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The Intruder

It was a perfect summer day. The sky was an intense blue and as far as one could see cloudless. My father and me were driving back to the city form Ardmore, we had just arrived at Thompson’s Corner when he stopped his car and opened his window. There was no mistaking the wailing of the siren. It seemed so out of place in a rural setting.

We both looked up just in time to see five vicious looking, black puffs of smoke and one oddly enough red in colour pierce in the sky. Higher, much higher and well above the shell bursts a tiny black shape raced across the sky towards the mouth of the Lough and the open sea. It was a German reconnaissance plane well beyond the range of the guns and making a clean getaway.

Somehow one had to admire the sheer cheek of it all.

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