by Ken Wharton
Two days later, the IRA attempted to kill an off-duty UDR soldier near his home in Ballygawley. Aware that he had to travel down a narrow country lane near his home, they planted a large landmine (100lbs) set to be detonated by remote control. On the morning of the 10th, the part-time soldier and his wife drove down the lane and the landmine was triggered by terrorists in a nearby field. The car was wrecked, but miraculously both suffered only broken arms and legs; not only were they not killed, but the blast blew them against a rigid wire fence which prevented them falling 30 feet down a precipice onto the main Omagh-Ballygawley Road.
Shortly afterwards, but unconnected with this, there was very possibly an IRA own goal close to the Irish border at Tullydonnell, Co Louth. A car was destroyed in a blast and bloodstains were found at the scene but no bodies, body parts or injured persons were found. It is considered likely that the device detonated prematurely and the injured and/or dead were smuggled across the border for either treatment or burial. On that same day, an RUC officer was seriously injured when he was shot in the chest by PIRA gunmen at his home at Stranmillis Road, Belfast. The 41 year-old policeman was relaxing in his home when his wife answered a knock at their front door. As she opened it, masked gunmen burst past her and shot the officer several times in the chest, seriously injuring him. They escaped in a waiting stolen car and the officer was rushed to hospital; he thankfully survived. This was the second time in a matter of days that the Troubles had visited Stranmillis Road.
On the 11th, over 40 people were injured at a wedding reception in Portadown, Co Armagh. The reception was taking place in the Yachtsman Bar, Woodhouse Street, when the no-warning blast tore the roof off and caused some terrible injuries. A fleet of ambulances were called to ferry the injured to the nearby Craigavon Hospital and rescuers literally tore the trapped people from the rubble of the building. The bomb had been placed in an upstairs room and desperate appeals were made on the radio and television for medical staff to attend. The rescue took hours to complete as the injured were buried under tons of rubble. No paramilitary organisation claimed responsibility for the bombing.
Shortly afterwards and 100 miles further north in Londonderry, a Royal Engineers soldier from Yorkshire was shot dead. A four-man footsie was in the Bogside and was close to a hedge when an IRA sniper opened fire, using civilians as cover. Sapper Howard Edwards (24), father of two very young children, was hit in the back and slumped to the ground mortally wounded; he was dead on arrival at the nearby Altnagelvin Hospital. His comrades were unable to return fire because of the proximity of civilians although the murder weapon was recovered and the killer apprehended. Lost Lives states that the IRA gunman had killed another soldier, earlier that year. He was responsible for the murder of Gunner Miller who was killed at Butcher’s Gate in the same area [see Chapter 19].
Two days later, PIRA sickeningly killed a disabled young man as they planted a bomb at Hall’s brush factory in Belfast’s Wilson Street. Roy Young (23) suffered some paralysis and was unable to move his right arm and leg, having suffered from epilepsy since he was a child. Masked gunmen, driving a stolen Post Office van, entered the premises with the intention of planting a bomb; heroically, Mr Young may have tried to tackle them and was shot in the head at point-blank range. The Army’s EOD successfully defused all three devices. I can think of no more fitting tribute but to quote the words of his grieving mother.
He loved dancing even though he couldn’t do it very well … Every morning he used to try and dance to the music on the radio before he went to work. His last words to me were: “Cheerio, Mum, see you tonight.” He was going to buy me a Christmas carol record as a present. He didn’t have any girlfriends but he was very popular with all the neighbours and his mates at work. He was a good boy who wouldn’t hurt anybody but I don’t want anybody killed for him; please God, no.
This author is still searching for an apology from either Mr Adams or Mr McGuiness over the cowardly murder of this incredible young man.
A statement by Father Tom Toner, a Catholic priest from Andersonstown quoted by Martin Dillon (The Dirty War, Arrow Books, 1990), bears eloquent testimony to the despair and disgust many felt for the Provisional IRA:
To you the IRA and all who support and defend you, we have to say that we feel dirty today. Foul and dirty deeds done by Irishmen are making Ireland a foul and dirty place, for it is things done by Irishmen that make us unclean. What the British could never do, what the Unionists could never do, you have done. You make us bow our heads in shame and that is a dirty feeling. The IRA is like a cancer in the body of Ireland, spreading death, killing and corruption…. We want the cancer of the IRA removed from our midst … [Lost Lives, p.693].
On the 14th, PIRA mounted a massive Province-wide programme of disruption and had the security forces chasing their own tails in an effort to combat the tactic. A total of 28 roads and the main Belfast-Dublin railway line were blocked by both real and hoax bombs. All devices had to be treated with the same time-consuming caution and respect; roads were blocked in Keady, Belcoo, Fermanagh, Lurgan and Seven Mile Straight, Co Antrim. Most roads were blocked by cars, buses and lorries but in certain cases, milk churns were used. By the day’s end, it was revealed that the vast bulk of the devices were hoaxes, with only 50lbs of explosives actually used. This disruption was worsened when PIRA gangs opened fire on RUC stations in Belcoo and Lisnaskea, Co Fermanagh close to the Irish border. The police suffered no casualties. There was, however, a miraculous escape for a policeman in Lurgan where the IRA abandoned a car packed with explosives near the motorway interchange. Police set up diversion notices and one officer was in the process of doing this when the car exploded. His uniform was torn from his body and he was blown off his feet and injured; another officer was deafened in the blast.
A less than contrite PIRA turned their attention to the RUC 24 hours later and killed a policeman, this time in Portadown. Security barriers had been erected in the centre of the town and the task of closing them fell to Constable Norman Campbell (19) and another colleague. The RUC had set up temporary barriers to restrict traffic access to the centre as many businesses were closed anyway. As they went about their job, a stolen car containing at least one gunman came up close to them and a masked man jumped out and opened fire with an Armalite. He fired 30 shots at the two policemen and Constable Campbell, who had not been in the RUC for very long, was hit in the head and died instantly; his other colleague was unhurt.
On the same day, further evidence of PIRA’s utter irresponsibility in transforming urban areas into battlefields was demonstrated in Armagh City. Soldiers had come under fire from a sniper firing from an upper floor of the Mocking Bird Bar in the centre of the town. One soldier thought that he saw the outline of a gunman at an upper window and fired, tragically hitting Patrick McGeown (25) a barman at the pub. The man was in an upstairs toilet at the time and died instantly; this author is happy to admit that he had no paramilitary ties and was entirely innocent. Eyewitnesses attested to the fact that a gunman was firing at the troops and strike marks were found on a nearby wall where the foot patrol had passed.
Two days later, a Republican being tried for terrorist crimes set fire to himself in the dock at a court in Belfast. In protest against the charges, he tried to emulate Jan Pallach, the young Czech who martyred himself in Wenceslas Square in Prague, 1968 to protest against the Soviet rape of his country. A less worthy case of self-immolation would be difficult to find.
Even during the carnage and chaos of the Troubles other ‘normal’ generally less lethal crimes such as robbery and even joy-riding still existed. The dangers of this latter crime were highlighted of course, in the infamous incident regarding Private Lee Clegg in 1990. A shooting took place in West Belfast on 30 September 1990. Clegg, then a Private from Yorkshire, and his fellow soldiers manning the checkpoint on the Upper Glen Road, fired 19 rounds into a stolen Vauxhall Astra that passed through their VCP, travelling at high speed. Clegg fired four of the bullets, the last of
which killed 18-year old passenger Karen Reilly. The driver, 17-year old Martin Peake, also died at the scene, and the third passenger, Markiewicz Gorman, escaped with minor injuries. However, a much earlier incident occurred on 18 December, 1976, when soldiers fired at a car which was driven at them on the Springfield Road, Belfast. The car had been hijacked at gunpoint in a Nationalist area – the Monagh roundabout at Turf Lodge – and soldiers ordered it to stop. The driver refused and one soldier stated that he saw a pistol being aimed at him. Under all conditions of ROE (Yellow Card) they were authorised to fire and did so. The driver was killed and the car crashed a few hundred yards away. A survivor climbed out of the overturned wreck and was seen to point a gun at the pursuing soldiers, one of whom fired at the man. An imitation pistol was found in the wreckage and locals protested that John Savage (17) was killed despite being technically ‘unarmed.’ The Troubles were a dangerous time and no soldier in the split-second of the moment could be expected to distinguish between a real and imitation weapon.
ALBERT BRIDGE CONTACT: POSTSCRIPT
Michael Sangster, Royal Artillery
It was the evening of the ambush near the Short Strand and another brush with death. One thing was for certain, that ambush had not been set for us. When they took over the pub, I was still enjoying a cup of tea at the station. I was starting to think that the crew of that RMP mobile owed me and my lads a pint, because I am convinced that PIRA had set up the shoot. Meanwhile, the dog unit had turned up and a blood trail up the alleyway was being followed. We waited in the back of the BC’s rover for word. After about 10 minutes, the BC came back and told the driver to return to the GCH. I asked what the score was and he told us that the trail had led to a Republican community centre at the other end of the alley. Apparently, Brigade had refused permission to enter the premises as it was full of locals having a meeting. As you can imagine, I was gob smacked. He wouldn’t even let us look up the alley. I started giving out a bit but he told me to wind my neck in and just accept it.
Back at the GCH, we were debriefed by their Int officer. He told us that word had come down that the third fire position had been from a car which had been seen driving off at speed. It was found in flames near Ravenhill and there were 18 Armalite cartridge cases inside. So it looked like the final score was 34 high velocity and five-six low velocity fired at us and after a magazine check, we’d fired 11 rounds in return. I asked about the person I’d hit. He told me that if he was dead, he would either be taken over the border or abandoned in a fairly public place. If he was seriously wounded, he would be left in a stolen car outside a hospital. If his wounds were treatable, he would be taken to a doctor friendly to the terrorists, patched up then taken over the border for further treatment at a hospital in the Republic. He said that the best clue was normally the death notice section in the newspaper. The terrorists usually, but not always, claimed their own.
We were in the GCH vehicle park when this lad came up to us. He said he was one of the dog team who had been called out. He told us that whoever it was I had hit had bled like a stuck pig. You didn’t need a dog to follow the trail. About five yards in from the entrance, someone had emptied a load of sand on a fairly large pool. He had also found a bullet strike on the wall about 30 yards down which was about three feet off the ground. No empty cases had been found so he either used a revolver or the crowd had picked them up. He too was pretty pissed off at the follow up being stopped and gave us a ‘well done’ and shook us all by the hand as did quite a few of the GCH lads.
It was well into the early hours of the morning when our transport turned up. I half expected it to be our own Troop Commander, a rear echelon Sergeant Major we had recently been issued with as our own TC had been casevaced back to Germany with a back injury he got playing badminton of all things. In fact it was Captain ‘Fab’ and his escort group who picked us up. Back at base, my lads got some scoff from the chef who had waited up for us, while I had to go through the same story again for our own Int wallah. He too gave me the ‘well done’ bit. By now the adrenalin had worn off and I was pretty chin-strapped. I nearly fell asleep over my supper, but managed to get to my little cubbyhole which I shared with my 2IC and found him waiting up for me. So of course the whole tale had to be told again. At least he waited up for us, which was more than our TC had done!
We got about three hours sleep then had to get up for another day’s tasks, and over breakfast, there was plenty of back-slapping and handshakes from the other lads. Even the BSM gave us a well done, proving that he was human after all. To my disgust, we had to go to the Ops room and repeat the whole thing for the Battery Commander whilst the clerk wrote it all down to be sent to Brigade HQ who would circulate an abbreviated version to all units in the daily NIREP [Northern Ireland Report]. I made a point of praising the lads as this had been their first serious contact and they had done really well, especially the two lads who returned fire, as they had probably saved my bacon even if their aim was a bit off. I was then told that my gang and I were to report to the serious crime unit at Mountpottinger RUC station to give statements. Before that, we were to go to Flax Street base which had a pipe range and the three of us who had fired rounds had to shoot five rounds each at a special target to check the zero of our weapons. We would also have to have our weapons test fired at Castlereagh for forensics. I knew all this already as I’d had to go through the same nonsense in Londonderry in 1973.
We were at the loading bay when our Troop Commander finally deigned to make an appearance. But instead of giving the lads a bit of praise, he told us ‘You were lucky last night; If I’d been there, it would have been different.’ I couldn’t believe this wanker. His one and only previous tour had been spent manning checkpoints; he’d done no build up for this tour and he’d spent the first 10 weeks of this one doing admin. We’d already nicknamed him ‘Chicken,’ as he had no problems going out on bomb patrol in the segments but was always conspicuous by his absence when we were tasked to the New Lodge or Ardoyne. I know I should have stayed ‘shtum’, but I couldn’t stop myself so asked him why he didn’t come to pick us up at the GCH like any decent TC would have. It all kicked off then and if we hadn’t had to leave, quite probably I would have ended up charged.
Feeling pretty pissed off, we motored down to Flax Street, did the business at the pipe range then headed off to East Belfast. We went via the Albert Bridge and stopped for a quick look at the scene. There were two deep strikes on the left parapet of the bridge near where Dinger and Les had been, and the bus shelter had received a few hits as well. But what made my hair curl were the gouges in the tarmac in the area where I had been pinned down. Fab’s lads just looked at me and shook their heads. We continued on to the cop shop where we were met by the same RMPs from the night before. While we were giving statements and enjoying the goodies in their canteen, our weapons were taken away for testing and returned to us about an hour later. We had a good chinwag with the Redcaps, who told us that the community centre had been kept under obs for the whole night but nothing was seen. They also agreed that the ambush had probably been intended for them and if we got a night off and could get up to Aldergrove camp, there would be a free night at the bar for us. Nice thought but nights off were as rare as hens’ teeth. The police didn’t have much to add either. If they recovered a corpse, we would have to attend the inquest. If they made an arrest, we would be witnesses at an attempted murder trial. We kept checking the death notices in the newspapers for the next week or so, but alas, no sign. I had to content myself with the hope that I had shot his nuts off.
And that was about that. The incident did get a mention on the local radio which the Int guy tape recorded for us and it got a couple of short columns in the ‘Belfast Newsletter’ and ‘Telegraph’ but the report was pretty thin in detail. Typical army PR. Even the NIREP didn’t say much; along the lines of: ‘A foot patrol came under fire from several gunmen at the junction of the Short Strand and Albert Bridge. No casualties. Fire returned with one hit claimed
as gunman seen to fall. Follow up found blood trail leading towards a local community centre. No further action taken.’ It then listed the number of rounds fired etc. Of all the incidents I was involved in during my various tours of that happy island, this one was not the worst yet it sticks in my mind because of the hand that fate played in it. All those ifs; if I hadn’t upset the black cab rank, I probably would not have been given the task. If I had turned the other way when we came out of the station, we would have walked back to the GCH as safe as houses and that RMP car would have been shot to hell with probably many casualties. If the fog hadn’t lifted when we got to the end of the bridge, we could have turned back without incident. If I had ignored the ban on crossing unit boundaries, we could have caught the one in the alley in whatever condition he was in and recovered the weapon. If, if if.
One good thing that fate dealt me concerned our ‘Chicken’. He made no secret of the fact that he would see me busted for one reason or another by the end of the tour. For my part, I may have hinted that it wouldn’t be a good idea if he came out on patrol with me in a hard area. Anyway, the terrorists solved the problem. They set off a bomb in the vicinity of the married quarters area in Lisburn. My section, along with two others was tasked to patrol the area on a permanent basis. Six hours on, twelve hours off. What a doddle. We were to be based at Thiepval Barracks, Lisburn till the end of the tour, Christmas 1976, so our paths didn’t cross again.
Back in Germany, he had nothing to do with my normal troop so the whole thing blew over. He must have been a bit puzzled though when he was sitting in his office, to hear the sound of a chicken clucking only to see me walk past.
Also on the 18th, the fledgling Republican terrorist group the INLA attacked the Tavern Bar in Portadown and planted a pipe bomb in the bar. However, they were confronted by a member of the bar staff, James Liggett (66) who tried to wrestle the device from their hands and threw himself at the bombers. For his troubles the masked INLA man shot him at point-blank range in the stomach, fatally wounding him. Customers managed to drag the device outside where it was safely defused. It was packed with explosives and 24 4” nails which had they exploded, would have caused massive injuries to anyone close by. Mr Liggett died 11 days later in hospital.