Chapters 1-3.

I posted this about a year ago, and when I looked at it again it had been tampered with. All the quote marks and comma's were all over the place. So here are the first 4 chapters again. If it gets any readers I'll post more.

My Little Eye.     a story.

CHAPTER 1.  21 JANUARY 1972.

BBC news…..Unemployment has reached over one million for the first time since the nineteen thirties. The Prime Minister Mr Edward Heath spoke in Parliament and said……………
We started training.
“Come on move, get fell in.” We rumbled out of the quarters, a big four storey building. It had been built by the Germans in the run up to the Second World War and now the British Army occupied the barracks. It was January 1972, there was a biting wind sweeping across the parade ground. We lined up in three ranks and the N.C.O.s made sure we were standing up straight.
Major Ellis (DSO) came down the steps. He normally did not come out for daily parades, so something was up. He was followed by his side kick Captain John Cook, he always walked a quarter of a step behind Ellis like a well trained dog.
Sergeant Major Bill Stone brought us to attention, turned and saluted Ellis, then with a stamp of his feet marched to his place on the parade. Ellis, with his weedy voice gave us the command to stand at ease.
“We’ve just received the orders from Brigade Head Quarters,” he paused and just had a quick look at his notes to make sure of the dates. “We are going to Northern Ireland on the 24th March. It’s for a tour of 4 months and we will be serving as an infantry unit.”
There was a hubbub ran through the ranks, each man with his own excitement or dread, each man with his own agenda.
“Quiet.” Stone brought some order back to the parade.
 Ellis continued, “We will be based in Belfast and will start training with immediate effect.” He looked over to Stone. “Let the men fall out Sergeant Major.” He saluted Stone, Cook following suit.  Then both of them disappeared into the warm.
Stone returned the salute and turned to the parade.
“PARADE, PARADE, SHUN.” We all moved to his time “PARADE, DISSSSS...MISS.” A sharp turn to the left, a stamping of feet and we broke off.
We all gathered round in groups and I was drawn to my section. Our troop consisted of four sections of ten men with a Corporal and a Lance Corporal, but as normal most of the sections were undermanned. We also had a Troop officer and a Sergeant.
Jock was the first to speak. “Will we lose our overseas allowance?”
 I burst out laughing. “Trust you to think of that.” Jock was a typical Glaswegian. Eddie Wright, our section leader, a married man with two kids, must have been dreading this call up. “Shut up and listen, you sweaty little Scot. We need to wake our ideas up, especially you.” He scowled at Jock.
“I’m not going if it means a pay cut.” The Scot kept his line.
“You won’t lose your overseas, because you’re still based in Germany, and you don’t have a choice.” Eddie wanted time to think. “Look everyone go to the NAAFI get a cup of tea and be down the MT park for.” He looked at his watch “…ten thirty.”
I looked around the square, men were milling around and generally talking excitedly. There seemed to be two camps, married men, who were worried and the single men who would get some excitement after years of training. We ambled over to the canteen, glad to get out of the cold.
Gaff Gaffy a short stocky man, a pragmatic Yorkshire-man always good tempered, always seeing the funny side of life, poked me in the ribs. “Get them seats over there, I’ll get the teas in.” He held out his hand for the money, he wasn’t that generous. I gave him a few coins.
“Get me a jam doughnut as well.” I made my way over to one of the few empty tables. There was an amazing amount of excitement running through the hall. As I sat down I saw Tom Edwards just leaving the front of the queue. He saw me and made his way through the crowd. He sat down with his two cups of tea laced with sugar and a plate of buns. He had a massive appetite, but he didn’t have a pinch of fat on him. He played for the regimental football and rugby teams and in his spare time would swim up and down the baths.
“Well I joined up to shoot someone, so now I’ll get me chance.”
 I knew he made statements like this all the time, so wasn’t surprised. I had stopped taking the bait a long time ago. He also was heading for the world record for marrying. He was only twenty and had been married twice, divorced twice. He said he didn’t think one night stands were fair on the girls. I’d replied, “Why not just get engaged for the night?”
“Are you looking forward to the tour?” I probed.
“Hell yes, the tarts are very pretty there, and they fuck for buttons.” He kept his mouth full all the time; he filled his mouth up again, “...and we’ll get a medal.”
“You’re not going for more wedding cake are you?” I loved the subject of his marriages.
 Gaff arrived with his hands full of cups and plates.
“Shift your arse.”  Tom as usual was taking up most of the table. He pulled back a bit and finished off his buns and washed them down with the last of his tea. He leaned back in his seat and lit a cigarette, and keeping in character, blew smoke in my face while I quietly munched on my doughnut.
“Eddie seems pissed off about Belfast.” Gaff said.
“Well you’d miss nookie every night and your own bed.” Tom’s misconception of marriage showing itself again.
I finished off my doughnut and open my cigarette packet. “Well, I think I’m going to enjoy this tour.” I watched them for their reaction.
“Yep, better than sitting around here waiting for the Russkies to come.” Gaff was in the same camp as me. We had been building bridges and blowing them up for two years all together and we were ready for a change. We wanted to be back to where the women spoke English.  A change was as good as a rest.
Simon Rutter came over to our table and sat down. Nobody ever called him Simon; in true army fashion we called him Wally after something that happened to him in training camp. He was a slight man, happy go lucky and with an easy laugh.
“We start training on Monday,” he said and started to eat his bun.
“Well it’ll be better than building bridges at midnight.” Gaff replied.
I went into one of those mini daydreams. Nobody knew I had been brought up in Belfast. It never occurred to me to tell anyone; my accent was Liverpudlian. I started to think of the streets I had been brought up in, remembering people who I had known. Would they recognize me? Would I be on my old patch?
At that moment, there was a scraping of chairs on the concrete floor as men started to make their way back to their units. Gaff slapped me on the back of my head with the back of his hand.
“Come on hero.” I came to and followed the rest.
 There was a biting wind as we made our way back to the motor transport sheds and we grabbed a last fag as we entered.  Normally we would have been cleaning the APC, or checking our kit and making sure that everything that should be sharp was sharp, or making sure that everything that should be clean was clean. We did the basic maintenance on the APC ourselves, changing oil, greasing up the tracks and making sure the air filters were working, and most of all painting the damned thing. But that day was different. We piled into the back and closed the  door. We left the top open.
Eddie had composed himself, he had a fag hanging out of his lip.
He nodded at Jock, “Get a brew going.” But we all mucked in; that’s the way it was in such a small space. The pump stove was produced and lit, someone found a kettle and we all had our mugs, teabags and dried milk ready, next to the driver’s seat; our only spoon was hidden in the top shelf next to the first aid kit and the gas-masks.
“Where’s the fucking sugar?” We all looked blank, we all knew that we had run out. We all took sugar, we all took loads of sugar. Everyone looked at me. When anything was needed it was my job to steal it. I don’t know how it started, but I once had to find a camouflage net and the engine to an assault boat one hour before handover. Ever after that, even the officers would make a list and expect me to replace all sorts of missing things. Everyone turned to me.
“Boil the water and give me a minute.” I disappeared out of the back door of the wagon. The cookhouse was a three minute walk away, but I didn’t want to miss the sentiment in the wagon so I ran. I went in through the back door of the cookhouse, straight past the dishwashing staff and into the main kitchen and bumped into Sergeant Todd in his full whites and a very tall cook’s hat, telling me he was top dog.
“Excuse me Sergeant, I’ve been sent by Sergeant Major Stone.” I put my humble face on. “He’s asked if he could have some sugar, his office has run out.” He looked around the cookhouse, everyone was busy preparing the lunch for the regiment. He led me through to the dry storeroom and filled a brown paper bag with sugar and as an afterthought, gave me a massive tin of coffee. I looked at him, we both knew this was wrong, but I was in too deep now, so took the tin.
“Tell him I’ll see him at the mess tonight.” I thought shit no, now I’ve torn it, they’re buddies. “He needs to play bridge better than last week.”
“I’ll tell him.” I said weakly and made my way back to the wagon. The back of the wagon was nice and warm and there were yelps of joy when they saw the tin of coffee. I kept my mouth shut about how I had come by it.
“All engineering training is out of the window.” Eddie was filling us in while we carried on making coffee and generally making a mess. “I’ve had a quick look at the training schedule and it looks good.” We sniggered, we had heard it all before.
Eddie went on, “We start on Monday, fitness, yellow card, riot control, intelligence, weapon training and ..…” He droned on listing all the training we would be doing over the next few months, we carried on making coffee and smoking and only half listening to him.
Meanwhile, in his office, Major Ellis was being handed a memo by the duty clerk,

Memo; Ref order 113211.
To Major E. Ellis,
7 Squadron,
1174 Engineer Regiment,
Dear Sir,
                Due to the shortage of Intelligence personnel at this point in time, and the on-going problems in Northern Ireland, we need 3 personnel to assist during this tour. These personnel will be required for the full tour. They must have 2 years’ experience. We look forward to your help in this matter.
Yours respectfully,
Lt-Col G. Allen.

Ellis looked at the memo and wondered why, when a unit was preparing for their first action in years, they would take away much needed personnel for intelligence duties. He walked to the door, “Thomas.” He shouted down the corridor. The clerk came on the double.
“Sir.” Thomas stood at the door.
Ellis looked up from the memo, “Get me the sergeant major.” He went back and re-read the memo. Bill Stone wandered down the corridor to Ellis’s office. “Close the door please Sergeant Major.” He handed the memo to Stone, and after reading it, Stone looked at Ellis.
“Can we stop this?”
“I don’t think so sir.”
 Stone knew it was tight for manpower. His mind went into overdrive, mentally selecting the worst, wackiest and least able.
“I want you to select the men who we send and I’ll also make sure that we have an influx of men from the next intake coming out of basic training.” Stone stood up, he was already making a list in his head.
“Just leave it with me sir.” He made his way back to his office. Now his mind was on the bridge game tonight; there was plenty of time to choose who to get rid of.
In the wagon, smoke thick in the air, we were starting to warm to the idea of Belfast and were speculating.
“Bet I’m first to shoot one of the bastards.” Jock always liked to reduce it down to violence.
 Gaff lifted his leg and let out a noisy fart. “Piss off, you couldn’t hit a barn door with a banjo.” He took a deep breath to take in the aroma.
“Open the back door for fuck sake.” Smoke and foul air leaked out of the back of the A.P.C. but we stayed inside. We were used to this sort of thing. We carried on musing about what we were going to do on the tour.

That evening, Todd stood at the sergeants’ mess bar drinking with Sergeant Stone. After the initial chat about the posting to Northern Ireland, he remembered his gift to Stone. “Did you get the coffee?” Todd looked at Stone for some sort of recognition for the favour. Stone paid the barman and turned to Todd with a questioning look on his face.
 “What coffee?” They walked to the tables and took a seat.
“The coffee and sugar, I sent them over with your runner, the ugly little twat you sent in this morning for sugar.” Stone thought about this.
“I don’t send for sugar, the clerk runs that sort of thing.” He took a long pull on his pint.
“Well that little twat Deery, the cocky sod came in this morning and asked for sugar for your office. And I gave him a big tin of coffee too.” Stone could feel his face flush; he did not like Deery, just something about him.
“Leave it with me.” It was at this point Deery went to the top of the list. Stone decided he needed to get rid of shirkers like Deery. Their minds turned to the night’s bridge tactics.
The next morning Stone went into Ellis’s office.
“Good morning Sir.” He laid down the list of men who he wanted out before they had live rounds up the spout, before those little mistakes could cost lives, before the action started. Ellis glanced at the list, all the usual suspects were on the list.
“Thank you Sergeant Major.” Ellis put the list to one side and leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.
“How did the bridge go?” He played for the officers’ mess, and liked to keep abreast of what was happening in the enemy camp.



CHAPTER 2. FRIDAY 10 MARCH 1972.


Memo ;Ref order 113211
To Lt-Col. G. Allen
MI  3rd Battalion.
Johnson’s Barracks.
26 Jan 1972

Dear Sir,
After due consideration of your position, and with the man power at our command, we have selected 3 men whom we consider to be best suited to the task. These personnel will be sent to your Depot on Monday 13 March.
The men will be expected back to the Regiment immediately after tour. We hope this meets with your satisfaction.
Maj. T. E. Ellis. DSM.

We carried on training. Out on the firing ranges, we got to use some of the more unusual weapons. Each man was given the chance to fire a Carl Gustav 84mm and throw hand grenades.  We needed this experience mainly because we were an engineering unit and had not been trained in anything but the rifle and pistols. In the class room we did memory training, history of Northern Ireland, riot training, politics, yellow card and intelligence. But the main thing was team building and fitness. They ran us ragged, pushing us to the very end of our tether.
After our final day’s training, we piled out of the wagon, wet through, our weapons covered in dirt and needing to be cleaned before being handed in to the armoury. Normally at the end of each day, everyone would have a quick glance at the orders posted on the notice board, but not this evening.
“What have you been up to?” Wally Rutter stuck his head in my room to give me the bad news. I could tell by his voice that it was not good news for me and he was enjoying it. “What’s up?”
He smiled, “You have to report to Cook’s office at six tonight, you and that fat lad in 3 Troop and a couple more.” He closed the door and was gone. My rifle was stripped down on the floor for cleaning. I looked at my watch, 16.52, shit. Tea was at 17.15 and I was starving, I carried on pulling the four by two through the barrel, it had to be shining before they would accept it back into the armoury. Gaff came in and threw his rifle on his bed.
“Have you read orders?” He started to take off his wet boots.
“No but Wally’s just told me I have to report to Cook’s office at six.” I carried on oiling the rifle.
“Yep and the other two, bit of a motley crew if you ask me, what’ve you done wrong?” We both knew it was not a promotion.
At the armoury, I stood in the queue to hand my weapon in. Each weapon was inspected very carefully.
“Fuck off and get it cleaned properly cunt, this Gat is manky.” There were two NCOs and the armourer inspecting and they were not taking anything that did not shine. The soldier wandered off dejected.
I crossed my fingers as I handed my gun over. It was quickly stripped down and a critical eye expertly inspected.
“That’s fine.” He started to make the rifle up. “Do you know you’re in the office tonight?”
“Yes, any idea what’s it about?” I knew he wouldn’t say, but it was worth a try.
“I think he wants you to baby-sit his daughter, she’s only seventeen.” He winked at me, the other men around laughed, I headed for the canteen.
I rushed back from a hurried meal; I was still in my combat gear, still covered in muck, but time was running out and I went straight to Cook’s door. The other men were already there and I did not like what I saw. If you could hand pick two of the most useless turkeys from the Squadron this would be the two and I was the third. I fell in at the end of the line standing at ease, ready. I was running things through my head, preparing excuses. Suddenly the door opened and the clerk came out of Cook’s office.
“Listen in to my word of command.” We were being marched in. I would have expected just to be told to walk in, but no.
The clerk’s voice was thin but carried the length of the hall. “Attention.” We snapped to attention. “Left turn, quick march.” We filed into the office, marking time until the clerk gave the order to halt, on the wrong foot so we lost our time and we looked like a bunch of new recruits.
Cook looked up from the memo. “Well men, we have had a request from Military Intelligence for three men to work for them during the tour of Northern Ireland and although we are very short handed at the moment, we have to follow orders.” He looked at our faces to see the effect of this news. “And we have picked you three, because we feel you meet the requirements.” He looked again at the document. “You must report to 3rd battalion on Monday morning 08:00. You will need to take all your army kit and all the civvies you think you’ll need for the full four months. Your mail address will still be the same.” He thought for a while. “I want you back safe and ready for work at the end of the tour, so be careful.” He looked at the clerk. “Dismiss the men please.” The clerk marched us out telling us that the transport would pick us up at seven thirty on the Monday.   We turned to our right and broke off.
None of us said anything until we were outside; it was cold, the wind was cutting but we stood and chatted for a while. I lit a cigarette.
“Whoa, wait till I tell my Mum.” The chubby lad was beaming; the others seemed pleased as well.
“What do you think we’ll be doing?” The tall gangly lance corporal asked, as if we knew the answer.
“Well someone has to clean the bogs out.” I said. This brought them down with a bump.
“I’m a radio op,” the fat boy asserted. “I’m damned if I’m doing that”
“I’m a bridge builder and mine warfare man myself.” I said quietly. The radio op course was only six weeks and we all did a bit of that. “No, we’ll be doing dogsbody stuff.” I was not hopeful it would be James Bond stuff.
“See you on Monday.” I left them there speculating, and went up to my room.
Gaff was sitting on my bed. I went over and sat on the bedside locker. He passed me a cigarette. “Well?”
“I’m being sent to Intelligence.” I waited till he thought about this for a while and slowly a smile came across his face.
“You can’t even do the Sun crossword. God they must be desperate.”
“Well I don’t think they want Einstein, we’ll just be filling in. Anyway I’ll find out next week. I have to be there on Monday; we go out on the same day as you.”
“Do you fancy a pint?” I nodded. “I’ll get a quick shower  and then we can go to the club.”
We played table football all night and bowled back to our room nicely mellow. I fell asleep quickly.




Chapter 3. Monday 13 March 1972.


The transport rolled up spot on time, a three tonner. I had only just arrived from breakfast and making sure everything was locked up in my room. We clambered aboard and I saw Gaff and Jock, on their way to breakfast, they waved me off. I had a feeling of impending doom and lit a cigarette.
We piled out at 3rd battalion headquarters and were met by a sergeant who broke the news that because they were shipping in over fifty temps, we had to bunk in the gym. We struggled over there and found rows of camping beds, each one with a bedside locker, a floor mat, and pillow with no pillow case and two woolly blankets. In the drawer was an ashtray.
“The bogs and showers are over there.” The sergeant pointed over to the end of the gym. He looked at his watch. “You have forty minutes to get over to classroom two.” He pointed at the building we had just come from, and then marched off.
“It’s a regular home from home.” The chubby lad said sitting down on his new bed. It tipped over. I waited until he’d righted himself.
I stuck my hand out, “Billy Deery, I’ve seen you around.” He shook my hand.
“Brian Fodden.” He nodded over to the lanky corporal. “He’s Paul, Paul Walker.” I nodded.
“Do you think the cookhouse is still doing breakfast?” Brian had missed breakfast that morning.
Paul was busy making himself at home, putting things into his bedside locker and placing his case and kitbag neatly behind the top of his bed, like some sort of head board. “Do you know where the canteen is?”
“I just follow my nose when it comes to that sort of thing.” Brian took pride in hunting out food.
“I’ll come with you.” I stood up and looked at Paul, he had finished unpacking, so followed us as we tried to find the cookhouse. We had time to kill. Most of the ex-German barracks were arranged to a standard lay out, so we quickly homed in on the cookhouse and just caught the last few sausages and a cup of tea.
We were the last in to the classroom and had to stand at the back, still not knowing what our duties would be, what was our role. Surely it took years to train intelligence personnel, surely they had to be of the highest intelligence, code breakers, swots, doing the Times crossword over a cup of tea, the James Bond type, killing with one blow and disappearing in the night. What the hell could they want with us?
Captain Roberts came in; he looked like a desk clerk in a captain’s uniform, nothing to distinguish him, no high forehead, no bulging muscles.
“Look men, we are very short on the ground.” He looked around. There were about thirty of us, from all different units. “We have been  short for years and now we’re expected to put observations all over Northern Ireland. Your jobs will be to fill in on these observations, file reports and move around the city, eyes and ears.” You could hear a collective sigh from the men sitting around.
“You will be doing static observations on the more mundane side of things.” He went on. “Your training will start tomorrow. You need to able to observe and report, keep a close check on the mug shots and all the in coming intelligence.” He then gave us some news which made every single one of us cheer.
“From to day, long hair and long sideburns, beards and anything else is in.” Roberts smiled as a room full of squaddies cheered and whooped; he had to raise his voice to bring the room back to order.
“So we have a lot to do before we go. I want you all to look at the board over there.” He pointed to the blackboard with lists of men’s names pinned on it. “Find out who you’re teamed up with; remember you train as a team, you work as a team.”
There was a scraping of chairs as we all rose. I lit a cigarette and stood back, but most men pushed and shoved to find out who they would be working with. Eventually someone ripped his list off the board and started to shout names out.
I had gone into a little daydream remembering when I was younger, before we left Belfast. Would I meet my Gran, my Aunts and Uncles?
“Deery.” I came to, to hear my name being called out.
“Deery.” A small compact corporal with the uniform of the Royal Signals was calling.
“Here,” I looked at him, “I’m Deery.”
“I’m Corporal Kelly. There are five men out near the front door, one’s fat and there’s another one black, so you should find them.” He then started to shout another name and forgot about me. I wandered out. The group was easy to identify and one of them was Brian. The coloured lad was about six foot four with an easy smile. I walked over and Brian was talking to the coloured boy.
“How the fuck are you going to fit in, in Ireland? I mean how many………” he looked for the right word and could not find it. “How many big black fuckers are there in Belfast?”
It was one of those moments when everyone wants to be swallowed up, or be somewhere else.
“Hi, I’m Billy Deery from 17th Engineers.” I stuck my hand out. Brian was grateful for the diversion; the coloured lad took my hand.
“Smudge Smith transport Bielefeld.” Brian, who was blushing because he had not introduced himself, just said, “Brian Fodden.” Smudge just gave him a wink and this helped to take the awkwardness away. At that moment Kelly came out of the building with another man following behind.
He took charge. “Okay everyone in my section,” he used his hands a lot; he pointed with both index fingers. “Make your way to room fourteen; it’s on the second floor.” The fingers were pointing towards the door we had just come out of, so we ambled back in and up the stairs. I continued to talk to Smudge.
“What do you drive?” I liked Smudge; he was self assured, he reeked of confidence and I wanted to be part of that.
“Oh, we have all sorts, mostly small stuff, but we got some big stuff as well, we got tank transporters an’ all sorts, but my favourite is the Stalwart, I just love that ride.”
We piled into room fourteen and found seats. Kelly had some notes.
“Settle down, we will be working together for the next five or six months and I want you to all stand up and tell us who you are, then I’ll be telling you what’s expected of you, I know this is all new and we don’t have much time, so you start” he pointed at Smudge, Smudge stood up.
“I’m Gerry Smith but people call me Smudge, I’ve been in the Royal corps of transport for just over two years, and come from Dover, we’re based in Bielefeld and I’m in the basket ball team.” he sat down.
Kelly pointed at me.
I stood up “Billy Deery, Royal Engineers, bridging, building and blowing, mine warfare laying and breeching.” I started to sit down and remembered “Oh and I’m in the regimental orienteering team” I hardly listened to the rest, but there was eight of us including Kelly of which two were full corporals.
“How many have driving licences?” We stuck our hands up, Kelly ticked off his list “And how many are radio trained?” We stuck our hands up again, more ticks “Good, and has anyone lived or has family in Northern Ireland?” I was the only one to hold my hand up, tick.
“Tomorrow morning were on the ranges, we get picked up at zero seven thirty outside the gym, full battle gear, piss pots and ground sheets the lot,” he looked up “weapons will be issued at the ranges, and don’t forget your mess tins and eating irons.” He thought for a minute “I’m bunking down on the top floor of this building,” he pointed to the ceiling, just in case we did not know where the top of the building was “room 211, and the other ranks bar is above the cookhouse.” he gathered his thoughts again “so go and sort your kit out, and I’ll see you all in the morning.” There was a scraping of chairs and people started to talk excitedly.
“Deery.” Kelly was talking to me, but my mind was on that camp bed “Deery.” a bit louder.
“Yes corporal” I made my way over to him.
“What family do you have over there?” It took me by surprise, I had thought it was just one of those questions, but no, it was one of those questions.
“Well my Grandmother lives there, and maybe my Dad, but almost certainly a few of my aunties and uncles live there, I was born in Belfast.” I let this sink in, he stroked his nose.
“You don’t sound like you come from Belfast.”
“That’s because I was brought up in Liverpool.” he pulled his nose again, I moved from one leg to another. At this point I thought I would give him a demonstration so I said “Come on Corporal Kelly, it’s not the sort of thing you tell people.” I had dropped into my home accent, I had not spoken in my home accent for years, I had in fact tried my hardest not to use it. I had adopted the local idiom as soon as I could possibly manage after moving to Liverpool.
“We moved to Liverpool when I was six or seven, my mother did a runner and that’s where my accent comes from.” all the time I’m speaking in my old accent.
He jotted some notes down.
“You do realise you could get an exemption from the tour?” he would dearly love an exemption, I had something he wanted. I pursed my lips. I think I was teasing him.
“But I want to go” what was the alternative, sitting back on rear party, hell on earth, an empty camp, a few losers left behind, no not for me, no I’m here for the ride, the sharp end, the deep end. I looked at him, almost insolently.
“Yes I want to go.” I had gone back to my normal accent.
“Okay, I’ll file this, go and sort yourself out” he nodded at the door, I was dismissed.
I made my way back to the gym, at one end of the gym someone had a portable tape player blasting Johnny Cash, Smudge and Brian had changed into civvies and was relaxing on their beds.
“You’re a Paddy.” Brian was laughing at his own joke “You should be in the Pioneers not the Engineers, but there’s not much difference.” he looked around for support.
“Hey don’t turn your back to me when we’re there.” I had dropped into my Irish accent. I made a gun action with my hand pointed at Brian’s head and blew imaginary smoke away. I started to get my things ready for the next day.
“Fancy a pint tonight?” I looked over to the other two.
Smudge was the first to answer “Yes suits me.”
“Deery.” There was someone was calling out my name, I looked around “Sapper Deery” I saw who was calling and stood up.
“Over here.” I held my hand up and a young private from the intelligence Corp was approaching me.
“You're wanted by Captain Roberts now, follow me.” I shrugged my shoulders at the other two.
“I’ll see you soon.” I followed the private.
“What do you think it is?” I tried to get an idea.
He took his time answering “not a fucking clue mate” we carried on over to the block.
“Just wait there.” I seem to be waiting outside offices quite a lot lately, he disappeared into the office and came out quite quickly and walked off.
“Thanks mate” I put in as much sarcasm as I could as he walked away.
The door opened and Roberts head popped out.
“Come in Deery.” I followed “Sit down.” Well I’m not in the shit, you don’t sit down when the shit's flying.
“Are you a Catholic?” That took me by surprise.
“No, well yes, but...” the army never pushed religion so I could not see where he was going and I was starting to sweat.
He tried another tack “Do you have family in Ireland?” that was better, now I felt I knew where he was coming from.
“Yes Sir, my Gran still lives there, and I lived there until I was seven, and I also have other people there like my Aunt.” I was trying to please him, but he did not show any emotion.
“So why is your accent Scouse?” he corrected himself “From Merseyside?”
“Well we did a flit to Liverpool, just me and my mother,” I started to relax “and I had to fit in so just started to talk like them, Sir.” the wheels were turning in his head, he was trying to evaluate me.
“One last question, is there anyone in Belfast who knows you’re in the army? Think very carefully” I sat there for over a minute, I knew the answer but my mind had started to think of the pint tonight, and I also thought it gave the question gravity.
“No Sir.” I also thought that if this did not swing my way I could just remember someone who knew me.
“Look we need eyes and ears in the community, and we have to find people who can live and work on the streets,” he’s watching my reaction, “we need people on the streets, we need people who can fit in. I’ll admit that most personnel who come from Ireland just don’t want to get mixed up in this, to close to home I’m afraid.” He sat back and let this lot sink in, there was a long pause. I’m a bit shocked, it’s one thing to ride around in a team, but to pose as a local and rub shoulders with known IRA and UVF activist this was a different world. He could see the cogs turning.
“Of course you would be promoted to corporal.”
“Do you mean full corporal?”
“Yes, and you will be trained, and your cover will be water tight.”
I do want promotion, but I’m still not sure, now I was really sweating.
“Deery, this is a big step, but you will have twenty four hour back up, and if you feel compromised at any time we will pull you out.” I was getting scared again, my mind was racing.
“What job have you got lined up?” I want to know more.
“I need someone on the buses, there is a good cross section, Catholics and Protestants a mix from both sides, but the O’Neil family work from that depot, and we want to keep an eye on them.” He’s watching me again, but giving me time to let all the information sink in, he knows that if I go away and think about it I will reject it, stripes or no stripes.
“We need to push on.” He knows I’m under the cosh, but I’m stalling.
“How long is it for?” I wanted the stripes.
“No longer than the full tour,” he was reeling me in like a trout. “after that, just back to normal duties, with two stripes.”
It sounded easy, in a childish way I had always wanted to shout “Hold tight please and ring the bell twice.” and run up and down asking for fares.
“Just go to work, keep you eyes peeled, and report back.” He was pulling me in further. “Do you want in?”
“Yes Sir.”