Sim heard it first from old Phelim O Suilivan, the cottar.  Trouble was brewing but Sim’s folk would be safe.  The King had asked Lord Maguire to intervene on his behalf against the puritans and English parliamentarians who were undermining his sovereignty.  Maguire had no quarrel with decent, loyal Scots like the Elliotts.

Phelim was obviously not the first to clype for, by the time Sim rode across to visit his brother-in-law, Dand was already in the know.  His two matchlock muskets were laid on the kitchen table as he sat, loading one of the German wheel-lock pistols he bought from the old Captain.  Sim regretted not having arming himself before he left the house if matters were so urgent.

“Ye choosin sides?” Sim asked.

“How?  What hiv ye heard?  Ye’ve heard?”

“Ay.  The King wants an insurrection against his ain government.”

“That’s sound like the size o it.  Bit it’s the Irish he’s askin.  Nae the Scots.”

“Nae sure which side we’re on?”

“That’s ma guess.  Catholics or Covenanters.  Us in the middle.”

“Jist like oor faithers’ days.  Us in the middle.”

“Ay.  Bit this is nae the border, Sim.  We’re in the midst o this.”

“So, as I said…yer choosin sides?”

“I’m lookin tae oor ain, Sim.  You get back tae Lizzie an dae the same.  Arm yer lads an only cottars ye can trust.  Scots, myn. There’ll be word fae up the Castle soon eneuch.”

Sim saw the sense in that.  Since his father passed on, he hadn’t done as well as Dand Crosier with the farming but could muster a musket and a pistol to add to three pikes and his father’s steel bonnet and broadsword.  His boys were in their teens and already part of the parish muster, drilled with pike and passable shots with a fowling piece. 

When he got back to the farm, Phelim and his son were nowhere to be found though the Seumas’ wife and three bairns were still working around the cott.

“Rith amach, an bhfuil?”[1]

Caité was pale. Her grimy cheek was smeared with crying. She shrugged.

“Cé a fhios.”[2]

“Beidh tú ceart…you’ll be fine.  Here.  Bide in the hoose wi Lizzie if yer feart.”

Caité nodded understanding, not quite agreement.

Lizzie was waiting in the kailyard. 

“Dand’s polishin his pistols,” Sim said.

“That’s Dand fer ye.  Ay spoilin fir a scrap.  Bit who wi?”

“He hisna made up his myn.  Phelim says we’re fine.  It’s the English they hae a beef wi.”

“An where’s he?”

“Gone.  Mebbe they are spoilin fir a rammy tae.  Least its easier tae tak sides.”

“An you?”

“Dinna ken.  Wait an see.”

“Should I tak the bairns back tae Dand’s?” 

Sim feels a slug of nausea.  Does she not think he is fit to protect her and their bairns?

“Is that what ye think?”

“Safety in numbers.  Hunker doon.  Is that nae the old wey?”

“What aboot the farm?  The beasts?  The hoose?”

Sim is nine years into his tenancy here.  His herds are growing and his rents from sub-lets to the Irish are improving.  He might not be the coming gent like Dand – Lizzie was always a bit sniffy about the furniture – but things were on the up.  And he had just asked Caité to bide with Lizzie.

“I said to Caité to move in with you.”

“That Irish slut?”

“You said safety in numbers.”

“An whit if she cuts oor throats in the night, eh?”

“This is aboot the English.”

“Aye,” she said. “Fir noo.”

Lizzie was always like this.  Spoilt!

“Aye, whatever.  Awa run back tae Dand!”

“Bit she’ll nae be movin intil this hoose.”

“For God’s sake, Lizzie!”

“Me an you an the boys.  That’s three mair men tae add tae Dand’s lot.  He has a better bawn biggit up.”

“An what aboot this place.”

“It’ll still be here efter.  We’ll mebbe nae be.”

The scunner was she was right.

Rumours came up from Magrestephany that the Irish burned Newtown.  Lord Cole had destroyed the bridges at Enniskillen and was underseige in his castle there.  They heard that the Bishop of Clogher[i] had allied with Rory Maguire to take Enniskillen. 

As winter set in  tales of murder and massacre seeped through the web of gossips and emissaries.  English planters stripped of goods and clothing, driven out into the cold.  Women and children – some as young as 3 –  drowned in a bogpit in Drumully.  Scotchmen dragged from their sickbed, hanged or hacked to death.  That friars and priests in league with the Hamiltons were at the back of this. 

When Sim and his lads rode back to check on their place, Caité and her children  had moved into the house and Phelim was in residence but civil enough: no hint of rancour there.  Together, Sim and the old man fed the wintering cattle in the byres.  As Lizzie that they stay at Dand’s until the turmoil ended, it seemed wisest to leave ????? in Phelim’s care.  The Confederates were less likely to pillage a place with their countrymen in residence.

And then, near Christmas, news came from Antrim.  O Catháins and MacDonnells had allied to attack the garrison at Portnaw on the Bann.  The camp was attacked in the night and all of the British murdered.  Gaels among the soldiery were spared and joined the confederates.  The O Catháins declared that the speaking of Scots and English was forbidden.  The Irish and the Highlanders continued, burning Ballymena, Ballymoney and Cross and murdering all the British they could lay their hands on: men, women, children.

The family was seated at Dand’s table as they listened to Will Armstrong share the news.

“Aye,” Dand said.  “Well.  That clarifies the matter.”

From then on, sides were taken.  Sim and the lads drove the starving cattle back to Dand’s yard to slaughter them.  Phelim and Caité were nowhere to be found as well as the best of Lizzie’s crockery and linen.

© John Bolland 2026

[1] Run off, have they?

[2] Who knows?

[i] Depositions after the 1641 Rebellion [ Claims made in County Fermanagh ] : Free Genealogy Pages from Ulster Ancestry