Malcolm moved so fast, he couldn't be seen, and Peter threw one enemy two hundred yards into a cliff face, so hard, the body had to be cut out. It was, in truth, the stuff of legends. When, on Midsummer's Eve 1997, the war ended, it came as a shock and surprise to both sides. It was completely unpredictable, and yet inevitable as day follows night. We had waited and planned for that day- one day in a hundred years when we had a chance to win.
Time is precious enough without having to wait for a particular day or month to do something.
Speaking of time, I've had a word with the Shanachie. He's writing a history of the War, and has been hanging around here for days, waiting for something. He says he needs something to finish his current Book with. The Shanachie promises that the final Book of the Belfast Child will be finished soon. I hope so.