on that day - Wave Trauma Centre

...on that day
Dedicated to the memory of
Hugh Stanley Rowan 197 – 2008,
an endless campaigner for individuals
injured through the ‘Troubles’.
Foreword
No books have been written about the injured, you will not find their details in published
works such as Lost Lives – seldom are their needs highlighted in the press or at Victim’s
Conferences, yet many have suffered appalling injuries, both physical and emotional. The
numbers of those injured in this way is not known – some estimate it to be around 0.000,
but it could be as high as 100,000 as documented in recent reports.
The injured continue to suffer - not just from the physical manifestation of their injury
but also in the way that they have been treated by some Government Departments and
others in society. In truth, they feel largely forgotten about, ignored and their suffering
unrecognised. This book tells the story of fourteen that attend the WAVE Trauma Centre.
It is their hope that as you read their personal account of what happened to them, you
might be better informed about the ‘real’ cost of the ‘Troubles’ to those that were injured,
and how their injuries have affected their lives and the lives of their families.
Jimmy Nesbitt,
Patron of WAVE
WAVE would like to acknowledge the financial
assistance given to the production of this publication.
Contents
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Chris’s Story
I remember as far back as 1972 - there was an explosion
in the housing estate where I lived and three people were
killed. This was nothing unusual as loads of people were
being murdered from all sides at the time. But I think
our estate suffered more than some – I was brought up
in Bawnmore in North Belfast, just a stone throw from
the mainly Protestant Rathcoole Estate, so there was
always fighting round our way. Twenty people lost their
lives – I know that doesn’t sound like an awful lot, but
you have to keep in mind that that was twenty people
out of one hundred and twenty houses, so it was a lot to
us - everybody knew somebody that was killed. I knew
the three that died in 72 – they weren’t mates of mine or
anything, but we all went to the same school. The bomb
went off about fifty yards from our house, it wasn’t a
massive explosion and our house wasn’t touched, but it
was big enough to kill those three people.
I have lived through the dark days of the ‘Troubles’,
but the darkest day for me was when I was shot in
1992. I was going to work that morning and I was
shot as I was standing at the bus stop waiting on the
bus. The bus was a bit late that morning and I was just
standing there when a car pulled up and the front seat
passenger fired six shots at me and two of them hit me
and I was very badly injured. I have no idea why I was
shot or who shot me, and maybe it doesn’t matter – the
police didn’t arrest anyone and no organisation claimed
responsibility, which tended to be the norm when these
attacks took place.
Anyway, I was taken to hospital and I remained there
for nine days - I was shot in the back and in the back
of the neck, but lucky the neck wound was only a flesh
wound and the one in the back passed right through
me, missing the spine by an inch. I was told later that if
it had connected with the spine I would have spent the
rest of my life in a wheel chair, but it didn’t and I guess
you could say I was lucky – not lucky to have been shot
but lucky that there was no permanent damage. In fact
the only physical injury that was caused to me was that
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I fractured my arm falling as I ran to get away from the
gun man.
Although I have no physical injuries, I do carry a mental
scar – initially I couldn’t go out of the house, I was afraid
it would happen again – you know you are a bit cagey,
every time a car would slow down, you wondered if they
were coming to finish the job. I know it was just a
random attack but you can’t help the way you feel. Even
today I still get depressed when I think about it – I am
better than I was, before I used to get taxis everywhere
but now I am not so bad. The injuries don’t really make
a difference to my life - I have recovered well and for
that I am thankful.
I guess I would have needed counselling back then
when it happened but it wasn’t available. But when I
look back everybody was getting hurt, it wasn’t one side
or the other - so it all depends how badly injured you
were, but I think everybody could benefit from some
form of counselling and support, perhaps even for the
rest of their lives and their relatives as well, because it
wasn’t just individuals that were effected, it was whole
families and communities. At the time I felt angry
about those that did the shooting, as it should never
have happened in the first place, and who knows maybe
counselling would have helped, but as time went on I
felt sorry for them. We have peace now and I think that
is good and hopefully it will work, but the government
needs to do more to help those that have suffered with
things like employment and re-training.
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Michael’s Story
I was born and brought up in 27 North
Queen Street – it was 1952 when I entered
the world, so I have memories of what this
place was like before the ‘Troubles’ began.
There was sixteen in our house, my mother
and father and then fourteen brothers and
sisters – it was a big house, four bed rooms,
even so it did feel a bit crowded at times.
We were all christened at St Patricks Chapel
on Donegal Street, the church where my
mother and father were married from, and
also sadly where a brother and sister were
buried from.
The ‘Troubles’ began for me in 1964, that’s
when I first noticed men with guns and the
B Specials being on the streets - I knew then
that trouble was brewing. Then the army
arrived with their big ‘army pigs’, we used
to call Paddy Wagons because they used to
round up all the Catholics and take them
away, (at least that’s what it looked like to
me). McGurks bar wasn’t to far from where
we lived and I remember the day it got blew
to bits – I was walking along York Street and
I saw the whole thing – saw the explosion. I
started to help dig out the bodies, but then
police and army arrived and took over. – I
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saw loads of other stuff as well - it was a
mad time, the country was falling apart.
The first person in my family to be killed
was a cousin – she was murdered in 1975
by the UVF at Hannahstown. Then I had a
brother killed as part of a Republican feud,
he was shot by accident and his body was left
outside the Royal Victoria Hospital – he was
dead before anyone got to him. He wasn’t
meant to be shot, it was just an incident,
a fight that got out of hand – then these
hooded men arrived and began shooting
and Martin was hit. The feud was between
the IRA and the Stickies but Martin wasn’t
in anything, he was just in the wrong place
at the wrong time,
A lot of people in those days were in the
wrong place at the wrong time – the
‘Troubles’ at the time were completely
random, just people being shot for no
reason other than that they were a Catholic
or a Protestant. My sister carol was another
one – she was fourteen when she was shot
dead, I mean fourteen – she was just a kid
but then again maybe the people that killed
her were just kids too. The night she was
killed she was going to a disco – I leant her
a few pound and she headed off to meet
her mates, dressed to the nines in her Bay
City Roller gear. She had just called for her
cousin when a car drove down Newington
Street and riddled the place with bullets
– Carol was shot six times in the back of
the head and died two days later, after the
life support machine was switched off.
According to the police she was shot in
retaliation for a Protestant woman that had
been killed earlier.
All of these killings had a devastating effect
on my parents – they were good people,
God fearing – always at their church – My
father was there seven days a week, not
just to pray and stuff but also to get out of
the house. They are both dead now and
I really feel for them – they didn’t deserve
any of this, none of us did. They died
broken hearted, yet they never wanted any
retaliation, we were never brought up like
that. My fathers funeral was recent and the
whole family came together at the church.
It was the first time we have all been
together in years, as some of them moved to
Canada and Australia in search of a better
life. We posed for a photograph to mark
the occasion, not just the funeral but also
because we might never be together again.
All twelve of us children now grown up, but
not for Martin and Carol – they were the
missing places and it added to the sadness
of the day.
My father joined my mother and Martin
and Carol, all buried in the one plot – that’s
the way my father would have wanted it.
His was a hard life, things happened to our
family that should never have happened. I
never really talk about it but the 9th August
and 6th November are dates that are always
etched in my mind. We have peace now
but it’s a hidden peace, if you know what I
mean – it’s not quite real. I was down in my
fathers house the other week, just for a look
around, and was told about an attack on a
house just a few doors away – four masked
men armed with iron bars and hammers
turned up to give someone a beating, they
didn’t get the person but it reminded me of
the bad old days and I wondered how far
have we really come.
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Cathy’s
Story
I remember that day as I was with
Sister Catherine, who I worked with. Sr
Catherine was the nun who died in the
bomb. I remember leaving the car in the
garage and Sr Catherine coming to pick me
up to take me home. I had a conversation
for all of about one minute, then I don’t
remember the rest of the journey. I would
say we travelled about ten minutes before
the actual bomb happened. My memory is
very vague and I’ve been told that is because
of how traumatic the experience was. The
memory may never come back and in fact
my memories for six months after that are
very limited. I think the big fear I have is
that the memory will come back and I don’t
know what way that will impact on me.
When I was brought to the hospital, they
weren’t sure whether I was going to live or
die because I’d been bleeding from every
orifice. My husband, Colin, when he
phoned the police, was told to get to the
hospital and when the policeman came out
they said that one of the Catherines, (there
were two Catherines: myself ‘Cathy’ and Sr
Catherine), was dead, - so Colin thought
that it was me that was dead, (there was
also three police officers killed). I was
unconscious for the first three days, my
injuries were relatively minor, in the grand
scheme of things, after all I was caught in a
one thousand pound bomb in which four
people died. I had a head injury which
needed 20 stitches, I had a lot of shrapnel
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thing because I loved my work and it was a
good paid job. We weren’t that long married,
with a big mortgage over our heads. I just
felt that I couldn’t stay. I certainly wasn’t
ready to go at that stage but I just couldn’t
cope with it.
in my head, torn ligaments in my leg and an
open wound and very severe burns where
the seat belt burned into my flesh. I had
no broken limbs though and the seat belt
saved my life.
When I regained consciousness on the third
day Colin told me about the bomb and
about Sister Catherine dying, but I don’t
remember him telling me. When I got
home there was fantastic medical support
for me because the doctor came out to our
home every day to dress the wounds, which
were quite deep from the seat belt.
A lot of people have said that I was very
lucky coming out of the bomb. I was off
work for eight months after it. My physical
injuries have healed but I found it very hard
to go back to my work. I was a social worker
and I did sleepovers, but I couldn’t cope
working at night. I went back on reduced
hours, mentally I don’t think I was in the
right place, but I went back and actually
been in work for six weeks but I knew I
couldn’t stay because there were too many
memories. I think for my mental wellbeing
I couldn’t stay any longer which was a big
we have to recognise that it’s not just about
those people who it happened to but the
effect that the traumatic experience had on
their families and their extended families.
I think my resilience is quite high, maybe
because of the way I was brought up or
because of the extremes I’ve been through,
but at times that resilience turns to
vulnerability. You try to say to everybody
that everything is going great and that’s
what they say about me, ‘it didn’t do Cathy a
button of harm being in that bomb because
I went back to work’. I had two babies after
that, but those comments are from people
who don’t understand. I mean I think they
feel that you need to be maimed, that you
need to be disabled in some way coming
through the ‘Troubles’ - you know, for it to
have had a lasting impact on you, that’s not
the case, but it’s not easy to share. People
can see physical injuries and can empathise
with you or not, whatever the case may be,
but when you are talking about your mental
wellbeing and your emotional wellbeing,
that’s not something that you wear on your
sleeve for people to see. So people take it
for granted that things are going great for
you when maybe they’re not.
The perpetrators, that is the two men who
served the prison sentence for the bomb,
I knew personally. I am very angry - they
both lived close to my home, I know their
families and they know me and it was very
difficult. I shall never forgive them, even
though my physical injuries were minor
compared to the fact that four people lost
their lives, but they have left with me a
mental legacy which I will carry with me for
the rest of my life. It had an awful impact
on my husband because he sat beside my
bed holding my hand whenever I was
unconscious for three days not knowing if
I was going to survive or not. So I think
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Some people say you should forget about
the past, but I don’t think you can do that
because that shapes who we are and who we
will be, so how can we forget about it. You
know I’ve often said: would I be a different
person now if I had not come through the
experience that I’ve come through. I don’t
know, but I could be. I have kept a scrap
book - Colin actually kept all the papers of
the time and I think that it was about two
years later that I actually sat down and cut
out all the newspaper coverage. I really done
it for my children, for them to see and I kept
it updated and whenever the two fellas were
released afterwards I put the piece in about
it. It’s because it’s my families’ history, my
children are aware of it and we talk about
it and every year we go to Sister Catherine’s
grave to lay flowers. It’s something that we
don’t forget about.
I voted yes for the Good Friday Agreement,
because it wasn’t just about me it was about
the whole of Northern Ireland and about
my children. Do I want them to grow up
feeling the way that I felt? I certainly didn’t
want them to.
Eugene’s Story
It was Feb 1972, I was injured in an explosion outside my home. I was sixteen at the time.
I was standing at the front door after I had went out to start the car for my father - we
had a new Volkswagen Beetle and I was all dressed up - it was a Saturday night, about half
six, and I was ready to go to the local disco. The bomb went off with no warning. I was
standing facing it. It all happened in milliseconds - it was like a tornado on its side coming
up the street between the houses and it was white hot. I was hit and knocked a couple of
hundred yards up the street. When I came round the place was like a war zone, it was dark,
dusty, you could hear echoes of people shouting, ‘was anybody hurt?’.
There was only me and my sister hurt. I could feel nothing from the waist down, I thought
I had lost my legs. I pulled myself down the street to the front door of the house - my
father was working with my sister who was bleeding very badly - the blood was shooting
out of her legs. My wounds weren’t bleeding, my mother seen me, she screamed, grabbed
the grandchild and ran out. A couple of neighbours lifted me into the living room and laid
me beside the fire. There was smoke rising from my legs - they wouldn’t let me look down.
My father kissed me on the head and said not to worry that I would be okay. After a while
I was taken to hospital, I was there for four or five weeks or so. The fire was blazing in the
house and it was a cold night - my mother had always had a good fire on, but the soot had
come down on top it. To this day I have the smell of the soot in my nose, for years I tried
to blow it to get rid of it, but now I know it will never go away.
My physical injuries were pretty bad, multiple broken bones in both legs, one leg had
gaping wounds, stitches, I now have big scars on my legs. I have terrible pains in my
legs, but now as I get older they get harder to bear. I’ve had a walking stick since I was
injured, I didn’t use it when I was younger as it associated you with things, so you bear the
pain instead. I can’t walk for long without it now. The pain at times can be very severe.
Painkillers sometimes take the edge of the pain but they never take it away.
There was no such thing as counselling then. In 1972 they didn’t really have the experience
of injuries in the ‘Troubles’, as they have now. They sent me to Alexander Park day clinic
on the Antrim Road - I was interviewed by a psychiatrist for two hours and he interviewed
my mother for two hours also. They told my mother that I was suffering from severe trauma
but that I was young and I would heal, and that was that – end of story, for everyone else
except my family, future family and quality of life. My life had drastically changed and
unbeknown to me, my health and prospects would continue to decline. I never got any
help with the physical injuries nor the mental side of things. I had a number of operations
afterwards for my legs but they never worked. At night I have terrible nightmares and
flashbacks, sometimes I wake up screaming and yelling, or sometimes my wife will tell me
in the morning that I had a bad night last night, and I wouldn’t remember a thing about
it. She has had to get used to it very quickly, it was a bit of a surprise to her. My younger
kids would say ‘ah there’s me da away again’.
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My hearing was also damaged in the explosion. I lost seventy
percent in one ear and sixty five percent in the other. It was
a couple of years before I realised that something was wrong
with my hearing. I didn’t want to admit it. It affected my
work a fair bit, one to one conversations are fine, but if
there is any background noise it’s very hard to hear what’s
going on. Eventually when I was forty I admitted to myself
that I had a problem and I went and got hearing aids.
Hugh’s Story
The area I lived in was the most bombed area per square
mile in Northern Ireland. There was bombing and
shooting day and night, people were getting shot. You were
expected to get up and get on with it. It was a bit like being John Wayne. It never stopped
you going out though - if there was a gun battle going on, you just put your coat on and
went out. You never thought it would happen to you. From the day I was hurt in that
explosion I knew it could happen to me. That reality hit home, I was no longer that
carefree sixteen year old. Every time I stepped out that door, I feared death and injury.
It took enormous strength for me to go out, and I lived in fear with every step and every
breath, going to school and coming home from school. I only lost that fear of dying at forty
nine years of age when my eldest son Eugene died. In some ways I look forward to it now,
so I can join him.
I went on to work in the civil service and was doing very well, and I had my own driving
school. But in 1991 I was witnessed a joyriding accident - I was out on a driving lesson and
a girl was killed - she was pregnant at the time. It haunted me, this coupled with the trauma
of the explosion meant that my body rejected all sense of learned normality. The morning
after the accident I went back to work and I was walking from one end of the corridor to
another - I knew there was something changed in me, it seemed like hours for me to walk
from one end to the other. The doctor told me that my body had taken enough, I couldn’t
function anymore – he focussed on treating my pain and post-traumatic stress disorder. I
should have stayed on in work for another twenty years as I was doing very well, but I had
to give it all up and try to survive on a small pension. I miss work, I miss going out to
work, and I miss looking forward to a Friday.
I would say some people probably wouldn’t have come through what I have come through.
The pain I have accepted, but I do feel this has wrecked my life. I was doing well in my work,
and my kids could have had an awful lot more. I feel that potential wasn’t fulfilled. The
pain sometimes gets you down, and I have been living on antidepressants and painkillers
for as long as I can remember. Myself and my wife are now fully qualified integrative
counsellors, and members of the British Association of Counselling and Psychotherapy, it’s
an excellent job for someone like me. I would really like to get off benefits though, so a
job with twenty to twenty five hours a week would do me just nice – it would be fulfilling
and manageable.
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I was injured on the 2rd of August 1972. I came home from work early that morning and
had been in the house about ten minutes when a knock came to the door. When I answered
there was two young guys with guns pointing at me - this was approximately quarter past
one in the morning. The rest I don’t remember much about, but I do remember being hit
with bullets and then coming round and leaning on a white and red thing, which I found
out later was a pillow that was put under my head and was covered in blood. I had been
hit five times and was in surgery for hours, but didn’t know at that stage what way I was
going to end up.
I have never really given a lot of consideration to the people that carried it out, I suppose
on one level it’s not really important as it wouldn’t change anything. But sometime ago,
maybe I was just being curious, I did look into their background – there was two of them,
Loyalists I think they were, but should I be angry at them? Well yes I have a right to be
angry at them, but it’s not just them, it’s all of them. OK so it was loyalists that were
involved in the actual attempted assassination, but they announced in 71 that they were
targeting innocent Catholics as a result of what the IRA republicans were doing, so you
can’t be angry at Loyalists without also being angry at Republicans.
Then there is the British State, because as time has gone on, it has sort of been divulged
that the British security forces were involved and that they orchestrated a lot of the violence
perpetrated by paramilitary groups. So in actual fact it’s a fair question to ask ‘who was
really directing terrorism?’ and who should I really be angry at – its not clear cut. As I
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have said, I’ve no feelings one way or the other for the people that perpetrated the shooting
- I just hope that they have a life of misery and a lower quality grade of life, the way I’ve
been left, but hopefully they will also see the error of their ways and maybe get involved in
something that would help the process.
Not that it would make much difference to my life - I had a lot of needs at the time but had
no idea that I was going to require help for the rest of my life, and every aspect of my life at
that. I had to learn to cope with my disability, which lowered my quality of life and meant
I couldn’t do a lot of things. I was working as a bar man at the time which I had to give up
because of the leg and the limp and had to look for employment in other areas. This was
hard because whenever you filled in an application form, everything was alright until you
came to the bit that said medical history and then the question asking if you have had an
operation. How do you explain that you had major surgery for the removal of bullets?
Unless you have been through the experience yourself, you just don’t understand what the
families and other people have suffered because of it, and you don’t forget. The ‘Troubles’
may be over but the suffering of the families goes on, especially amongst the injured – this
is no disrespect to the bereaved, who I know have to come to terms with loss, but those
who were injured have to wake up every morning and be confronted by their disability. My
disability has worsened this past couple of years and I was blaming this on the shooting,
but in actual fact when it got to the stage of going to hospital, the surgeons discovered that
it was a new spinal injury which had no effect or bearing on the old one. Although that
may be true and I am not going to argue with a surgeon, I feel that if the old injury hadn’t
been there in the first place, I would have went and got help earlier when I detected this
new injury, but as it was I felt that it was just my condition getting worse, so I just left it
– now it’s probably too late.
My life was never ‘normal’ again after the shooting – it was just a constant struggle. I
couldn’t run, I couldn’t walk any distances - I couldn’t do a lot of things that normal fathers
could do with their children or normal husbands could do with their wives – things like
simple household tasks such as decorating and gardening and things like that - I had to get
people in to do this stuff for me, whereas before I would have done it my self. I was also
on my own, or at least it felt that way - there was nothing set up where I could go and get
help, like a one stop shop where I could find out things - I just had to learn as I went along,
and nobody in the family spoke about it - it was just too painful – easier to try and forget
about it - but how could I forget?
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People are getting sick listening about ‘victims’ issues - its easier to believe that the
‘Troubles’ are over and everything is ok. I remember one person said to me at one stage
that victims are worth a fortune because every time they’ve heard an announcement from
the government they have always been promising money, which has never materialised to
victims. If those that suffered in the ‘Troubles’ are to enjoy the benefits of peace, then the
government has to do more. In particular, for those like me that were affected in the 70’s
when victims were treated unfairly and compensation was poor. Different people have
different needs, but it is important we are not forgotten about.
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Alex’s Story
I was born and reared in Harold Street, just off the Old Park Road in the North of the City.
We didn’t have much but I have fond memories growing up there until the ‘Troubles’ started
in the late sixties. People were being put out of their houses and there was bombings and
shootings every day of the week. There was only two or three houses left in our street as
most people had moved away to the new estates that were being built all over Belfast. We
moved too - I remember my big brother being caught up in an explosion near our house,
and him having his head split open. It was after that that we decided to leave too, moving
to the Westland in 1972. I was about sixteen or seventeen at the time.
The houses in the Westland were like something I had never seen before, we were used to
two up two down and no inside toilet – bath time for us was a tin bath in front of the fire,
the sort of thing you used to see in the old Westerns. These new houses had three bed
rooms and a bathroom, and even a garden to the front and one at the back.
Things were bad at the time all over Belfast, no law and order - but there was a sort of safety
living in the Westland, maybe it was because we were amongst ‘our own’. The community
was close knit and we had everything that we needed - I used to mess about down the
Shankill, but as the ‘Troubles’ got worse it wasn’t safe so I just stayed in the Westland – few
people ventured out of their areas.
I saw a lot of violence in those early years, people being shot and murdered indiscriminately
– I was even in the local pub on two different occasions when the IRA came in and shot
a couple of people dead, but as I have said, it was just part and parcel of life in Belfast at
that time.
I got married in 197 to a girl I met in the wee club built on the estate, we moved to
Upper Ardoyne (Glenbryn), and ten years later, and a couple of kids in tow, returned to
the estate where we made our home in the Westland. We were doing ok too, up until the
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21st October 1991, the day of the bomb – I was working the early shift as a taxi driver and
I remember trying to start the car around six o’clock in the morning, but it wouldn’t turn
over. I eventually got it started and picked up my first job; a woman from Ballysillan, who
gave me dog’s abuse for being late as she was going to be late for work.
I have spoken about luck a lot, it must be said that I was extremely unlucky to be targeted
by the IRA that morning, a mistake that my family and me have had to live with for the
past seventeen years.
The town was ‘chucker blocked’ that morning, so I decided to get off the Westlink, cutting
down Durham Street in the direction of Sandy Row. Just as we got to the Boyne Bridge
a flash came out of the dash board, a bit like a ‘rainbow’ and I pushed the woman onto
the foot well and fell against the door, which opened. I was told later that that open door
might have saved our lives as it affected the blast of the bomb, if it wasn’t for that we most
likely would have been blown through the roof. It all happened so fast – I saw my leg come
off and then I went out behind it and was blown across the street. I remember lying in the
street fully conscious and my first thoughts were of Linda and the kids.
A man appeared from no where who happened to be a doctor, (apparently he was travelling
in the car behind on his way to the City Hospital). This might sound like a strange thing
to say, but somebody was looking after me that morning, I don’t know if it was God or just
luck, for not only was a doctor right there on the scene but a British Army patrol was also
near by and were able to use their field dressings to stem the flow of the blood until the
ambulance arrived. My luck continued at the hospital, as the Special Response Team were
already in place, having been called in earlier to attend to a police man who was crushed
by an army vehicle. It only takes about twenty minutes to get the team together but
those twenty minutes were vital for me and if they hadn’t already been there I would not
have made it. I was losing a lot of blood, thirty seven pints they pumped into me as they
couldn’t get the arteries to stop bleeding Finally, after twenty hours in surgery and fears
that I might lose the other leg, and after my heart had stopped a couple of times, the blood
finally had been stopped by the expertise of the surgeons in the City Hospital. Although
18 |
...on that day
It is down to the skill of the surgeons and other health care professionals that I am alive and
have kept one leg for all this time. At the time they said I might only have it for five years
as there were some complications with it – having that one leg has been a God send. I was
in the hospital for a whole year and I have to say I have never really felt down – yes I lost a
leg but I was still alive. That policeman I mentioned, he died. And there have been loads
of other people that have died too, but I still had my life. I was going to see my kids grow
up and get to hold my grand children, and in fact that’s what’s happened.
I found the children that were in the hospital giving me the kick I needed. They were in
one of the Nissan Huts, right beside the adult ward and I had to go in there to get fed as the
food on our ward was crap – they had burgers and chips and stuff, whereas our food was
awful. Any time I was in there I would see them crawling about without legs or missing
an arm, but they looked happy, as if they had accepted what had happened and were just
getting on with it. I thought, if they can do it then so can I, so I never allowed myself to
wallow in self pity – those kids spurred me on.
...on that day
| 19
Looking back, I suppose it was hard, especially for Linda and the kids – they were the ones
that had to cope, I just had to get better. I lost my job, my car and we had to move house
– it was like living in a foreign land, even though it was only about fifteen miles away. But
gone were all the comforts I had known, everything was different and we had to get used
to the difference. There was no groups around in those days, no counselling or anything
like that. I never really think about the people who did this too me – but I would like
to know why. Not even so much for my self, but for that woman I picked up, she was
injured too. They have made me feel guilty about the fact that I picked her up and got her
involved. It wasn’t my fault but that’s the way I feel – there was also a group of woman
going into Murrays Tobacco Factory that morning, right beside were the bomb went off
– I have also
20 |
...on that day
...on that day
| 21
Jenifer’s Story
In the late 1960s I was a normal teenager
going to dances. ‘’The Troubles’’ were
going on but everyone went about their
own business. Bombings and shootings
were becoming an increasingly everyday
occurrence. It was just part of life. Belfast
was a different place then, not like today
with all the clubs and pubs. There were
only a couple of restaurants in town and
one everybody went to was The Abercorn.
It was just something you did when you
went into town, I did anyway. I was there
the day the no warning bomb went off - I
remember it was very busy - there was a
queue to get in. My sister and I made the
decision to wait.
Two girls came in and jumped the queue
and everyone just looked at each other as if
to say, ‘well if you are that desperate.’ When
they left they actually walked past the people
who were to take their seats. I had a cup of
coffee and apple tart and fresh cream [I’m
sure] and asked for the bill. I remember
going to stand up to leave. My memory
from that moment on is a total blank about
what happened until I woke up in Hospital.
I asked a nurse on the ward, ‘where I was’
and she replied, ‘you’re in ward seventeen of
22 |
...on that day
The Royal Victoria Hospital, you have been
in a bomb explosion.’ My right arm was in
plaster and I must have fallen asleep.
My family and good friends came to visit
every day and my spirits were pretty high
initially. On reflection it was a strange sort of
situation. The ward was busy with doctors,
nurses going about their daily routine. [A
mixture of shock and medication maybe]
One day after my mum and younger sister
left the ward I turned in the bed and noticed
my right leg was missing.
I have a recollection of feeling great fear
and screaming. Immediately my mum ran
back to me and said, ‘everything was going
to be alright.’ Thinking about it now what
could a mother say to her daughter in that
situation? My sister, who was thirteen years
old at the time, told me, only recently, that
she will never forget the screams. Afterwards
is all a bit of a blur to me, I was probably
medicated again. The next day Dr. Jackson
[I’ll never forget him] came to explain my
injuries. It was at this time I learned that I
had lost my left leg as well. My memories
of the rest of the day and probably a few
afterwards are a total blank.
...on that day
| 23
In retrospect it was my mother, family and
friends who were dealing with all the initial
devastation. The reality of what happened
in the Abercorn that day really only set
in when I was told of the deaths and the
injuries of all the other people. It was at
this time I discovered that my older sister
Rosaleen had lost both legs and an arm.
God bless my mother – she died last year.
On reflection, I often think about what
she had to deal with. She dealt with the
immediate trauma of going everyday to
the intensive care unit to see my sister
and then up to ward seventeen to visit
me, whilst in some way maintaining some
semblance of a status quo for my younger
sister and brothers. At our home in Manor
Street she had the task of preparing for our
homecoming. One horrific duty she had
to perform was to clear the house of all my
shoes which [I learnt after her death] was
most distressing for her. The shoes she so
proudly watched me walk along Manor
Street in.
It has been over thirty years since the
bomb now – the quality of my life changed
physically in one moment. I found it
2 |
...on that day
difficult at the start, but I never stopped
socializing, my family and friends made
sure of that [they have a lot to answer for.]
But I must say every now and again I think,
how on earth could somebody do all this?
How could anybody walk into a packed
restaurant, leave a bomb and casually
walk out again, it just seems so incredibly
removed from reality.
My mother then was a widow and showed
great strength, we all just got on with life.
It may seem strange but I didn’t really
have time to think about the perpetrators.
However, if I am totally honest and as I
grow older, there are times when I put
myself in my mum’s shoes and if someone
mutilated my family in that way, I believe I
would personally wish to strangle them.
We now have peace and there are
Commissioners in place to speak on behalf
of victims/survivors. It is my wish that they
actively listen to our voices and assist to
enable an internal peace and closure for us
all.
...on that day
| 2
Gerry’s Story
I served as a regular RUC officer for almost
seven years when I was severely injured
by an IRA bomb on 23rd January 1978.
The memory of that fateful incident is a
recurring nightmare, and I don’t feel I’ve
moved on a lot. Since then, I have been
suffering from a complex of psychological
and emotional problems which I link with
what happened more than thirty years ago,
and have no doubt about that whatsoever.
That date shall never be removed from my
memory. I enjoyed good health up until
that date, both physically and mentally.
Since 23rd Jan 1978, there has been a
marked decline in my well-being. The onset
was sudden and occurred at the former
RUC station at Forkhill, Co Armagh, when
it was mortar bombed on the Monday
morning. We found the suspect vehicle,
which had been subsequently cleared by the
ATO [Army Technical Officers]. Attempts
were made to move it, and these were
unsuccessful; we then got keys to try to start
the ignition, and in so doing, activated a
bomb which had been placed somewhere in
the engine department of the vehicle. Both
my colleagues and I were injured.
The most hurtful factor was that I was left
behind at the scene, while the other two
26 |
...on that day
guys were ‘helicoptered’ off to Craigavon
Area Hospital and I was just dumped
there like a dog, left to make my own way.
I can’t put a time frame on the events of
that day. It was shown on the six o’clock
news so it must have happened some time
prior to that. Later that evening I went to
Bessbrook RUC Station and met with two
of my colleagues who were concerned for
my wellbeing, (sadly, both these men were
later murdered by the PIRA in a no warning
bomb in April 1979 – two more casualties
in a futile war for peace). After speaking
to the Superintendent and Chief Inspector,
(two omniscient and rapacious individuals),
I was advised to ‘just’ go on home, despite
having my face bloodied and my clothes
covered in blood. This was indicative of the
attitude of my superior officers towards me.
I requested that I see a doctor, and went to
see a GP in Bessbrook, who had seen me
on TV that night and recommended that I
be admitted to hospital where I spent eight
days as an in-patient. I received treatment
for ear injuries, lacerations to the body, etc.
I then spent a period of six months off
work, after which time I was advised to
return to work. Subsequently when I met
the GP again, he said that I had been sent
back to work too early. No cognisance
...on that day
| 27
was taken of that aspect of the case, and
I became very depressed and uneasy, and
was eventually referred to a consultant
psychiatrist at Craigavon Area Hospital. I
still have a vivid recollection of the events,
painful, debilitating, disturbing, turbulent
- not a pleasant memory; I feel bitter, hurt,
angry, upset, and shameful. Primarily the
hurt would be that my family saw me on
TV and thought that I was helping in my
role as a police officer, not realising that I
was a victim of an IRA atrocity. That I find
difficult to comprehend. Over thirty years
later I am still seeing a specialist for hearing
loss, psychological and depressive disorders
– my life ended on the 23rd January 1978.
There is incalculable fear and paranoia
continually in existence within me, an
ever present fear of vehicles, lorries, dark
coloured vehicles, coal lorries - which are
a rare thing now – indeed any vehicle that
resembles the vehicle which contained the
booby trap bomb device, any vehicle that
is sealed, with a package in the back, I
tend to think, “That could be the suspect
vehicle.” I constantly search for a Bedford
lorry, the one used in the bomb, and I can
clearly recall the pictures of the lorry which
were shown across most of the Northern
Ireland media of me lying on the ground,
like a piece of debris. That’s all that I feel
that I am – a piece of residual debris that
was not picked up by forensics. I feel
bitter towards the Army for not finding the
bomb, I feel bitter towards the perpetrators,
I feel bitter towards the authorities at that
time for letting me drive my car – all the
things I haven’t come to terms with thirty
years later.
I still feel painful and uncomfortable and
embarrassed by what happened. I am
distressed, and have no clear logical thinking
on it. This is constantly there with me, one
28 |
...on that day
hundred and one percent of the time. It
has “turbo-intensity,” it’s in there and it’s
“front page” all the time, twenty four seven.
I am now forced to exist on benefits, and
I probably have a pittance compared with
what I could have earned had I been able to
continue with my career in the RUC. The
major stressors in my life included being
involved in a bomb blast, and then the
break-up of my marriage. The bomb blast
simply broke my spirit. Today, I am very
disillusioned about the whole situation in
Northern Ireland. Indeed, the presence of
terrorists in our government is the ultimate
insult to me, and many like me. As a victim
of the IRA, I am regarded as less significant
than the terrorists who tried to murder me.
I still suffer from what they did to me, and
they are reaping the benefits of their evil
actions.
Gary’s
Story
It wasn’t easy growing up on the Shankill, watching the army and the guns, the bombscares at Tennant Street police barracks. Getting to school was hard though, trying to get
through Ardoyne. But getting a day off was easy, I use to tell my ma there was another
bomb-scare and I couldn’t get up the road to school. In the late 80’s early 90’s, it was a good
craic, most of the time things were good. I seen a lot of violence, people getting murdered,
I saw a loyalist get murdered in a bar once. There was always something going on, but none
of it was really scary, cause you just grew up with it. Riots were brilliant, we use to go to
the Whiterock Parade every year and riot. At one parade wee Herbie blew himself up - he
threw a hand grenade and it blew him up right in front of us.
On the day of the bomb, myself, my mother, her boyfriend and my sister Leanne were just
going about our business. I was going to work and my mother was going to the Co-op
with Paul and Leanne. At Silvio Street we split up. I was heading to work at the Shankill
Stadium. I was in work and about three hours later I heard a big explosion. Everyone
run down the road. You couldn’t see anything cause the whole place was covered in dust.
My first instinct was to dig, just dig, it didn’t matter who for. My mum came looking for
Leanne, mum said she was in the shop. I started panicking. Then the police came and
told us to go to the Mater Hospital cause children were being taken there. But she wasn’t
there – no chance.
...on that day
| 29
I went back to the dig to help anybody, it didn’t matter who. The police took my mum
to Dundonald Hospital but halfway there, they changed directions and took her to Foster
Green instead. This was when my mum first realised Leanne was dead. She knew Foster
Green was the morgue and she must have been dead if they took her there. My uncle came
to the dig and took me home. Mum was still away. Another uncle came home and told me
Leanne was dead. I didn’t believe it. I just went back to the dig. I don’t know what I was
thinking. I just thought I could help someone else. It’s not very often a fifteen year old sees
dead bodies lying around everywhere. My mum identified my sister by her ring and her
jeans. Her first thought was of me, she wanted to hold me and tell me but I was still down
at the dig. They managed to get me back to the house, everyone was crying hysterically.
I couldn’t handle it so I ran away. I ran away to the school’s playing fields. My uncle and
cousin found me and took me back home later that night. From what I remember, no-one
was sleeping - mum was curled up in a ball on the settee.
The days leading to the funeral, the house was packed, you couldn’t get moving. I went
up to a friend’s house in Ballysillan. I couldn’t handle everyone saying sorry. He brought
me back to the house so I just kept myself busy and I made tea and coffee for everyone. I
couldn’t leave the house – couldn’t leave my mum. Doctor’s were coming in and drugging
her to the eyeballs. Everyone came. Some man rapped the door and when I answered it,
he said, “Can Dr Ian Paisley come in”? I said no, mum doesn’t need another doctor. She
has a doctor in there giving her pills, calming her down. Then someone said “let him in”.
He came to the funeral too.
On the day of the funeral there was all this fighting going on about keeping the lid of her
coffin on or off. I went to the funeral parlour the day before. Nobody wanted me too but
I saw Leanne, it didn’t look like her. On the day itself the media were all around the house
something shocking. One of them even got punched. When we were coming out of the
street, Thomas Begley’s funeral was coming down. The crowd there was making gestures
and shouting ‘nine to one’. The funeral route had to be changed then. I didn’t really want
to go down past where she had been killed five days before, and that was hard too. All the
workers from the Shipyard came, thousands of them. They all brought wreaths and signs
and stood for a few minutes silence at the spot. But the funeral was hard, mum collapsed,
she couldn’t cope and we had to get into the car and when we were passing the markets
area, they threw stones at us but the army came and arrested them.
After the funeral, mum wanted to go back to England, she is from there, so me, Mum and
Paul went back with my grandfather to stay in his house. We stayed for two weeks. Six
months later we went back to live in England in a place called Lincolnshire. After a year
we came back and have been living in Bangor ever since. Now trying to sleep at night is
hard. I still have nightmares about the whole aftermath of it all and wake up shouting. I
am usually shouting for Leanne. I get through the day because of my children. I am here
today because of them. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for them.
I am so glad the troubles are over for the simple reason, nobody else is gonna get hurt. It’s
a good thing bringing the country forward. I am bitter though, but just against the person
that done it, not all Catholics. There are Catholics in my family.
30 |
...on that day
...on that day
| 31
Liam’s story
I was attacked after the Good Friday Agreement, almost 10 years ago. That morning will
live with me for the rest of my life. It was the 16th March 1999 I had just opened up
and was walking up the stairs to my office. I’m not sure what it was, but I either sensed
something or heard something, and I as I turned around, a hammer hit me in the head.
There were two men, very young, very fit, dressed in black with ski masks, and I remember
one of the masks had a very red mouth. What saved my life that morning I don’t know
– the police believe that it was attempted murder. The aim was to kill me – they battered
me with hammers, but I fought against them. I was probably lucky that when they first hit
me I fell onto a ledge which kept me above them I should have blacked out but I didn’t.
I have no idea how long the attack lasted, but I took a lot of damage to my left side and
the claws of the hammers were cutting into my legs – I was hit four times in total about
the head. I don’t know what stopped it. I was shouting and screaming for help, kicking
at them and trying everything to stop them from getting too close to me. My left side has
thirty per cent of the power and strength that it should have, in my arm, my leg. It was the
most terrifying thing I have ever gone through – it was up close and very personal. They
never spoke, they never called me anything, and they just kept thumping and thumping at
me. I know I was set up, I can’t prove it, but that was the only morning that week that I
was working on my own, normally there was a squad of men working with me.
This all took place in a cemetery I was the foreman of the cemetery. The police say it was
a sectarian attack, I was one of the most senior catholic staff in the borough and a lot of
people didn’t like me being in that position of authority, they reckon the attack was to try
and get me out. I don’t remember anything after the attack until I was in the ambulance,
I managed to ring the police and I rang my wife and my boss, but I don’t remember doing
it, I only know what people have told me. I went back the following week to try and
make some sense out of it. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. They had to dump
everything out of my office ‘everything’ – the carpet, the phone, everything that had been
covered in my blood, and even though they had cleaned everything up, they still missed my
hand print that had been left on the wall, a ‘bloody’ hand print.
The time after it happened was like a wake in my house without the corpse, so many people
were coming to the house. The first bit of humour we had was one morning when the
doctor called to see me, then the minister and then ten minutes later the undertaker arrived.
The neighbours were panicking, they thought I was dead. The aftermath of the attack is
an experience all on its own. I continually relive the trauma. I now have Post Traumatic
Stress Disorder and I get paraplegic migraines where I lose power all down the left side of
my body – it has the symptoms of a stroke and I can take up to fifteen a month. They come
32 |
...on that day
...on that day
| 33
in clusters – I might take six or seven within three or four days. They are better controlled
now with the medication and I have learned to cope with them that way. However, I am
finding that it’s not so much the migraines themselves that are difficult, but the aftermath
which is often much worse. I can’t use my left side for hours and my left arm just hangs
useless. The right side of my face goes numb, my eyesight goes and I can see only colours.
The pain that comes with the headaches is unbearable. I wear a black mask to cut out the
light and I have to lie down for maybe up to eight hours, after each attack I’m useless, and
there is no set pattern. I usually get a warning, two fingers on my left hand start to tingle
which usually gives me ten to fifteen minutes to prepare, but you learn to adapt.
My relationships have suffered as a result of the attack my marriage broke up for a short
time, but I managed to persuade my wife to come back. I have a very strained relationship
with my youngest daughter which I am working on. When you are in a depression things
come out of your mouth that’s not actually in your head. I have said some very hurtful
things – I wasn’t physically violent or anything, but very verbally and mentally cruel to my
family, without whom I wouldn’t be here. My wife left me and told me to sort myself out
– it was a wakeup call, it was then that I decided I couldn’t do it my own anymore and I
came to WAVE as a recommendation from my doctor. I needed to be somewhere with
people that understand the trauma I have gone through.
The anger is still there, the depression is still here, and I still suffer from the symptoms
of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but you just learn to manage them a bit better. I can
control the anger a lot better, it no longer controls me. I have a positive outlook in life now
– before it was just self pity. Many victims go through that, and many don’t come out the
other side the way I have. Fortunately I have good support from my family, WAVE and
my friends, and it has helped, but as I have said I still suffer from the physical impact of the
attack even today, ten years later. I was very active in DIY and a keen gardener, but I can’t
do that any more – I do wee bits and pieces, but I do everything now so damn slowly. I do
miss work and the contact with people – I would have spoken to more in a week than most
would do in a month and I was good at my job. I was in the job for seventeen years and I
know I am missed. I had an affinity with the bereaved, it came naturally to me. There are
now also financial constraints on me now I can no longer earn the money I used to before
I was injured.
I know I am going to get worse physically over the next ten years. I am on a cocktail of
medication that would turn your head. I get so frustrated with it but I have learned to
adapt. I got to a stage where I decided to do something – to fight back – to go forward
rather than back all the time. I am involved in the Injured and Men’s groups in WAVE
and I try to keep myself active, if not in body but in mind – to give myself less time to
wallow in self pity. I’ve gone through all this – I’ve damaged my marriage, damaged the
relationships with my children – I had got as low as I could go, and I thought to myself I
have to do something to get myself back up. I now do some voluntary work for WAVE and
through this I am getting to meet more people who have gone through something similar
to me and have found that talking to these people lets me see that I am not alone in being
an injured victim of the ‘troubles’.
34 |
...on that day
Joe’s Story
In 1972 I was just standing outside my
father’s shop with my friends and some
other children. The shop was next door to a
well known republican bar. I was fifteen at
the time. Suddenly this car drove past me,
although at first I never paid any attention to
it, until it drove round for the second time.
It stopped right beside me and I was staring into the face of a person with a gun, who
wanted to kill me. He smiled then laughed, as I turned my back to hopefully block his
view from hurting any one else, because my sister and brother were some of the children
that were playing around the shop. I was shot in the back that night - my mum ran out
from the shop and ran over to help another child who was hurt, not knowing that I was
lying on the road dying, until someone told her. I watched my brother die at the age of
nine, now my mother was watching me die. My mother with all her pain past away in
2005 - my father followed her in 2006.
That night in 72, I was seriously injured but I should have died, because while I was in the
operating theatre the surgeons were coming in and out telling my mum and dad not to be
hopeful - the blood just would not stop. The bullet went through my back and out my left
groin, it severed the main vein that supplies blood to the leg - they tied the vein like a piece
of cord. Later when I was taken to intensive care, I was woken by screams - at that time I
didn’t know where I was - I just remember the screams.
I later found out that there were two other people in the room, but I was the only one to
come out alive. I still feel cheated if I can be honest though - before leaving hospital I was
told I may never father a child due to my injury, but the good news is that the swelling in
the leg would disappear within a year or two - it never has and it never will. In 1995, (the
same year as my daughter was born), I was told by surgeons at the Royal Victoria Hospital,
that what happened back then in 1972, (the surgery I received), was basically to save my
life, “for us as surgeons at the Royal to reverse that operation, will almost certainly end it”
but I was not told this until twenty five years later, and that hurts.
My second injury was 1974, when I was with two friends and we were standing out side
a chip shop. One of my friends was only fourteen, and again my back was turned to the
gunman. My other two friends were facing the road, suddenly one of my friends pushed
me to the ground and I remember hearing gunfire - it all happened so quick. The next
thing I remember was me trying to see if my friend was okay, he was just lying there still. I
crawled over to him to shake him but he did not move. I tried to lift his head up, but small
parts of it fell into my hand. He died on his way to the hospital, although I didn’t know
this until a couple of hours later when my father brought me over to the police station to
give a statement. When walking out of the station I remember clearly the policeman say,
...on that day
| 35
“weren’t you lucky”. Funny, I didn’t feel lucky that day - I
did feel mentally tortured and he didn’t even ask was I
okay. On top of this I also had a leg injury, yet I was left
to cope alone, and cope alone I did for six years sitting in
the house I was petrified with fear - it was pure fear.
Philip’s Story
Back then I would be just sitting in the chair - peeling
off bits of wallpaper - leaving big patches on the wall,
and other crazy things. This went on for about six
years, until my mother could take no more - two
doctors called to the house and they had one look at
me, and one of them said, “we need to get you help
quick “. It took a breakdown to get help I needed.
I truly believed I was going mad - my injures now
are getting worse as time goes by - because it’s been
left so long, a thirty five year old blockage is blocking the flow of
blood in my leg, and nothing can be done to fix it.
The doctors view was “thank your lucky
stars you had thirty six years - go home
and reflect on that thought”. I have
had several major traumas in my life,
two of which I have mentioned, but
the biggest by far has been the death of
my daughter on the 21st of December
2003 - but I don’t feel bitter about it,
because to feel bitter would mean defeat
and I don’t know the meaning of the
word ‘defeat’. Although thankfully out
of all this darkness, there is hope, but
this time I can’t do it alone. Sometimes
I need help and understanding, but
most of all just a bit of compassion.
This would go along way to keep that
light of hope burning bright, because
without that help darkness could fall
again. Hope was possible because of the
courage I believe I showed, and also the
belief I have in myself, and then WAVE
- without them hope would have been
to high to reach.
The bereaved in my story will never be
forgotten as I hope the injuries that I
have suffered are not forgotten.
36 |
...on that day
My story takes me back to 1972 - it was
a lovely summer’s morning and I was off
school. Some of my friends were going to
Ballycastle for their holidays that day - I
had a bike and usually I would have been
out and around with them, but as they were
all away I was really bored. I remember my
mother taking me down Duncairn Gardens
to the shops, I hated shopping, but because
there was no one to look after me I had to
go - so off I went down the Antrim Road
with my mother, sister and wee cousin.
This was during some of the worst times of
the ‘Troubles’ but my memory is of people
laughing, sun shining, and the sound of the
water rushing as we approached the Water
Works.
Then somebody said there’s a bomb at
Brookevale and everybody was herded in
one direction, supposedly to get away from
the bomb - we ran through Newington to
the Limestone Road. I remember waiting
for the green man to come up so I could
cross the road, unknown to me that the
bomb was in the boot of a car parked near
by, outside the Ulster Bank. I couldn’t
tell you if that was the target or not and I
...on that day
| 37
suppose it’s not important, but in a split
second the sunshine turned to darkness,
and there was pain, confusion, noise and
fear. The look of blood was everywhere but
I didn’t know if was it me or those around
me. – There was screaming across the road,
‘what’s happening?’. I was losing a lot of
blood and I started seeing double.
A soldier put me into the back of a jeep
and started patching me up and then the
ambulance came. I was supposed to go to
the hospital at Dundonald but another
bomb went off in Oxford Street at the
same time – in fact twenty one bombs
went off that day, so Dundonald was full
and I ended up going to the Royal. At the
Royal I was lucky enough to be treated by
a surgeon called John Robb – it was pure
luck, he just took the first trolley going in
which was mine. I say ‘luck’ because the
reality was I was supposed to lose my leg
and most probably would have done, had
I have gone to Dundonald, but he decided
to do an operation called micro surgery,
(relatively unknown in Northern Ireland at
the time) - his view on it was, ‘listen if we
do the micro surgery and it works we might
be able to save the leg - if it doesn’t work
we’ve lost the leg anyway. So he did the
micro surgery, and five hours later he saved
the leg, which was the first prototype of its
kind in Northern Ireland.
name calling at school, bullying, all the
usual stuff to the point where rather than
trying to explain what had happened to me,
I became quite violent. I felt no remorse in
hitting somebody – I know this is totally
wrong, but it was the only way I could cope
at the time. In later years I felt all this was
another outcome of that one minute of
madness. Youngsters can be extremely cruel
with each other but they don’t see the result
and the outcome of their actions. It’s not
till years later that they actually see what
destruction it does. At the time, I was a
child and it was tough, but it was also tough
on my parents – even to this day I don’t
know how they coped, but they did, and
I’m so glad they did.
I woke up after the surgery and the first
thing I seen was the cage over my legs. I
said ‘where’s my legs, I can’t feel my legs’.
It was very frightening, and fear was a big
thing at that age you know, but not just the
fear, the pain and damage that was caused
too. I couldn’t walk for a long time - I was
in callipers and in splints. I went through
six different operations.
As a parent now, I wonder how I would
cope. I used to think I was very brave
because we lived in a Nationalist area - it
was already proclaimed it was a Republican
organisation that carried out the atrocity,
but we still had to live in that environment
- the people who carried it out were the very
people we lived amongst. So the bravery
and heroism shown by my father, (because
to be quite honest he couldn’t just say I don’t
want to live here anymore), is emotionally
touching. All those years they kept us from
hate and from revenge - they kept us from
looking for some retribution for this. It
wasn’t easy - I can’t put my hand on my heart
and say that I was particularly admirable or
forgiving - I make no apologies for that, but
only for them I might have looked for some
revenge, because I was hearing things and
children calling me things and nobody was
paying for it and maybe, when you grow up
into your teenage years, you feel somebody
has to pay. But with the guidance of my
parents I didn’t really go down that road,
but their pain must have been immense.
Then there was the psychological problems,
When you think about the injury and the
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psychological problems connected with it
it’s mostly negative, but their were some
positive aspects as well. One big positive
was that I became a swimmer. I couldn’t do
very many sports when I was young as the
leg was too weak, so to build up the muscles
in my leg I used to go swimming, up to five
times a week in the evenings. My father
took me when he came home from work,
which again can’t have been easy for him as
he worked long hours as a lorry driver, but
he seen the benefits of it which is why he
encouraged me. He could see the recovery
I was making and the mountains
that I climbed, and I feel it paid
off to the point that I became a
teacher and an instructor in Royal
Life saving. I started instructing
others – the disability was no
longer the barrier it once was.
strong as they were, and you start looking
for things to blame, and it angers me that
I sometimes blame the injury. Then I get
slightly annoyed with my self, which is
obviously a negative point, but it’s a grey
area between what then starts affecting you
physically because you do not so much get
depressed but you do become down - you
have bad days when you feel ‘why me?’ and
that this should never have happened and
what would my life be like now if it never
happened? – What could I have achieved if
I never went shopping that day?
That’s not to say that I am still
not living with the effects of what
happened – I’m in my forties
now but I am still in pain, but
then again I have been living
with the pain since I was nine
years old - when somebody
says, ‘how far can you walk
without pain?’, the answer is
‘I don’t walk without pain’. I
don’t say this to make people
feel sorry for me, because I
am a realist, I know the older
you get you are bound to
go down the hill - it’s how
slowly you make it down the
hill that matters - how much
respect and how much
determination you have
to stay physically active.
It’s a sort of psychological
thing - you reach a stage
in life sometimes where
your ambitions are not as
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| 9
wrong with my ankle. I was sore from head to toe like it was getting hit with a fucking
train or something - there was smoke coming out of my back too and I didn’t know what
was going on. Then a car came half way down the street and McGirr jumped out of the car
and grabbed me, threw me into the car and it drove straight down and into the hospital.
I don’t know how long I was there for but I was starting to calm down and then my
Ma came in. I heard afterwards that me Ma thought I was lying on one of the roofs or
something. She started shouting like fuck, I don’t know all what she was saying as my ears
were still muffled but I could kinda make some words out. She was shouting about it ‘was
yous bastards, it wasn’t the army’, you know something like that. I had a big shrapnel burn
right down my back and me ankle had my shoe more or less melted on it. It was all burnt
like and just couldn’t walk on it.
My Ma was more or less panicking because I should have been in school that day and
she was shit scared of you know somebody coming and saying what’s your son doing at a
funeral and he should have been at school you know that way. So it was more or less don’t
ever mention it and I don’t know, but I remember this big giant box of lego appearing in
the house, that’s one thing I remember, I remember playing with that for about a year, I
know just every day of the week like. But never mentioning the bomb - see my Ma was
blew up too and my granny was blew up. I think they all seen the same things as I did but
it was never mentioned – that was their way of coping and mine too I suppose.
Seamus’s Story
I was born in 1966 in Ardoyne, the old Ardoyne they called it and I was about three when
the troubles kicked off. When I was ten I was caught up in a bomb. I was at the funeral
of a friend of my brothers who was shot dead at the bottom of Flax Street. It was April
77, either the 20th or the 22nd (I don’t really like keeping the date in my head), anyway,
there were two guys killed. We were waiting on the coffin coming out and then this
pandemonium just broke out. It wasn’t the way I thought a bomb would go - no big
mad noise in your ears or nothin, more of a bingggg sound, but I remember getting threw
through hedges at the bottom of Highbury Gardens, about four doors up.
I seen the two dead fellas, one was just standing there and I jumped back and I looked at
him and he had no head, you know his head was ripped off him and I just kept on looking
at him because he just collapsed into a heap and the blood was everywhere. I saw the other
guy too and I think he had no arms, I just started screaming and screaming. I turned and
run up Highway Gardens and as I was running I started noticing there was something
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I didn’t know the names of the two guys that were killed or even the date of the bomb up
until the whole Holy Cross thing kicked off. That’s when I started finding out more about
it – looking back now at my own employment record from when I was young, I always
found that round about April or March I would blow up. I start off a whole new year and
go right this year I’m not going to fucking think about anything like that but then it gets
close to the date and it goes on and on – that’s just the way it affects you. Growing up
in this place you can’t help but be affected and it’s not just the bomb. When I was about
eighteen I started work and I met my first Protestant - you know in Ardoyne you don’t
meet no Protestants, you don’t see anybody like that and for some brilliant good fortune
the fella that I met was ould Hughie from Tigers Bay and he was one of the best people I
ever met in my life.
You see from been blew up and then right through the hunger strike and all, you learned
to hate - if somebody had came to me and said ‘here’s a bomb’, ‘do you want to bring that
and blow somebody up ?’ , I’d have done it, but for some reason meeting ould Hughie
was an eye opener for me, you know they weren’t all bastards, and it was a pleasure going
to work. I think old Hughie kinda put me on a path away from where I could have went
and ended up fuckin been a bomber or something myself. And then I’d have been sitting
fuckin, my head up my hole because I killed somebody. So in a way I’m glad, some ways
I think to myself about the bomb that there was a lot of mates who after that day ended
up going to jail and all, some of them ended up you know joining the IRA, and this could
have been me.
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