A FEW weeks ago on my way down North Frederick Street, Dublin, I saw something that suggested to me that the Garda might finally have got its act together in the area of policing the inner city. Gardai were everywhere. Down laneways. Up sidestreets. Pairs of big, strapping lads patrolling Dorset Street.
There were at least two sergeants amongst the officers I saw. Of course, it should have occurred to me earlier that a foreign dignitary was coming to town. In this case, John Major. The British Prime Minister was arriving, and you never in your life saw so many gardai on the streets.
We all understand the need to protect someone as important as him. The last thing we need is the British Prime Minister getting whacked on the streets of Dublin. But it was nice, while it lasted, to see the boys in blue out walking with the rest of us mere mortals.
On the way past a bank on Dorset Street, I wanted to go up to the sergeant standing there and tell him how happy I was to see him and that it was a pity that he, or his charges, had not been around at 7 p.m. the evening before, when I and half of Dublin witnessed the horrific and violent mugging of a defenceless young man at the junction of North Frederick Street and Dorset Street.
I wanted to say to him that there was not a garda in sight - and rarely, while we were on the subject, had I seen one in this area. There was a gang of them, as usual, hanging around the General Post Office, of no use to anybody, it seems to me, and too far away to be of any assistance to the man.
Unsubtle Assault.
Oh yes, and you see them flying down Dorset Street in their fast patrol cars, all right. Too fast to notice the subtle preparations of the mugger. There was nothing subtle about the assault on this young man. He was kicked and punched. His glasses were broken in two and sent flying into the road. He was tripped and landed heavily on his back on the ground. The mugger's aim was to steal the wallet of this young man of about 24 years of age.
I was walking home from the office. In the distance, I saw the beginning of the assault. On coming closer, I could not make up my mind if they were two local lads killing each other over money or a girlfriend, or whatever. I did not for one minute think that this could be something as blatant as a mugging at 7 p.m. I walked past. So did everybody else.
When I got around the corner and out of sight, I could hear the man's screams for help. All of us have been warned by members of our family and friends not to get involved in any incidents on the street. Just walk by and mind your own business. I was out of sight around the corner, but my conscience got the better of me.
Broken Glasses
I went back. Approaching the two, I was unsure what would ensue. Perhaps it was my height that made the mugger walk quickly away and into a nearby flats complex.
The victim, who was obviously suffering from severe shock, was now in the road and in the path of the traffic.
His life very nearly ended under the wheels of a CIE bus. It was difficult to get him in from the road. He did not seem to know where he was.
Eventually, I and another man managed to calm him down a little. He could not, keep his hands from shaking. Ironically, his only concern: was for his glasses which had been bought, he told us, in a pawnshop some years ago in Dublin and were very dear to him. We stood examining: them and wondering if a good solderer could fix them.
He began to cry and to express disbelief that so many people could have driven or walked by without helping him. I told him that I was sorry for not intervening sooner, because I had been unsure of what was going on. I felt ashamed.
We walked slowly down Dorset Street. I suggested a drink might do us both some good. Over a pint, he told me he had earlier flown in from London where he works in the property surveying business. He told me he would take the bus to his native Clare the next day. I learned from him that a friend of his, with whom he had shared a flat some years ago, works with me in The Irish Times. We both agreed that it was a very small world indeed. He was on his way to a friend's when the mugging happened.
The mugger had simply walked up to him from behind and, putting his arms around him, said hello and began an attempt to rifle his back pocket for his wallet. That was how it started.
Safer in London
Over a couple more pints, he told me he had attended college at Bolton Street and had, at that time, lived happily in the area without fear of attack. After this mugging, he was looking forward to returning to London. He might be safer there, he said.
We exchanged addresses and telephone numbers. Thinking about it afterwards, I felt sorry that we had become friends in such unfortunate circumstances.