Northern Ireland.

This was another chapter about NI that never made the book.
RG in West Belfast.

The silly season as we call it in Northern Ireland is when all the parades take place. The Orange Order is out in force parades taking place throughout the summer marching season, climaxing on the 12th of July the day after my birthday incidentally. This usually involves lots of bowler hatted men , young and old proudly staking their right to be ruled by the Crown, lots of beer drinking and culminating in huge bonfires, with the odd bit of violence thrown in, although in recent years the parades have passed out practically trouble free. Our brick was patrolling Banbridge in county Down on this very Orange day. It had started of peacefully enough and it was too easy to focus on the marchers than and take your eye of a potential PIRA attack. We started at the top end of Banbridge and covering both sides of the road we patrolled slowly and deliberately along the pavement stopping every so often and taking up a firing position in a doorway. It was more or less good natured banter with the locals, don’t forget this side of the community actually want you on their soil. What a different story a few miles away where the Irish Tricolour replaced the Union flag on nearly every available vantage point. These people even painted the curb stones Red White And Blue. The sun was splitting the pavement it was so hot, especially with the added burden of wearing an INIBA vest combats and webbing. Patrolling deliberately and professionally we made our way along the high street, Glen our brick commander would stop and we would follow suit, crouching down on your haunches rifle in the shoulder. As Banbridge was Loyalist it is classed as a soft area, in other words most of the locals don’t want to kill you, which is a nice change, much preferable to wiping spittle from your face as happened to me one day in West Belfast when a young attractive teenage girl walked straight up to me called me “Brit Scum” before gobbing at me at point blank range. Not very nice but goes with the territory. She will have been brought up to hate us from an early age. They even put a pair of British combat trousers on and kick the shit out of their own dogs so that when the mangy curs see camouflage coming their way they like their owners just want to rip your balls off. I didn’t envisage any problems with crazy dogs today. The advantage to this being a soft area is that you don’t have to wear a helmet and can wear your berets, the good thing was this time we all had dark blue ones on. I found myself crouching down in the doorway of a pub and was thinking what I would give for a chilled pint of lager, when I drunk came out side and started to talk to me, he was pleasant enough and was thanking me for being there and protecting his people against the Taigs (Catholics) I always inwardly grin to myself when they start this. The drunk would have absolutely no idea that I was a Catholic, why should he? As a matter of fact I was Christened a Catholic, my Mother was a regular church goer, but when it came to schooling I went to C of E schools because that’s where my mates were going. Never did anyone ever ask me my religion whilst growing up, so I didn’t give it much thought. I remembered my Dad telling me “Never get involved with religion or politics son” well I couldn’t really get much more involved than this could I? I was thinking come on Glen lets get going as I had covered football with the drunk and didn’t really have much more to say to him, but Glen was up ahead talking to the RUC and waiting for a parade to cross a junction, so I was stuck here. Next thing I know the drunk goes back in the boozer, sigh of relief, but it didn’t last for long, he was soon back outside only this time he had two pints of lager in his hands and he stuck one under my nose and said “Ye`l tek a drank from me son” I didn’t want to upset him and I was gagging for a drink but I explained I was on duty and not allowed to drink, but like all drunks he wouldn’t have any of it and said he would be offended if I never drank with him, as he put it “Tek a drank fer Kang Billy” well I couldn’t risk a riot over a pint of lager so I knocked it back in a few seconds, gave him the glass back thanked him and we were off again in to the orange throng of Banbridge. I don’t think I have ever enjoyed a pint more than that one. I suppose you could say it was at risk drinking it as he could have poisoned it, but just being in Northern Ireland was risk. The British army would occasionally get the odd bottle of beer in Nationalist areas only they would replace the beer with petrol and a rag. Glen signalled us to hard target(Run) to him by putting his hand on his head and pumping his fist in the air, no he didn’t mean I was a wanker for drinking that beer, probably wondered where his was. We had been ordered to move up back to the top end of town where a small group of Nationalists had started to demonstrate about the parade passing close to their area. The rovers screeched to a halt we dived in and we set off, the breeze even though it was warm felt refreshing against my face and I took my beret of and wiped my face. At the brow of the hill we came up to a RUC cordon there was two RUC Hotspur land rovers parked up. Glen jumped out of the cab and got briefed by the coppers while we readied our baton guns and helmets. A group of around 50 Nationalist youths were bricking and throwing the odd petrol bomb in our direction. We soon realised that we were piggy in the middle between the two warring factions. The Loyalists heavily outnumbered the Nationalist and like my thoughts on the RN boat when we were looking for loyalist arms shipments “Let them get on with it” I though. But it doesn’t work like that in Northern Ireland you were a glorified underpaid policeman in camouflage, but I was looking forward to a ruck that’s why Volunteered for to Ireland to experience exactly this kind of violence. The young army cadet in Dalton watching the troubles on TV in the 70`s had become part of the script, I didn’t mind who’s head I cracked Orange or Green & White, I was hot and pissed off, bring it on! In the end we had a couple of young drunken loyalists jump on the back of our rovers shouting abuse and telling us we were traitors because we were protecting the Taigs , we happily sent them back into the street, set our cordons up with the usually vast amounts of white mine tape and waited for the two groups to get pissed of and set of home one side to the Red White and Blue the others to the Orange and Green. This was the norm for the silly season and I had made it to my 24th birthday.



© Mack (RG) The thoughts of a Falklands War Veteran.