The British Army in Northern Ireland 1975-77

by Ken Wharton

  On the Saturday (7th) four civilians – three Protestants and a Catholic – were killed in three separate attacks. One of the deaths, however, may have occurred 48 hours earlier, but his badly shredded body was found on the 7th at Derryhall Road, Portadown in Co Armagh. Thomas Rafferty (14) was killed when he accidentally detonated an explosive device which had been left by the INLA as part of a ‘come on’ to kill British soldiers. On the same day, there was another ‘come on’ this time engineered by PIRA in Cookstown, Co Tyrone. A huge landmine had been planted at Clare, close to Lough Neagh and about 40 miles from the Irish border. A car had been deliberately wrecked and left at the scene with the attention of luring the SF to the scene of an ‘accident.’ Sadly for two innocent Protestants – Rachel McLernon (21) and her younger brother Robert (16) were caught up in the blast of a 200lb bomb and were killed instantly. On that same Saturday evening, a UDA/UFF member was killed in an accidental shooting in the Loyalist Glencairns in Belfast. Mark Bunting (21) was killed in what may have been horseplay between two young men. With the death from injuries received the day before of RUC officer William Murtagh, it meant that five people had died that day and the weekend was not yet over.

  The Shankill Butchers struck the following evening in the same area that Bunting had been accidentally killed. Joseph Quinn (55) was abducted late on the Saturday night, in the same area as they had murdered James Crossan the previous November. Quinn was one of life’s social derelicts; a man seemingly without family or friends and living rough. He was taken in a taxi, badly beaten and tortured with knives before being murdered in the Glencairn district of the Upper Shankill in the early hours of the Sunday morning and just a few streets from Murphy’s home. Mr Quinn’s body was not found until mid-evening, after a phone call to a Belfast newspaper; he had been dumped in Forthriver Way. Murphy’s main accomplices on both occasions were William Moore and Bobby ‘Basher’ Bates; the latter was a UVF man and former prisoner. Somewhat sickeningly and in some way of justifying their blood lust, the Butchers claimed that the down and out was a ‘… militant Republican.’

  The following day, Murphy’s murder gang was again in operation, this time at Cambrai Street, a major thoroughfare which links the Crumlin Road with Woodvale Road which eventually becomes the Shankill Road. They targeted a lorry which collected workmen in the area in order to take them to a large Timber Merchants. Believing that the men on board were Catholics, they waited until it had stopped at a newsagents and allowed men off to purchase cigarettes and their early morning newspapers. The Butchers/UVF opened fire and shot two men dead and wounded two more, before passers-by shouted that the men were Protestants. The shooting stopped and the murder gang raced away in a stolen car. The men killed were Archibald Hana (55) and Raymond Carlisle (21); both men were Protestants.

  THE CAMERA NEVER LIES

  Jock 2413, Royal Artillery

  On 12 February 1976, the Republican terrorist, Frank Stagg, died in Wakefield jail after 62 days on hunger strike. Stagg had been sentenced to 10 years in 1973 for bombing offences on the mainland and was a bit of a serial hunger striker having gone on a self-imposed diet twice before to trying to force the government to let him serve his time in the Province.

  It was obvious to everyone that the Republican areas were not going to be happy about things and the obvious flash point in Londonderry would be the Foxtrot 1 checkpoint at Waterloo Place on the edge of the Bogside.

  The RUC had recently been given what was called ‘Police Primacy’ in the Province and this was one of their first opportunities to flex their authority over the army, so they ordered that if rioting broke out, instead of getting stuck in, the troops were to contain the riot and when given the chance, photograph those taking part. The miscreants would then be identified, retro-arrested and dealt with in court.

  Given my exploits with the camera on Bloody Sunday, it was no surprise when I was spammed for the job. One good thing was that a new camera had appeared. It was still a Pentax, but this one had a built in date and clock which would record those details on each photo. Instant evidence, and the theory was that it was as good as an eye witness and also meant that the camera operator had no need to go to court to give evidence.

  Where the three Scots soldiers were murdered in 1971 by the IRA. (Author’s photo)

  The day after Stagg died was Friday the thirteenth, and all those doom merchants were predicting all sorts of things, but strangely, during the day, the whole area was very subdued. I sat around getting bored, occasionally practising my fast point and shoot technique with the Pentax. Then about 9pm, there was a loud ‘boom’ which echoed over the city. It turned out that the terrorists had managed to sneak a bomb into a building adjacent to the Papa 10 checkpoint located just off the Strand in Clarendon Street. Happily, nobody was seriously hurt and casualties were through blast and shock. At the same time, it decided to all kick off at Foxtrot 1 so I grabbed my escort and made my way down. A mob of about 50 had gathered and were giving the checkpoint a good going over with bottles and stones but nothing really serious. It was also as black as Adams’ heart so no chance of any happy snaps. It soon petered out probably due to it being close to last orders at the pub. It was quiet for the rest of the night.

  The next day, Saturday, it was totally different. From about 09:00hrs, reports were coming in from the various Ops and the ever present helicopter that large groups of yobs were roaming the Bogside and several barricades were being erected. Once more I was at Foxtrot 1 with my trusty camera and it wasn’t long before a crowd in excess of 200 were giving it full pelt with whatever came to hand. Unbelievably, an order had been issued that baton rounds were NOT to be used except with the permission from a senior officer or if there was a direct threat to life. I wondered if the people who give such orders have ever faced several tons of masonry wielded by a rabid mob.

  An extension wall had been recently constructed at the checkpoint and a steel window with a sliding shutter had been built into the wall. This was ideal, and with one of the lads opening and closing the shutter for me, I was getting some real good action shots. This went on for quite a while and pretty soon I had used up the three spools I had brought with me so some reloads were sent for. These arrived accompanied by my IO companion from Bloody Sunday. He pointed out a group of older locals who were at the rear of the mob and appeared to be directing things. I fitted my trusty 200mm lens and set about getting some decent shots of them in action.

  Where the three Scots soldiers were murdered in 1971 by the IRA. (Author’s photo)

  Sad to say for the camera lens, when I was taking my snap shots, it stuck out a good bit through the window and it had been spotted and after about a dozen repeat actions, I was about to take a shot when I got a face full of camera as some Herbert rammed the lens with a scaffolding pole. Worse still, that scaffold pole had jammed the window shutter and we couldn’t close it. The mob pounced on this and started hammering away with the pole and pretty soon the whole window frame gave way and fell off leaving a large hole.

  ‘Not good’, thinks I; one grenade through that hole and there are going to be a lot of sad mothers, including mine. There was this young lad standing near me holding a baton gun so I asked if it was loaded and when he nodded, I grabbed it from him just as the scaffold pole made another appearance through the hole in the wall. I shouted out to grab hold of the pole, and as a couple of lads did so, I laid the baton gun lengthways along the pole and fired. Whoever had hold of the other end let go and the pole was pulled inside. One of the lads shouted out: ‘Fucking beauty; it set fire to the bastard’s hair!’ I had a quick glance out and saw that the mob had backed off a good bit and somebody was being helped away screaming something about his shoulder, a bit of a relief for me that the round hadn’t hit his head. I’d seen what a 25 grain PVC round had done to a door from 10 metres, never mind a head from a couple of feet. Fair play to the two officers present, both said that the use of a baton round was justified and gave me a ‘well done’. The lads man
ning the checkpoint thought it wasn’t too bad either judging by their smiles and jokes. Finally, those in charge got their act together and three pigs loaded with eager faces turned up. The gates were opened and with a volley of baton rounds, the pigs went charging up William Street chasing the mob up to aggro corner.

  My job was done, so I grabbed my escort and headed back. I’d used eight spools of film so that kept the developer busy for a while, and when the proofs were ready, we all crowded round armed with the “yobbo book” which had mug shots of all the local rioters, and did a bit of ID work. More than 20 faces were recognised, all caught in the act of throwing things, but better still, there was positive ID on two fairly senior players and one very senior Sinn Feiner engaged in what could be called incitement. If nothing else, it would be reason enough to haul them in for a mug shot update and a few hours of grilling. The whole lot was passed on to the RUC for further action.

  The rioting went on for a couple of more days, and although I went down to Foxtrot 1 a few times, most of the shots I took were of repeat offenders and we passed them over to the RUC.

  My chuff chart was looking good to me and there were only a few more days left. My replacement had already arrived and I was looking forward to seeing the back of the place as I’d been at it since the previous September. Then I got one of those ‘good news/bad news’ meetings from the boss. The good news was a ‘well done’ from the top. The RUC had made out over 40 retro arrest warrants for riotous behaviour and were soon to serve them. Part of the bad news was that the players and the senior Sinn Fein character were not to be touched. It was a sort of ‘just between the two of us’ moment; apparently there had been some under the table deal done. The rioting was to be classed as a spontaneous act of anger by the locals without any involvement of Sinn Fein/IRA. If accepted, there would be no interference when the arrest warrants are served. It looked like the British Army weren’t the only ones who sacrificed their cannon fodder. The other half of the bad news was a real kick in the bollocks.

  The use of date and time stamped photographs had been successfully challenged in Belfast Crown Court, something about the fact that the date and time was set by the camera user, and it turned out that I would have to give a written statement for every photo which was to be used in evidence, and worse still, I would have to appear in court as a Crown witness for every case where my photos were used. No way! I’d be compromised. No matter, I’m told ‘you are stood down’ anyway. Well, silly or not, I dug my heels in, and when I was told to report to RUC Strand to give statements, I point blank refused despite several warnings. The next thing, I’m the guest of the King’s Regiment, occupying a cell in Ebrington barracks for disobeying a direct order. The Kingos thought it hilarious when I told them why and they were good as gold with plenty of brews and fags dished out and they didn’t even bother locking me in. After about three hours, I was taken into what must have been a visiting room and waiting for me was an RUC sergeant. He told me that he knew what had happened, understood my reasons etc and even sympathised. But if I carried on refusing to give evidence, it could be classed as the civil offence of contempt of court for which I could receive a jail sentence. Worse, all those charged would get off through lack of evidence. I relented, and we spent the next couple of hours doing the statements.

  Memorial to three Scots soldiers murdered, unarmed and off-duty in March 1971 at Ligoniel. (Author’s photo)

  A couple of days later, instead of being on board a Hercy bird bound for Gutersloh and freedom, I was in Bishop’s Street Court, all smart in combats and with a fresh haircut, repeating the same evidence time after time….and having my name read out in court time after time. It took all of three days to go through the lot, and the final ignominy was having my name appear in the Derry Journal as chief army witness responsible for sending down so many of those poor put upon citizens of the Bogside and Creggan.

  The final count was 31 guilty verdicts; 12 failed to appear but my evidence against them was recorded for future use when they were eventually arrested. Sentences went from six months for adult repeat offenders which went down well with the locals in the audience, through to fines for other adults and probation for juveniles. That was me definitely off their Xmas card list. So what did it all achieve? Years later, I often wondered how many of those who got jailed, when released, joined the ranks of the terrorists where they either committed murder or ended up in a box themselves. All I did know was that the powers that be didn’t forgive my mini rebellion and I got fined £10 on orders.

  On the same day as Stagg’s death, the IRA murdered a policeman and maimed another when they attacked a routine RUC beat patrol in Claudy, Co Londonderry. Claudy was the scene of a cowardly, no-warning attack by PIRA on 31 July 1972 (see The Bloodiest Year: Northern Ireland 1972 by the same author) when nine people, including a child, died when three bombs were detonated in the sleepy little village. Police Reservist (RUCR) William Hamer (31) and a colleague were walking along Main Street, when PIRA gunmen opened fire on them with automatic weapons. Constable Hamer was killed immediately and his colleague was so badly injured in the attack, that surgeons were later forced to amputate his leg.

  The 12th claimed a further life as a PIRA bomber Sean Bailey (18), listed in NORAID’s ‘Roll of Honor’ (sic.) as a Lieutenant in the West Belfast Brigade was killed instantly in an ‘own goal’ explosion. He was handling a device at a house in Nansen Street just off the Falls Road and close to Broadway; several others were injured, but three small children who were sleeping upstairs, miraculously escaped uninjured. The Provisionals clearly had no qualms about risking the lives of innocents just so long as they had the opportunity to kill members of the security forces. The following day, following a botched attempt to burn down the home of SDLP leader Gerry Fitt, another young PIRA member was killed. James O’Neill (17) was found burned to death in a property adjacent to the home of the MP on the Antrim Road. It was another ‘own goal’ on the part of PIRA and their ranks were to be thinned further 48 hours later.

  On St Valentine’s Day, William Wilson (57), a Protestant who had been severely injured in what was either a sectarian attack or a case of mistaken identity the previous month (see Chapter 13) died of his injuries. That same day Anthony Doherty (15) died from injuries sustained earlier when he was badly burned on the Falls Road area. An IRA unit made an audacious but nonetheless irresponsible mortar attack on the RUC station at Woodbourne in Belfast’s south-west. At least seven rounds fell short of the station and landed on the Lenadoon Estate and one of them almost caused a Catholic death. A young girl in the Suffolks had an incredibly lucky escape, when one of the mortar bombs hit her bedroom which she had just vacated. It is likely that the mortars were fired from the vicinity of Lenadoon Park. On what was a busy day of rioting, PIRA used the insidious tactic of a ‘Proxy’ bomb and forced a local man to carry a large device and leave it outside the Northern Bank in Portglenone, near Ballymena; it was defused by the Army

  On the following day, it was a case of ‘comeuppance’ when a PIRA gunman attempted to kill Protestants in what was a blatantly sectarian attack in West Belfast. The Highfields are situated just above the Protestant Woodvale and are considered a UDA stronghold. A car, stolen earlier on the ‘Murph drove into the Highfield Estate and stopped when the occupants saw a group of Protestant teenagers; armed men then opened fire, wounding two of the other young men. It was ill-luck for the Republicans that they were immediately spotted by an Army foot patrol who shot at the terrorists. The car was hit and crashed and one of the gunmen was shot and died at the scene; his accomplices escaped, but James McGrillen (24) died almost immediately. He was described as a ‘Second Lieutenant’ in PIRA’s Belfast Brigade.

  The UDA/UFF made another cowardly sectarian attack later that same day on the north-western outskirts of Belfast at Ligoniel. A Loyalist murder gang burst into the home of Mary Sloan (59) and shot and killed her, her daughter, also called Mary (19), and a Protestant friend Doris McGrath (23) who was visi
ting at the time. Another member of the family was shot in the head but survived. It is thought that the murdered people were targeted simply because it was a Catholic household. Death had come to the innocent on a quiet Sunday afternoon in Ligoniel.

  The following day, a PIRA bomb placed at the rear of the GPO Building in Berry Street, close to Royal Avenue exploded, causing massive damage, but fortunately killing no-one. A second device exploded several minutes later very close by and sent hundreds of City Centre workers and shoppers running in all directions. The Grand Central Hotel (GCH), an Army base was nearby and it is entirely possible that the second blast was an attempt to kill and maim soldiers sent to investigate. Earlier that day, there was a long gun battle between the Army and PIRA gunmen at the top of the Divis Mountain to the west of Belfast. At least a dozen terrorists were involved and although no soldiers were hit, at least two of the gunmen were wounded; no doubt a medical sympathiser over the border would have patched them up and then off to Dundalk with the other OTR men to ‘convalesce.’

  Grand Central Hotel Army base, Belfast. (Mark ‘C’)