1972 (37 page)
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
Barry saw a man in a clerical collar run forward to help put out the flames, and recognised Father Aloysius.
A cluster of stone-throwing Protestant boys had followed the armoured vehicles when they broke through the barricades. Catholic boys, amongst them a young fellow named Martin McGuinness, returned stone for stone.
Petrol bombs were now flying through the air in every direction. Several landed on rooftops, setting them ablaze. A water
cannon which the police brought up to quell the rioters had to be turned on the houses instead. From the upper windows of tenements in Rossville Street the Bogsiders hurled bombs down on the RUC. More men and women clambered onto the roof of the ten-storey Rossville Flats, where they succeeded in erecting a makeshift catapult that temporarily halted the police advance. Infuriated, the police batoned everyone in sight.
cannon which the police brought up to quell the rioters had to be turned on the houses instead. From the upper windows of tenements in Rossville Street the Bogsiders hurled bombs down on the RUC. More men and women clambered onto the roof of the ten-storey Rossville Flats, where they succeeded in erecting a makeshift catapult that temporarily halted the police advance. Infuriated, the police batoned everyone in sight.
In a short time the war was no longer between Catholics and Protestants. It was between the nationalists and the RUC.
Trying to keep emotionally detached, concentrating on composing frame after frame, Barry crisscrossed the Bogside. The scene had all the elements of a war zone. Glass crunched underfoot. Petrol blazed in the gutters. Frightened rats scurried like people.
The level of gratuitous violence on both sides surpassed anything Barry had expected. Brutalised for generations, the Bogsiders were brutalising back. Every milk bottle in the area was pressed into service to make petrol bombs. “Tell the milkman me mam wants two pints of milk and seventy-five bottles,” a boy shouted.
An improvised first aid station was set up in the Kandy Korner and staffed with local housewives. Their first patient was a member of the RUC.
Barry kept watching for glimpses of McCoy's grizzled head in the crowd, but did not see him. He was not unduly concerned
. If anyone can take care of himself it's Séamus.
. If anyone can take care of himself it's Séamus.
As expected, the fighting was heaviest in William Street. Buildings near the police station in the Strand Road were set ablaze as a depressing drizzle began to fall. Enough rain to dampen the rioters; not enough to dampen their fervour or wash away the stink of the petrol.
When Barry turned his cameras on the police he saw them as a black wave. Black helmets, black uniforms, black raincoats, black boots. Black truncheons looking for Catholic skulls to break.
Catholics with paving stones and pickaxe handles seeking RUC skulls to break â¦
By early evening the RUC had taken a number of casualties. Their thinning ranks were reinforced by B-Specials equipped with machine guns. At midnight the minister of home affairs
for Northern Ireland authorised the use of CS gas; the first time it had been employed as a riot control measure in the United Kingdom.
for Northern Ireland authorised the use of CS gas; the first time it had been employed as a riot control measure in the United Kingdom.
When Barry Halloran came around a corner, he thought at first that someone had thrown pepper in his eyes. Then it was as if he had taken a drink of boiling water. His throat was scalded. He could not speak, could not even breathe.
Eyes screwed shut, he staggered back the way he had come. His stomach heaved with nausea and he kept trying to spit out the vile taste in his mouth. Every inch of his exposed skin began to itch violently. All around him people were choking and retching. And cursing, when they could.
“Tear gas,” a man groaned. “They've gassed us, the feckers!”
Knowledge alleviated Barry's welling panic. He leaned against a wall and concentrated on fighting the effects of the gas. At last he was able to draw breath again, though the lingering smell continued to sicken him. He opened his burning, streaming eyes and looked around.
The battle was still going on.
Nationalists headed for the RUC station in Rosemount, some two miles away, and erected makeshift barricades around the building. When they hurled petrol bombs at the door they were met by a barrage of CS gas. “Stop the gas and we'll stop the bombs!” they shouted. When John Hume arrived, urging restraint, he was struck by a gas cartridge and had to be carried away.
In the Bogside a thick fog of CS gas crawled like a living thing up the side of the Rossville Flats.
Other politicians appeared on the scene to assess the situation. They briefly orated for the television cameras, then scurried back to the safety of their automobiles and vanished in a cloud of exhaust fumes. Neil Blaney, TD for North-East Donegal and minister for agriculture in the Lynch cabinet, was the exception. Blaney personally met with many of the nationalists. He listened to what they had to say and promised to do everything in his power to protect them.
Blaney had been born shortly after the War of Independence, while his father was still a prisoner of the British under sentence of death.
B
ARRY was unaware of weariness. Like everyone else, he was fuelled by adrenaline. When he went back to his car for more film he found Father Aloysius standing outside the house. The priest's face and clothing were smoke-smudged and smeared with ashes. “Child of grace!” he exclaimed when he saw Barry. “I was afraid you might have been hurt again.”
ARRY was unaware of weariness. Like everyone else, he was fuelled by adrenaline. When he went back to his car for more film he found Father Aloysius standing outside the house. The priest's face and clothing were smoke-smudged and smeared with ashes. “Child of grace!” he exclaimed when he saw Barry. “I was afraid you might have been hurt again.”
“Only gassed, Father; that's bad enough. But I haven't seen Séamus in ⦠I don't know how long. Is he here by any chance?”
The priest shook his head. “Do you want me to help you look for him?”
“There's no need, I'm sure he's all right. But you look exhausted. You should have May give you a cup of tea and then take a bit of rest.”
Father Aloysius smiled wanly. “In a little while, perhaps.” He followed Barry back into the Bogside. Into the smoke and flame, the groans of the injured and the stink of the gas.
As dawn broke, an Irish tricolour floated triumphantly from the roof of the Rossville Flats.
Shortly afterwards a senior police officer told his superiors that the army would have to be called in.
In mid-morning Barry photographed Bernadette Devlin breaking up paving stones to resupply the men and women of the Bogside with missiles.
But he still had not found Séamus McCoy. Occasionally someone would beckon from a doorstep and offer him a sandwich or a mug of hot tea. Each time he asked, “Have you seen a short, grey-haired man who squints a lot, wearing a brown jacket and baggy pants?”
The answer was always the same: a regretful shake of the head. Many people in Derry were seeking their loved ones that day.
The hours passed in a cacophony of shouts and curses. Black, oily petrol smoke filled the narrow streets. Grenades of CS gas were hurled from behind metal shields as clusters of defenders fought their way from one area to another. Squads of police advanced and were driven back.
Streams of melted goo dripped from an abandoned ice cream
truck and ran down the street. Dogs and cats feasted together.
truck and ran down the street. Dogs and cats feasted together.
Immersed in the violent heart of the Bogside, Barry had no clear sense of how the battle was going. If he stopped moving, his left knee locked up almost at once.
Almost as light relief for the brutal images he was recording, he photographed a row of little boys and girls sitting atop a broken barricade. They were watching with undisguised glee something they interpreted as street theatre.
The second day of violence would be over in a few hours. Yet still the fighting went on.
A
T nine that evening Taoiseach Jack Lynch went on television to announce that the Irish army was setting up field hospitals near the border of Donegal. They were to handle the overflow of injured people who could not be accommodated in Derry hospitals. Lynch went on to say, “It is evident that the Stormont Government is no longer in control of the situation. Indeed the present situation is the inevitable outcome of the policies pursued for decades by successive Stormont governments. It is clear also that the Irish government can no longer stand by and see innocent people injured and perhaps worse.
4
T nine that evening Taoiseach Jack Lynch went on television to announce that the Irish army was setting up field hospitals near the border of Donegal. They were to handle the overflow of injured people who could not be accommodated in Derry hospitals. Lynch went on to say, “It is evident that the Stormont Government is no longer in control of the situation. Indeed the present situation is the inevitable outcome of the policies pursued for decades by successive Stormont governments. It is clear also that the Irish government can no longer stand by and see innocent people injured and perhaps worse.
4
A
T one o'clock on the morning of the third day, Bernadette Devlin telephoned London to ask the home secretary, James Callahan, to stop the use of CS gas. Because she did not have enough money to pay for the call, she asked the operator to reverse the charges. She explained that she was a member of parliament.
T one o'clock on the morning of the third day, Bernadette Devlin telephoned London to ask the home secretary, James Callahan, to stop the use of CS gas. Because she did not have enough money to pay for the call, she asked the operator to reverse the charges. She explained that she was a member of parliament.
London refused to accept her phone call.
J
ACK Lynch's televised speech poured fuel on the flames. Loyalists were convinced that the setting up of field hospitals in Donegal was a thinly disguised attempt to arrange staging points for an invasion of their small corner of the United Kingdom.
ACK Lynch's televised speech poured fuel on the flames. Loyalists were convinced that the setting up of field hospitals in Donegal was a thinly disguised attempt to arrange staging points for an invasion of their small corner of the United Kingdom.
Nationalists interpreted the taoiseach's remark about the Irish government “no longer standing by” to mean that the Irish army was on its way to take the Six Counties back. Catholic
housing estates were evacuated to provide billets for the army from the south.
housing estates were evacuated to provide billets for the army from the south.
The violence in Derry had spread to Belfast. On the night of the thirteenth and again on the fourteenth, Loyalist gangs equipped with rifles and stunguns took to the streets, claiming that their intention was to protect Protestants. Instead they entered Catholic neighbourhoods and assaulted anyone they could catch. In reprisal for the failure of the RUC to defend them, Catholics began attacking police stations with petrol bombs.
The Stormont government urgently requested that London send British troops to Northern Ireland.
L
IKE clouds of poison gas the anger blew across the north, overtaking one town after another. Strabane, Coalisland, Dungannonâwhere the constables ignored orders and opened fire on a crowd of unarmed Catholics, injuring threeâLurgan, Enniskillen, Omagh â¦
IKE clouds of poison gas the anger blew across the north, overtaking one town after another. Strabane, Coalisland, Dungannonâwhere the constables ignored orders and opened fire on a crowd of unarmed Catholics, injuring threeâLurgan, Enniskillen, Omagh â¦
The situation was rapidly spinning out of control. Yet, the Irish government seemed all but oblivious to the gravity of the situation. Contrary to the expectation in the north, there was no mobilisation of the southern army. Lynch's Fianna Fail government was fully involved in business as usual.
However, Sir Andrew Gilchrist, Britain's ambassador to Ireland, warned the British prime minister, Harold Macmillan, that there was a danger the Irish army might be sent into the north to protect the Bogside. Such a move would have farreaching ramifications. In spite of Lynch's speech, Sir Andrew believed that the taoiseach did not want to send troops north because he had privately expressed no interest in a united Ireland.
1
1
But the minister for finance, Charles J. Haughey, had republican roots and felt strongly about Irish reunification. Haughey, Gilchrist told Macmillan, wielded considerable influence within the cabinet. He might get Lynch to change his mind.
And still they were fighting in Derry. Five civilians had been shot dead and hundreds more had been injured. Attack and counter-attack had become ritualistic; stylised warfare where both sides knew what was expected. But it could not last much longer. Eventually there were no more than 150 nationalists still on their feet, wearing dazed expressions and staggering with exhaustion.
I
N Belfast appalling violence was now taking place in the Falls Road area and Bombay Street, where loyalist mobs ordered residents at gunpoint to leave their homes, then set fire to the houses. Soon thousands were homeless. While they ran for cover their local shops were looted and business premises destroyed. A gang of little boys who had followed the adults from the Shankill broke into a liquor store. Children as young as nine years old were soon staggering along the pavement, so drunk that they did not know what they were doing.
2
N Belfast appalling violence was now taking place in the Falls Road area and Bombay Street, where loyalist mobs ordered residents at gunpoint to leave their homes, then set fire to the houses. Soon thousands were homeless. While they ran for cover their local shops were looted and business premises destroyed. A gang of little boys who had followed the adults from the Shankill broke into a liquor store. Children as young as nine years old were soon staggering along the pavement, so drunk that they did not know what they were doing.
2
The mobs ran from street to street, burning buildings and torching parked cars. The RUC watched but made no effort to prevent what was happening. A new horror appeared when carloads of B-Specials drove down Philpott Street, firing at random. They raked the Divis Flats with 30-calibre Browning machine guns. Nine-year-old Patrick Rooney was shot in the head as he lay in his bed.
3
3
Against a backdrop of flames, the residents of Bombay Street struggled to salvage what few belongings they could. In an effort to defend themselves they highjacked a bus at the corner of Bombay Street and the Falls Road to use as a barricade. They pickaxed the tyres to be certain it could not be driven away, but the bus did not entirely block the street. They were about to seize an articulated lorry to complete the barricade when someone shouted, “Don't do that! That truck belongs to the Irish Glass Bottle Company and Jack Lynch is going to come up here and help us!”
Jack Lynch did not come. And though the nationalists waited with pathetic faith, neither did the massive Irish Republican Army with which the demagogue had so frightened his followers. It simply did not exist. The IRA in Belfast consisted of no more than a handful of middle-aged men who had not used
their guns since the 1950s. Against the heavily armed loyalist gangs, they were helpless.
their guns since the 1950s. Against the heavily armed loyalist gangs, they were helpless.
While the black smoke of burning neighbourhoods stained the sky, churches and halls all across Belfast began opening their doors to take in the homeless.
On the sixteenth of August, shocked viewers of the news on television saw for the first time what was happening in Belfast. Large areas resembled Berlin in the aftermath of World War Two. Who was to blame for such wanton destruction? Few people in Britain had any knowledge of Irish history or the current political situation. Many believed the televised rantings of the demagogue when he claimed it was all the fault of the Irish Republican Army.
That evening, when it was far too late, the first British troops came marching up the Falls Road in Belfast with fixed bayonets, machine guns, high-powered rifles, and CS gas. The beleaguered Catholics gave them a rapturous welcome. They believed the soldiers had come to protect them from the loyalists.
Not everyone was convinced, however. Catholic refugees began streaming across the border to the Republic.
I
N Derry on August fifteenth, British soldiers ringed the Bogside with barbed wire. They set up barricades at strategic locations in the Bogside, the sprawling Creggan, and several smaller Catholic neighbourhoods. The RUC and the B-Specials returned to their barracks as the British army assumed control of the city.
N Derry on August fifteenth, British soldiers ringed the Bogside with barbed wire. They set up barricades at strategic locations in the Bogside, the sprawling Creggan, and several smaller Catholic neighbourhoods. The RUC and the B-Specials returned to their barracks as the British army assumed control of the city.
Grimy, exhausted, sometimes stopping to try to remember how to focus his camera, Barry Halloran took picture after picture.
W
HEN it was overâas over as it could beâBarry trudged wearily through rubble-choked streets, looking for Séamus McCoy. There was no sign of him anywhere.
He probably went off somewhere with Billy McKee,
Barry tried to tell himself. But he did not believe it. He was filled with foreboding.
HEN it was overâas over as it could beâBarry trudged wearily through rubble-choked streets, looking for Séamus McCoy. There was no sign of him anywhere.
He probably went off somewhere with Billy McKee,
Barry tried to tell himself. But he did not believe it. He was filled with foreboding.
I'm getting to be like Ursula. I know things.
He returned to the priest's house, relieved to find it still
standing when so many homes had been destroyed. The Cathedral of St. Eugene had been vandalized by B-Specials.
standing when so many homes had been destroyed. The Cathedral of St. Eugene had been vandalized by B-Specials.
Father Aloysius was slumped in a chair in his small, shabby parlour. His face was pale and his hands were shaking, but otherwise he was all right. “Your friend isn't back yet,” he told Barry.
“I haven't seen him either. I'm no good at finding people.”
“Have a glass of brandy with me,” said the priest, “then we'll look for him together.”
They found Séamus McCoy in Altnagelvin Hospital. He was lying on a trolley in a crowded corridor outside the emergency room because there was no space available in the wards. The patients on trolleys had received necessary first aid and been put into hospital gowns, but they had not yet been fully examined. There were just too many of them.
Under the thin hospital blanket McCoy looked shrunken, almost like a child. His eyes were bandaged and he was coughing.
I should have let him drive the car damn it!
Barry bent over his friend. “What happened to you, Séamus?”
Barry bent over his friend. “What happened to you, Séamus?”
“Seventeen, is that you?” His voice was a breathless wheeze. “Get me out of here. I'm behind enemy lines.”
“You're in hospital. What happened? Were you shot?”
“Gassed. Like our poor lads in the first war. The bloody RUC threw a cartridge right in my face. Get me out of here, Seventeen, I don't want to be blind in enemy territory.”
Barry turned to Father Aloysius. “Can we take him back to your place?”
“He'd be welcome, of course, but he's better off here.”
McCoy was growing agitated. “Who's that?” He gave another racking cough. “Who's there?”
Barry leaned over him again. “It's Father Aloysius, Séamus. You remember him.”
“I'm trapped behind enemy lines, Seventeen!” wailed McCoy.
“Not for long,” Barry assured him. Scooping his friend into his arms, he lifted him from the bed. McCoy reached around and scrabbled with the opening of his hospital gown, trying to cover his naked backside.
Father Aloysius protested, “You can't do this,” but Barry was not listening.
Carrying McCoy, he strode toward the nearest exit. After a
moment's hesitation Father Aloysius trotted after them, making small, anxious noises. A nurse called out, “Where are you going with that man?” Barry ignored her. He forced his way through a score of milling friends and relatives who looked at him aghast. A doctor in a bloodstained white coat tried to block his way, but the eyes Barry turned on the doctor were so fierce that the man fell back.
moment's hesitation Father Aloysius trotted after them, making small, anxious noises. A nurse called out, “Where are you going with that man?” Barry ignored her. He forced his way through a score of milling friends and relatives who looked at him aghast. A doctor in a bloodstained white coat tried to block his way, but the eyes Barry turned on the doctor were so fierce that the man fell back.
“Help, security!” someone shouted.
Barry sprinted toward the exit. A uniformed security guard with outstretched arms tried to intercept him. Cradling McCoy against his chest, Barry rolled one shoulder forward and hit the guard with enough force to knock the man off his feet. “Find Terry Roche,” Barry shouted to the priest, “and bring him to your house!” Then he plunged through the doorway and ran to the car park.
T
HE Bogsiders were jubilant. Lifting the last weary defenders to their shoulders, they carried them through cheering streets. The district was devastated but its sense of community had never been so strong. By forcing the RUC and the B-Specials to call for the British army, they had won. The hated police had been forced to admit defeat and Stormont had cracked under pressure.
HE Bogsiders were jubilant. Lifting the last weary defenders to their shoulders, they carried them through cheering streets. The district was devastated but its sense of community had never been so strong. By forcing the RUC and the B-Specials to call for the British army, they had won. The hated police had been forced to admit defeat and Stormont had cracked under pressure.
In a television interview Paddy Doherty of the Derry Citizens' Defence Association stated, “The writ of the British queen no longer runs in Free Derry.”
4
An area in the Bogside was christened “Free Derry Corner.”
4
An area in the Bogside was christened “Free Derry Corner.”
Nationalist Derry had symbolically seceded from the Six Counties.
B
ARRY and May Coogan put Séamus McCoy to bed and made him as comfortable as they could. While they waited for the doctor, Barry listened to the housekeeper's radio in the kitchen. The news from Belfast was so bad that he did not dare tell McCoy.
ARRY and May Coogan put Séamus McCoy to bed and made him as comfortable as they could. While they waited for the doctor, Barry listened to the housekeeper's radio in the kitchen. The news from Belfast was so bad that he did not dare tell McCoy.
Shortly before eight that evening Terry Roche arrived. He had been manning one of the first aid stations and, like every other member of the medical community, was haggard with fatigue, but he gave McCoy a thorough examination. Then he
took Barry aside. “I'm not an eye specialist but I'm pretty sure his blindness is temporary. He told me he's had eye problems before, which is probably exacerbating the situation. The real problem is his chest.”
took Barry aside. “I'm not an eye specialist but I'm pretty sure his blindness is temporary. He told me he's had eye problems before, which is probably exacerbating the situation. The real problem is his chest.”
“His lungs? Tell me it's not tuberculosis,” Barry pleaded.
“I almost wish it were, there's a lot we can do for TB these days. I palpated a large mass in his chest. Unless I'm very much mistaken, your friend has a tumour.”
“A tumour?”
“Big enough to affect his breathing, and possibly malignant. He'll need X-rays and a biopsy, so he'd best go back to Altnagelvin.”
Barry stood very still, as if listening to an inner voice. “No,” he said after a moment. “I'm taking him to Dublin.”
“
You're
taking him to Dublin?”
You're
taking him to Dublin?”
“I'm accepting full responsibility for him, Terry. He doesn't have any family, so if he's ill I want him with me. Is it safe for him to travel?”
“That's not a good idea, not yet. He's in a bit of shock right now and he needs peace and quiet. I'd recommend several days' bed rest before he's moved for any distance. I'm sure John won't mind having him here, and I can show May how to bathe his eyes and put drops in. Then, if you're certain ⦔
“I'm certain.”
“I can recommend a good man in Dublin. A cancer specialist.”
An hour later McCoy was asleep and Barry was on his way to Belfast. He left behind strict instructions: “Don't let Séamus listen to the radio, and if he begins to get his eyesight back, don't give him a newspaper. God knows what he'd do if he found out about Belfast.”
A
cool, cloudless dawn was breaking over the city as Barry drove up the Falls Road. Astonishingly, he saw no people. The streets were eerily deserted. He parked Apollo and, taking his cameras, began walking along Bombay Street. Or what had been Bombay Street.
cool, cloudless dawn was breaking over the city as Barry drove up the Falls Road. Astonishingly, he saw no people. The streets were eerily deserted. He parked Apollo and, taking his cameras, began walking along Bombay Street. Or what had been Bombay Street.
The smoking ruins, many of which were still burning, resembled photographs of Berlin on the day it fell. A number of shopfronts had collapsed into the road.
Barry knew bomb damage when he saw it.
When his foot struck something hard he glanced down. It was a badly singed canvas bag, fastened at the neck with braided cord. He reached down to pick it up. It weighed at least twelve pounds, maybe more. Curious, Barry set the bag on a pile of rubble so he could untie the cord. It was so burned that he finally had to take out his pocket knife and cut it.
The bag was filled with coins. Shapeless now. Fused together into a solid lump by the heat of the blast. Receipts from some shop, perhaps; being carried to the bank by the shopkeeper when calamity overtook him.
Barry photographed the bag and its contents, then walked on.
People began to appear in twos and threes. They had the same dazed faces he had seen in the Bogside but there was no triumph here. Women with scarves tied around their hair bent over to search through debris, looking for something familiar; something loved and lost. A man kicked at a broken shop sign and cursed aloud.
Another man noticed that Barry was walking in the direction of the Protestant Shankill Road and called out to him, “I wouldn't go any farther if I were you. Unless you have a gun, that is.”
Barry stopped. “I don't have a gun.”
“What's that in your hands then?”
“A camera.”
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