by Ken Wharton
I remember the battle of Lenadoon clearly, it was when the first PIRA ceasefire broke down and they decided to take on the army. [See Bullets, Bombs and Cups of Tea and Bloody Belfast by the same author for further details.] It was the loudest and longest gunfire I ever heard and it went on for hours on that terrible Sunday afternoon. All of this was part of my growing up period and took place before I even joined the Army and got to serve in Northern Ireland myself in 1979 for the first time.
Site of the former Abercorn restaurant in Belfast; blown up by the IRA on 4 March 1972. (Author’s photo)
The Army was accused of executing (unintentional pun) a ‘shoot to kill’ policy against Republicans by their sympathisers and apologists who at the same time, found themselves unable to answer the question: how many prisoners did the IRA take and release unarmed? It was a dirty war and if the IRA suffered as a consequence of their own tactics and actions, then this soldier-scribe will not shed a single tear.
The day after the attacks on three central London hotels, the secret-behind-the-scenes activity was continuing as both the British Government who feared a long protracted terrorist conflict and the IRA who knew that they could not, militarily, stand toe-to-toe with the Army, sought to end the fighting. The Taoiseach (Irish Prime Minister) Liam Cosgrave, following a meeting with a senior British diplomat in Dublin was moved to send a most important telegram which only recently was released into the public domain. In it, he warned of his concerns regarding the likely impact in Britain on public opinion if it were to become public knowledge that Wilson’s government was negotiating with the IRA. This was at a time, the reader should note, that the IRA’s England team was wreaking havoc on the English mainland and the appalling, murderous attacks at two Birmingham pubs had occurred little more than a month previously.
SOUTH ARMAGH: SHOOTOUT
Corporal Martin Wells, 1st Bn, Royal Green Jackets
I was standing in the doorway of one of several small farm buildings, chatting with Dave and watching the Search Team, when the whole farm yard was engulfed in a huge amount of small arms fire and mortar bombs. The air was thick with incoming bullets and both of us more or less fell back into the small building. Almost immediately, the DERR’s cordon returned fire as the pair of us recovered our composure and peered out of the doorway. As we did so, a mortar bomb landed on the roof of the small building opposite us, about 30 feet away. The bomb embedded itself in the roof tiles and I watched as the fuse burnt down the final few seconds before exploding. With bullets still pouring into the yard and ricocheting off just about everything, I shouted to Dave to follow me into the room that had had the mortar bomb explode on it. I told him they would never be able to land a second bomb in the same place!
[Many a soldier has firmly believed this legend and there are many accounts of where a mortar or shell has defied the story. Andrew Salmon in his outstandingly good To The Last Round, which relates the Glosters’ epic stand on Hill 235 in Korea in 1951, mentions a story where soldiers dived into a freshly blasted crater only for another mortar to also land there!]
We both dashed the short distance across the courtyard as several other mortar bombs exploded in the yard and orchard, and the small arms fire continued to rain down on us. I got into the room first to find it had bales of hay in it and a small frameless window in the back wall, looking back up the hill we had so recently been on. I climbed up onto some hay bales and very quickly realised that all the incoming fire was from that hill. I joined in the firefight and as I did so, I became aware of two or three DERR guys behind a wall, just under my window, giving first aid to one of their men who had been wounded. (It later turned out he had been hit by a bullet that grazed under the bottom of his chin!) The view up that hill to the area the three of us had occupied, along with the noise of incoming and outgoing small arms fire, was something to behold. GPMG tracer rounds from the DERR’s platoon were going everywhere as they hit the dry stone wall, and the blackthorn bushes were being cut to ribbons; this was a major gun battle.
After firing off a few magazines, I left the small room. The Boss asked me to check for casualties amongst the DERRs, and I left the comparable safety of the room and went to the open gate that led into the orchard. If there were any, they would be here. My impression at that moment was that incoming fire had slackened or even stopped, and the mortaring had ceased. Dave remained in the room as I went to the orchard gate. At that point, I decided I was not going to go into the orchard, because it would mean a short dash over open ground, but to shout from the gateway. I could see a couple of DERR’s soldiers crouching behind the wall that formed the border, about 30 metres away. I could also make out several small craters in the grass of the orchard, where mortar bombs had landed and exploded. I shouted over to the two soldiers and asked if there were any casualties. To my utter horror, one of the DERRs shouted to me that he would ‘cover’ me, and for me to run when he started firing! With that, he stood up and started emptying a magazine of rounds into Republic of Ireland. There seemed no other choice but to run over to him. I flopped down behind the wall as he finished firing, and then reloaded a fresh magazine. I was about to try and get some sort of information about who, if anyone, had been wounded, when he jumped up yet again and screamed that, ‘they’ were moving down the road to our left.
As he did so, he started firing at a small group of people about 20 metres away who were moving down the road on the outside of the farm yard. I immediately grabbed him and shouted for him to stop firing, telling him that he was shooting at the Royal Engineers Search Team! As luck would have it, the road was slightly sunken at this point and only the head and shoulders of the Search Team were visible. To this day, I cannot figure out how he missed those Engineers from such a close range.
Clonnard area of Belfast; close to the ‘Peace Line’. (Mark ‘C’)
I quickly established there were no other casualties in the orchard and left ‘Mad Max’, running back into the farmyard. At this time incoming and outgoing fire had stopped and the sound of a Scout helicopter could be heard. Dave in the meantime, had been asked to meet the helicopter, which was bringing in more GPMG ammunition, and bring the boxes from the field, into the yard. Later, we learnt the DERR’s had fired over 4,000 rounds of GPMG ammunition alone, during the firefight. Once the ammunition was dropped, there was a distinct lack of purpose from the DERR’s Platoon Commander, so our Boss, Captain ‘J’ organised a ‘follow up’. A quick and aggressive move up to the ‘enemy’ position was needed ASAP. With the DERRs struck by inertia, the Boss, myself and Dave, moved out of the farmyard and headed cautiously up the hill. The only other person who made a move was the DERR’s Platoon Serjeant2, who joined on the back of us.
The scene at the top of the hill was quite a shambles. There were broken blackthorn branches everywhere and the wall had been struck by thousands of rounds on our side of it. Over the wall were pieces of abandoned equipment lying all over. Empty cases by the hundred, discarded rifle magazines, bits of uniform, shovels and the mortar base-plate. I leapt over the fence and could see from the empty cases, that there were at least four or five different weapons used, plus the mortar. We reckoned there must have been around 10 or 11 terrorists involved in this attack. And that they had used the very same gaps in the blackthorn bush to fire through, that the three of us had used an hour or so before them! As we were taking all this in, a small group of DERRs arrived from the farmyard and moved past us, to take up a securing position. Within seconds one of them shouted that he could see an open window in the farmhouse about 200 metres further along the wall, in Republic of Ireland, and the lot of them opened fire! I shouted to the Boss that there was nothing there that warranted shooting and he rushed over to order them to ceasefire. I moved down to where they were and asked him what they were shooting at. The NCO in charge replied that the farm had a window that was open. I then asked him if it had occurred to him that the farm might be occupied and that it was not against the law to have an open window. I left them t
o it and walked back up the hill to settle down for what might well be a very long follow-up operation. As luck would have it, the three of us did not have long to wait and about an hour later we were hopping on to a Scout helicopter, along with a suspect who had been arrested nearby, and zooming back to Battalion HQ in Bessbrook.
On 20 January, a group of armed IRA men attempted to hijack a bus from the Irish Republic shortly after it had crossed the border and entered Co Fermanagh. The bus was approximately one mile from the border and travelling in the direction of Enniskillen close to Kinawley. The gang was forcing passengers off at gunpoint when a British Army patrol arrived on the scene. In a brief shoot-out two members of the gang were shot, one of whom, Kevin Coen (21) died at the scene and the soldiers were able to recover an M1 Carbine.
There was a further blow on the 21st for the Provisionals, who had already lost two volunteers with the New Year less than three weeks old. The day after the killing of Coen, two members – John Stone (23) and John Kelly (26) – were moving a large device to place in Belfast City Centre. As their stolen car entered Victoria Street, it prematurely detonated and both bombers were killed instantly. There has been some speculation that the bomb had already been primed and the bombers had not compensated for the delays caused by heavy traffic or that one of the men was actually priming the device as they drove along. Whatever the cause, it was a spectacular own goal and probably saved many innocent lives. The bomb which took the lives of Stone and Kelly was one of several which Republican terrorists detonated around Belfast on that same day. There were no further fatalities as the IRA cared little for the opprobrium of the world – with the exception of Irish-Americans – and had clearly not heeded the lessons of ‘Bloody Friday,’ some 30 months previously.
On 5 May of the previous year, Corporal Thomas Lea (32) was dreadfully injured by an IRA bomb in the Republican Clonnard area of Belfast. He had made a partial recovery despite the loss of his sight and a hand, and was hopeful of a new career in the Army. On the same day as the Belfast ‘own goal,’ he collapsed and died following complications to his heart which had been enlarged as a consequence of the explosion. The soldier, from the Royal Military Police, was from the Liverpool area and was the father of two children.
JOINING THE UDR
Fred ‘W’, Ulster Defence Regiment
This is an account of the training given to people who wished to join the Ulster Defence Regiment (UDR) as it was called then and how little was given before they were put on duty in Northern Ireland, to fight terrorism.
Your first knowledge of this unit is reading and watching the local broadcasts, encouraging people to enlist, from both sides of the divide. My very first day was at a camp in Belfast, where they issue you with your new suit which will be yours for as long as you stay enlisted. Then they sit you down and tell you, you should never drive the same route in or out of the camp. So for the next seven days, you drive as many different routes as humanly possible to and from where you live. Also within this first week you are given countless lessons on personal security and home. Now, because you have to live within the community, this is something you have to do religiously every time you leave your house or your car.
Even, or especially, when you go shopping with your family; every time you leave your car, you go through the same ritual. Always keep your family at a great distance, when you check the car, never knowing what will happen. So whenever you put your key in the door, open it, open the boot, or the bonnet, you close your eyes and hope!! As they tell you, you never hear the BANG. You then realise that even sending your papers through the post is a security risk and how many people handle the post between you and the people who need to see it.
So you are told bring with you all your kit for the next week, never being told where you are going and never tell your family; just that you will see them in a week. Go to the camp in Belfast where they give you a helmet that looks like an upside down wok and the next thing you are in a Wessex, flying to God knows where! We landed in a camp in the north of the country, then it was into billets and get ready for the next weeks training. Anti-ambush drills constantly for the week, shooting practice and zeroing of weapons.
Then back to Belfast and home. Family pleased to see you back but you still have check your car before you got in it; even in a secure base. So you get a few days at home then someone rings you and off you go to your appointed place of duty. So now you have had only two weeks of very hard training and still you are expected to perform as a fighting soldier. I was working the streets for some two weeks further then I was given my first out of town detail.
Afterwards we were sent to places which I didn’t know and where, even now, I can’t tell the family about! Once we were dumped by Puma somewhere in South Armagh and told that we were there for a week; four weeks later, we were still there! So after this I was back home to a fresh bed and a cuddle. Then I was only part-time and still had to go to work after all this. After a long night’s duty with the UDR, often going on into the wee hours, I only had a couple of hour’s grace before I was due back into my full-time place of employment. Sometimes, I wasn’t back from duty until 05:00 but still had to earn a crust for the family.
So I decided to go full time and I never looked back. I still have my loyalty to the UDR and was proud to have served my Queen and fight against tyranny for my wonderful country.
During the existence of Fred’s Regiment, a total of 310 members, male and female, were killed, either in action or in duty-related incidents, including suicide. Additionally, a further 64 former members were killed in terrorist-related incidents. Although some former members had joined the RUC as either full-time members or as reservists, PIRA and INLA deliberately targeted them as a consequence of their former relationship. Of the 310, some 65 were shot en-route for work, in their places of work, or as they returned home after work. Given the stresses which the previous contributor has described, it is small wonder that as a result of utter fatigue, some 69 were killed in road traffic accidents.
The Air Training Corps (ATC) was and is a semi-military organisation designed to teach young men and women life’s values and standards of decency and behaviour; it is also designed to prepare them for possible service life in the Royal Air Force. As such it could have only threatened the most cowardly, embittered and paranoid members of the Provisional IRA. On Sunday 26 January an IRA team planted a booby-trapped explosive device at an ATC meeting hall in the Cavehill area of North Belfast. On that fateful day, five young Cadets, including Eddie Wilson (15) approached an internal door. As the young man pushed at the door, the device was triggered and he was killed instantly. The mad dogs of the Provisional IRA had struck another blow for ‘freedom’ and used up a little more Irish-American money in doing so. That wasn’t a problem for the IRA’s Army Council as the funds raised by bitter Americans, whose irrational hatred of Britain and the English would only dry up after the events of 11 September 2001. But that was some 26 years in the future.
Thomas Harbinson, Former ATC Cadet
We were members of 1919 Squadron ATC. The hut which we used for meetings and lectures was a wooden prefab sited in the grounds of Cavehill Primary School, North Belfast. The booby-trap explosion took place on the 26th Jan 1975. There were five of us (all 14 to 16 year olds) including my cousin Eddie who arrived slightly early at the hut that afternoon and entered the main hallway. One of the doors leading off the hallway led to the Warrant Officer/CO’s offices where the keys of the tuck shop were kept. The five of us were all standing in a group together in the hall directly outside the door and I can vividly remember seeing Eddie pushing the handle down and opening the office door. The next thing was a brief vision of going through the floor into the foundations. Luckily for me the hut was built on a hill and there was a space below it. Eddie took the full force of the blast and was killed instantly. The other four of us got out with burns and cuts.
The general consensus at the time was that had the hut not blown apart none of us wou
ld be here. One of the other lads standing directly behind Eddie was saved by a huge pile of newspapers which we were collecting for charity. He was carrying the pile which came right up to his chin and which acted almost as a flak jacket. As a footnote the squadron’s Warrant officer was an ex-RAF man, Alex Wilson who was also Eddie’s uncle and I don’t think ever came to terms with feeling guilty about it. A few months after the explosion 1919 squadron was reformed and offered the use of the Army Cadets’ hut in the grounds of Newtownabbey TA camp, but as the new hut had more or less the same layout as our old one some of us couldn’t go into it and left shortly afterwards.
Eddie was born on 14 August 1959 and is buried just outside Belfast in Carnmoney cemetery, Newtownabbey. Thomas kindly sent me a grainy reproduced photo of his murdered cousin and it shows a young, handsome man, proudly resplendent in his ATC uniform and beret; a teenager with his whole life ahead of him; slain by cowardly terrorists.
In any war, irrespective of whether it is on a major battlefield or in an urban conflict as was Northern Ireland, enemy wounded have the right to be treated with compassion and equality. During the desperate fighting in Normandy in the days which followed ‘D-Day’ in June, 1944, evidence of at least the Allied application of this compassion was much in evidence. A Canadian war correspondent was visiting a Forward Dressing Station close to the fighting and he noticed wounded German soldiers alongside wounded British and Canadians. He asked a doctor if he had a wounded Allied soldier next to a wounded German soldier, which one would receive first attention. Without looking up, the Doctor replied: ‘The one who was the most badly wounded!’