I thought I could understand my wife's apprehension—she was a young mother of two children, under five years of age, with a husband who was about to turn their world upside down by emigrating to America when there was no need to leave. Obviously, she was the practical one, and I, the dreamer. In those days, an Irish Policeman would never consider leaving the job for any reason. Christ knows it was hard enough to get into in the first place—though not for myself. To me, leaving for three or possibly five years was the chance to have a great adventure before settling down for good. In her mind, though, I should have already settled down.
Not many people can say they searched for a bomb on their last shift, especially in the West of Ireland. But I can.