The Bogside Boys Read online

  The Bogside Boys

  A Novel

  By Eoin Dempsey

  Acknowledgments

  Massive thanks to my beta readers Chris Menier, Sarah Lepro, Liz Slanina, Orla Dempsey, Nicola Hogan, Brian Dempsey, Conor Dempsey, Jack Layden, Jill Dempsey, Morgan Leafe, Chelsea Barrish, Alison Reynolds, Eric Kvelums, Matt Coppa and Ed McDuell. Special thanks to Betsy Frimmer and Carol McDuell who both went above and beyond.

  Also huge thanks to Paul Doherty from Bogside History Tours, and ‘Sam’, from Belfast Black Cab Tours who both lived through the Troubles I merely researched and wrote about.

  Copyright © 2015 Eoin Dempsey

  This book is a work of fiction based around true events. Most of the characters are fictitious, except for those that are not.

  This book is for my son, Robbie.

  Other Books by Eoin Dempsey

  FINDING REBECCA

  Table of Contents

  Contents

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  List of Terms

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Author’s Note

  Foreword

  The conflict between the Catholic and Protestant communities in Northern Ireland has its roots in the 17th Century, when Protestant settlers from Scotland and England were given land confiscated from the native Catholic Irish by King James I. This was an effort to subjugate what had previously been the most rebellious part of the British occupied island of Ireland. Protestant domination continued over the following centuries through laws put in place by the British Crown. The polarization of the communities centered on the loyalty of the Protestant population to the occupying British forces and the desire of the Catholic population for a united Ireland, free of British rule.

  In 1922, following the Irish war of Independence that led to the formation of the Irish Free State, Northern Ireland was partitioned from the rest of Ireland, remaining a part of the United Kingdom. Although meant only as a temporary solution to satisfy the Protestant majority in the six counties of Northern Ireland, the partition remained.

  By the 1960’s the Catholic people of Northern Ireland, sick of years of underrepresentation through gerrymandering and struggling to break free from the yoke of poverty imposed on them by sectarian policies of the Northern Irish government, began to march for their civil rights. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was their inspiration. The march on January 30th 1972 in Derry would signal the end of the civil rights movement in Northern Ireland, and an escalation of the violence known as the Troubles, which began with the battle of Bogside in Derry in 1969. That day would become known as Bloody Sunday.

  List of Terms

  Bogside – a majority Catholic area outside the city walls of Derry, west of the River Foyle. A focal point of the Troubles, it was the scene of Bloody Sunday in 1972.

  Cityside – the traditional home of the Catholic majority in Derry. The segment of the city west of the River Foyle.

  Derry/Londonderry - a point of political dispute, with unionists advocating the longer, Anglicized name and nationalists advocating the shorter.

  DUP – Democratic Unionist Party. The larger of the two unionist parties in Northern Ireland with strong traditional links to Protestant churches.

  Fenian – a demeaning term for Irish Catholics.

  Gardaí – the police force of the Republic of Ireland.

  Huns – a demeaning term for Protestants in Northern Ireland.

  Ian Paisley – the founding member of the DUP. A highly polarizing figure in Northern Irish history.

  IRA – refers to the Provisional Irish Republican Army, the biggest and most active paramilitary group in Northern Ireland during the Troubles. Its goal was to remove Northern Ireland from the United Kingdom and bring about a united Irish republic.

  IRA Army Council – the decision making body of the IRA.

  Irish War of Independence – a guerilla war fought between 1919 and 1921 between the occupying forces of the British Crown and the IRA that resulted in the formation of the Irish Free State in 1922.

  Loyalists – a group of people typified by militant opposition to Irish Republicanism, loyal to the British Crown. See also Unionists.

  Nationalists – a group who support the idea of a united Ireland. See also Republicans.

  NICRA – the Northern Ireland Civil Rights during the late 1960’s and early 1970’s. They organized the march on Bloody Sunday, which effectively ended their activities.

  Orange Order - a Protestant fraternal society with strong links to Ulster Loyalism.

  Prods – a derogatory term for Protestants in Northern Ireland

  Republicans – a majority Catholic group who believe all Ireland should be an Independent Republic, independent of Britain.

  RUC – the Royal Ulster Constabulary, the police force in Northern Ireland from 1922-2001. Held by Republicans to have strong bias toward, as well as colluding with, loyalist paramilitary groups.

  The Troubles - the common name for the ethno-nationalist conflict in Northern Ireland from the late 1960’s until it was deemed to have ended in 1998.

  Unionists – a predominantly Protestant group who favor the continued union between Northern Ireland and the United Kingdom. See Loyalists.

  UVF – an Ulster loyalist, anti-Catholic paramilitary group.

  Chapter 1

  The city of Derry, Northern Ireland, January 30th, 1972

  Father Daly urged calm, but the surge of disquiet spilled through the crowd unabated. British soldiers were putting up barbed wire barriers on William Street and Little James Street. Armored cars packed with Parachute Regiment soldiers were lined up on Clarence Avenue. Snipers had set up along the walls of the old city, and overhead Mick could hear the sound of a helicopter circling. Mick’s mother muttered something to her husband about an invasion. Pat looked at Mick, shaking his head. Paratroopers with camouflaged, blackened faces idled outside the cathedral in full combat gear. Father Daly, still speaking as the crowd shuffled out the doors of the cathedral, urged the crowd to attend the march that afternoon despite the attentions of the Paras. He would be there in case anything went wrong. The march was too important to let the Paras intimidate anyone into staying away.

  It was a crisp and clear day. The sparkle of winter sunshine filled the air. Mick tried to rub the tiredness from his eyes. None of the Doherty family spoke as they filed out of the cathedral and past the British soldiers milling around on the corner. Fifty yards away, a young boy, around ten years old, broke away from his parents and kicked one of the soldiers in the shin. The soldier picked him up and began pacing away, the boy under his arm, his legs flailing like an animal in a trap. The boy’s parents, incensed and embarrassed, followed the soldier as he carried the child away to be arrested. Celine Doherty waited until they were around the corner, before speaking to her husband and twin sons. Her Parisian accent was barely diminished, even after twenty-five years.

  “Who was that boy? Do you know him?” />
  “I know him, aye. I know his brother, Thomas. Tom’s one of the regulars down at Aggro Corner. One of the regular stone throwers,” Pat answered.

  “How do you know him then?” Peter, their father, interrupted. “How many times have I told you not to get involved with those bloody idiots down there? They think they’re going to bring down the British Empire with a few stones.”

  “Relax, Da, I only know him to see is all. I played football with him a few times. I know better than to get involved in all that nonsense.”

  Three armored cars rumbled past, each filled with Paras. Mick stayed quiet. He knew his parents were worried about the march scheduled for that afternoon. Mick was sure that if Father Daly hadn’t given his assurances at the end of Mass they would have tried to forbid him and Pat from going.

  “What’s the march about today?” Celine asked.

  “Internment. It’s NICRA,” Peter replied as they turned the corner onto Creggan Street. They nodded to the masked men by the barricade erected to block off the street. The barricade was an old minibus with twisted metal girders and concrete blocks strewn on the street either side of it. The windows of the minibus had long since been broken in on any one of a hundred occasions. There was a sign daubed on the wall in white paint. YOU ARE NOW ENTERING FREE DERRY. It was a new one, mimicking the original, on the corner of Lecky Road and Fahan Street.

  His wife looked at him, withdrawing her hand from his. “You never used to care for politics.”

  “I still don’t, but the people who come into the shop to get their hair cut certainly do. I care about the people of this area.”

  “It’s all people talk about. All day long,” Mick said. “Just one day it’d be nice to not have to talk about internment, civil rights, RUC no-go areas or British soldiers.”

  “What do you expect, son?” Peter countered. “We live in an RUC no go area.” He sighed and ran his hand over his cheek. “It’s still hard to believe.”

  “You’re in the wrong profession, little brother.” Pat was 18 minutes older. He was smiling as he spoke now. “We’ve got to get you off to university like you’re always going on about.”

  “I look forward to the day I get away from you.” Mick was smiling too. “It’d be nice go one day without being mistaken for my brother, particularly when he’s got a face like a badger’s arse.”

  Peter and Pat both laughed, but Celine scowled. “Don’t say that about your brother.”

  “I mean how is it possible, Mam, weren't you gave birth to the two of us and I’m so beautiful and he looks like that.”

  “Exactly like you, you mean?” Peter said, “I’d say you were about twelve by the time even I could tell you apart.”

  “Make that sixteen,” Pat said. “In fact, what age are we now? Twenty? Make that twenty.”

  “How can you make jokes at a time like this?” Celine was verging on anger as she spoke.

  “It’s always times like this now,” Mick said looking around. Every day there’s something. When was the last time you left the house and you weren’t reminded of all this going on?” He shook his head. “If we can’t make jokes now, when can we?”

  The crowds from Mass were dissipating. Mick wondered how many of them he would see later, how many wouldn’t be intimidated by the presence of the soldiers. The soldiers on the city walls were visible, overlooking Bogside like vultures. Mick wondered what they could be expecting. Word was that the local IRA would stand down today. The masked gunmen they had become used to seeing in the last few years, defiant on top of the barricades, openly brandishing ancient rifles and pistols from World War II and before, would not be around by the time the march began. Mick knew most of them, to see at least. Most of them came into the barbershop. Some of them were boys he’d grown up with. Others were older republicans brimming over with hatred for everything that the British, or Protestants in general, represented.

  As they reached Rossville Street, Celine and Peter said their goodbyes. Their mother hugged each one of them in turn, holding them just a little bit longer and more tightly than usual. Soldiers were scattered all over the area surrounding Bogside, the Catholic, republican area outside the city walls the IRA had cordoned off as Free Derry.

  “Are you sure that you boys want to go on this march today?” Her face was lined with worry. “There are so many soldiers around.”

  “What are they going to do, Ma, start a war?” Pat asked. “They’re only here for a show of force. It’s all bluster.”

  Celine brought her eyes up to her husband. “There’s always soldiers around now. I can only imagine that they’re looking to make some arrests if things get out of hand,” he said and looked at his sons. “Now, you two boys be careful. If there’s trouble, you get out o’ there. Don’t be the ones hauled off. The Paras will be nothing on what I’ll do if you get arrested.” He embraced his sons, kissing each on the head before he let them go. “Remember, be careful, and we’ll see ye both home later for dinner.”

  “Aye, of course,” Mick said. “When have we ever gotten involved in all the stone throwing stupidity?”

  “I know you haven’t, but some of your friends, Jimmy and Noel. And Paul McGowan, every time I see his poor mother…with fourteen children to feed and no husband. Him getting arrested again will do nothing to put food on the table for that family,” Celine answered.

  Peter laughed. “Don’t worry boys, I’ll get this one home. You two be careful or you’ll have me to deal with.” He pointed a finger at them and then put his arm around his wife calling her a ‘crazy French woman’ as they walked away.

  The run down tenements of Bogside seemed to close in around them as the twins walked together. An open door to a house revealed the squalor inside that three families shared. Crowds of people were starting to gather. It wouldn’t be long before the march began. Somehow making the marches illegal had had the opposite effect. People who never would have marched before were out. Mick looked at his watch. There would be time, and she was waiting for him now. He turned to his brother. “I gotta go down the town and meet someone before the March.”

  “Who’re you meeting? Not this mystery girl is it?” he smiled.

  “Soon to be a mystery no more, my brother.” Mick stopped and put his hand on Pat’s shoulder. “She wants to come along with us today.”

  “She wants to come along?” Pat shook his head, the smile still on his face. “Why? A God-fearing Protestant girl like herself? What would she want with us Fenians? Come to infiltrate has she? She’s a spy. That must be it. There’s no other way she’d touch you anyways.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. You’ve hit the nail on the head there, brother. She’s been sent on a personal mission from Ian Paisley. That’s what the Prods are trying to do, breed us out one by one.” They both laughed before Mick continued. “Nah, she wants to come on the march. She’s interested in the civil rights movement. Martin Luther King. One man one vote, and all that stuff. She also wants to meet you.”

  “All right, I’m off to meet the boys.” Pat reached out to shake his brother’s hand. “I’ll see you down at Bishop’s Field at about 2.30.”

  Mick shook Pat’s hand and walked away, past Aggro Corner, where youths would battle the British soldiers on a daily basis. The only thing that stopped them was the rain or dinner. There was a general agreement between the rioters and the soldiers that six o’clock was designated as teatime. Both sides would take a break for an hour before resuming hostilities at seven. Mick had been down there a few times, mainly when he was younger, but it all seemed so futile now. A horde of boys was already gathering there, angry at the troops, with stones in their pockets and frustration at their useless, unemployed lives seething through them. Getting hit by rubber bullets was an occupational hazard. The gaudy bruises that the bullets left were a mark of pride, an illustration of their commitment to the cause. The luckiest would show off the bullets that had struck them, big as a can of beans in their hand. Mick’s cousin in Paris had asked for him to se
nd over a rubber bullet as a memento. Not a good idea. Best not to get involved, as his father always said.

  Mick passed over the rubble barricade strewn across the middle of Rossville Street. The intimidating red brick colossus of the Rossville flats hulked on his left. His thoughts turned to Melissa Rice, from Waterside, oldest daughter of the unionist councilor, Reginald Rice and he laughed to himself.

  Pat raised a hand to greet the boys in the corner of the pub, priming themselves for the march. They cheered as he approached the table they were sitting around. Phillip was there with Noel and Paul and their neighbors Jimmy Kelly and John Gilmore. Jimmy was only 17, and still in school, but had a beer sitting in front of him. The pub was packed, but there was just enough space to squeeze in beside Noel on the end. Pat had enough for a pint but wondered where the other boys were getting the money for theirs. Apart from Phillip, whose uncle had gotten him a job in the DuPont rubber plant, they were all unemployed. Everyone under the age of 25 seemed to be. Pat and Phillip were the lucky ones but were always expected to buy the pints too. A palpable sense of excitement filled the smoky air. Everyone was talking about the march. They would all be there. Pat was sure of that. Today was going to be important. Everyone sensed it. To the boys, that was everything. Trapped in the ghetto of the Bogside, the autonomous nationalist breakaway state surrounded by British troops, the march was all they had to cling to that day. Tomorrow there would be something else.