered.
"Come on, Dad," he mewed to CGAT, "there's nothing more that we can do for mum now. Let's get out of here before we're seen. Getting ourselves kneecapped won't bring her back."
CGAT simply nodded with tears in his eyes. He knew that if he tried to reply with words, that he wouldn't be able to hold it together. His emotions were welled up within, like a dam bursting to breech its outer barrier and flood everything in sight.
The two English Whites quietly made their exit from Potter's Field towards the open road that led from Oldham to Rochdale. As father and son walked on, mostly in silence, every single stride taken produced a wince of pain in CGAT's chest. Pain or no pain, however, CGAT knew that it might prove fatal to stop, and that getting out now was the only peaceful option that he and Eowa could currently take.
As the duo walked the Rochdale Road with heavy hearts, CGAT couldn't help but see the irony of their situation. Because he and Eowa had embraced the way of peace, they'd found themselves at war with the other white. For over a year, CGAT and Eowa had wanted to leave Oldham, but stayed. And now, when they most needed to stay, they were being driven out in disgrace. They were being sent into exile, simply because they wouldn't lift a finger or raise a voice to stop the black and brown immigrant coming into Oldham and upsetting the cultural balance.
CGAT thought about this England; this rapidly changing land that he'd always been brought up to believe was the bedrock of democracy and the cradle of freedom. But all that he could hear now was the rattling of the cultural chains that bound their behaviour and shackled their response. CGAT couldn't see the point in any freedom, which didn't allow one to say, 'No'. He favoured no freedom that supposedly cherished individual thought and action, yet bound one to the mind of the majority. There was no genuine invitation to the immigrant when doors of the host were opened out of fear and guilt instead of warm welcome. This was a freedom that was guaranteed to enslave all!
CGAT could clearly see the writing on the wall if the citizens of this once great land was unable to grow and change with the times. He knew that whatever the answer was to the many problems that England faced in the New Millennium, that aggression wasn't the solution. He knew that the application of force was tantamount to ultimate defeat, because it restricted all other options. Force is only ever followed and responded to by more force. That is the enduring lesson of history and CGAT sensed that history was now in the process of playing in reverse.
Whereas centuries earlier, a minority of white colonists had invaded and influenced the cultural direction of the native blacks and browns in Africa, Asia and India, now the boot was firmly on the other foot and the English cat didn't like it!
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Chapter Three
'The Kilkenny Emigrants
Back in Ireland, the close of March was still in the throes of winter, and although the soil that lay deep in the ground contained the warmth of Spring, the frosty hard surface up above disguised the imminent birth of the new season it harboured.
In the Kilkenny cottage where TKC and her friends squatted, a happy yet busy period was in progress. Most of the cats stayed indoors for much of the cold spell and although it had snowed for most of the previous month, the winter weather had stayed tolerable, and movement across the ground outside had remained negotiable to those cats who sought to venture out.
The 147 cats who occupied the derelict cottage looked forward to warmer days ahead and the sound of the cuckoo. Within the cottage squat, twelve queens were pregnant and the previous two weeks had witnessed two queens giving birth.
The most recent queen to bring a litter into the world had been TKC. Two weeks earlier, she'd given birth to a litter of six. The new kittens were all white, the very same colour as their English father, Eowa, and consisted of three toms and three queens.
As TKC nursed her newborn, she thought about their absent father who was currently somewhere in the North of England. Eowa, a 3-year-old English White, was TKC's fourth partner. Having been widowed three times, TKC had met Eowa just before Christmas, 2007, in Kilkenny and had been instantly attracted by his considerate and peaceful nature. The couple became inseparable. It was love at first sight.
Having experienced all three of her previous partners killed upon the instructions of 'Babylon Barracks', TKC had more or less accepted that there would be no more partnerships in her life. Besides, she was now 8 years old and had abandoned all notion of future motherhood.
That, however, was before the young Eowa had walked into her life and set her heart fluttering once more with the kind of passion and desire more often seen in a 1-year-old queen. From the moment that their eyes met, both knew that they were gazing into the eyes of their soul mate.
In January, 2008, Eowa had returned to England. He'd left TKC on the understanding that after she'd given birth to their kittens, which she was expecting, and after they were six months old, she would follow him to England.
As TKC marvelled at the pure white fur of the kittens, she thought about the other litters she'd brought into the world since her first year of life. There had been mixed colours; pure gingers, pure blacks, and now, pure whites. It was as though her Creator had made TKC His representative on Earth, the symbolic agent of His global palette.
During her eight years of life, TKC had found her role and primary purpose in life was to seek out truth, justice and freedom. Her three-toed paws were a constant reminder of this role, lest she was ever in danger of forgetting. And yet, despite her good characteristics, she'd also been born with enough flaws to remind her that no creature is perfect.
The real power that TKC had been invested with, however, was the power of re-incarnation. She was capable of dying and of being reborn until she'd experienced nine lives. Each of these nine lives could be in the shape and form of human, creature or any element of nature.
Only two other creatures possessed the ability to be reincarnated; Merlin the Wizard (a power for good) and his evil twin brother, Nilrem. Merlin was now on his ninth life, TKC had already been reincarnated three times, and Nilrem was still on life number two.
Often TKC had wondered how three, so very different cats, could be empowered with the ability of reincarnation. She could see why such a good cat like Merlin (who was only capable of doing good) might be granted such a power. But that couldn't explain why his evil twin brother Nilrem also had it. Neither could it explain why TKC had been granted nine lives. Whereas Merlin could only do good and Nilrem could only do bad, she was capable of doing both good and bad because she possessed freedom of judgement and the right to decide; albeit right, wrong or merely indifferent. It was as though the Creator had established a world of constant struggle between the powers of Good and Evil, with the actions of TKC in between as the deciding factor!
TKC had grown up to understand that no action is ever perpetrated in this earthly life without cost, and that we are all called upon many times to pay the price for the types of lives we choose to live and the principles, laws, religions, values and customs we elect to uphold. Twice, so far, TKC had been imprisoned inside 'Babylon Barracks', and twice she had escaped the snares of evil. But it had been her former three partners who'd paid the price of her freedom with the loss of their blood.
TKC knew that as the messenger of truth, justice and freedom, and as the only cat who'd twice escaped from 'Babylon Barracks', as long as 'Babylon Barracks' and the evil cats who ran it continued to exist, she would remain the 'number 1' target at the top of her enemies' hit list. And it was this knowledge that made her partner Eowa a target also. She knew if 'The Twelve Black Witches of Belfast' of Belfast' were unable to get their evil hands on her, then they'd try to get hold of her immediate family and friends. They'd done it before, and TKC couldn't envisage them changing their spots now.
Prior to Eowa's return to England in January, 2008, he had felt duty bound to inform TKC about the Peace Gene that was part of his make-up, plus the fact that this gene would automatically be transmitted to any offspring he would ever have. He needed to fully inform TKC of these facts before she committed herself to him. TKC had seen no harm in such a trait of hereditary make-up that she hardly gave the matter a second thought. In this respect (it might be observed with the benefit of hindsight), she'd simple allowed the scales of love to weigh more heavily on the side of emotion than the side of reason. Her decision to commit to Eowa had been made during a period of passionate courtship – a time ruled by the heart and rarely the head.
She was resigned, therefore, to perform her motherly duties to her kittens before she'd go off in search of her partner Eowa. So she smothered her young with the motherly affection of a doting parent until the autumn months arrived. She intended to wait until September, 2008, by which time the kittens would be adult enough to look after themselves whilst she set off to England.
The cold weather of March, followed by the wet month of April witnessed TKC's six whites largely confined to the Kilkenny squat. The onset of inclement weather, combined with their youth, essentially made it too dangerous for the kittens to leave the cottage grounds or their mother's sight. During the first three months of her kittens' lives, TKC naturally house-trained her young, providing them with all the advice and guidance, which any caring mother might pass to her offspring.
Each of her six whites had been given the liberty to learn by exploration, irrespective of whether or not they made any mistakes during the process. TKC, like any adult, knew that we learn more from the mistakes we make than we can ever imagine. The kittens could explore, but they were also given clear boundaries of behaviour to observe.
"Until I tell you otherwise," TKC told them firmly, "you will not venture beyond the cottage and its gardens. Under no circumstances will you fraternize with strangers outside this squat unless you're in my presence, and until you are old and wise enough to be able to read the danger signs. You shall accord every cat of adult status your automatic respect, and you shall give way to them in all matters of dispute. Do not try to come across as being a know-it-all, as creatures who are wrapped up in their own sense of importance make very small packages. Listen whenever an adult addresses you, as empty-headed creatures finish up being full of hollow words. Do not speak in adult company whenever another adult wants to speak first. In the event of receiving advice from an adult that you consider unwise and do not intend to heed, do not tell them so. Instead, let your considered silence and their continued ignorance be watch guards of the peace."
"And finally," TKC concluded, "under absolutely no circumstances do you play on the garden cabbage patch or disturb its soil, for that ground contains the bones of our loved ones who have long left this world. It is hallowed ground. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Mum," her six whites replied courteously.
It wasn't until the month of June, during their third month of life, that TKC's kittens began to show clear signs of things to come. At first, the signs of their inherited Peace Gene coming into play were barely perceptible. Each being of gentle nature, the six whites became instantly non-threatening in their daily exchanges with their playmates. But by their fourth month of life, the six whites were being regularly teased and verbally taunted by the other kittens in the squat. With the passing of each week, the bullying increased in both frequency and extent. They were rapidly becoming viewed by their peers as being 'Mama's moggies'; cats who would go to any lengths before bucking the system.
"You finish that dish of milk off," TKC heard a young cat called Julian tell his five-month-old sister one day. "Tranni here won't mind. He doesn't want it – do you Tranni?"
"I'm fine, Jezzabel," Tranni replied politely. "You have the extra milk. I can do without it."
And even though Tranni hadn't had his first taste of milk that morning,which was supposed to be equally shared among all kittens in the squat, whilst Jezzabel and Julian had already had second helpings, he'd no intention of entering into conflict with Julian and his sister over a bit of milk.
By their sixth month of life, TKC had seen the verbal taunts of other kittens turn into threats and then progress to prods and pushes, and then into outright bullying of her young. On the day that she saw her daughter Concord being badly scratched across the face by Tiger Bay,the six- month-old daughter of her friend Bernadette, TKC couldn't prevent giving Concord a few choice words of worldly advice.
"Verbal's one thing, physical's another," TKC told Concord. "Why did you let Tiger Bay scratch you without so much as a harsh word in reply?" TKC asked. "The very least you could have done was warn her off and give her a piece of your mind!"