by Ken Wharton
Two days after the tragic accident on the Turf Lodge, UFF killers targeted a house in North Belfast and continued their ceaseless and senseless task of killing ‘Taigs.’ Catherine O’Connor (68) lived with her son-in-law and his family in the area around Cavehill Road. In the very early hours of the 6th, a UFF murder gang broke into their house where three adults and two toddlers lived. The murderers attacked Mrs O’Connor as she lay in bed and stabbed her repeatedly in a bloody frenzy and then shot her son-in-law, Francis Nolan (34) as he emerged from the adjoining bedroom. Mrs Nolan was threatened, but the killers left her and her children alone. There was a suggestion that Mr Nolan was a member of the IRA, but this was the type of sick justification which the Loyalist murder gangs used to explain away these types of attacks. It later emerged that the family had recently moved from the New Lodge area to the Cavehill because of fears for their safety. The following day, the Belfast Telegraph published photos of relatives carrying tiny children, wrapped in blankets from the house; in another photo, the smashed kitchen window where the killers broke in, is shown with the net curtains blowing in the breeze.
Earlier that day, a soldier had died in ‘unknown circumstances.’ The author has been able to ascertain the cause of death, but for personal reasons will not reveal this in print. Private John Gillies (26) of the King’s Own Scottish Borders was from Dumfrieshire in Scotland; he is buried at Kirkbean Church cemetery. During that day, bombs planted by PIRA exploded in several Belfast locations: Grosvenor Road, the Casanova Restaurant in the Cornmarket, Adelaide Street and in Willow Street. The explosion in Adelaide Street caused a major fire which gutted the premises. As part of the Provisionals’ ongoing ‘economic war’ against the British State it had several knock-on effects: it threw people out of work, it closed down family businesses, it denuded the Insurance companies of funds and the unemployed workers were forced to seek State unemployment benefits.
On the 8th, another policeman was killed, this time in Kilrea, Co Londonderry whilst he was on a joint RUC-Army patrol investigating a suspicious vehicle. Reports had been received about the vehicle which had been left in the village of Gortnacrene, close to the Garvagh Road. After an examination and a controlled explosion, it was decided to remove the van and an RUCR officer climbed into the driver’s seat. As he did so, it exploded and Constable Arthur McKay (43) of the RUCR was killed instantly and five soldiers were wounded, some very seriously. The explosion was the work of the Provisional IRA but a Republican apologist, SDLP member Hugh Logue, tried to blame the Army for negligence. Later that day, PIRA, having previously bombed the Belfast offices of the Belfast Telegraph then turned its attention to the newspaper’s Newry office and caused serious damage after a 10lb device exploded inside the building.
The following day – a Saturday – the IRA launched a bombing blitz on the Co Antrim town of Ballymena, 12 miles north of Lough Neagh. A total of 16 devices were planted by a PIRA bombing unit which included Thomas McElwee and killed one person and badly injured several others. McElwee – blinded in one of his own explosions – was convicted of the bombing conspiracy along with several others and achieved fame by becoming the ninth of the hunger strikers to die (in 1982) and being sickeningly referred to as a ‘freedom fighter’ by then GLC Leader, Ken Livingston. This author finds it utterly incredible that a resident of a city which was blitzed by the IRA’s England Team could refer to a convicted terrorist as a ‘…freedom fighter…’ Amongst the targets that day, were two separate clothes shops, a hardware shop and the main post office. It was market day and the shopping area of Fair Hill was packed with shoppers when a parked car suddenly exploded, catapulting a male bystander through the air and seriously injuring him. Yvonne Dunlop (26) was helping out in her family’s clothes shop – the Alley Katz Boutique – and she was trapped in the back by the flames and was burned to death; she managed to get her nine-year old son out of the burning building, but tragically she failed to escape.
Several bombs failed to explode that day due to faulty wiring or fuses and the Army EOD also managed to defuse others. The carnage could have been so much greater, and the placing of the bombs – one was in a bag in the Dunlop’s shop – was clearly designed to cause absolute slaughter. In addition to the loss of McElwee’s eye, another PIRA bomber in the same car had a leg amputated. Although there was a measure of poetic justice in the ‘own goal’ it in no way compensated for the loss of a young woman with her entire life ahead of her. Anne Marie Bateson, a South Londonderry PIRA member, was charged and convicted of planting several of the devices. However, retaliation by the Loyalists was swift and fatal and just hours later, the UVF killed Sean McCrystal (40), stabbing and punching him repeatedly and then setting his dying body on fire. Two Protestant men were later convicted of murder and manslaughter respectively.
On 11 October, Loyalists were responsible for the deaths of three innocent Catholics in various parts of the Province. Some three weeks after being wounded by UFF thugs, Anne Magee (15) succumbed to her wounds [see previous chapter]. Anne Brennan (46) lived in Hillview Street, in the North Belfast Nationalist area of Oldpark. The street no longer exists, but at the time, it was an unsafe area, dangerously close as it was to the sectarian interface with Loyalist territory. As she stood at her front door, UFF killers, on the look-out for her son who was in dispute with the UDA leadership, fired several shots at her and she slumped to the ground, mortally wounded. She was rushed to the nearby Mater Hospital but she died three hours after admittance. Her son had earlier that day been shot and wounded in the leg and was in hiding. The same evening, the UVF shot dead a Catholic, Peter Woolsey (39) at his farm in Cornascriebe near Portadown. Mr Woolsey had left his farmhouse in the early evening in order to milk his herd of dairy cows; when he hadn’t returned some five hours later, his worried wife went to look for him. She found her husband lying dead in the milking shed, shot in the back by Loyalist gunmen.
Earlier that same day, a PIRA car bomb, estimated at 200lbs had devastated the centre of Dungannon; a warning had been given, and injuries were, fortunately minor. On the English mainland, convicted IRA bomber, Noel Jenkinson (46) died in Leicester Jail, having been imprisoned for his part in the murder of Padre Gerry Weston and six civvie workers at the Officers’ Mess in Aldershot on 22 February, 1972 [see The Bloodiest Year: Northern Ireland, 1972 by the author]. An attack on an Army mobile patrol which had just left Moyard Army base on the Springfield Road in Belfast left its commander injured. An explosive device had been planted by IRA men and it detonated as the Land Rover drove past it. The bomb, estimated at 25lbs, was left in a culvert. The explosion left a massive crater and the blast threw a huge piece of tarmac over 300 yards, missing a young child only by inches. The day of violence and murder was completed by a PIRA booby-trap placed at Unicks, near Stewartstown, Co Tyrone. A device, intended for an Army foot patrol, exploded and maimed a 43-year old man who lost a leg, and an eight-year old boy who was with him received severe facial injuries.
On the 13th, there was some mystery surrounding the death of Edward Donnelly (26) who was killed by the UVF in the Shankill Road area. The young Scotsman was a former British soldier although he had only served a short time before he was discharged following serious charges. He returned to Belfast under his own volition and made his way to the Shankill Road. It is conjectured that he offered his services to the Loyalists and went to the Windsor Bar, a notorious UVF haunt, where he was treated with suspicion. He was then taken into a back room, beaten and tortured and then taken outside and shot dead. His body was taken to a nearby back street and dumped there.
On the same day as the murder of the young Scot, the IRA shot dead UVF member William Corrigan (41), father of six, outside his home in Annaghmore, Co Armagh. Armed PIRA gunmen opened fire on his car as he arrived home. He had been targeted by the Republicans following his alleged involvement in a Loyalist bombing and they had noted that he had received a two year suspended sentence for handling ammunition, which he was said to have bought from a U
DR soldier. His son Leslie (18) was fatally wounded in the attack and died on the 25th.
The Ardoyne seen from Flax Street Mill. (Mark ‘C’)
THE GASWORKS BOMBING
Robert Haslam, Royal Artillery
Although it was a long time ago, I remember the night of the 16th of October 1976; it wasn’t the kind of night you would forget in a hurry. I was on duty in the front observation sangar at the police station in Ormeau Road. I heard an explosion which sounded very muffled and I was not too sure from what direction it came. Naturally, I reported the incident to my section commander – Slim Hinson – who was watching television with the rest of the lads inside the station. On answering the telephone, I told him of what happened and he dismissed it and told me just to keep my eyes open; he was obviously engrossed in some TV show he and the others were watching.
‘Fair enough,’ I thought and left it at that. However, within 15 minutes or so, I could see an orange glow coming from the vicinity of the gasworks which was around about 500 yards up the road. I rang again, but on answering the telephone, he sounded even more agitated because I was disturbing him from his TV programme! He said to me: ‘What the bloody hell do you want now?’ On telling him there was an orange glow coming from the gasworks which I assumed to be a fire, he again dismissed the incident saying: ‘Just keep a bloody eye on it!’ So I just thought ‘have it your own way’, anyway, I was finding it quite amusing at the time.
Meanwhile, I was watching the orange glow getting bigger and bigger, and I soon realised it was a) a fire and b) it seemed to be getting out of hand. All of a sudden, the flames started to appear over the wall of the gasworks, and bear in mind the wall was well over 10 foot tall! Then I could hear voices coming from that direction; it sounded like all hell was being let loose! Within a couple of minutes of this, the whole of the sky lit up; just like daylight. It only lasted for a few seconds, but it was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. A great big huge fireball ascended into the air and it reminded me of a hot air balloon, brilliant white in colour with a hint of blue.
This time when I phoned, he took me more seriously and the RUC officers present were starting to ask some serious questions about what was happening. A few minutes later they were all outside, taking in what was going on; one said to me why did I not report it earlier? Anyway, the policemen went off up to the by now blazing gasworks and we were left there for the remainder of the night, listening to all the radio chatter about the fire and what had caused it.
The next day, we changed over from guarding the police station and headed back to our base as it was supposed to have been our rest day; Sunday. That was shortlived and we were quickly turned into a search team and taken to the gasworks to search the area for any evidence of who might have been there, who they were and weapons they may have been carrying.
The Army base at Flax Street Mill, Ardoyne. (Mark ‘C’)
It was so quickly done that none of us really knew what we were doing, but on entering the gas works we all just stared at the devastation which was laid out in front of us; none of us spoke for a while, we just stood there. The order came to spread out in two’s and search the area in front of us. The ground was very muddy and wet due to the time of the year and I presume where the fire service had been putting out the fires. In the churned-up mud, there were tyre marks everywhere and I noticed that the deep ruts were full of a red substance. I was soon to realise that it was human blood; puddles of it, which shocked us all.
After a short space of time, people were calling out that they were finding body parts, and then someone shouted out: ‘What’s this hanging from the perimeter fence?’ On close inspection we realized it was human body; strips of it just hanging there! The bombers had literally gone through the fence which was bent right over and two of the concrete post had snapped! We then carried on the ground search, where I came upon something in the mud which stood out because of how white it was against the darkness of the mud. On picking it up, to my horror realised that it was human teeth with the roof of the mouth still attached! I called across to whoever was in charge and handed them over and was told that it was a good find as they would be able to get dental records and identify who the person was. Just then, someone called out they had found a hand gun with part of the hand still attached.
Another soldier had opened an old scrapped fridge – there were loads in a sort of scrapyard – and he found a boot with the foot still inside! The force of the blast must have sent the foot/boot into the fridge and closed the door! We were in there for around two-three hours, and on leaving I remember how wet my green Army wool gloves felt; on closer inspection they were soaked in blood and I removed them and binned them.
This is the first time I have ever gone into detail about what happened; I don’t think any of us talked about it much. We were just glad to get out of there.
The Provisional IRA’s bombing attack on the gasworks in Ormeau Road ended in the deaths of three of their men in what was a combination of an own goal and a totally irresponsible mission which could have caused several hundred deaths in their own community. Those killed were Paul Marlowe (32); Frances Fitzsimmons (29) and Joseph Surgenor (24). Marlowe was from the Falls Road area and the other two dead bombers were from the Short Strand. The NORAID ‘roll of honor’ (sic.) record the latter two as belonging to the 3rd Battalion, Belfast Brigade of PIRA and Marlowe as belonging to the 2nd battalion.
One former soldier who did not wish to be named told the author:
When we had finished picking up the bits, there wasn’t enough to fill a couple of sacks. One of them was standing near a chain-link fence when the explosion occurred; the chain-link didn’t budge; he just went through it; in pieces!
THE GASWORKS
Jock 2413, Royal Artillery
I suppose the story really starts on the evening of 16 October 1976. Most of the Brigade Task Force at that time was based at Aldergrove. Decent accommodation and modern facilities more than made up for the times spent roughing it at the various locations we were deployed to.
I was just making my way to the Ops room to see what was on the cards for the morrow, when the horizon to the east lit up with a fiery reddish glow. ‘Hello,’ I thought, ‘we’ve finally had enough of it and decided to nuke the bastards!’ When I got to the Ops room, I reported what I had seen and fairly soon, the brigade radio net was reporting that a bomb had gone off at the gasworks near the Markets area of Belfast. There was quite a bit of concern as we knew that there was a troop of Gunners based there but thankfully word came down that there were no SF casualties. ‘No prizes for guessing where you’re going tomorrow,’ said the Ops officer, ‘report here at 0700hrs.’ Sure thing, the following morning, three Troops of the BTF were motoring to the GCH where 49 Regiment RA had not long taken roost. We were told we were to work alongside the Mission Troop assisting the RUC scene of crimes people. Apparently the police had received information that the bomb had been a terrorist own goal and we were to look for any bits of them that were left so as to confirm numbers and possible identity; happy days!
When we got down there, the whole place stank to high heaven and was a scene of devastation. I was given a handful of forensic evidence bags and shown an area to search and we set to. After a while, one of my lads shouted over that he’d found something so I gave him a bag and told him to take whatever it was to the forensics tent. He came back about five minutes later looking a bit down so I asked him what was wrong. It turned out that his ‘find’ had been a charcoal broiled rat. That soon prompted a few singing lines of the song ‘Ben’ by Michael Jackson. I left my lads to it and went for a wander to see what was happening elsewhere. Someone drew my attention to part of a fence which had somehow survived the blast and stuck to it was what resembled mince and some other dark coloured stuff. ‘I think I’ll give lunch a miss today,’ says I.
We’d been at this for quite a while and I think it was sometime during the afternoon when seagulls were seen swooping down onto the flat roof
of a nearby garage. A ladder was fetched and some poor unfortunate climbed up for a look; and promptly lost the contents of his stomach. There was half a torso on the roof and the gulls had been having a right old feast. As the forensics lads were shoving it into a bag, I decided to break into song again: ‘…the rib bone’s connected to the backbone, the backbone’s connected to the…’ and so on. Just my luck, that some Rodney from 49 Regiment heard all this, and started berating me about a lack of respect. I couldn’t believe my ears. Less than 24 hours earlier, that thing they were shovelling into a bag had every intention of murdering up to 30 of his men and he wanted me to show respect. I just gave him one of those looks you reserve for officers and walked away wondering how long it would take him to wise up that this was a dirty war we were involved in.
With the fading light, it was knocking off time but as I was boarding my wagon, the BTF officer came up to me, ‘Captain Fab’ as we called him, and said that he had received a complaint from a 49 Regiment officer about me. Wagging his finger at me, he said with a smile: ‘Consider yourself bollocked!’ Fab was a great bloke and, in mine and every other section commander’s eyes, the perfect man to command the BTF. During build up and throughout the deployment, he left his ‘Rupert’ head at home and was one of the boys whilst at the same time commanding our respect. Sadly, he passed away a few years ago. It turned out that there had been three terrorists involved in the incident. I sure as hell wouldn’t have fancied the job of sorting out which bits went where, and bearing in mind what went on earlier, I resisted chanting ‘Three nil’ on the way back to base.