September 19, 1920. Dublin.
Pat and I are in quite a gay mood as we hand out valise full of bombs to Christy who looks at us with dismay.
“You know you should not bring that stuff in here.” Taking the valise to hide he goes off crying “Mr. Collins would kill me if he knew I was doing this.”
Collins is in one of his boyish moods but listens intently, as he always does, while I explain my latest invention, the mud bomb. Then with a yell he declaims, “Out from many a mud-bombed barracks Peelers were fleeing through the night” I feel deflated.