NOTE: Regular readers will have noticed that my normal Monday substack column is a day late. Apologies - I was out having fun. This won’t happen again. Actually, yes it will. The next two Mondays are also booked with non-writing fun-related activities so tardiness is virtually guaranteed. I will, however, accept no complaints as you are getting this for free so stop moaning.
ANOTHER NOTE: This is another segment from my upcoming travel memoirs. In the book, my mate Snow and myself are hitchhiking through Ireland. We have been picked up by three young Irish guys in a van and they are giving us a lift to Belfast.
We didn’t have to wait long before we saw first-hand evidence of the troubles.
The reality of the situation hit hard as we travelled through Newry and saw the aftermath of the devastation that had been wrought on the police station six months earlier.
On the 28th of February 1985, the Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA) launched a heavy mortar attack on the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) base in Newry.
Shortly after 6.30 pm nine shells were fired from a homemade mortar launcher that was bolted onto the back of a stolen Ford lorry.
The truck was parked about two hundred and thirty metres from the base.
At least one twenty-three kilogram shell landed on a portacabin containing a canteen where many officers were having their evening tea break. Another hit an observation tower and the rest landed inside and outside the perimeter of the base.
Nine police officers were killed and thirty-seven people were injured including twenty-five civilian police employees.
It was the highest death toll inflicted on the RUC in its entire history.
It was the highest death toll inflicted on the RUC in its entire history.
After the attack, the British government launched a multi-million-pound construction programme to protect bases throughout Northern Ireland from similar attacks.
The Newry base had been rebuilt and reinforced, though there was still evidence of scorch marks on the exterior walls.
High, blast-proof barriers had been built and the building bristled with barbed wire and heavily armed soldiers. Armoured police vehicles sat at the entrance to the station.
Tensions were obviously still high and it was a sobering sight.
At the time the New Zealand police were unarmed. Access to firearms was available if necessary, though this seldom happened and was rarely seen by members of the public.
As a former member of the constabulary, I was fairly comfortable with guns, having been armed myself on several occasions but I wasn’t used to seeing military hardware readily on display like it was here. To Snow, it was something else entirely. He could barely believe what he was seeing.
Our naivety and slack-jawed curiosity bought about our first armed confrontation.
Not long after passing the police station a heavily armed military vehicle (a Humber Pig) pulled onto the road directly in front of the van.
There was a manned machine gun on the roof and Snow and I gawped at the vehicle in astonishment.
The Irish guys in the car saw what we were doing and hissed at us.
“For fuck’s sake, don’t stare at them. They’ll think we’re up to something.”
Too late. The soldier on the roof swung the gun towards us and the vehicle flashed its lights indicating for our van to pull over.
Our driver did as he was told, not that he had a lot of option, and his mates issued hushed instructions.
We were told to sit very still, make no sudden moves and avoid eye contact.
The soldiers in the back of the armoured truck leapt from the vehicle and fanned out on either side of the van.
One moved to our side of the vehicle.
He carried a large Armalite AR15 self-loading rifle and the barrel was pointed directly at us. I couldn’t help notice he had his finger curled around the trigger.
Photo by Maxime Doré on Unsplash
It was an incredibly tense moment.
The driver very, very slowly wound down the window and explained to the soldiers that we were harmless tourists from New Zealand and unused to seeing armed soldiers.
I was going to add that we really weren’t worth shooting as the paperwork would have been horrendous but thought better of it. I don’t think levity would have been appreciated at that moment.
The lead soldier asked a few more questions, took a long, slow look at us (which I swear lasted about three years) then gave a curt nod and motioned for the other soldiers to return to the vehicle.
They backed off but kept their weapons levelled at us the entire time.
After the armoured truck had driven off our driver issued a huge sigh of relief.
“Fook me,” he said to his mates. “That’s the last time I pick up hitchhikers from New Zealand.”
‘Dammit,’ I thought, ‘we’ve ruined it for all Kiwis… again’.
Snow and I mumbled apologies but there was no need, the mood inside the van was jovial now that we hadn’t been riddled with bullets.
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