They were not his brothers. They walked in the imagination of their evil hearts and went backward and not forward. Catholics were not of the people. The God of the Bible was the people’s God, but they were afraid of Him. They held fast to deceit. They spoke peacefully to their neighbours with their mouths, but in their hearts they lay in wait. They were filled with delusions and assumptions. All the Catholics of the North were on the move. They had fooled themselves into thinking they were in the right. But the Protestants were marching to meet them.

And out of sight, accompanying them, went Jonathan Adams, his eye raised like a hawk for the telling angle of the hand-held camera. But he did not despise those Catholics he watched burying their dead, carrying Civil Rights banners or marching to confront the Housing Authority. He pitied them, and he was afraid of them. He pitied them because they were corrupt, he was afraid of them because they were the mercenaries of Rome. The year after Duke Street, a British report called for the disarming of the RUC. Then in October the first policeman was killed. It did not matter that he died by a Protestant hand, though some took vain refuge in that. The liberals always liked telling that story – how the first policeman died through Protestant terrorism. Or how there would have been no terrorism only for Protestant sectarianism and hatred. Jonathan knew that the enemy was always lying in wait. With the death of the policeman in Belfast Jonathan Adams knew it had begun. Soon policemen would die by guns fired by Catholics.

And not too long afterwards it happened. A cold tremor ran through all the RUC barracks of the North of Ireland. The disarming of the police was forgotten. It was too late. They had become the targets. And now the young policemen felt as Jonathan Adams did. The cry went out for revenge. And orders came through for them to hold their anger.

It was their turn to walk in fear.