The Crumlin Road Canteen

In the series “Life on Mars’ the boss calls a meeting. The shock is that his colleagues are smoking, drinking, , eating pies and generally behaving in a way that nobody under 55 could remember.

I have read the Police Ombudsman’s report into the Loughinisland killings and , hopefully, I will write about it. But the point which is missed by him is the historical context. It is as if two men went into a pub in leafy Surrey and carried out an atrocity and the local Bobbies, with time on their hands, screwed up.

Let me describe the Crumlin Road courthouse in the 1980s. I do this  for two reasons. First , because, as a matter of policy, anyone associated with prosecuting for the Crown in those days has been erased from history as part of the deal with SF/IRA and secondly to explain what life was really like.

As one approached the courthouse from the city direction, there was frequently a RUC or army road stop. Only the bold prosecutor approached from the Ardoyne direction. This I did occasionally. More frequently I drove my GTI Golf at 90 mph down the M2 and then came up from the city centre.

At the entrance to the courthouse there was a security team who wanted to inspect your car, including boot and engine compartment.

This team was covered both from the open ground and from the heavily armed sangar.

Once inside the grounds, a further check might be carried out.

The Director of Public Prosecutions had its offices on the top floor of the building. Not a problem when one is fit.

More important was the canteen, to be found on the left hand side of the ground floor. Here was a microcosm of the Troubles. It was a small room, a counter at the far end and a number of tables. Behind the counter Etta presided. She had been at school with my Dad. She and her staff produced a wide array of food. From the black coffee and a possible scone for the barrister to the fry for the constable.

Why is this story important?

Because each morning the fug in that room had to be seen to be believed. There was no ban on smoking. Officers who had been out all night on duty and who were now required to attend court to give evidence in a terrorist trial , were trying to dry off their uniforms while having a fag and an fry. Later they would try to get home for a few hours sleep before another spell of duty.

Sometimes it was hard to see across the room. I recall chatting to colleges about how nice it would be to get away to the Med. One said, “isn’t it great to walk down to the local shop and buy croissants and yesterday’s paper and come back and read them in the sun?” Another described how beads of water ran down the outside of a bottle of white wine, placed on your table.

That was just escapism. On a day when the great and the good have joined together to mark the first day of the Somme, it is important that we do not wait one hundred years to mark what ordinary men did to protect society in Northern Ireland.

As , Dear Reader, you judge the acts and omissions of policemen and lawyers and read the Police Ombudsman’s report, prepared at length, in a non smoking environment, reflect on what life was really like and how the Crumlin Road canteen, shared with police officers, prosecutors, witnesses, paramilitaries ,Patrick Finucane, Paddy McGrory, Oliver Kelly and Seamus Tracey was a microcosm of how the troubles was really played  out.

 

 

 

My life in a banana republic: June

Jambo, Jambo!

My great news is that I will soon be graduating from the Queen’s great university [where her anthem is no longer heard].

The badness is that , because of your tribal wars, I may return to my own peaceful African country.

The Great She Elephant failed to win an OUT vote yet she remains in power. How can her tribe explain that?

The two tribes united to say that they wanted to remain in Ireland and the EU. The Picts across the water voted similarly. So from Cork to Aberdeen the people are of one voice.

Meanwhile one Eton boy is resigning as Prime Minister and another, who might have beaten him or given him lines, wants to take the job.  I seem to remember the BBC casting fun at my country’s rulers.

The leader of the opposition is a strange man who reads many emails and dresses in the dark. Nobody believes that he can be a Head Man, because he is a ganch. This is a word my Sandy Row friends taught me.

There is a vacuum, in my country the generals would by now have parked the tanks on the lawns.

What has happened to the Mother of Parliaments?

Meantime , Ministers from the new assembly are sneaking around burying bad news. The Great She Elephant thinks that her football team, which played 4 , won 1 and scored 2 goals, should be greeted as heroes. Do you remember Winnie Mandela’s football team? Ask the family of Stompi Moeketsi. Politicians should do what they do best, telling lies, not supporting football.

To make it more confusing, Her Gracious Majesty visited the Giant’s Causeway today. I wonder if she thinks it was made 6,000 years ago?

My brother rang me. He has an import/export business in Africa. It does trade from Egypt to Cape Town. He offered me a job. He says I should come home to a stable country where there is a legitimate government, where the tribes worked out a pecking order fifty years ago and where there is a market for goods.

This offer is very tempting.

Jambo jambo!

Palmgate

As told to our reporter by “CSI5”.

“Well it was like any other morning in the fingerprint branch. I had done a couple of TADAs and three burglaries. So, like, it’s break time and I’m in the canteen, having a bacon bap and a mug of tea. I was reading the Sun, just for the sport, you know. Anyway , somebody threw the News Letter on the table and I saw the word ‘Kingsmill’. My dad used to be a bread server with Barney Hughes and I just thought it was an ad for bread. I like bread, so I looked more closely. It turns out it’s all about a massacre that took place in the seventies, before I was born. That’s probably why I knew nothing about it and had never, ever heard of it, even in the last six months. So I got to thinking, what if I could help? How could I help? Maybe there’s  a palm print un-identified since 1976, happens all the time.

So I said ‘Boss, any chance I could do the Kingsmill?’ He laughed. ‘You bored?’ he said.  ‘Go on then’ So fortunately, even though it hasn’t been investigated in yonks, I was able to find the file very quickly and there was indeed an unidentified palm print. My hands were trembling as I put it through the system. Within minutes I had matched it to a set of famous republican dabs.

I said ‘Boss, look at this’. Two of my mates confirmed it.

Now I’m the talk of the department, the Boy Wonder of prints!

I’ve had requests for help from the Lucan investigation and from the Kennedys. I thought that bakery had gone out of business.

Funny old [forensic] world.”

Ice cream, Gillen and the state

Many of you , Dear Readers, who have read about the book; “They killed the Ice Cream Man” will not be surprised by the allegations made by the Larmours.

Since I started my research in earnest two years ago, veteran observers had no difficulty in telling me about these practices. It was well known that senior members of PIRA were state agents and permitted to continue directing terrorism. They would have been little use to the spooks otherwise. On occasions they were permitted to commit murder, either directly or as someone who was involved in planning or directing. Look at the activities of  Loyalist Mark Haddock for a mirror image of the practice.

One name that came up frequently was Brian Gillen. My informants were in no doubt that he had been turned by the state and that he continued to operate in the role of Belfast Brigade commander. I named him as a participant in my blog ” The murderers of my parents”.

I have no difficulty in stating that he is the person referred to by the Armours and by by Ed Moloney. I have also made this allegation , some time ago to the Police Ombudsman.

Just as disturbing as these revelations are, what is more disturbing is that the State and its employees and ex employees refuse to admit that these tactics were used. I have had assurances from the PSNI, the Police Ombudsman and the Secretary of State that there was no advance intelligence of the murders of my parents . The same bodies have denied that an informer participated in the planning or execution of the murders.

A glance at my blog will show the one or more State agency is telling lies.

The Director of Public Prosecutions declined to direct the police to investigate Martin McGuinness’ role in the murders of my parents, despite Ed Moloney naming him in his book; “A secret History of the IRA”. He was quick to direct investigations into the Army on similar information. The Attorney General, despite his close interest in major issues such as abortion and gay discrimination, has declined to direct a fresh inquest, which would be required to examine special branch files.

The questions for readers are these. Are all those, like me, who have published names and activities, deluded? Or are we just scraping the surface of the State’s involvement in the dirty war? Is the State terrified of what might become known? Are Adams McGuinness and others equally frightened?

I’m given hope by the Hillsborough families. One day the truth will be known.

My life in a banana republic:May

Jambo Jambo!

My thesis is looking good and I have a little time to digress.

Who is this fellow Gerry Adams?

Is he your Quentin Tarantino? He has certainly a good imagination.

I have researched him because he printed the word “nigger”.

I have been called a nigger. I said “honky” back. Many songs by black artists refer to “niggas”.

If this Adams fellow says “nigger”, whom does he offend? All the back people in the world? That would be strange, because he has only 112,000 followers and there are 37 million blacks in the USA, alone. Did anyone say that they were offended at his use of the word or was it just his [white] political enemies?

But back to this Gerry fellow. He is good at making things up, Dingle tells me. He said that not getting into the White House was like being at the back of the bus. This is a reference , apparently , to Rosa Parks. She was a nigger, a protestant and the grand daughter of a Scots Irish person. She had no beard. She did not espouse violence. As Mr Connolly said in a letter to the Irish Times, on 18th March , the only thing that he and Rosa have in common is that neither was in the IRA.

I have researched this point. Gerry must have been the street wimp. Also at St Finnian’s primary school. When his mates were playing at being rebels, was he looking at pictures of goats and dogs? Was he beaten up often for being the only non rebel in his class? When they said “yo, Ger, are you joinin’ the hood?” Did he say ,  he was training to pull a good pint and buy a trampoline?

This fellow played a big part in negotiations with the British. This does not happen if you are not a terrorist. Look at Cyprus and all the African countries. The British did deals with terrorists. Imagine the situation. “Hello Ambassador, I represent Bongo Bongo.” “Are you from the Bongo Bongo Peoples’ front?” “No”. “Well bugger off, I want to speak to a top a terrorist who can deliver something.”

I spoke to Dingle, who was vexed. He said that Gerry had claimed to be a founder of the Civil Rights movement. Dingle said that this was a lie. Dingle had stoned them at Buntollet and he is sure that Adams was not there. Perhaps he was tending the bar in Belfast.

However I am now seeing a pattern. All British colonies are handed over to terrorists. There is then great and lasting corruption. They then send emissaries to London and the Prime Minister, who had an offshore account, says that they are corrupt.

It is fortunate that the Peoples’ Front for the Liberation of Bongo Bongo received no Semtex from Gadafy. Then you would know! Niggas be up for it!

So, now I wonder if I should convert my masters into a doctorate? I am happy in the religious quarter of Belfast and now that the Great She Elephant has been proclaimed as leader, it might be interesting. No abortion, no gay marriage, the right to discriminate against gays, so many un-British things. I feel quite at home. I wonder where the DUP stand on FGM?

Jambo Jambo!