1972 (8 page)
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
T
WO days after Christmas found Barry on his way back to the north. His mother had said, “Leave Papa's rifle behind this time, the Army will give you another rifle. And please, take care of yourself.”
WO days after Christmas found Barry on his way back to the north. His mother had said, “Leave Papa's rifle behind this time, the Army will give you another rifle. And please, take care of yourself.”
“Oh, I intend to,” Barry had assured her.
But the rifle was already disassembled and stowed in his pack.
He did not know that she was watching from an upstairs window as he went whistling away down the lane. Whistling “The Old Fenian Gun.”
W
HEN Barry rejoined the column in Tyrone, Feargal gave him the now-familiar punch on the shoulder. Phil O'Donoghue offered a drink of Christmas brandy brought from home. The Volunteers melded together as smoothly as if they had never been apart. They no longer called themselves the Lynch column. They were Seán Garland's men.
HEN Barry rejoined the column in Tyrone, Feargal gave him the now-familiar punch on the shoulder. Phil O'Donoghue offered a drink of Christmas brandy brought from home. The Volunteers melded together as smoothly as if they had never been apart. They no longer called themselves the Lynch column. They were Seán Garland's men.
D
URING Christmas there had been little peace in the north. Attacks on Catholics continued through the holy season. Instead of making any effort to prevent them, the RUC banned the Sinn Féin political party and raided their headquarters in Belfast. The office soon was quietly reopened, however.
URING Christmas there had been little peace in the north. Attacks on Catholics continued through the holy season. Instead of making any effort to prevent them, the RUC banned the Sinn Féin political party and raided their headquarters in Belfast. The office soon was quietly reopened, however.
Sinn Féin offices in the north tended to be located in dark, unfrequented laneways or over derelict shops where they attracted no attention. But northern Catholics always knew how to find them. Sinn Féin was all they had in times of needâwhen there was no work, no food for the children, no shelter for the family.
If a man's life was threatened, Sinn Féin knew how to get in touch with the IRA.
A
LERTED by the start of the border campaign, unionists were beefing up their forces. The RUC now numbered three thousand men and was actively recruiting. The B-Specials claimed a thousand men full-time and more than ten thousand part-time. They were eager and untrained. When an excited B-Special patrol fired in error on an RUC jeep, which it somehow mistook for “the enemy,” a constable was seriously wounded.
LERTED by the start of the border campaign, unionists were beefing up their forces. The RUC now numbered three thousand men and was actively recruiting. The B-Specials claimed a thousand men full-time and more than ten thousand part-time. They were eager and untrained. When an excited B-Special patrol fired in error on an RUC jeep, which it somehow mistook for “the enemy,” a constable was seriously wounded.
In late December, Noel Kavanagh decided on a second raid of the Derrylin Barracks to make up for the failure of the first. This time the raid came as a complete surprise, catching the RUC unprepared. In the bloody attack that followed, several men died. The barracks was reduced to a smoking ruin. The column made a desperate getaway through a snowstorm, but Kavanagh himself was captured. There were claims that he was being tortured.
Garland's column was in South Fermanagh, laying one ambush after another for RUC patrols that never showed up. The rumours of Kavanagh's torture upset Seán Garland. “We're freezing our arses off with nothing to show for it,” he told his second in command. “The nearest RUC barracks is at Brookeborough. Let's strike a blow for Noel!”
Dave O'Connell urged caution. “The town's solidly Orange, Seán. I have a planner's map of Brookeborough but we don't have anyone in place to provide us with reliable intelligence. We'd be going in blind.”
“We'll rely on the element of surprise,” Garland told him. “Until now the IRA's been attacking late at night. We'll attack at dusk, at tea time on New Year's Day, when they're inside having their meal. I only want sixteen on the assault team. There won't be many men in the barracks anyway because of the holiday, and we can't afford another mob scene with Volunteers falling over each other and wasting ammunition.
“When we reach the town we'll drop off a couple of lookouts at the top of the main street. The barracks will be somewhere on that street; the constables like to be in the heart of town. We'll park well beyond the building, run back and set a mine against the door. Have Murphy make two; we can keep the second one in reserve.
“And incidentally, this time we won't wear those military uniforms. They've brought us nothing but bad luck. We'll wear our own clothes.”
Amongst the men Garland selected for the raid were Halloran and O'Hanlon. “We're back in the war!” Feargal enthused. “I've been bored to bits, how about you?”
“Bored to bits,” Barry agreed.
T
HE big red lorry drove slowly along the main street of Brookeborough. The roads were icy again and it was past seven by the time they arrived. Darkness had long since fallen, but powerful streetlamps cast wide pools of light on the pavement.
HE big red lorry drove slowly along the main street of Brookeborough. The roads were icy again and it was past seven by the time they arrived. Darkness had long since fallen, but powerful streetlamps cast wide pools of light on the pavement.
“We're not what ye'd call sneaking in,” Vince Conlon commented. He wiped the inside of the fogged-up windscreen with his forearm. “Where's the damned barracks?”
“I think that's it,” said Garland beside him, pointing. “See that low two-storey house?”
“There's a whole row of them. Which one?”
“Right thâ”
Conlon slammed on the brakes, halting the lorry at a forty-five-degree angle to the barracks and much closer than Garland wanted. They were no more than forty feet away. The Volunteers shrugged off their packs to be ready for action. Dragging the wire that led back to the detonator, two men ran to place a mine against the front door of the barracks. As soon as they were in the clear Murphy hit the plunger.
Nothing happened.
“Damn wire must be kinked,” Murphy said with disgust. “Or the battery's dead. Give me a minute and I'llâ”
The door opened and an RUC sergeant stepped out for a breath of air after his meal. The startled Volunteers greeted him with a hail of bullets. Shouting a warning, he leapt back inside and slammed the door.
“The second mine, hurry!” cried Garland. “Put it against the wall!”
From the back of the truck Seán South provided covering fire with the Bren. Paddy O'Regan knelt beside him, feeding the gun ammunition. The first burst from the Bren shattered windows across the front of the barracks. Within seconds the constables inside were shooting back.
W
HEN they reached Brookeborough, Garland had surveyed the layout of the town from the top of the main street, then decided that three lookouts would be necessary. To Barry's disappointment, he was assigned to keep watch with Mick O'Brien and Mick Kelly. “Deploy in a wide arc at the upper end of town,” Garland ordered them, “and stay in shouting distance of one another. If you see any more RUC men headed toward the barracks, or anything else that might interfere with our plan, give the loudest whistle you can.”
HEN they reached Brookeborough, Garland had surveyed the layout of the town from the top of the main street, then decided that three lookouts would be necessary. To Barry's disappointment, he was assigned to keep watch with Mick O'Brien and Mick Kelly. “Deploy in a wide arc at the upper end of town,” Garland ordered them, “and stay in shouting distance of one another. If you see any more RUC men headed toward the barracks, or anything else that might interfere with our plan, give the loudest whistle you can.”
Barry had fully intended to obey orders. But when he heard the voice of the Bren he found himself running toward the action.
“Where are you going?” shouted Mick Kelly. Mick O'Brien added, “We're supposed to stay here,” but they both began to follow Barry.
“You
stay here!” Barry cried in a commanding voice that stopped the other two in their tracks.
stay here!” Barry cried in a commanding voice that stopped the other two in their tracks.
He ran on alone.
I'll never let anyone see me afraid again.
I'll never let anyone see me afraid again.
T
HE second mine also failed to detonate. In desperation Dave O'Connell began shooting it with his Thompson. The others crowded around Garland, straining to hear his orders. “O'Hanlon, you have the Molotov cocktails. Lob some through theâ”
HE second mine also failed to detonate. In desperation Dave O'Connell began shooting it with his Thompson. The others crowded around Garland, straining to hear his orders. “O'Hanlon, you have the Molotov cocktails. Lob some through theâ”
From an upstairs window an RUC machine gun opened fire. Garland pivoted and looked up. He and O'Connell returned fire simultaneously.
The Volunteers had been told to make every bullet count, but, feverish with pent-up tension, they shot wildly. Bullets ricocheted off the cast-iron casements of the windows. While the raiders were clearly visible in the light of the streetlamps, the constables inside the barracks were no more than shadowy figures
behind broken glass panes. Theirs was the superior strategic position. They took time, took aim, and placed their shots well.
behind broken glass panes. Theirs was the superior strategic position. They took time, took aim, and placed their shots well.
The gunfire rose to a crescendo. Seán South tried to take out the RUC machine gun but could not get enough elevation with the Bren.
Garland heard one of his men scream.
He made a split-second decision. “Back to the lorry, now!” As he herded them toward cover, the machine gunner in the upstairs window squeezed off a long burst of fire. A full twenty-five rounds were pumped into the assault team.
A
s Barry pelted down the main street of Brookeborough the sound of gunfire dwindled away. Stopped.
s Barry pelted down the main street of Brookeborough the sound of gunfire dwindled away. Stopped.
The world stopped.
Streetlamps bathed the scene with overlapping pools of light, creating a series of vignettes. Alarmed townspeople peering out of windows. A terrier sitting on the kerb with its head cocked, one ear up, one ear down. An overturned ash can spilling refuse onto the footpath like a mouth vomiting filth.
Frozen in time.
Like the horses in the snapshots Ursula sends to prospective buyers.
Like the horses in the snapshots Ursula sends to prospective buyers.
A hundred yards away was the red lorry with the back wide open. Grouped around it was a motionless tableau, halted in the act of lifting a man into the truck. Then Barry realised they were moving. Scrambling into the lorry in the same way he was running: in a nightmarish slow motion.
Conlon revved the engine for a getaway.
An eternity passed before Barry reached the lorry. He vaulted over the tailboard just as the truck lurched forward. Conlon was trying to turn and go back the way they had come.
Light streaming from the barracks cruelly illuminated the interior. A final snapshot burned into Barry's brain, a scene from a slaughterhouse.
Inside the bullet-riddled lorry, blood was splashed as high as a man's head. Seán South sprawled motionless across the Bren. Beside him lay Paddy O'Regan, gasping with pain. Phillip O'Donoghue sat cross-legged with his face bathed in blood. Seán Garland's trousers were soaked with it, but he was still standing.
Barry slipped in a puddle of blood and almost fell over Feargal O'Hanlon. The young footballer from Monaghan was lying on his back. A bullet had smashed his femur. Blood fountained in spurts from a severed artery.
“Feargal?” Barry dropped to his knees. “Feargal! Can you hear me?”
Feargal's eyes opened. “You missed it again, Seventeen,” he said in a whisper.
Vince Conlon cursed through gritted teeth as he struggled with the gears. The lorry was all but unmanageable. Two tyres had been burst by gunfire and the undercarriage was damaged. When the vehicle started forward, the rear end tipped up violently, throwing men about. Seán Garland sat down hard beside Phil O'Donoghue.
A lone constable ran after the lorry, shouting, “Come back, you fuckin' Fenians!”
K
NEELING beside his friend, Barry saw Feargal's eyes go blank.
NEELING beside his friend, Barry saw Feargal's eyes go blank.
I
T was no longer about making the British give back the Six Counties. Or protecting northern Catholics or getting even for eight hundred years of oppression. Everything dwindled down to Feargal O'Hanlon's face with the light going out of it. Barry gave a terrible cry and leapt to his feet. Somehow he had the rifle in his hands. Just beyond the tailboard was a figure in an RUC uniform.
T was no longer about making the British give back the Six Counties. Or protecting northern Catholics or getting even for eight hundred years of oppression. Everything dwindled down to Feargal O'Hanlon's face with the light going out of it. Barry gave a terrible cry and leapt to his feet. Somehow he had the rifle in his hands. Just beyond the tailboard was a figure in an RUC uniform.
Do it do it do it do it do it!
He pulled the trigger he shot the bolt he pulled the trigger he pulled the trigger he pulled the trigger and the thunder of the rifle rang through his living bones.
A
T the top of the street Vince Conlon slowed just enough to allow the lookouts to clamber aboard. “What the hell happened!” cried Mick O'Brien. After one horrified glimpse of the truck's interior, Mick Kelly threw his hands over his face. Conlon tromped on the accelerator. The lorry leapt forward.
T the top of the street Vince Conlon slowed just enough to allow the lookouts to clamber aboard. “What the hell happened!” cried Mick O'Brien. After one horrified glimpse of the truck's interior, Mick Kelly threw his hands over his face. Conlon tromped on the accelerator. The lorry leapt forward.
Barry cradled Feargal's head in his lap and tried to brace them both against the vehicle's wild gyrations.
Somehow Conlon managed to keep the lorry on the road until they were five miles out of town. There it juddered to a stop and refused to start again. With a groan, Garland got to his feet and began examining the wounded. His electric torch shook in his hand. His other hand was pressed over a gaping wound in his thigh.
“What's our condition, Seán?” O'Connell asked.
“South's gone, God have mercy on him. O'Regan's been shot at least twice but he's still conscious. O'Donoghue's got a deep graze in his forehead and ⦔
“And I've taken a feckin' bullet in my feckin' foot,” Conlon called from the cab.
“Feargal's gone too,” Barry reported in a choked voice.
“Are you sure, Halloran?”
“I am sure.”
Paddy O'Regan coughed, spewing blood.
“Ssshhh,” Garland hissed. “I thought I heard a motor.”
The Volunteers held their breath. Kelly said, “I don't hear anything.”
“You will, they'll be after us soon enough.”
“Here, give me that torch.” Dave O'Connell got out and walked up the road. The earlier clouds had blown away to reveal the moon. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could make out the hunched shoulders of the Slieve Beagh mountains. He turned on the torch and swept it slowly around, then
went back to the lorry. “There are farms on both sides of us,” he said, “but up ahead are the mountains. If we can get to them we have a chance.”
went back to the lorry. “There are farms on both sides of us,” he said, “but up ahead are the mountains. If we can get to them we have a chance.”
“And leave our dead lying here for those bastards to find?” Barry asked indignantly.
“There's what appears to be a cow byre about thirty yards off the road. We can put South and O'Hanlon in there for now. With any luck the RUC won't find their bodies because they'll be too busy chasing us.”
“Leave me there too, Dave,” Garland pleaded. “This leg is a mess, I'd only slow you down. Give me a Thompson and leave me with my men.”
“Not a chance. Do you know what they'd do to you if they found you? You're coming with us.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Barry saw O'Connell retrieving his pack. Before leaving the lorry Barry picked up his own pack and slid Ned's rifle under the straps.
They carried Seán South and Feargal O'Hanlon to the cow byre. The bodies were laid side by side behind bales of straw. Barry shrugged out of his pack and removed his coat so he could use his shirt to cover his dead friend's face.
All that effort, to end in this. This terrible waste. And for nothing!
That was the worst of it: the sheer futility.
All that effort, to end in this. This terrible waste. And for nothing!
That was the worst of it: the sheer futility.
The Volunteers stood with heads bowed in prayer, then spread more straw over the bodies to conceal them. Having done all they could for their dead comrades, the dazed, bloodied party staggered out into the night. Hobbling and limping and biting back the pain.
Ashamed that he had no wound, Barry offered Garland his arm to lean on. The sound of motors in the distance was unmistakable. “Land Rovers,” Garland muttered. “The bleedin' RUC has Land Rovers.”
Dave O'Connell led the way to a brightly lit farmhouse, where he pounded on the door with his fist. A small, bespectacled man in his sixties opened the door and peered out. Deliberately looming over him, O'Connell told him there were two bodies in his shed and demanded that he send for a priest. “They're to have the Last Rites, do you understand? If they don't we'll know, and we'll come back and do you. If you tell
the RUC about them we'll come back and do you anyway!” The wide-eyed farmer nodded strenuously and backed away from him.
the RUC about them we'll come back and do you anyway!” The wide-eyed farmer nodded strenuously and backed away from him.
The drone of motors drew closer. The Volunteers fled from the farmhouse and made for the foothills of Slieve Beagh. As they ran, stumbled, fell, got up and ran on, they heard machine gun fire rake their abandoned lorry.
At last the hills enfolded them. They slumped onto the ground, exhausted. After a quarter of an hour Garland roused himself with difficulty. “Dave?”
“Over here.”
“Listen to me. These men have to be across the border by dawn, because come morning they'll be looking for us with helicopters. Halloran, you still have that compass?”
“I do.”
“Hand it here and we'll take a bearing.”
The officers consulted Barry's compass by the light of the electric torch. After a few calculations O'Connell said, “Even going at a snail's pace for the sake of the wounded, we should reach the border in four hours.”
“You will, I won't,” Garland told him. “I can't go any farther whether you carry me or not. This time it's an order: Leave me here. The bastards won't find me, I'll go to ground like a badger.”
As the Volunteers were dragging themselves to their feet flares began exploding in the night sky.
O'Connell had underestimated the time it would take to reach the border. Almost five hours passed before they were certain they were in Monaghan. They collapsed again and lay unmoving while the dawn slowly broke around them.
True to Garland's prediction, two British Army helicopters took to the air as soon as there was enough light. Four hundred members of the RUC, together with B-Specials and British Army units, joined in the ground search.
1
1
T
HE priest who administered the last rites to Seán South and Feargal O'Hanlon had gone straight from the farm shed to the nearest telephone. Within a matter of hours the bodies had been collected and their families notified.
HE priest who administered the last rites to Seán South and Feargal O'Hanlon had gone straight from the farm shed to the nearest telephone. Within a matter of hours the bodies had been collected and their families notified.
Washed and dressed in fresh clothing, the corpses were wrapped in blankets and inconspicuously returned to the Republic in the back of a small delivery van.
Two hearses were waiting at the border with members of the IRA, accompanied by Seán South's brother. He was openly hostile to the Volunteers, whom he blamed for misleading and destroying an exceptional man.
The Volunteers tenderly placed the blanket-wrapped bodies in coffins, then covered them with the Irish tricolour. The sombre procession set out. Soon clusters of people began to appear along the roadside. Men uncovered their heads as the hearses passed. Women wept.
South's brother observed the tribute with amazement.
At midnight on the fourth of January, the lord mayor of Limerick and twenty thousand mourners came out to meet the hearse bearing the man from Garryowen. The next day an estimated fifty thousand followed the casket to Mount Saint Laurence Cemetery, where a Celtic Cross was to be erected over Seán South's grave.
Within days his brother joined the republican movement.
2
2
Feargal O'Hanlon also was given a huge funeral and a graveside eulogy befitting a martyred hero. The Monaghan lad had been extremely popular; his many friends crowded the cemetery. Anonymous amidst the ruddy footballers was a tall young man wearing a woollen cap pulled over his bright hair. There were tears in his eyes, but no one paid any attention. Many were weeping that day.
I
N spite of the nationwide outpouring of emotion, Operation Harvest brought an end to any support by the Irish government for the anti-partition campaign. Speaking in the Dáil on January 6, Eamon de Valera said, “To allow any military body not subject to Dáil Ãireann to be enrolled, organised and equipped is to pave the way to anarchy and ruin.”
3
N spite of the nationwide outpouring of emotion, Operation Harvest brought an end to any support by the Irish government for the anti-partition campaign. Speaking in the Dáil on January 6, Eamon de Valera said, “To allow any military body not subject to Dáil Ãireann to be enrolled, organised and equipped is to pave the way to anarchy and ruin.”
3
Many Irish people agreed with him. “At best,” one veteran of 1916 told another in the Bleeding Horse Pub in Dublin's Camden Street, “the border campaign was an exercise in bravado. At worst it was damned irresponsible.”
The taoiseach, John Costello, spoke with great sadness on Radio Ãireann about the lives that had been lost at Brookeborough. Ireland could have but one government and one army, he stressed, adding that the police had been instructed to round up all known republican activists under the Offences Against the State Act.
U
RSULA Halloran was a light sleeper. She claimed to keep one ear open so she could hear her animals. Swollen like ripe fruit, broodmares and dairy cows were dreaming milky dreams and awaiting the miracle of birth.
RSULA Halloran was a light sleeper. She claimed to keep one ear open so she could hear her animals. Swollen like ripe fruit, broodmares and dairy cows were dreaming milky dreams and awaiting the miracle of birth.
On the night of January seventh Ursula retired earlier than usual, worn out with tension. All week the broadcasters had kept up a steady drip-feed of items about the Brookeborough raid. Ursula did not need anyone to tell her that Barry was involved. She simply knew.
Sometime after midnight she heard a startled whinny in the broodmare barn nearest the house. She rolled off the bed in one smooth motion, flung her coat over her nightgown, put her pistol in the pocket, and ran barefoot down the stairs. When she switched on the electric light bulb in the barn the mares blinked in their loose boxes. Only one did not stretch her neck over the half door in greeting. The big bay mare stayed at the back of her stall, apparently watching something out of sight below the door.
“Who's there?” Ursula called. “I warn you, I have a gun.”
“So do I,” said a voice.
Barry stood up with the rifle in his hands.
Ursula gave a sharp intake of breath. “Home safe, thank God,” she murmured.
A faint smile flickered across Barry's face. His mother's hands were shaking. To steady them she unlatched the door and swung it open. “Come out here and let's have a look at you.”
When the tall young man stepped from the stall she reached out to hug him, then hesitated. His face had changed more than she would have thought possible in so short a time. The boyish softness had melted away, revealing an aquiline nose, jutting cheekbones, and a strong chin. Wind and weather had scoured his freckles. His eyes were set deep in their sockets.
In the shadowy barn Barry looked dangerous.
Ursula drew an unsteady breath. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”
“I thought the house might be watched.”
“It isn't.”
“How can you tell?”
“I just know.”
Barry nodded. Within the family Ursula was famous for “knowing.”
She gingerly took him by the armâhalf expecting him to pull away from herâand drew him into the cobbled yard. “You can see for yourself, there's no one here but us. Why, you're shivering! You're as cold as well water. Come into the house and I'll light a fire in your room. Quietly now, we don't want to wake Eileen. You know how nosy she is.”
In his bedroom Barry leaned the rifle against the wall and sat down heavily on the bed, watching while his mother lit a fire in the grate. When the blaze took hold she asked Barry, “What are those stains on your coat?”
“Just stains.”
“They look like ⦠they are, they're blood. You tried to wash them off, didn't you? Then smeared them with dirt?”
He made no effort to deny it.
“Take off your coat and we'll have Eileen give it a proper cleaning.” Barry removed the coat. Ursula's eyes widened. “No wonder you're cold! What's become of your shirt?”
“You don't want to know.”
After Barry was in bed with quilts piled over him and a hot water bottle at his feet, his mother lingered in the doorway. “You were at Brookeborough, were you not?”
“I'd rather not talk about it.”
“There's been hardly anything else on the wireless. They said an RUC man was killed, and the northern authorities insisted the raiders be arrested if they tried to enter the Republic. The taoiseach gave inâI don't know what pressures were brought against himâand the gardai, the Army, and Special Branch were all alerted. Then we heard that some wounded fugitives were captured in a house just this side of the border.”
Barry wriggled his toes against the hot water bottle but could not feel its heat. He knew she would never give up unless he
said something. “We left those men there while we went for medical help,” he told her. “Instead we ran into an Army patrol. My pals surrendered quietly, as we'd been taught. But I still had Granda's rifle and I wasn't about to give it up, so I scarpered.”
said something. “We left those men there while we went for medical help,” he told her. “Instead we ran into an Army patrol. My pals surrendered quietly, as we'd been taught. But I still had Granda's rifle and I wasn't about to give it up, so I scarpered.”
“A good thing too!” said Ursula. “The wounded were taken to hospital but the rest are being held in the Bridewell Garda Station in Dublin. Twelve of them altogether, awaiting trial. God knows what they'll do to them.”
Twelve. That must mean they haven't found Seán Garland yet.
Barry faked a huge yawn to encourage his mother to leave. She stayed where she was. He rolled over so his back was to her and pulled the covers over his head. At last, and reluctantly, she turned out the light and left the room.
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