I had no difficulty picking up the language and when Angie came over for a short visit she was astonished at how well I was able to converse. Her visit had been marred by a dreadful assault on her sister, Babs, who was in a coma for some time. There was some doubt at one time as to whether she would pull through. After a very long time she did, but she has never fully recovered.
As the end of the tour drew near, I ran a massive multinational live-firing exercise, involving troops from Britain, Canada, America and Holland. The planning and preparation tested my ability to its extremes and as an added pressure I learned it was to be watched by at least 50 VIPs, among them the grand-sounding High Representative for Bosnia and Herzegovina, the former Royal Marine and politician Paddy Ashdown. Two weeks before the exercise was due to take place, we did a practice run. It was at this stage that an officer who had helped me in Fermanagh appeared on the scene and was about to destroy me.
My job had been to act as host to and brief the VIPs, but at a meeting of all those involved this officer told me he did not think me the type of person who should be doing this. The task was, therefore, given to someone else. I was delegated to make tea and coffee. Was it my background? I personally think it was a form of snobbery – he did not want a Glaswegian with a strong accent being the focal point for the guests. But imagine how I felt. I was ridiculed and made to feel worthless in front of everyone.
I put aside my personal feelings because I wanted the exercise to be a success. One of the jobs involved erecting an enormous marquee from which the VIPs could watch the proceedings in comfort. Next morning I went to check it and discovered it had vanished overnight. Locals must have stolen it, creeping past thousands of soldiers in darkness, dismantling it and loading it onto a horse-drawn cart. Then they disappeared. I found this hilarious, but the fact was the officer delegated to take my place should have placed an overnight guard on the marquee. Not surprisingly, I found the blame being laid at my door. And before I knew it I was informed that on return to the UK I would be leaving the regiment and be posted to Warminster in Wiltshire. I protested, and even offered to go back down the ranks, but was told by the officer concerned, ‘This is my train set and I don’t want you as part of it.’ In the end, instead of England I was posted to the TA in Edinburgh, where I spent three of the happiest years of my life.
Babs was eventually released from hospital and went to live in a flat for those with mental health issues. She had to be taught how to live all over again – how to walk, talk, cook, do every conceivable chore. At weekends, she would come to stay with us and we did our best to try to help her regain at least some of her self-confidence, but she could not force herself to look in a mirror. And still cannot. Now, she lives in sheltered accommodation next to her own children and ex-husband, who has done a wonderful job of helping her.
Devoting so much time to helping Babs caused difficulties with Danielle. Lots of young people go through a phase of wanting to be totally independent, but Angie and I at times felt guilty for not giving her more of our time and attention. Thomas and Nicole were, thankfully, doing fine.
Angie had put up with so much since we had married and I was determined to show the strength of my love for her. I always wanted to renew our wedding vows as a form of saying sorry for our problems, my mistakes and for putting up with me for the past 19 years. We renewed our vows on 14 September 2004 in Saint Margaret’s Chapel in Edinburgh Castle. It was a memorable day, made even more special by being that of Angie’s, Nicole’s and, had she been alive, Margaret’s birthdays. We did it in style, arriving in a stretch limo. My three nephews, who were by now in my regiment, wore their No. 2 dress, me my No. 1 Dress Ceremonial, while Angie looked stunning in white. As we entered the chapel, hundreds of tourists looked on, probably believing we were royalty. Afterwards, we held a private function in the Sergeants’ Mess at Dreghorn Barracks for our guests, a mixture of civilians, family and very close mates. I made a short speech: ‘I know there’s a lot of you here from Glasgow. The silver on the walls is hundreds of years old. It’s priceless. Can we keep it in the hall and not steal it because I’ll get charged for it.’ My mum and dad were there too, and one of the best things to come out of that day was Mum seeing me in all my glory with all my medals and looking so proud of her son.
On occasions I would see Pawny’s car in Posso and I’d call in for a chat with him and Birdman O’Hara. We would chew the fat about life in general and how the army was a good way out for everyone. They would tell me that had it not been for the path they chose, they would have loved to have joined up. We never discussed drugs, guns or ongoing feuds, as there were others present. We all knew the rules: don’t speak in front of anyone unless you can trust them with your life. In these circles, loose tongues can cost lives. Sadly, the following year, Birdman was jailed for 20 years after being found guilty of a murder.
By now, I was thinking about and planning for the likelihood of my engagement ending. I needed to find a job and began shopping around. But I was about to discover it wasn’t going to be easy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
‘Forget it. Leave it. Get on with your life,’ the senior policeman told Alex. ‘You’re wasting your time.’ The soldier, worried about impending job cuts, had applied for a job with Strathclyde Police. He had enclosed his criminal record with the application forms. Both had been returned, marked with a note saying thanks but not interested. The reason? He had been admonished for a minor offence more than 20 years earlier. Strathclyde police force said it did not want men or women who had broken the law. It made no difference that since that offence Alex had served his country, wearing khaki with distinction, winning promotions and praise.
‘We wouldn’t touch you in a million years,’ he was told, when he telephoned to appeal the decision.
‘What about the Rehabilitation of Offenders Act?’ he asked. ‘Are you saying that whatever I may have done as a teenager I can never put behind me? In the army, I can get a Long Service and Good Conduct Medal, work with the secret services, the police in Northern Ireland, but because of something minor two decades ago I am not wanted?’
‘Yes, that’s it,’ came the reply.
His convictions, however old, had blighted the entire remainder of his life. But did Strathclyde Police refuse to allow convicted persons in their ranks? Shortly after that conversation Alex was astonished to read newspaper reports revealing that statistics the police had been forced to provide under Freedom of Information rules showed 80 Strathclyde officers had criminal records for road traffic offences, assault and breach of the peace. Throughout Scotland the police were employing 200 officers who were criminals.
In one confidential appraisal, a senior army officer had written Alex was ‘a bright star who has been missed by all’. Another glowing testimony warned, ‘He would be a massive loss to the army were he not retained.’ In yet another, ‘He certainly has the presence, intellect and ability to attract further promotion.’
* * *
What I was accused of doing all those years ago had, unknown to me, been a Bergen I had carried on my back. I wondered why it was that with my record of service to my country I was being rejected, while all those others retained their jobs. At the time, I was a warrant officer, based at Barrow-in-Furness, having been accepted on to the army’s Long Service List and working as a senior recruiter in the army careers office. There was considerable uncertainty about the future and I had been looking around at alternative careers, including the police. Then I was told an army job might be in the offing in Aberdeen as a permanent staff administration officer. I was appointed to the post and found myself back at Gordon Barracks, Aberdeen, where my career had started all those years ago with my belongings in a carrier bag.
* * *
In the meantime, his good friend George Redmond had been murdered, shot along with a friend as he stood outside the Waldorf bar in Cambridge Street, Glasgow, in October 2008. The friend survived, but the drive-by killing went unsolved. Alex had known
so many who had died or wasted so much of their lives in prison cells. Once, when he had taken Angie, Nicole and Danielle to visit Lobban in the Special Unit of Shotts jail in Lanarkshire, he had spotted Andy Walker, the payroll killer. He had urged Gibby not to mention to him who he was. He had last seen Walker when he offered the killer a cigarette minutes before his arrest.
Lobban thankfully seemed to have departed the Glasgow gangland scene, living in the north of Scotland and having lost part of a leg due to cancer. He and the dead had chosen their route through life, Alex his. It was June 2009.
Weeks later he found himself at Sandhurst joining a Late Entry Officers Course. It meant being commissioned from the world-renowned academy whose past students have included Winston Churchill, James Bond creator Ian Fleming, the actor David Niven, Dad’s Army writer David Croft and King Hussein of Jordan.
* * *
When I was at Sandhurst, there were around a dozen of us in the Sergeants’ Mess. One guy whom I hadn’t set eyes on for years came up and said, ‘The last time I saw you, you were up for three attempted murders.’ It was some conversation stopper. I looked around to see others staring at me and saying to themselves, ‘He’s an officer, highly thought of.’
‘Aye, thanks,’ I told my companion.
* * *
As Captain Alexander Shannon stood on the steps at the entrance to the academy for the course group photograph, the famous pillars in the background, he paused and thought how far life had brought him. And rightly he felt proud. But problems and sadness lay around the corner.
Just when he hoped his career had once again settled, he discovered cutbacks would lead to his being unemployed. He learned of an identical position becoming available in Glasgow, applied and was appointed. Then his dad, having battled against drink addiction for decades, finally succumbed. He died in December 2009 but not through alcohol. Lung cancer killed him, and he had never smoked a cigarette in his life. A doctor told Alex his father’s lungs were like those of someone who had smoked 40 cigarettes a day. Passive smoking did kill.
Alex took up his present post in April 2010. By then, his family had settled in North Lanarkshire. Working among men from every walk of life, from every background, of every character, the good and the bad, the weak and the strong, helped develop in him a passionate interest in psychology. He has already successfully completed a Level A psychometrics/psychology course and is working on the next level. Once these are completed, he plans to work with young professional footballers and has the blessing of the army to do so. One of Scotland’s major soccer clubs has already agreed to allow him to work with players and pass on his findings to members of the coaching staff. Other clubs have expressed an interest. That, though, is for the future. His life now revolves around the British Army and his family. He is close to them and they to him.
* * *
Angie’s love shines more brightly than ever. She says: ‘Since joining the army a second time, Alex has been a very different man. He is wiser, but I think more ambitious since our separation, more determined to make the army a real career. He always tried his best, but I believe that for a lot of the time he has been held back by some individuals and had it not been for that he would have reached his present rank much more quickly. Has his background been responsible for that? Yes, but at the same time he is proud that the army gives those with his upbringing a chance to go far.
‘He and I have always been close. I tell my children I still love it when the door opens and he walks in. I love it when I talk to him on the telephone. I’d rather go for a night out with Alex than with a friend. I have no regrets about his army life because it has taken us away from the childhood we had. My mum and dad were alcoholics and food was scarce, but my kids have never known hunger. True, there have been times when my heart has missed a beat. For instance, on the day in 1987 when the corporals died, I knew Alex would be in an unmarked car heading into Belfast. When it came over on the news bulletin that they had been attacked and killed, I was instantly worried. There was nothing I could do and it was a huge relief when he called me that night to tell me he had arrived at his base safely. But despite incidents such as these, I have loved the army life. Nowadays I miss the socialising, the Messes we had. But we wouldn’t change even the bad things because learning from them has made us what we are.’
Tam Shannon, proud father of an army sergeant son, is also unashamedly proud of his brother. ‘I think there was always a desire in Alex to stand up for what he felt was right. Once, when we were younger, I spent money on a pair of training shoes at a time when I had a wife and young child. He came to see me and bollocked me, saying I should have spent the money on them. So I jumped up and attacked him. Next day he came to apologise, and I attacked him again. If I was writing a testimonial to Alex, it would read, “His most remarkable achievement is emerging from all he has gone through as a decent citizen.”’
John ‘Pawny’ Shannon, like Tam, does not attempt to hide his past and is glowing in his praise of his officer brother, the captain who emerged from gangland. Pawny admits he first broke into a shop at the age of four and has been a major player in drugs rackets. He has been arrested and questioned over murders he did not know had been committed, but his worst moment came as a teenager when Alex announced he was joining the army.
‘We were really close and I felt as though I was losing my best friend. Now, I don’t know if I could put into words just how proud I am of what he has achieved. At one time I thought of joining the Merchant Navy, but an outstanding criminal charge meant that it was only a pipe dream. So often I thought of joining the army, of doing something else with my life, but my convictions put an end to any hopes there, too. When Alex left the army in 1991, we were aware of people sizing up his capabilities. It was a time when the Shannons were at war and I don’t know whether he felt that was a factor influencing his decision to join us. It was a dangerous time, and we were all targets, but we were respected not only by our friends but by our enemies, too. I often thought to myself, though, “Maybe he would be better off back in the army.” He had his family to consider and I was glad when he rejoined.’
As for Captain Shannon, what does the army mean to him? ‘I cannot thank the army enough because it gave me a stability and direction in life. Even when I fell off the edge from time to time, it pulled me back and gave me core values of honesty, loyalty and courage, although these assets were instilled in me as a consequence of my upbringing on dangerous streets and among dangerous people. I say to those who have become my friends, “If you have a problem or a question, ask me direct and I will give you an honest answer. You can trust me.” But if I come across someone who reveals they are neither loyal nor trustworthy, then I don’t give them a second chance. The army has built that into me. If it were not for the army, I would definitely be in jail, or murdered. And so I love to think that out there are other young people, perhaps feeling hopeless, despairing, who will read my story and realise that with the army there is a future.’
The Underworld Captain: From Gangland Goodfella To Army Officer Page 27