The News of our deployment and NI Training
Chapter 3
In 1986 we were given the news that the Queens Lancashire Regiment was to be sent to Northern Ireland. The dates set were from 25th March to 30th July 1987. This was to be 128 days of continuous operational duty.
I remember my first feelings on hearing the news was one of great, I' hadn't signed up to the Army to be a 'barrack room' boy. I loved nothing more than being out in the field on exercise. So active duty was welcomed.
As more details of the 'tour of duty' were given, these initial feelings only strengthened. We were to be based in West Belfast. We may also be the first battalion that could go armed with the SA80 (a new assault rifle in the late 80's).
There were a lot of 'older' serving soldiers who had already served in Northern Ireland. The first of many reality checks were now given by these
members of the regiment. Pictures and stories of previous tours were often shown or recounted.
My eldest brother Martin, who as a youngster I saw as 'god like' had already seen active service in Northern Ireland. I saw this as another opportunity to follow in my big brothers footsteps.
There seemed to be a flurry of activity now in camp (Alanbrook Barracks, Paderborn, West Germany). We had a strong exercise regime anyway, but this was stepped up and over the following months leading up to deployment, each day got progressively busier and busier.
A cycle of runs, physical training and a type of martial art were soon joined by other types of lessons.
Before these new lessons started the regiment was shuffled so that the rifle companies were brought up to operational strength. This was partly due to some of the rifle companies needing either to be larger or having an extra platoon. Normally a company had three rifle platoons but due to the workloads extra platoons were added.
This meant that the platoon I was then in (MILAN) and the company (Support) was broken up and 'issued' to the rifle company's. This was the first time I was really 'pissed off' after receiving the news of our pending deployment. After working so hard to pass my Anti Tank course and make new mates, it felt that I was been sent off again. I trusted my mates in MILAN platoon and knew them well. However, staying as a full support company platoon was not to be and I was sent 'off' to C Company 9 Platoon.
The squad I was in was also made up of Support Company personnel. The commander, Ben was from Mortars. Chris was also from Mortars while Terry and I were both from MILAN.
Terry I knew well from MILAN. He was a real character and always quick with a joke. He was also looked upon as a senior member due to both the time he'd been with the regiment and his age which looking back now was not all that old! Chris was a well liked guy with a large group of friends. He was the next youngest after me. Ben was a well respected and highly competent NCO. He never abused his rank and would never ask you do something he would not be prepared to do himself.
I therefore felt confident with the team I was placed in and this grew more through training.
As more and more details came out, the disappointment about Support Company being broken up went away. I'm sure each company thought they had the 'hardest' area of responsibility, but I am sure that C Company did in fact have the hardest nut to crack.
This knowledge helped with the increasing strain of training and lengthening days of activity. Extra lessons were added, face recognition, body searching, patrolling techniques, and identifying booby traps, the list went on.
Most lessons were given by the NCO's as normal. This showed the level of experience they already had with Northern Ireland. I was lucky Ben had experience to burn. Another NCO who I found also knew his stuff was 'Smiler' Howarth. He was like Ben also from Mortars and would lead a team in 9 Platoon C Company as well.
Smiler's area of expertise and the lessons he gave was mostly on body searches. The main obstacle to overcome was actually getting the guys to
properly search another 'man'. Smiler made you 'pat down' properly. He would hide guns or grenades down his pants and if you didn't 'find' them he would show you how easy it was to disguise the whereabouts of 'large' items. This wouldn't be done in a manner that belittled but it would be repeated until Smiler was confident you could, and would, search properly.
Lessons on face recognition would run late into the night. Catch phrases like "absence of the normal and presence of the abnormal" were repeated over and over again. Mug shots of known terrorist and major players were shown and had to be memorised. Each person was also given a smaller list of people that they were to, when deployed, keep an 'extra' lookout for and to report immediately the time, date and whereabouts the person was seen.
Longer and longer runs, always finishing with having to scale the vehicle wash bay wall at the back of our camp in Paderborn. The wall was well over 7 feet high and I hadn't had to negotiate anything like this since basic training.
It was while doing these obstacles that I first noticed a lump in my chest. I reported 'sick' one morning to have this looked at only to be told "not to worry about it". Almost a year later, after we returned from Northern Ireland, I realised this lump had 'grown' and after reporting 'sick' again, a tumor was finally 'found' and removed.
Training continued through Christmas and into the New Year. MOD documentaries were played. These ranged from what to do if you were hit by a petrol bomb through to the effects of being burnt (with actual archive footage on all subjects). It was stressed over and over again to wear only the kit provided. The armoured plates from flak jackets must not be removed and the space used to carry aid memoirs (small pocket books with what to do in the event of reminders). Only DPM's (Disruptive Patern Material commonly known as camouflage clothing) were to be worn. These, we were told, gave extra seconds worth of protection when on fire or splashed by acid. Time lapse footage was shown to demonstrate this.
On and on went this type of training but there were no complaints that I heard about. Everyone seemed focused on the tasks at hand and although the hours having to be done were long and went on late into the night, I guess this was all part of the training to get us used to the physical and mental strain we would go through later.
A name of an exercise area appeared I'd never heard of before. Even stranger to me was that this area was in Germany. An imminent exercise at this destination was to be the culmination of all the training we were to receive prior to our departure to Northern Ireland. The name was 'Tin City'.
'Tin City' had, over time, grown from a corrugated, fabricated mock up of buildings to a purpose built bricks and mortar establishment. It was a replica of a 'typical' Irish/British village/town complete with terraced houses, church, and the corner pub. Parts of it were still corrugated iron but the vast majority was now stone. There were different, separate parts of this complex, each specialising in different techniques.
One example was a 'live' firing 'suburb' where special ammunition was used. All areas were wired into a control centre where your actions were recorded and later played back as part of the training.
And so it was that on a cold, wet morning in early 1987, C Company was loaded into trucks for our turn at 'Tin City'. It was still winter. No leaves on any trees but the last of the snow had thawed leaving behind plenty of mud.
I was fortunate in as much as I had seen 'Tin City' a few months earlier when a group of us did guard duty at this facility, without realising what it was or that we would be back. But for the majority this was the first time they would see it. I had, while on guard duty, only seen the main gate into 'Tin City' itself, and the guard room with its rows of security camera monitors.
Around 'Tin City' proper were open fields and, in the distance hedgerows and trees. I have no idea how big this area actually was but it felt huge. The actual boundary of the MOD security area was not visible.
Looking back, I should have recognised that the area did not look like German agricultural fields but more like those found in the UK.
After a few hours drive we arrived at our destination. We were all cold but in good spirits. I had spent most of the trip playing cards with some of the guys. When we were all unloaded and formed up, an NCO stepped forward and introduced himself. I didn't see the regiment he belonged to but he was not from the QLR.
"Welcome", he said. "Nothing much planed for today", and with that there was a huge explosion behind us. Unfazed, he went on "After you have settled in we will start with a few demonstrations and then the real fun begins". We were then shown to our barracks, which were a replica SF compound, and were soon back outside for a series of demonstrations on explosives.
For an 18 year old, as I was then, this was bloody brilliant stuff. The object of this first lesson was that no matter how small the package an
explosive device can do serious harm. To highlight this were the final two detonations.
The first was in the form of a cigarette packet and was a fire bomb. These types, we were informed, were designed for clothing stores or crowded shops. They would be 'left' in rubbish bins or 'dropped' on the ground and were on a timer. An impressive amount of fire ball was produced from this when it was detonated.
The second was a letter bomb. This example was in a normal sized envelope and would normally be set off by a photo sensitive reaction. The instructor, after describing the weight etc, placed the envelope on a wooden desk. He then remote detonated the 'envelope', simulating it being opened. There was a loud boom and the desk shattered into splinters. Very thought provoking.
Back inside, in the lecture room which looked like a mini amphitheatre, a brief run down on what we would be taught was gone over.
"We shall", said the instructor from the explosives demonstration, "teach you correct patrolling techniques. How to set up VCP's and man them. We'll have different weapon demonstrations and a 'live' firing range for you to play in. There'll also be a riot amongst other things. But nothing much planned for "today".
It was this last phrase that we all soon learned meant anything but "nothing much planned for today".
"Right then", he continued. "We'll now show you a film on patrolling and after lunch see what bad habits your NCO's have been showing you".
To this there was a general laugh as our own NCO's had, of course, been teaching us for some time how to patrol around our battalion barracks. A screen rolled out from behind the instructor and the film started. From what I remember of it, it was made up of various camera angles and different unconnected footage. Some shots were from training, some were from patrols out on the streets of Northern Ireland.
Some angles were of the over the shoulder/first person perspective. Others were from the 'terrorist' perspective. The film finished and during lunch most people talked about the fact that we were going to be filmed. Like most people I heard, this was a bit unnerving to me as it was getting caught 'fucking up' on camera in front of your mates that worried me most.
Anyway, after lunch we kitted up. This was one of the first instances where I thought things may not be quite as they should be.
The reason for this was that there were no 'flak' jackets issued. Not enough to go around, we were informed and in-fact I don't remember putting one on until we reached Belfast. So, a proportion of the training would be done without all the kit we would use daily while on active duty.
So, on our first walkabout around 'Tin City' we wore, to use Army slang, boots combat, suit DPM, shirt and jumper itchy (both garments we wouldn't wear in Ireland) and beret head for the use of. We also had our personal weapons. The SA80 had not arrived in time so we would be taking the SLR. I was more than happy with this as I loved the SLR, but the SA80 would be, after all its problems had been 'ironed' out, a more practical weapon. Once we were in our 'kit' we went to the lecture room and had our patrol route given.
Terry was the 'path finder' of our brick, Ben, as brick commander, would be next 'in line', followed by Chris and I was 'tail end Charlie'. Each member had to memorise the patrol route, however, and all the other information given.
As a platoon we were then formed up in the yard of the 'SF' base. Blank firing ammo was loaded and, as would later become second nature, we walked up to the 'loading' bay and chambered a round. It was then our turn to run through the gate. I didn't know it at the time but this was the first time that our call sign, E14C, would walk a street together. The only things I remember about this first patrol in 'Tin City' were some thing's that happened when we got back inside.
While out 'patrolling' it had started to rain. The wind which had soon picked up had caused the rain to soon start to freeze. However the patrol continued, as you'd expect. When it was finished we unloaded our weapons and went to our rooms to change into dry kit for the debrief. Now, some 'bricks' had carried GMPG's out on 'patrol'. Again, this was strange, as we wouldn't end up using GPMG's in an urban environment. However back to the story. When walking with a GPMG, it was carried with the aid of a sling.
Now back in our bunk room, we found out that the rain had turned to ice on our clothes and there were certain joints that could not be moved. A member of another 'brick' who had carried a GPMG went to 'throw' off the GPMG onto his bed. He bent his head down and pushed the GPMG away from him in an arc that, under normal conditions, would send it flying onto his bed. But these were not normal conditions and the sling had frozen to his back, so when after going 40-50 cm the sling was at full extension, it 'rebounded' straight back and hit him on his head, sending him flying.
Of course, we pissed ourselves laughing at this.
The other thing I remember was during the debrief. A video of the patrol was played. At various points though the video, instructors had walked up to members out on patrol to ask different questions. The one I remember was when a guy I was in basic training with was asked, "If you were shot at would you fire back, and do you think you'd be able to hit your target?" His reply was, "Yes, I would shoot back and I feel confident that I would hit the target aimed for". The camera then panned down to show that his rear sight was folded down and he would have lost valuable seconds lifting it up before he could have fired an aimed shot. Another thing in a long list of things to keep on checking!
No one laughed at this. Silly mistakes could cost somebody dearly.
The next 48 hours were a continual round of lectures, lessons, practice patrols, and the dreaded de-brief with video playbacks. But surprisingly, and very quickly, the basics were learnt and more advanced techniques were given. Constantly checking windows, doorways, waste ground, rubbish, looking, always looking for potential bobby traps and firing positions. Soon it became second nature.
Riot control was next. This was a no holds barred held exercise. The rioters were all British soldiers. When they threw bricks they were aiming to 'get' you. This was as realistic as you could get and was just like the 'real' thing. In groups you learnt how to hold a riot shield. These 6 foot high Plexiglas shields held in the left arm soon seemed to sap the strength out of you. It was not an easy task moving these Plexiglas 'barriers' as missiles hit them. The real knack was not holding them off the ground as you advanced. You see, petrol bombs were thrown at the base of the shields and could squirt underneath setting your feet and legs on fire. Getting the shields interlocked with the other members of the moving wall was also an art form, as was quickly parting them so a rubber bullet gun could be fired through the 'gap' before closing.
Training on 'snatching' people out of crowds was covered at this time as well. Again, the 'victim' fought as hard as they could to evade 'capture' while minimum force was used to 'bring them in'. It all felt very one sided but was a true representation of what we would encounter.
Finally, we had live firing exercises. First we had demonstrated the different weapons capabilities that we could encounter. M16's, AK47, even older weapons like the Thompson were fired. These were all fired into a brick wall. Firstly, this was done so you could hear the different sounds each weapon made, enabling you to work out who was shooting at whom. Secondly it demonstrated the penetrating power, showing that wall's were no guarantee of safety!
After this demonstration, one was given with our own issued SLR. First with normal 'ammo' and this proved to be up there with the most powerful seen. Then with special plastic ammo that we would use in the last part of training. This ammo although plastic (the bullet itself not the case) would still at close range go through the metal ammo crates. It was deemed to be safer than standard issue for training purposes.
The last training runs were done in a special part of 'Tin City'. This area was a small live firing 'range'. It consisted of terraced streets and individual 'bricks' would enter and patrol around. It was some of the most closely monitored 'training' I've had. Not only was it recorded to see if you had any 'bad habits', you were also fired at to see what you would do.
We were subjected to this area several times. Each 'brick' had different things happen to them. Sometimes you would patrol through and nothing would happen. Other times a 'car' would 'backfire'.
Whilst on one of our runs through this area at night we were 'fired at'. We'd all just rounded a corner and were advancing down a terraced 'street' when a shot, which I thought came from high up, rang out. I instinctively raised my rifle into a firing position and pirouetted around looking for a target. As I rotated around my field of view I could see through my peripheral vision each member of my 'brick' doing the same. I then saw a target in an upstairs window. I aimed, fired and the 'target' disappeared. This all happened in 1-2 seconds. I shouted out where and what I'd seen and we went through the follow up procedure. As we did this I suddenly thought, 'fuck, what if I've made a mistake'. I dreaded the de-brief and didn't want to make the other guys, and especially Ben, look bad.
Terry and Chris both asked me what I'd seen. They hadn't seen anything. Ben stayed quiet waiting for the de-brief.
In my head I went through the exercise brief. I went through the rules of engagement. I replayed what I thought I'd seen and what I thought had happened. I worried that I possibly endangered the others as I spun around and that if I had fired prematurely my shot possible could have hit a member of the 'brick'.
The wait was agonising!
Sitting in the lecture room, the video played back. Sure enough a target had fired a 'shot' at us. I was amazed to see how quickly we all reacted and how fast I had moved, found and hit the target. The target was only up for four seconds. It popped up, paused as it simulated taking aim, and would have dropped down if I hadn't hit it.
The lesson was more about how quickly a shot could be fired at a patrol and the shooter disappear. It was not designed to see if we would shoot back. However, I was only one of four others who had found the target and then manage to hit it before it dropped out of view.
I was more relieved than anything else, but acknowledged the approving nods from the team and trainers.
It was therefore decided that I would be the 'bricks' FRG man and would also get the SUIT sight (Sight Unit Infantry TriLux) for my SLR.
I'd only ever handled the FRG during this phase of NI training and had never seen a SUIT sight. In fact, I wouldn't see one until we arrived in Belfast.
There were a few more runs through this area and then our training was 'over'. All up, we were in 'Tin City' for no more than 1 week!
The main part of our training was over. All that was left was to pack up our personal belongings and 'moth ball' the equipment we wouldn't take. We were each given a wooden crate and all uniforms, personal equipment and civilian clothing/personal items not taken away was packed up and stored in the cellars of Alanbrooke barracks.
In the weekends leading up to this 'pack up', I had given away a few items I knew wouldn't fit in the crate. A stereo, for example, went to a 'girlfriend' of a mate called Mick Lambert (the mate not the girl!). This was not tempting fate, just the reality of not having enough room to store everything. Easy come, easy go.
We'd all been encouraged to get Army life insurance. Everyone I knew joined up and paid the one-off fee which covered us while on active duty. All us single guys drew a name out of a hat and that person would be our benefactor, receiving the payout if we were killed. The group I was with decided not to tell one another who we'd picked out of the hat. It added to the 'excitement' we felt.
The 'forward party' left. This 'forward party' was a small group who would patrol for a few days with the regiment we would take over from and help with the 'take over'. The 'forward party' would also be given tips and up to date tactical information from the regiment to be replaced and pass these on within hours when we arrived.
And so arrived our last weekend off before going away. The camp emptied and we hit the town. We drank, we sang, we partied and had fun. This wasn't a sad 'wake' but a celebration of life to be lived to the full.
I was single at this time and hadn't been in a relationship for about 6 months. I knew plenty of 'girl friends' that my friends socialized with, all
purely as friends nothing more. But recently a German woman had joined this circle of friends. I noticed a few 'caught' glimpses made from her to myself but thought nothing of it. I also noticed that she wasn't made welcome by one or two other girls in the group.
Mick Lambert and Martin Lucas another mate from this group told me she fancied me, (they both spoke better German than me), but said not to be 'tempted' by her. I thought they were talking 'shit' as usual so when she made a 'pass' at me I was a little stunned. With only a few days to go before leaving I wasn't planning on a girlfriend. But thanks to a belly full of beer and the party atmosphere, we 'hooked' up.
When we all ran out of money and headed back to camp she had to leave. I promised to call her when I could (I hate letter writing). All the girls in the group gave us all a hug and kiss. There were a few tears from some of the girls as the guys staggered back to camp. It all felt so carefree.
The last day in camp was spent in the uniforms we would wear on our journey to Northern Ireland. There was a 'Drum Head' service. This service was made by the battalion priest over the regimental drums and he used them like an alter. It was a solemn affair. The Commanding Officer and C Company Commander both made an address to the assembled troops. This was along the lines of, "not all of you may be coming back" and "finest Soldiers ever commanded". A few hymns were mumbled and the Lords Prayer recited. Then it was a long wait to get on the
buses that would take us to RAF Gutersloh where we would board the RAF DC7 or DC10 that would fly us to Belfast.
The buses finally arrived It was night time now. We stowed away our hold-alls, mounted the buses and soon the convoy drove off. Some guys slept, others like me stayed awake looking at the sights one last time. Slowly the chatter stopped, each person left to their own thoughts.
It took a couple of hours to get to Gutersloh. The buses were waved straight through the camp gates and onto the apron. It was good to stretch my legs as our collective kit was transferred into the jets.
Soon we ourselves boarded the aircraft and were seated again. The engines roared into life. It seemed to take ages to taxi to the runway, but once there the engines were pushed to full throttle and we were off...
Chapter 3
In 1986 we were given the news that the Queens Lancashire Regiment was to be sent to Northern Ireland. The dates set were from 25th March to 30th July 1987. This was to be 128 days of continuous operational duty.
I remember my first feelings on hearing the news was one of great, I' hadn't signed up to the Army to be a 'barrack room' boy. I loved nothing more than being out in the field on exercise. So active duty was welcomed.
As more details of the 'tour of duty' were given, these initial feelings only strengthened. We were to be based in West Belfast. We may also be the first battalion that could go armed with the SA80 (a new assault rifle in the late 80's).
There were a lot of 'older' serving soldiers who had already served in Northern Ireland. The first of many reality checks were now given by these
members of the regiment. Pictures and stories of previous tours were often shown or recounted.
My eldest brother Martin, who as a youngster I saw as 'god like' had already seen active service in Northern Ireland. I saw this as another opportunity to follow in my big brothers footsteps.
There seemed to be a flurry of activity now in camp (Alanbrook Barracks, Paderborn, West Germany). We had a strong exercise regime anyway, but this was stepped up and over the following months leading up to deployment, each day got progressively busier and busier.
A cycle of runs, physical training and a type of martial art were soon joined by other types of lessons.
Before these new lessons started the regiment was shuffled so that the rifle companies were brought up to operational strength. This was partly due to some of the rifle companies needing either to be larger or having an extra platoon. Normally a company had three rifle platoons but due to the workloads extra platoons were added.
This meant that the platoon I was then in (MILAN) and the company (Support) was broken up and 'issued' to the rifle company's. This was the first time I was really 'pissed off' after receiving the news of our pending deployment. After working so hard to pass my Anti Tank course and make new mates, it felt that I was been sent off again. I trusted my mates in MILAN platoon and knew them well. However, staying as a full support company platoon was not to be and I was sent 'off' to C Company 9 Platoon.
The squad I was in was also made up of Support Company personnel. The commander, Ben was from Mortars. Chris was also from Mortars while Terry and I were both from MILAN.
Terry I knew well from MILAN. He was a real character and always quick with a joke. He was also looked upon as a senior member due to both the time he'd been with the regiment and his age which looking back now was not all that old! Chris was a well liked guy with a large group of friends. He was the next youngest after me. Ben was a well respected and highly competent NCO. He never abused his rank and would never ask you do something he would not be prepared to do himself.
I therefore felt confident with the team I was placed in and this grew more through training.
As more and more details came out, the disappointment about Support Company being broken up went away. I'm sure each company thought they had the 'hardest' area of responsibility, but I am sure that C Company did in fact have the hardest nut to crack.
This knowledge helped with the increasing strain of training and lengthening days of activity. Extra lessons were added, face recognition, body searching, patrolling techniques, and identifying booby traps, the list went on.
Most lessons were given by the NCO's as normal. This showed the level of experience they already had with Northern Ireland. I was lucky Ben had experience to burn. Another NCO who I found also knew his stuff was 'Smiler' Howarth. He was like Ben also from Mortars and would lead a team in 9 Platoon C Company as well.
Smiler's area of expertise and the lessons he gave was mostly on body searches. The main obstacle to overcome was actually getting the guys to
properly search another 'man'. Smiler made you 'pat down' properly. He would hide guns or grenades down his pants and if you didn't 'find' them he would show you how easy it was to disguise the whereabouts of 'large' items. This wouldn't be done in a manner that belittled but it would be repeated until Smiler was confident you could, and would, search properly.
Lessons on face recognition would run late into the night. Catch phrases like "absence of the normal and presence of the abnormal" were repeated over and over again. Mug shots of known terrorist and major players were shown and had to be memorised. Each person was also given a smaller list of people that they were to, when deployed, keep an 'extra' lookout for and to report immediately the time, date and whereabouts the person was seen.
Longer and longer runs, always finishing with having to scale the vehicle wash bay wall at the back of our camp in Paderborn. The wall was well over 7 feet high and I hadn't had to negotiate anything like this since basic training.
It was while doing these obstacles that I first noticed a lump in my chest. I reported 'sick' one morning to have this looked at only to be told "not to worry about it". Almost a year later, after we returned from Northern Ireland, I realised this lump had 'grown' and after reporting 'sick' again, a tumor was finally 'found' and removed.
Training continued through Christmas and into the New Year. MOD documentaries were played. These ranged from what to do if you were hit by a petrol bomb through to the effects of being burnt (with actual archive footage on all subjects). It was stressed over and over again to wear only the kit provided. The armoured plates from flak jackets must not be removed and the space used to carry aid memoirs (small pocket books with what to do in the event of reminders). Only DPM's (Disruptive Patern Material commonly known as camouflage clothing) were to be worn. These, we were told, gave extra seconds worth of protection when on fire or splashed by acid. Time lapse footage was shown to demonstrate this.
On and on went this type of training but there were no complaints that I heard about. Everyone seemed focused on the tasks at hand and although the hours having to be done were long and went on late into the night, I guess this was all part of the training to get us used to the physical and mental strain we would go through later.
A name of an exercise area appeared I'd never heard of before. Even stranger to me was that this area was in Germany. An imminent exercise at this destination was to be the culmination of all the training we were to receive prior to our departure to Northern Ireland. The name was 'Tin City'.
'Tin City' had, over time, grown from a corrugated, fabricated mock up of buildings to a purpose built bricks and mortar establishment. It was a replica of a 'typical' Irish/British village/town complete with terraced houses, church, and the corner pub. Parts of it were still corrugated iron but the vast majority was now stone. There were different, separate parts of this complex, each specialising in different techniques.
One example was a 'live' firing 'suburb' where special ammunition was used. All areas were wired into a control centre where your actions were recorded and later played back as part of the training.
And so it was that on a cold, wet morning in early 1987, C Company was loaded into trucks for our turn at 'Tin City'. It was still winter. No leaves on any trees but the last of the snow had thawed leaving behind plenty of mud.
I was fortunate in as much as I had seen 'Tin City' a few months earlier when a group of us did guard duty at this facility, without realising what it was or that we would be back. But for the majority this was the first time they would see it. I had, while on guard duty, only seen the main gate into 'Tin City' itself, and the guard room with its rows of security camera monitors.
Around 'Tin City' proper were open fields and, in the distance hedgerows and trees. I have no idea how big this area actually was but it felt huge. The actual boundary of the MOD security area was not visible.
Looking back, I should have recognised that the area did not look like German agricultural fields but more like those found in the UK.
After a few hours drive we arrived at our destination. We were all cold but in good spirits. I had spent most of the trip playing cards with some of the guys. When we were all unloaded and formed up, an NCO stepped forward and introduced himself. I didn't see the regiment he belonged to but he was not from the QLR.
"Welcome", he said. "Nothing much planed for today", and with that there was a huge explosion behind us. Unfazed, he went on "After you have settled in we will start with a few demonstrations and then the real fun begins". We were then shown to our barracks, which were a replica SF compound, and were soon back outside for a series of demonstrations on explosives.
For an 18 year old, as I was then, this was bloody brilliant stuff. The object of this first lesson was that no matter how small the package an
explosive device can do serious harm. To highlight this were the final two detonations.
The first was in the form of a cigarette packet and was a fire bomb. These types, we were informed, were designed for clothing stores or crowded shops. They would be 'left' in rubbish bins or 'dropped' on the ground and were on a timer. An impressive amount of fire ball was produced from this when it was detonated.
The second was a letter bomb. This example was in a normal sized envelope and would normally be set off by a photo sensitive reaction. The instructor, after describing the weight etc, placed the envelope on a wooden desk. He then remote detonated the 'envelope', simulating it being opened. There was a loud boom and the desk shattered into splinters. Very thought provoking.
Back inside, in the lecture room which looked like a mini amphitheatre, a brief run down on what we would be taught was gone over.
"We shall", said the instructor from the explosives demonstration, "teach you correct patrolling techniques. How to set up VCP's and man them. We'll have different weapon demonstrations and a 'live' firing range for you to play in. There'll also be a riot amongst other things. But nothing much planned for "today".
It was this last phrase that we all soon learned meant anything but "nothing much planned for today".
"Right then", he continued. "We'll now show you a film on patrolling and after lunch see what bad habits your NCO's have been showing you".
To this there was a general laugh as our own NCO's had, of course, been teaching us for some time how to patrol around our battalion barracks. A screen rolled out from behind the instructor and the film started. From what I remember of it, it was made up of various camera angles and different unconnected footage. Some shots were from training, some were from patrols out on the streets of Northern Ireland.
Some angles were of the over the shoulder/first person perspective. Others were from the 'terrorist' perspective. The film finished and during lunch most people talked about the fact that we were going to be filmed. Like most people I heard, this was a bit unnerving to me as it was getting caught 'fucking up' on camera in front of your mates that worried me most.
Anyway, after lunch we kitted up. This was one of the first instances where I thought things may not be quite as they should be.
The reason for this was that there were no 'flak' jackets issued. Not enough to go around, we were informed and in-fact I don't remember putting one on until we reached Belfast. So, a proportion of the training would be done without all the kit we would use daily while on active duty.
So, on our first walkabout around 'Tin City' we wore, to use Army slang, boots combat, suit DPM, shirt and jumper itchy (both garments we wouldn't wear in Ireland) and beret head for the use of. We also had our personal weapons. The SA80 had not arrived in time so we would be taking the SLR. I was more than happy with this as I loved the SLR, but the SA80 would be, after all its problems had been 'ironed' out, a more practical weapon. Once we were in our 'kit' we went to the lecture room and had our patrol route given.
Terry was the 'path finder' of our brick, Ben, as brick commander, would be next 'in line', followed by Chris and I was 'tail end Charlie'. Each member had to memorise the patrol route, however, and all the other information given.
As a platoon we were then formed up in the yard of the 'SF' base. Blank firing ammo was loaded and, as would later become second nature, we walked up to the 'loading' bay and chambered a round. It was then our turn to run through the gate. I didn't know it at the time but this was the first time that our call sign, E14C, would walk a street together. The only things I remember about this first patrol in 'Tin City' were some thing's that happened when we got back inside.
While out 'patrolling' it had started to rain. The wind which had soon picked up had caused the rain to soon start to freeze. However the patrol continued, as you'd expect. When it was finished we unloaded our weapons and went to our rooms to change into dry kit for the debrief. Now, some 'bricks' had carried GMPG's out on 'patrol'. Again, this was strange, as we wouldn't end up using GPMG's in an urban environment. However back to the story. When walking with a GPMG, it was carried with the aid of a sling.
Now back in our bunk room, we found out that the rain had turned to ice on our clothes and there were certain joints that could not be moved. A member of another 'brick' who had carried a GPMG went to 'throw' off the GPMG onto his bed. He bent his head down and pushed the GPMG away from him in an arc that, under normal conditions, would send it flying onto his bed. But these were not normal conditions and the sling had frozen to his back, so when after going 40-50 cm the sling was at full extension, it 'rebounded' straight back and hit him on his head, sending him flying.
Of course, we pissed ourselves laughing at this.
The other thing I remember was during the debrief. A video of the patrol was played. At various points though the video, instructors had walked up to members out on patrol to ask different questions. The one I remember was when a guy I was in basic training with was asked, "If you were shot at would you fire back, and do you think you'd be able to hit your target?" His reply was, "Yes, I would shoot back and I feel confident that I would hit the target aimed for". The camera then panned down to show that his rear sight was folded down and he would have lost valuable seconds lifting it up before he could have fired an aimed shot. Another thing in a long list of things to keep on checking!
No one laughed at this. Silly mistakes could cost somebody dearly.
The next 48 hours were a continual round of lectures, lessons, practice patrols, and the dreaded de-brief with video playbacks. But surprisingly, and very quickly, the basics were learnt and more advanced techniques were given. Constantly checking windows, doorways, waste ground, rubbish, looking, always looking for potential bobby traps and firing positions. Soon it became second nature.
Riot control was next. This was a no holds barred held exercise. The rioters were all British soldiers. When they threw bricks they were aiming to 'get' you. This was as realistic as you could get and was just like the 'real' thing. In groups you learnt how to hold a riot shield. These 6 foot high Plexiglas shields held in the left arm soon seemed to sap the strength out of you. It was not an easy task moving these Plexiglas 'barriers' as missiles hit them. The real knack was not holding them off the ground as you advanced. You see, petrol bombs were thrown at the base of the shields and could squirt underneath setting your feet and legs on fire. Getting the shields interlocked with the other members of the moving wall was also an art form, as was quickly parting them so a rubber bullet gun could be fired through the 'gap' before closing.
Training on 'snatching' people out of crowds was covered at this time as well. Again, the 'victim' fought as hard as they could to evade 'capture' while minimum force was used to 'bring them in'. It all felt very one sided but was a true representation of what we would encounter.
Finally, we had live firing exercises. First we had demonstrated the different weapons capabilities that we could encounter. M16's, AK47, even older weapons like the Thompson were fired. These were all fired into a brick wall. Firstly, this was done so you could hear the different sounds each weapon made, enabling you to work out who was shooting at whom. Secondly it demonstrated the penetrating power, showing that wall's were no guarantee of safety!
After this demonstration, one was given with our own issued SLR. First with normal 'ammo' and this proved to be up there with the most powerful seen. Then with special plastic ammo that we would use in the last part of training. This ammo although plastic (the bullet itself not the case) would still at close range go through the metal ammo crates. It was deemed to be safer than standard issue for training purposes.
The last training runs were done in a special part of 'Tin City'. This area was a small live firing 'range'. It consisted of terraced streets and individual 'bricks' would enter and patrol around. It was some of the most closely monitored 'training' I've had. Not only was it recorded to see if you had any 'bad habits', you were also fired at to see what you would do.
We were subjected to this area several times. Each 'brick' had different things happen to them. Sometimes you would patrol through and nothing would happen. Other times a 'car' would 'backfire'.
Whilst on one of our runs through this area at night we were 'fired at'. We'd all just rounded a corner and were advancing down a terraced 'street' when a shot, which I thought came from high up, rang out. I instinctively raised my rifle into a firing position and pirouetted around looking for a target. As I rotated around my field of view I could see through my peripheral vision each member of my 'brick' doing the same. I then saw a target in an upstairs window. I aimed, fired and the 'target' disappeared. This all happened in 1-2 seconds. I shouted out where and what I'd seen and we went through the follow up procedure. As we did this I suddenly thought, 'fuck, what if I've made a mistake'. I dreaded the de-brief and didn't want to make the other guys, and especially Ben, look bad.
Terry and Chris both asked me what I'd seen. They hadn't seen anything. Ben stayed quiet waiting for the de-brief.
In my head I went through the exercise brief. I went through the rules of engagement. I replayed what I thought I'd seen and what I thought had happened. I worried that I possibly endangered the others as I spun around and that if I had fired prematurely my shot possible could have hit a member of the 'brick'.
The wait was agonising!
Sitting in the lecture room, the video played back. Sure enough a target had fired a 'shot' at us. I was amazed to see how quickly we all reacted and how fast I had moved, found and hit the target. The target was only up for four seconds. It popped up, paused as it simulated taking aim, and would have dropped down if I hadn't hit it.
The lesson was more about how quickly a shot could be fired at a patrol and the shooter disappear. It was not designed to see if we would shoot back. However, I was only one of four others who had found the target and then manage to hit it before it dropped out of view.
I was more relieved than anything else, but acknowledged the approving nods from the team and trainers.
It was therefore decided that I would be the 'bricks' FRG man and would also get the SUIT sight (Sight Unit Infantry TriLux) for my SLR.
I'd only ever handled the FRG during this phase of NI training and had never seen a SUIT sight. In fact, I wouldn't see one until we arrived in Belfast.
There were a few more runs through this area and then our training was 'over'. All up, we were in 'Tin City' for no more than 1 week!
The main part of our training was over. All that was left was to pack up our personal belongings and 'moth ball' the equipment we wouldn't take. We were each given a wooden crate and all uniforms, personal equipment and civilian clothing/personal items not taken away was packed up and stored in the cellars of Alanbrooke barracks.
In the weekends leading up to this 'pack up', I had given away a few items I knew wouldn't fit in the crate. A stereo, for example, went to a 'girlfriend' of a mate called Mick Lambert (the mate not the girl!). This was not tempting fate, just the reality of not having enough room to store everything. Easy come, easy go.
We'd all been encouraged to get Army life insurance. Everyone I knew joined up and paid the one-off fee which covered us while on active duty. All us single guys drew a name out of a hat and that person would be our benefactor, receiving the payout if we were killed. The group I was with decided not to tell one another who we'd picked out of the hat. It added to the 'excitement' we felt.
The 'forward party' left. This 'forward party' was a small group who would patrol for a few days with the regiment we would take over from and help with the 'take over'. The 'forward party' would also be given tips and up to date tactical information from the regiment to be replaced and pass these on within hours when we arrived.
And so arrived our last weekend off before going away. The camp emptied and we hit the town. We drank, we sang, we partied and had fun. This wasn't a sad 'wake' but a celebration of life to be lived to the full.
I was single at this time and hadn't been in a relationship for about 6 months. I knew plenty of 'girl friends' that my friends socialized with, all
purely as friends nothing more. But recently a German woman had joined this circle of friends. I noticed a few 'caught' glimpses made from her to myself but thought nothing of it. I also noticed that she wasn't made welcome by one or two other girls in the group.
Mick Lambert and Martin Lucas another mate from this group told me she fancied me, (they both spoke better German than me), but said not to be 'tempted' by her. I thought they were talking 'shit' as usual so when she made a 'pass' at me I was a little stunned. With only a few days to go before leaving I wasn't planning on a girlfriend. But thanks to a belly full of beer and the party atmosphere, we 'hooked' up.
When we all ran out of money and headed back to camp she had to leave. I promised to call her when I could (I hate letter writing). All the girls in the group gave us all a hug and kiss. There were a few tears from some of the girls as the guys staggered back to camp. It all felt so carefree.
The last day in camp was spent in the uniforms we would wear on our journey to Northern Ireland. There was a 'Drum Head' service. This service was made by the battalion priest over the regimental drums and he used them like an alter. It was a solemn affair. The Commanding Officer and C Company Commander both made an address to the assembled troops. This was along the lines of, "not all of you may be coming back" and "finest Soldiers ever commanded". A few hymns were mumbled and the Lords Prayer recited. Then it was a long wait to get on the
buses that would take us to RAF Gutersloh where we would board the RAF DC7 or DC10 that would fly us to Belfast.
The buses finally arrived It was night time now. We stowed away our hold-alls, mounted the buses and soon the convoy drove off. Some guys slept, others like me stayed awake looking at the sights one last time. Slowly the chatter stopped, each person left to their own thoughts.
It took a couple of hours to get to Gutersloh. The buses were waved straight through the camp gates and onto the apron. It was good to stretch my legs as our collective kit was transferred into the jets.
Soon we ourselves boarded the aircraft and were seated again. The engines roared into life. It seemed to take ages to taxi to the runway, but once there the engines were pushed to full throttle and we were off...
A view down a street in 'Tin City'.
