“And so we began to despair.”

“Despair of what?”

“Dying in prison. No one wants to die in prison.”

“Do you still despair?”

“I still despair. You begin to think the Brits won’t back off. And the widows are left. You get sick of seeing the wrong people killed. Periodically something will spark off that self-doubt. That’s how it begins. I met people like me when I was active and they were not. And they’d come to me and say: ‘I’m not doing anything now.’ They had to say that, because if they did anything in the past they thought when they looked at me: ‘He’s thinking that I’ve done nothing.’

“So they had to tell me all they’d done. You see, they were guilt-tripping.

“But when I jacked it in, I offered no apologies. The illusion is that if you disappear off the scene you will not have the strength to continue with your life. That your life will be wrecked afterwards. But look what happened to the Republicans after the Civil War – genuinely active men were released from the Curragh camp, and they went to the States. But it was not into oblivion. They are responsible for the Irish Revival over there.

“Soldiers everywhere wake up and find the war is over. They go back to their jobs. They’ve done terrible things, but it’s over.”

“What terrible things?”

“You make mistakes and you regret them. Worse still, soldiers carry out the mistakes other people make. And have to live with it. That’s the hard part.”

“And you?”

“My war is over. And I stayed on. I answer to no one and yet I keep a foot in with the Provos for some day I might need them. I don’t blame the leadership – I’ve heard enough people doing that. I don’t blame the organization. I’ve given my best. That’s what’s happened. I’ve given my best and I’ve nothing more to give. When you’ve seen active service it’s hard to accommodate other things. That’s why I go out on the boats. That’s why I’m here with you.

“My struggle now is in 42 Duke Street, Ballina.”

“My wife always played a more important role than me,” said De Largey. “She had to make many decisions. Same as an RUC-man’s wife. It’s always a problem for them. So I owed it to her one day to check out. I had a decision to make. I could have jumped bail, but I didn’t. I went through the trial. My sacrifice was going to prison. Then one day they left the back door open. I came south to Sligo in an old ice-cream van.