Day Patrols
Chapter 6
Urban day time patrolling was unlike anything I had ever done before. I felt strangely conspicuous in by combat gear walking down terrace streets rifle in 'hand'.
All training prior to Northern Ireland was about camouflage and concealment, digging in and ambushing. I guess these would have still been useful skills out in the Irish countryside but in an industrial city they were out of place.
Everything was on the 'oppositions' side. Their ability to prepare firing positions and escape routes, booby trap areas and conceal arms, freely observe our movements and not be fired at until they first fired; yes it felt very one side at times.
All we could do was limit the chances. The chance to move arms and set up booby traps, the chance to open fire and track our movements. It was a cat and mouse game and it was difficult to know at times if we were the cat or the mouse!
There were no really safe areas, just areas that were more dangerous than others. Most non combatants had been pressured to 'support' one terrorist group or another lest they also become a target. Even the people that had painted the bottom half of their houses white so as to make better silhouettes/targets for snipers were not necessarily true supporters of the republican or loyalist groups. They were just doing what they had to, to get by.
To the kids it was a game.
After getting hit for the second or third time by the bricks thrown by children that seemed to be as young as 5 or 6, I thought to myself that American Baseball Scouts should come and have a look at the throwing arms of some of these kids. Their talents were going wasted and a major US team could have a real find on their hands.
But for all the people that wanted an end to the 'troubles' there were always those that were happy to support it and 'profit' from the misery under the guise of 'the cause'.
So, it was a juggling act remembering that we were trying to protect the 'innocents' while knowing that when it came to the crunch, they would do what they had to, to live. We, if we were lucky, we would go 'home'. This was their home and most, even if they wanted too, could not leave.
It was the perfect Catch 22 for all involved. Day patrols boiled down to keeping the so called 'no go' areas open.
Most 'basic' operations took part during the day. The type of operation I disliked the most was 'holding' ground while a search was in progress. The search could be a house search through to aerial reconnaissance.
Both types required you to be static with little cover and with only your mates keeping an eye on your back. You could be in the same position for hours at a time. Both had the objective to deny access to an area and in the case of the aerial flights limit the ability for 'gunmen' to shoot at the slow low flying aircraft as it took photos. These photos would be compared to ones taken earlier to try and detect changes in topography and used in conjunction with the ever present watchfulness of the 'guys on the ground'.
A few times during my time in Belfast both types proved to be successful in the C Company area (as well as in the A & B company areas).
In one, a large weapons find in the St James area was 'uncovered'. A Rocket Propelled Grenade launcher, several semi/fully automatic rifles and hand guns, plus ammunition and explosives were found. The aerial searches in the C Company area also led to the discovery and neutralization of two Command Wire Improvised Explosive Device's, to which our 'Radio's' offered no defence against. The first of these was on April the 27th in the Beech Mounts area and the other on June the 18th in the Bally Murphy area. Both of which PIRA claimed responsibility for.
At least it was some 'physical' reward for the long hours of abuse and hostility and the ever present danger of death or injury.
Day patrols boiled down to hours upon hours of tension and drudgery broken periodically by seconds of intense action. The trick was remaining vigilante all the time regardless of how fatigued you were. It was Russian roulette on a grand scale.
There were also times that we were not 'allowed' out. The first time was just after Private Iain O'Connor, better known to all his mates as Brez due to his mono brow that was thought to make him look like the 1960's USSR President Leonid Brezhnev, was killed. The patrols for the rest of that day were canceled to everyone's consternation; but for good tactical reasons.
Brez was killed on the 30 March just after 12:00 when the Land Rover he was top cover for had a explosive device 'dropped' on to it while passing between buildings in the Divis Flats area. Within minutes he had died as a result of his injuries. The news spread quickly and I don't know of anyone who didn't want to go straight back out. But the plug was pulled on all 'outings'. The phones in camp were disconnected and we were left in limbo.
I remember we had to wait in our rooms for further orders. After what felt like an age the Battalion Commanding Officer LT COL C Kearns and Regimental Sergeant Major WO1 M Wiggam entered our room. I was unaware that the CO was 'doing the rounds' and we all jumped to our feet when he entered. After he checked on "how we all were", and after he received the "very good Sir", response he departed to the next room. What else could he say; what else could we say. We waited in silence until we could go back out.
On another occasion I was equally 'pissed off'. This time over a parade been cancelled!
As I mentioned earlier I was not a barrack room type of guy and found parades a real bore. However when it was announced that we would still have a Waterloo parade I was surprisingly happy.
Waterloo is one of the regiment's battle honors and one of the ones that are recognized with a parade. I guess it was the fact that we would do something different. As usual we practiced the parade and the most difficult thing was finding the room to parade on in North Howard Street Mill's tiny courtyard. A way was found however. On the day the parade was due it was suddenly cancelled. A tip off or something else led to the belief that a 'blast bomb' was going to me thrown at the parade. Even after hearing this news I was still annoyed. Funny to think that stopping an attack would still 'piss me off', but it was more the loss of another normal thing that made me feel this way.
It was the only parade I ever looked forward to!
Chapter 6
Urban day time patrolling was unlike anything I had ever done before. I felt strangely conspicuous in by combat gear walking down terrace streets rifle in 'hand'.
All training prior to Northern Ireland was about camouflage and concealment, digging in and ambushing. I guess these would have still been useful skills out in the Irish countryside but in an industrial city they were out of place.
Everything was on the 'oppositions' side. Their ability to prepare firing positions and escape routes, booby trap areas and conceal arms, freely observe our movements and not be fired at until they first fired; yes it felt very one side at times.
All we could do was limit the chances. The chance to move arms and set up booby traps, the chance to open fire and track our movements. It was a cat and mouse game and it was difficult to know at times if we were the cat or the mouse!
There were no really safe areas, just areas that were more dangerous than others. Most non combatants had been pressured to 'support' one terrorist group or another lest they also become a target. Even the people that had painted the bottom half of their houses white so as to make better silhouettes/targets for snipers were not necessarily true supporters of the republican or loyalist groups. They were just doing what they had to, to get by.
To the kids it was a game.
After getting hit for the second or third time by the bricks thrown by children that seemed to be as young as 5 or 6, I thought to myself that American Baseball Scouts should come and have a look at the throwing arms of some of these kids. Their talents were going wasted and a major US team could have a real find on their hands.
But for all the people that wanted an end to the 'troubles' there were always those that were happy to support it and 'profit' from the misery under the guise of 'the cause'.
So, it was a juggling act remembering that we were trying to protect the 'innocents' while knowing that when it came to the crunch, they would do what they had to, to live. We, if we were lucky, we would go 'home'. This was their home and most, even if they wanted too, could not leave.
It was the perfect Catch 22 for all involved. Day patrols boiled down to keeping the so called 'no go' areas open.
Most 'basic' operations took part during the day. The type of operation I disliked the most was 'holding' ground while a search was in progress. The search could be a house search through to aerial reconnaissance.
Both types required you to be static with little cover and with only your mates keeping an eye on your back. You could be in the same position for hours at a time. Both had the objective to deny access to an area and in the case of the aerial flights limit the ability for 'gunmen' to shoot at the slow low flying aircraft as it took photos. These photos would be compared to ones taken earlier to try and detect changes in topography and used in conjunction with the ever present watchfulness of the 'guys on the ground'.
A few times during my time in Belfast both types proved to be successful in the C Company area (as well as in the A & B company areas).
In one, a large weapons find in the St James area was 'uncovered'. A Rocket Propelled Grenade launcher, several semi/fully automatic rifles and hand guns, plus ammunition and explosives were found. The aerial searches in the C Company area also led to the discovery and neutralization of two Command Wire Improvised Explosive Device's, to which our 'Radio's' offered no defence against. The first of these was on April the 27th in the Beech Mounts area and the other on June the 18th in the Bally Murphy area. Both of which PIRA claimed responsibility for.
At least it was some 'physical' reward for the long hours of abuse and hostility and the ever present danger of death or injury.
Day patrols boiled down to hours upon hours of tension and drudgery broken periodically by seconds of intense action. The trick was remaining vigilante all the time regardless of how fatigued you were. It was Russian roulette on a grand scale.
There were also times that we were not 'allowed' out. The first time was just after Private Iain O'Connor, better known to all his mates as Brez due to his mono brow that was thought to make him look like the 1960's USSR President Leonid Brezhnev, was killed. The patrols for the rest of that day were canceled to everyone's consternation; but for good tactical reasons.
Brez was killed on the 30 March just after 12:00 when the Land Rover he was top cover for had a explosive device 'dropped' on to it while passing between buildings in the Divis Flats area. Within minutes he had died as a result of his injuries. The news spread quickly and I don't know of anyone who didn't want to go straight back out. But the plug was pulled on all 'outings'. The phones in camp were disconnected and we were left in limbo.
I remember we had to wait in our rooms for further orders. After what felt like an age the Battalion Commanding Officer LT COL C Kearns and Regimental Sergeant Major WO1 M Wiggam entered our room. I was unaware that the CO was 'doing the rounds' and we all jumped to our feet when he entered. After he checked on "how we all were", and after he received the "very good Sir", response he departed to the next room. What else could he say; what else could we say. We waited in silence until we could go back out.
On another occasion I was equally 'pissed off'. This time over a parade been cancelled!
As I mentioned earlier I was not a barrack room type of guy and found parades a real bore. However when it was announced that we would still have a Waterloo parade I was surprisingly happy.
Waterloo is one of the regiment's battle honors and one of the ones that are recognized with a parade. I guess it was the fact that we would do something different. As usual we practiced the parade and the most difficult thing was finding the room to parade on in North Howard Street Mill's tiny courtyard. A way was found however. On the day the parade was due it was suddenly cancelled. A tip off or something else led to the belief that a 'blast bomb' was going to me thrown at the parade. Even after hearing this news I was still annoyed. Funny to think that stopping an attack would still 'piss me off', but it was more the loss of another normal thing that made me feel this way.
It was the only parade I ever looked forward to!
