Down Among the Weeds

by Harry Beaves

  British Military Public Information hand out on the atrocities of Bloody Friday 21st July 1972.

  Through it all I sat in the Battery Ops Room listening to Sgt Moore’s radio messages with the rest of the troop ready to support his men at a moment’s notice. Every few minutes we heard the crump of explosions away in the distance. Only when the local TV news came on at six o’clock and showed distant pictures of soldiers clearly filling body bags with shovels at the scene of the Oxford Street Bus Station bomb did we realise the full horror of the day’s events. The IRA have since apologised for events that day, which, of course, makes things all right!

  All the time we had been in Ireland the housing estates had been barricaded and we had been obliged to treat them as ‘no-go’ areas, which effectively meant that when we were attacked we could do little about it as our ability to pursue was very limited. Our first excursion behind the barricades was on 22nd July. At the BC’s evening O Group I was tasked to take a patrol into the Riverdale Estate and lie up and observe a house which we believed was being used by the IRA.

  I briefed the eight men of the patrol and we prepared our equipment. The plan was to move by vehicle to MPH. From there we would go north through the fields to the M1 then go under the motorway through a large drainage culvert, into the Riverdale Estate. We would lie up and observe the houses at the junction of Riverdale Park South and Riverdale Park East. The patrol was to be ‘silent’ and we were to avoid all contact. It promised to be an interesting little operation.

  That evening the nine o’clock news on Ulster TV carried a story about the IRA laying mines at certain places in Belfast to protect the communities from the British Army and Protestant aggression. A map showed that one of the areas that had been mined was exactly where I was due to lie up and observe later that night. I said nothing to the Troop, but went to see my chum Ray Harrison, who commanded 4 Troop.

  ‘Seen the News?’

  ‘Yeh.’

  ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘I reckon you’re in big trouble, mate. Are you going to speak to the BC?’

  I was unused to the situation. I felt it was wrong to question orders and I didn’t want to seem chicken, but I thought it needed to be discussed. David Storrey was in the Ops Room.

  ‘Sir, can I have word?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He knew what was coming.

  ‘Did you see the News, what do you think?’

  ‘I’ve thought about it and we’ve seen kids playing on that grass regularly over the last few days. The IRA could be arming the mines at night and disarming them in the morning, but I think that’s highly unlikely. I believe it’s a bluff and there are no mines there so I’d like you to carry on as planned.’

  ‘Right, sir, understood.’ I went back to Ray Harrison.

  ‘It’s still on. We know the kids play there so the BC reckons it’s a bluff.’

  ‘I reckon you’re going to need to watch your step,’ said the master of understatement!

  I found the team and explained the situation then sat and watched TV to fill the time and divert my thoughts until we moved out at 2300.

  At the gates of MPH we checked our radios then switched them off, cocked our weapons and moved rapidly towards the motorway. We felt vulnerable in the open fields in bright starlight, but quickly found a line of bushes which provided cover as far as the culvert. Here we paused and observed. The entrance was clear with no sign of any recent activity that might have suggested a booby trap.

  The first person in a patrol is obviously at greatest risk from booby traps or enemy action so the commander usually moves at number two. It is standard practice and accepted, but I felt uncomfortable about it. If I tasked one of the soldiers to be point man I almost felt I should say, ‘Because you’re more expendable than me,’ and I didn’t like that. I also felt, particularly at this time, that I was more tactically aware and that I might notice things others would miss. For these reasons I almost always led my patrols from the front.

  The culvert was a concrete pipe about four-and-a-half feet in diameter, through which ran the small stream that gave Riverdale its name. I stepped down into knee deep smelly river water and entered the dark tunnel. It was pitch black, but in the far distance I could see the grey that was the proverbial light at the end. In the darkness all of my senses were acute. The tunnel would have been a great place for a bomb. It would kill soldiers and cause huge damage and disruption to the motorway without the risk of harming children at play. My rifle was in my right hand. I held my left hand vertically in front of my face to protect against any unseen obstacle. Each time I moved one of the many rocks that lay unavoidably under the water I held my breath. Our movement across the fields had been relatively silent, but I felt that eight men shuffling through knee deep water in the confines of a tunnel must sound like a herd of buffalos that could be heard for miles.

  We reached the tunnel exit, closed up shoulder-to-shoulder, paused and listened, then quickly fanned out on our stomachs on the left bank. The stream was about eight feet wide and the sloping banks were around six feet high so we had cover. We moved cautiously up the bank to where we could see the houses and edged along to a position from which we could properly observe those that interested us.

  We laid down and watched and waited. Occasionally someone would walk along the street. A car sped past with a roaring exhaust – a boy racer or terrorists returning from a job in a stolen car? Downstairs lights went off, upstairs lights went on, the upstairs lights went off, Riverdale went to sleep and we watched the whole drama unfold! At about 0300 we edged back down to the stream and made our way back through the culvert, this time with more speed and less care and almost ran across the open fields back to MPH.

  Safe inside the camp, we sat in the Int Cell drinking tea as I filled in the Patrol Report. Back in the bus depot Ray Harrison heaved a sigh and stood his troop down. They had been waiting to scramble should we have got into bother. Our adrenalin level was still sky high and we laughed and joked about the night’s patrol as the dirty river water dripped from our combat trousers on to the polished office floor.

  Colonel Bill came in smiling broadly. ‘Well, what did you find then?’

  ‘Well, nothing really, Colonel, a few pedestrians, a couple of noisy cars, but not much more.’

  ‘Nothing to make you think there were mines or anything there?’

  ‘No. I don’t think there was.’

  ‘Well that’s fine, well worth knowing.’

  I learnt a lot from that patrol about the military imperative. There was a task to be done, but there was a serious threat for those involved. David Storrey judged that the chances of the threat materialising were slim so the importance of the task justified the risk involved. We as soldiers trusted his judgement and got on with the job, but had the area been mined someone might have had a difficult letter to write to my father.

  A request for a lift-and-search operation for 28 Battery was turned down by HQ Northern Ireland on 24th July as it was not policy for a unit to mount such operations until they had been ‘in theatre’ for more than fourteen days. Instead at 0545 we removed the barrier across the entrance to St Meryl Park, in one of the less hostile areas. Reports during the day suggested that this had pleased the residents.

  We were also delighted that one of our routine Vehicle Checkpoints stopped the Caterer from Casement Park, the local Gaelic Football stadium, and arrested him for drunken driving.

  We began opening up the estates in earnest two days later in the area known as the Lozenge. These were the estates enclosed by Shaws Road, Glen Road, Andersonstown Road and the Falls Road. After midnight on 26th July the Prince of Wales’s Own Regiment and a Regiment of Fusiliers flooded the area with soldiers. 28 Battery’s task was to provide close protection for the Royal Engineers at eight separate locations while they removed the barricades with JCBs. 6 Troop were responsible for the barricades across Dunmisk Park and Slemish Way, both of which led off Andersonstown Road. Our task was uneventf
ul, but some of the others had to fire rubber bullets to disperse stone throwers, even at that time of morning.

  Foot patrols began immediately. That night at 2300 I took a foot patrol around the Bingian Way area. A group of youths apparently just hanging around on a street corner were acting as lookouts. They quickly disappeared and we moved on quietly through the streets. Bedroom lights flashed the warning across the houses that troops were around. We cut through gardens and turned back on our route, but it was a very uneasy feeling knowing we were being closely watched and I felt we could easily walk into an ambush. Eventually folk came out blowing whistles and banging dustbin lids in the traditional Republican way of passing the warning.

  It was obvious that the situation that we had inherited in Andersonstown was far too great a task for a unit the size of 28 Battery. We had a clue about what might be about to happen, when we were discreetly visited in the bus depot by four soldiers who looked like Royal Green Jackets. They spent a lot of time in the BC’s office with the door shut and were given a comprehensive tour of the premises.

  David Storrey’s 1800 ‘O Group’ on 30th July was curtailed. He gave us a warning order that a big operation was planned for the small hours that would result in our leaving the police station/bus depot for good. He gave no hint of our task, but the only ‘no-go’ area left in Andersonstown was the Riverdale Estate where it was thought the gunmen of the 1st Battalion were holed up behind the barricades as a last resort.

  That night the TV and radio in Ireland advised the population to keep off the streets as there would be a considerable amount of troop movement overnight. This was William Whitelaw’s final warning to those remaining.

  The IRA had demonstrated their ability with devastating effect on Bloody Friday. It was the British Government’s turn to re-assert control with Operation Motorman, which would involve 22,000 servicemen and be the biggest British military operation since Suez in 1956.

  We packed what personal kit we had brought with us and waited with nervous anticipation to see what our role would be.

  Chapter 9

  Motorman

  The aim of Operation Motorman was to demolish the barricades, re-take the ‘no-go’ areas controlled by Irish Republican paramilitaries and re-establish British control over them. It would be achieved by an overwhelming surge in the number of troops in the province. The area of responsibility in Andersonstown, which N Battery had handed over to us, would eventually be occupied by five equivalent sized units. 28 Battery would be responsible for the area of the Riverdale housing estate and we would be based in Casement Park, Northern Ireland’s principal Gaelic Sports Stadium.

  David Storrey gave his orders at 0100 on 31st July. Tasks were as follows:

  •10 Troop (the Regimental Reserve Troop from HQ Battery) would clear and hold Casement Park, which would be occupied by 19 Regiment’s Tactical HQ and 28 Battery’s Operations team.

  •2 and 3 Troops from 5 Battery would flood the Stockmans Estate, maintain patrols there and assume responsibility for the area until further notice.

  •28 Battery would move down Andersonstown Road and de-bus at the Esso Station.

  •4 Troop would search the ground behind Riverdale North then provide protection for the Sappers as they removed the barricades at Riverdale Avenue and Riverdale South.

  •5 Troop would provide protection at the north and south junctions of Riverdale West.

  •6 Troop would enter Riverdale between 61 and 63 Riverdale North and establish a cordon around numbers 40 to 62 Riverdale Drive which would be searched by the Battery’s search teams.

  Military map of 28 Battery’s area of responsibility post Operation Motorman.

  •1 Troop from 5 Battery would cordon the barricade at Riverdale East while the Royal Engineers dismantled it.

  •2nd Battalion, the Royal Green Jackets (2RGJ) would assume responsibility for the Andersonstown ‘lozenge’ with their HQ at the bus depot, and A Company of 2nd Battalion, the Fusiliers (2RRF) would have the Rosnareen and Ramoan areas.

  •On completion of the searches 28 Battery would move in and occupy Casement Park where they would remain until further notice. 19 Regiment’s Tactical HQ team would return to their base at MPH.

  ‘H’ hour for the operation was 0400. We packed all of our belongings and loaded them into a four-tonner then waited nervously, not knowing what to expect. Riverdale was the only remaining ‘no-go’ area in Andersonstown, so, despite the warnings in the media, we could expect stiff resistance.

  At 0350 we mounted our vehicles and set off slowly and quietly down the Falls Road, as quietly, that is, as a convoy of military vehicles can move through deserted streets. We reached the Esso Station at 0400 and stormed through the gardens running down to establish the cordon in Riverdale Drive. All at once everything was happening, but the darkened streets remained empty.

  The search teams arrived and charged into the houses while we lay watching, straining every sense to notice anything unusual, but it remained quiet and there was no resistance. Lights came on and people stood in doorways hurling insults, as the Sappers followed with their equipment and began dismantling the barricades.

  As dawn broke the barricades had been removed and the Sappers had moved on. People were now in the streets and we faced a constant stream of abuse and sporadic stone throwing. Our search had not turned up anything, only a few stolen vehicles and a magazine of ammunition for an M1 Carbine.

  Around that time there was a knock on the door of a house elsewhere in Andersonstown. Answering it, the owner was confronted with the imposing figure of WOII ‘Crash’ Self BSM of 28 Battery.

  ‘Were you the Manager of Casement Park?’ he growled in his Somerset burr.

  ‘Yes,’ was the nervous reply.

  ‘Well I am now. Get your keys, follow me to the stadium and empty your office.’

  The BC was now running the operation from the back of his Land Rover in Casement Park and tasked us to lift-and-search 51 and 52 Riverdale South. Here we made our first acquaintance with Mrs Hallyday, who was to become a very familiar figure. Her husband was ‘away’, but throughout the search she and her three pretty teenage daughters treated us to a steady stream of abuse.

  At 1000 we moved to Casement Park and entered the main gate through a hail of rocks and stones. Casement Park was built in 1953 and could hold about 32,000 spectators. The field was surrounded on three sides by open terraces for spectators. A covered concrete stand ran along most of the fourth side. The stadium was bounded by sturdy angle iron fencing which was about ten feet high.

  Inside the stadium was a scene of feverish activity. The ground floor of the stand housed offices, stores, changing facilities, a kitchen and a social club. 28 Battery was settling in and converting them for our immediate use. Eventually it would house the Ops Room, Int Cell, BC’s office, Battery Admin Office, kitchen, dining room, showers and Medical Room. The social club became the Battery’s recreational room. Above the ground floor a windowless void ran the length of the stand under the terracing. Four stairways from the back of the stand gave access to the terraces, each having a side door running into the void. The void divided neatly into three spaces which would provide accommodation for 4, 5 and 6 Troops. Around the stadium the Sappers were building sangars for the sentries. They consisted of a timber frame roofed over with corrugated iron sheets. The whole structure was then protected with sandbags.

  After six tense hours of operations and no sleep for the previous twenty-four hours, we were guided to the kitchen where the cooks were running non-stop tea and bacon sandwiches. Sgt Moore and I went to look at the troop accommodation. Casement Park was suddenly a ‘safe’ area for us and fatigue seemed overwhelming. We came down from the stand and found the lads dozing in any space available. Some were asleep on the steps up to the terraces and a couple of press photographers took dramatic shots of them which made the national press the next day.

  Casement Park, home to 28 Battery.

  A soldier can make himself co
mfortable almost anywhere, but this was going to be a major challenge. The void had only been used occasionally to dump items which were not needed and was thick with the fine powder-dust which lays on concrete floors. There was limited light and no windows so sweeping the huge area with brooms was a filthy task. We went to find our bags and drew camp beds from the BQMS while the dust was settling.

  We discovered that one small area of the stand had been cleaned out and was set up like a court room, with a table and three chairs and two benches facing each other in front of it. This was a place that had been used by the IRA to hold Kangaroo Courts to ‘try’ people who were considered to have offended, for whatever reason. Punishment for those found guilty could range from tar-and-feathering and knee-capping to death, all carried out behind the protective walls around the stadium.

  Lunch was ‘make your own’ sandwiches. So with a bed space, camp bed and personal kit we were able to begin foot patrols in Riverdale that afternoon, while a lucky few managed a couple of hours’ sleep. That evening we saw the first of many riots outside Casement Park, quelled by the Prince of Wales’s Own Regiment (PWO) who advanced along Andersonstown Road firing rubber bullets from behind their Pigs. That night most of us slept for the first time in forty-eight hours.