29 & 30.

Chapter 29. 10^th July 1972.

BBC Radio 4   The Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, Mr William Whitelaw has been in secret talks with the IRA, he announced today in Parliament………

The evening, Tuesday 11^th July 1972

I rode out of hell that night.  Eventually, we found ourselves going south towards the border. I was heading to Dublin, for the ferry to Holyhead.

We went over the border at about eight thirty and filled up the tank at Dundalk. Then it was time to look for a bed. We continued on the Dublin Road, for another twenty minutes, and then pulled in to Dunleer.  On the main road was a pub. I parked around the back and we went in. with Denise.

It was a typical local pub and quite full.  Everyone in there, watched as we put down our bags.

“Can I have a pint of that,” I asked and pointed at one of the pumps, “and a gin and tonic please?”

“Is she old enough?”   The grumpy barmaid said, nodding towards Denise.

Denise was quick to answer for herself, “I’m nineteen.”   I wanted to get a bed in the pub, so I kept my head down.

She pulled the pint and poured the drink, “That’s forty seven pence.”

“Get yourself one too.” I said and smile weakly.

“Sixty seven pence, then.”   I think it helped.

We sat down with our drinks; I made sure plenty could see the badminton rackets sticking out of the duffle bag. Anyone carrying badminton rackets can’t be all that bad and anyone using a duffle bag, in that day and age, must be old school. I didn’t like to think what they would say, if they knew it contained a sniper’s rifle, a pistol and a small fortune in cash.

We kept ourselves to ourselves, for the first drink, just letting people see we were no threat. I let Denise go up for the next round. Women in this part of the world didn’t do that, unless they had no man to get them.

I overheard Denise charming the man behind the bar, “Yes, Billy’s playing for Ulster in Dublin tomorrow afternoon, but he’s up against one of your best players.”   She handed over the pound note, “and get your self one and your wife.”   He smiled and thanked her.  “We need two rooms for tonight, have you got any?”

I think, because we had asked for two rooms, which meant there was going to be no funny business, as well as twice the profit, the woman jumped in quickly.

“We have rooms, one pound per room and that includes breakfast.”   Denise looked round to me and I nodded.

“Well that would be great, such a nice pub.”  Denise played it to perfection.

We took our bags up stairs and were shown to our rooms.

I pulled my bed away from the wall, to reveal a small built in cupboard. It was a struggle to open the door, which was stuck with paint, but that suited me.

Clearly, it hadn’t been opened many times in the last year or so. Inside the cupboard were old newspapers and a great deal of dust, perfect.

I stacked the rolls and bundles of money and lay the two parts of the rifle on the cupboard floor and closed the door. I then pushed the bed back into place. I placed the duffle bag on the bed, with just a bit of the pillow over the string handle. Anyone lifting the bag wouldn’t be able to replace it in exactly the same position.

Denise tapped on my door and we went down stairs for more drinks.

It was a good night, a few musicians played in the corner and the pub was full. We went to bed after last orders. The landlady knocked on my door to say goodnight as I was just dropping off. I grunted in reply. Then I heard her knock on Denise’s door and she replied, “Goodnight.” The landlady went to bed happy.

We ate breakfast at one of the tables in the pub. I left the black pudding, but Denise ate the lot. The room had a smell of stale beer, which put me off my appetite.

I slipped the landlady a ten bob note on the way out and told her if we played in the South again, I’d drop in.

We took the Dublin Road and rode slowly, stopping off in lay-bys, now and then, for a cigarette. I didn’t really give much thought to the mess I’d left behind.

We made our way to Dublin city centre and easily found a parking space, down a side street off O’Connell Street. I went and bought a full set of clothes and some towels and washing gear. Then we went to Woolworth's and bought a small suitcase, just big enough to fit the rifle in diagonally. I enjoyed putting my old Donkey jacket in the bin. After lunch, in a café overlooking the Liffey, we got back on the bike and rode down to the docks.

I went to enquire about sailings; there were four each day. I booked our tickets for two adults and a bike.

The sun was shining, as we sat on the pier, watching the ferry unload. Later, getting the bike up the ramp was a bit tricky, but I soon had it tied to a stanchion, with the ropes provided by the sailors.

The crossing was calm and we both had a holiday feeling. I’d deliberately booked to Holyhead, rather than Liverpool. It would have been too hard, not to call in on my mother, if I had booked to Liverpool. Also, though I didn’t know whether the Army would be looking for me, one of the first places they would look would be my mother’s.

It was getting dusk as we offloaded; I stayed at the back, not wanting to be caught in the rush. We still didn’t have a plan, just getting away from Belfast was enough.

The A55 was the easiest way out of Holyhead, so we took that, until we saw a sign ‘Rhyl 3 miles’. It was a holiday town; there’d be lots of accommodation.

That night, we stayed in a small bed and breakfast and the next morning had a lie-in. Over the greasy eggs and cheap bacon, we talked about what we wanted to do.  Denise still didn’t know what I was running away from. I think she thought I just wanted to be out of the Troubles.

“Do you know anyone we could stay with?” she asked.  There was my mother of course, but I knew we wouldn’t be welcomed there, well not for more than a cup of tea anyway.

“I don’t fancy my mother’s house.” I said. 

We had the whole of Britain to choose from, we were spoilt for choice really.  Denise talked about the life we could live in London and then about other places, she’d heard of. I listened, but I also pondered over telling her who I was and whether I should go back to my own accent. Not that, by then, I knew what my real accent was. I’d been talking with an Ulster twang for so long; I thought I might never get rid of it.

“I once saw pictures of Cornwall in a magazine, lovely seaside pictures.”   Her eyes glazed over, as she spoke of sunny coastal towns, nestling at the end of rivers.

“Okay, that’ll do me. We can get jobs, find a place to live and settle down.”   She grabbed my hand over the table and held it tight.  

“Oh can we?”  A small tear ran down her face, which she quickly rubbed away, leaving a smear in her makeup. But she still looked beautiful.

We left the rest of the breakfast and packed up the bike. It rained most of the day, so we only got as far as Bristol. We stopped at a small hotel, and then carried on the next day. The weather was much better, but the roads to Cornwall were hard work.

It didn’t take us long to get settled. We had ended up in a fishing town called Looe.

Denise got a job in the second week. She just happened to be in the right place at the right time and the dentist was a randy old sod. He knew the value of a nice looking girl, who would be there passing the equipment over.

We rented an attic room, with its own cooker and sink, but a shared bathroom. I was used to sharing coming from the army, but Denise didn’t like the lack of privacy.

I eventually got a job on the quayside, lifting fish and generally labouring. Strange thing, I used my own national insurance number and no one ever came looking for me.

Denise left me in the February. It had been nice for the first few months, but we started arguing about little things and then she just upped and left. I came back from work on a bitterly cold day and found her stuff gone. I think I was relieved.

I carried on working at the quay for a few months, drinking heavily and generally making a fool of myself. It was time to go back.

Chapter 30. Spring 1973.

I packed away most of the little things you buy to make life easier for yourself; an electric toaster, towels, a bedside rug and took them down to my landlady. I paid my rent for the next month, in lieu of notice and gave her a box of left over food.

“I need to travel light,” I explained.  And on a cold, damp day, I loaded up the bike.

Over the first few months, I had paid all the cash into the bank. The bank clerks always gave me strange looks as I paid in thousands of pounds in Ulster notes, but I went to different branches, sometimes driving all day, to find a different bank. I always used the same excuse, if they questioned me.

“My Granny died and this is what she left me.”   The bank clerks usually cautioned me to invest the money wisely and not spend it willy-nilly. 

 When I went to say goodbye to my boss, an old sea dog, he said he’d be sad to see me go. He’d been good to me, always cutting me some slack when I’d slept in late and giving me a little cash bonus, when things were going well.

With my suitcase strapped on the back, I got on my bike and made my way up to Wales.

I’d been planning it for a while, so I knew the route and the address where I was going.  Late that evening, I knocked on the front door of Jerry Mackie’s house. His wife opened the door, a strong smell of kippers wafted out.

“Oh it’s you, you’d better come in.”  I lugged the suitcase into the hall and waited. Jerry came out of the kitchen, wiping his mouth on a tea towel.

“Good to see you boy.”   He led me into the living room, we sat down.

We sat in silence for a while, just looking at each other, the clock ticking on the wall.

“How’s it been?”   He’d understood the pressures, more than anyone. I burst out crying. He sat and waited. I tried to talk, but went into another round of sobbing.

He handed me a shot of whisky, then sat and waited some more.

“I couldn’t take any more,” I said quietly.   More whisky, more crying.

“I’ve read the reports son and you did well, very well.”   He let that sink in, it made me feel better.

I lit a cigarette and told him the whole story.  He sat there listening, nodding and filling my glass up as the story unfolded.

I finished, by telling him that the rifle and pistol were in the bags in the hall. We got them out and he inspected them, with a soldier’s eye.

“It did the job.”   He lay the gun on the floor,   “I’m going to have to tell the authorities, son.”   I’d known all along, that’s why I gone there.

“Can I stay here tonight? You can hand me in tomorrow.”  I was tired and I didn’t fancy a night in the cells, after the long ride up. He considered it for a while and called through to his wife.

“Jenny, can you make the back bedroom up?”  Jenny came through wiping her hands.

“Yes dear.”   Off she went and made the bed up.

Mack hid the guns. I didn’t care about them. They’d been a burden and a memory, a memory that I didn’t want.

That night, we went down into Chepstow and had a few drinks. It seemed like an age, since we’d done this on the night before embarkation.

One month later.

The Army’s idea of justice can be very strange. I was sent back to Germany and made to stand trial. It was a general court-martial, so I had my civvy brief. He was young lawyer, fresh from the bar. He’d been sent out to practice and he was just practicing, not that it would have made much difference.

I pleaded guilty to ‘absent without leave’.

There was no mention of anything else.

My lawyer made a good job of mitigation, I almost believed him myself.

One hundred and eighty six days, I was given. I don’t know how they came up with this figure. Nearly six months, but I was out after a hundred and twenty four days. It was a piece of cake.

I went back to building bridges and digging mines up, that’s what I do. But everyone who knows you’ve done a bit in Colly, give you a bit of respect.

It took me years to remember to always speak with the same accent. Suddenly, I’d realise I’d switched from Ulster to Liverpool and back. I stick with my Liverpool accent now. When men started reminiscing about Northern Ireland, I always just listen.

I never did get my tour medal and I never asked for it.

BBC News Ulster.

There have been two explosions in London today, and the decomposing body of a man was found in a fire today, in West Belfast. The Chief Fire Officer, Ken Oldham said ‘It’s very unlikely we will ever know his identity. He could have been lying there for up to a year…………...