A ‘brief line to take for ministers’ was prepared to deal with anticipated questions as to why so much fuss was being raised over such relatively insignificant crimes, committed a dozen years previously:
Q. Isn’t that a long time ago?
A. No. Flynn is an active member of the INLA and our extradition request will demonstrate our commitment to bring terrorists to justice for serious offences.
When the trial opened on 8 October, NIO officials stood by to inform their chief, Tom King, of the outcome ‘immediately’. The proceedings lasted only a day and the results were only moderately satisfactory. The Paris court sentenced Harry Flynn to five years in prison, of which two were suspended. The time he had spent on remand, plus remission for good behaviour, meant he was freed the following summer. When Britain made a formal application for his extradition on release, it was rejected on the same grounds as those cited by the Irish court. Flynn returned to Dublin to carry on life unmolested.
For Ronnie Bunting, events did not go so well. At 3.30 on the morning of 15 October 1980, eighteen months after Neave’s assassination, he and his wife Suzanne were asleep in the house in West Belfast where they lived with their three children. They were woken by the sound of the front door being smashed open with sledgehammers. Two masked men with handguns ran up the stairs to their bedroom. In the mayhem that followed, Suzannne was badly wounded. Ronnie and an IRSP colleague, Noel Lyttle, were shot dead. Suzanne described the killers as wearing green, military-style pullovers and ski masks. They seemed professional and unhurried.
There were immediate claims that the gunmen were either members of the SAS or that the security forces had assisted Loyalist assassins to carry out the hits. The fact that the Buntings’ house at 7 Downfine Gardens was in the heart of a Nationalist area which would have been dangerous for Protestant paramilitaries to penetrate was cited as proof of official collusion. Ken Wharton, an ex-soldier who has produced the most comprehensive and minutely detailed account of the Troubles, believed that ‘The truth was far more prosaic … The Loyalist UDA/UFF contained a fair number of Protestants who had once served in the British Army – and other Armies, for that matter – and were trained to exacting professional standards.’22
Furthermore, ‘a glance at the topography of the Bunting family home reveals that Downfine Gardens leads directly into Norglen Gardens, which is then a short burst to the Monagh Link and then straight on to the A55, Monagh By-Pass; this is then a fast drive to either the Upper Springfield Road and escape into the countryside, or the Springfield Road proper and over to Woodvale or Ballygomartin: safe Loyalist territory.’ Wharton did ‘not believe that it was the SAS whom the IRSP and INLA leadership were quick to point the finger of suspicion at’.
By then the memory of Neave’s killing was dwindling fast. Given his prominence and the shocking circumstances of his death, it seems surprising now how quickly it disappeared from the front pages. This was partly due to the excitement created by the election campaign and the arrival in power of Britain’s first woman prime minister. Mrs Thatcher did not allow the tragedy to divert her from the pursuit of victory. ‘She was definitely very fond of Airey,’ remembered Caroline Ryder, who saw Thatcher up close in the private office. ‘She was definitely appalled and shattered by his death. But she was incredibly practical and she had a hell of a lot on her plate. And she got on with it.’ Her stoutest supporter and most fervent admirer would have wanted nothing less.23
In her first public reaction to the news, Mrs Thatcher said that ‘People will remember him for a lot of things – perhaps most of all for the fact that he got out of Colditz.’ However, it was his private qualities that she chose to emphasise, and ‘the many kindnesses he did’. He was ‘a wonderful person, of tremendous inner strength’. Then, for a moment, the anger showed. ‘Some devils got him,’ she said. ‘And they must never, never, never be allowed to triumph. They must never prevail. Those of us who believe in the things that Airey fought for must see that our views are the ones which continue to live on in this country.’24
In the days that followed, she met with all the family. ‘She was superb,’ remembered Marigold. ‘She was very motherly, in a way.’25 With Airey’s departure, Diana lost half of herself. To an extraordinary degree, the pair had lived a complementary life in which happiness and sorrow, success and failure were experienced equally. The children sensed that the gigantic void that now opened before her should be filled as soon as possible. The antidote to sorrow was action. There was an immediate suggestion that she should take Airey’s place in Parliament. Both the family and Margaret Thatcher herself were hesitant, worried about the consequences of the inevitable drive and conscientiousness that Diana would bring to the role. By taking on the task, wrote Margaret, five days after the murder, ‘you may overtax your strength and do lasting damage to your health.’26 Instead, ‘On the assumption that we win on May 3rd, I would like you to take your place in the House of Lords.’ As Baroness Airey of Abingdon, Diana spent thirteen years on the red benches, loyally pursuing Airey’s causes, before dying in 1992 of a stroke which the family believe was brought on by overwork.
As Margaret Thatcher arrived at 10 Downing Street on the afternoon of 4 May, she remembered the man who had done so much to get her there. After the famous reference to St Francis of Assisi, she finished by saying, ‘Finally, one last thing. In the words of Airey Neave, whom we had hoped to bring here with us, “There is now work to be done.”’ In the policies that the government followed in the succeeding years, however, there was little that bore the mark of Neave’s thinking. The proposal for regional councils carried in the election manifesto came to nothing. His principle that there could be no negotiating with the IRA until their military defeat was slowly abandoned, and men he regarded as terrorists and gangsters gained respectability, power and honour in the eyes of the world.
With the coming of peace, the cell doors opened and men who had committed terrible crimes were free to walk again among those they had terrorised. Others, who had never been brought to justice while the Troubles were raging, could relax in the knowledge that now the likelihood was they never would. Among them was Harry Flynn. After further adventures, he left Ireland for the resort town of Santa Ponsa on the island of Mallorca. There he manages a bar, the Celts Well, where, against a backdrop of Celtic FC and Republican memorabilia, he serves drinks to holidaymakers who do not know or do not care about his past.
Epilogue
Hinton Waldrist
St Margaret of Antioch is the sort of church you expect to find in an old English village. It is small and plain, with a slate roof and a castellated tower, and the tussocky grass of the churchyard is studded with gently subsiding headstones. It feels unchanging and timeless, and despite the reminders of death there is a sense of continuity. Airey Neave is buried here. Diana lies beside him. His life is commemorated in a stained-glass window behind the altar. Set in the left-hand pane is an image of Colditz. The church stands opposite the Old Rectory, in a wing of which the Neaves spent the last four years of their lives together. The tableau is completed by Hinton Manor, which lies behind the church. Taken together, they form a stone, brick and mortar symbol of Tory England.
After Neave was laid to rest, the Conservative leader he had helped to power began a reformation of the party that in turn transformed the country itself. Had he lived, it seems likely that there would have been much he found disquieting in the new Britain that took shape under his heroine. Airey’s relationship with Margaret had been marked by mutual respect. In the early days of her leadership he was a comforting and protective presence. According to Tom King, she was ‘nervous of the gentry … Carrington, Whitelaw and Soames.* She had the feeling that they didn’t think she was good enough. Airey was a sort of shield and protection against that.’1
When he spoke, she listened, showing due reverence for his war record and the debt of gratitude she owed to him. However, the intellectual distance between them was clear. ‘He was ponderous co
mpared to her,’ said Caroline Ryder.2 Caroline’s husband and then boss, Richard, recalled that ‘[Margaret] was very fast … she would know within a minute what he wanted to say.’ Their conversations were about practical matters, not high policy, and ‘there was no ideological discussion between them. He wasn’t interested in ideology at all.’
By 1979 his job was done. He cannot, then, be said to have played any significant part in forming the political creed that carries Margaret Thatcher’s name. Nor did he have any influence on her thinking over Northern Ireland. The loyalty and affection she felt for him did not imply any obligation when she came to power to press on with the policies he had pursued in opposition. The new Northern Ireland secretary, Humphrey Atkins, dropped the regional council plan and Tom King, who served in the post from 1985 to 1989, judged that the Neave approach was ‘pretty much the opposite of where we ended up, really’.3
With Thatcher’s election, the old Tory guard were changing, to be replaced by men of a different stamp, who had not known active service. Neave belonged to a Tory tradition that was fundamentally shaped by the war and rested on a belief in consensus and cooperation. Admiring though many of its members were of Mrs Thatcher’s courage and determination, they were less comfortable with the hostility to collectivism inherent in her outlook.
His political creed was instinctive rather than intellectual or ideological, based on concepts of right and wrong that were already looking old-fashioned when he died. It came with a certainty, a quiet conviction – ‘decent, dedicated, diligent’, in Richard Ryder’s words – that carried him through his public and private life. At sixty-three, his ministerial career was unlikely to have lasted much more than one parliamentary term.
His departure was premature, robbing his wife and children of his love and company. But he died a soldier’s death and, by going when he did, was spared the sight of men against whom he had fought the last battles of his life being hailed as heroes and peacemakers. Norman Tebbit said of him that, in his approach to life, ‘Airey was utterly sure of the destination and was prepared to take the route to it, however difficult that might be.’4 He did so with a determination that never flagged with age. The churchyard at Hinton Waldrist where he now lies brings to mind the lines that T. S. Eliot wrote when contemplating a very similar place: St Michael’s, in the Somerset village of East Coker:
Old men ought to be explorers
Here and there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity …
* Christopher Soames (1920–87), educated Eton and RMC, Sandhurst; Conservative MP for Bedford, 1950–66; Ambassador to France, 1968–72; European Commissioner for External Relations, 1973–77; married Winston and Clementine Churchill’s youngest daughter, Mary, in 1947.
Acknowledgements
My thanks go first to the Neave family – Marigold, Patrick, William and his son Sebastian – who gave me every assistance while leaving me entirely free to arrive at my own judgements. Beyond them lie a wide circle of family and friends who have shown great generosity in sharing recollections and reflections. I am particularly grateful to Tom Rhodes for setting the project in motion and to Michael Bottenheim for his enthusiasm, his insights and his energy in driving the work along.
The foundations of the book are Airey’s own writings, public and private, but to build on them I have made use of the memories of some of those who knew him or came in contact with him, directly or indirectly. As well as his children, I would like to thank the following for their help: Jonathan Aitken, Lord Dobbs, Lady Antonia Fraser, John Giffard, the Earl of Gowrie, Billy Stirling James, Lord King of Bridgwater, Lord Lexden, Lord Lilley, Elizabeth Neave, Philippa Neave, Matthew Parris, General Sir Michael Rose, Lord Ryder of Wensum, Lady Ryder, Lord Tebbit, Hugh Tilney, Dame Veronica Sutherland, Richard Webb and Dame Jane Whiteley.
I was greatly helped by the contributions of others who offered information, expertise and advice on military, political and security aspects of the story. They include: Professor Richard J. Aldrich of the University of Warwick, Lord Bew, John Bunney, Christopher Clark, Alexander Creswell, Mary Creswell, Walter Ellis, Rebecca Fitzgerald, Clare Ireland, Dr Stephen Kelly of Liverpool Hope University, Mary Miers, Sir Hugh Orde, Michel Robinson, Peter Taylor, Sir Kevin Tebbit, Barry Strevens and Ken Wharton. My gratitude goes to John Howes who has made a special study of the Pegasus operations in which his father was involved and who has generously shared his source material and knowledge. I am also indebted to Bob Cox, the Metropolitan Police press officer of the period, and Stewart Tendler, for many years the distinguished crime corrrespondent of The Times, for their assistance. I had direct knowledge of the conflict in Northern Ireland having worked there as correspondent for the Observer between 1979 and 1983. On revisiting those times, my understanding was helped by several sources on both sides of the line who prefer to remain anonymous. I would like to thank my friends Pirate Irwin and Xan Smiley for explaining Eton customs and practices for the benefit of an Old Wimbledonian.
Lord Anderson of Ipswich QC, Lord Carlile of Berriew QC and Greg Callus of 5RB kindly contributed expert advice in my efforts and those of the family to gain access to government and police files. We would also like to thank Greg Hands MP for his representations on behalf of the family in their attempt to learn more about the police investigation into Airey Neave’s death. Susan Lord of Westminster Coroner’s Court provided valuable records of the inquest.
My work was greatly helped by Sophie Butler of the Airey Neave Trust who patiently answered my queries and ensured good communications between myself and the trustees. I would also like to acknowledge the generous financial support provided by the Trust to help fund my researches.
Georgina Robinson of the Eton College archives and Andrew Robinson, House Master of The Timbralls, assisted my researches into AN’s Eton schooldays. My thanks are due to Julian Reid and the staff of Merton College Oxford Library for showing me the material relating to his time there. I am grateful to the Fellows for permission to use the picture of the Myrmidons included in the plates.
Sergeant John Allcock and Captain Stephen King responded enthusiastically to my requests for details of AN’s army service and I am particularly indebted to Captain King for unearthing and passing on to the family records that filled in many gaps in the story. I am grateful to Andrew Riley of the Churchill College Archives Centre, Cambridge, for his support.
I benefited greatly from the professionalism of the staffs of the London Library (with particular thanks to Mandy Southern), the National Archives, the British Library, the Linen Hall Library, Belfast, and the Imperial War Museum. In Paris, the staff of the Bibliothèque Nationale de France (François Mitterrand) and the information service of the Tribunal de Grande Instance were welcoming and efficient.
My brilliant niece Grace Ries transcribed many of the interviews, swiftly and painstakingly. I am grateful to the team at HarperCollins for their customary skill, patience and professionalism and in particular to Iain Hunt who oversaw the editing process. I was very fortunate to have as my copy editor Tim Waller. His corrections saved me from many errors and his suggestions were invariably gratefully accepted. A special word of thanks to Annabel Merullo, my friend but also my agent, for her unfailing support and sympathy. Annabel, you are a star.
This project had the happy effect of reconnecting me with my old tutor at Corpus Christi College, Oxford, where I studied history in the early 1970s. In those days Brian Harrison was a brisk young don with a refreshingly open attitude to what counted as history and how it should be addressed. He went on to become Professor of Modern History at the university and editor of the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Sir Brian, as he now is, kindly agreed to read and comment on the work while it was in progress. After a gap of more than forty years it was a bracing (and sometimes chastening) experience to have my efforts subjected once again to his keen gaze. His observations have improved the end result greatly. The shortcomings
that remain are all my own.
Finally, to my darling wife Henrietta and beloved daughter Honor my thanks for your forbearance and support – as always.
Notes
PROLOGUE: ‘SOME DEVILS GOT HIM’
1. Statement of Joy Robilliard to Detective Sergeant Ian McGregor, 31 March 1979.
2. Interview with Richard Ryder, 19 July 2016.
3. Interview with Jonathan Aitken, 22 January 2018.
4. Interview with Tom King, 8 September 2015.
5. Records of Tom Brown Ltd.
6. Daily Mail, 6 April 1979.
7. Hansard, HC Deb, 10 April 1987.
1: A QUESTION OF UPBRINGING
1. Nature, vol. 150, p. 205, 15 August 1942.
2. Airey Neave school diary (Neave family papers), 24 September 1931.
3. Ibid., 20 October 1931.
4. Ibid., 21 October 1931.
5. Jo Grimond, Memoirs, Heinemann, 1979, p. 43.
6. AN school diary, 24 October 1931.
7. Ibid., 11 September 1931.
8. Henri Le Caron, Twenty-Five Years in the Secret Service, William Heinemann, 1892, p. 37.
9. Ibid., p. 195.
10. Ibid., p. 196.
11. Paul Routledge, Public Servant, Secret Agent: The Elusive Life and Violent Death of Airey Neave, Fourth Estate, 2002, p. 106.
12. AN school diary, 5 November 1931.
13. Ibid., 30 September 1931.
14. Interview with Marigold Webb, 15 October 2015.
15. Airey Neave diary, 17 February 1973.
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