The Clones Porker, Christmas in the Garage and Jock Steels Amazing Mechanical Sausage

Clear cold and brightly moonlit – the crossroads just over the border to Clones, glistened with a thick layer of hoar frost.  This was the first Christmas of the latest batch of troubles that Ireland had had to endure.  The early part of the troubles as they are known have not been documented in any great detail but bore little resemblance to the ensuing bloodshed in Belfast and Derry, in fact they bore a greater resemblance to Ballkissangel but always with an edge to the comedy.  The trip to the border lands of Fermanagh was the second of the excursions to the Emerald Isle that year.  The first was a relatively benign trip that had encompassed Derry and then Aldergrove.  The first bit was only remarkable by the fact that when we drove into the city with our blue coloured land rovers the crowds of rioters who had been bashing the exhausted contingent of RUC men to their knees would cease and desist, part their ranks to allow us passage to the small air sea rescue station that was one of our assets, wait patiently until we checked that the place was secure and then returned to our base at the top of the hill.  Once those rituals had been observed, like a Hanna Barbara cartoon, they immediately clashed together in titanic terminal struggle again.  The Aldergrove end was only remarkable because of the two hangers on the airfield which could have given any terrorist organization drooling mouths as they contained a high value target indeed -124 F4 Phantoms straight out of the McDonnell Douglas factory destined to be deployed with the RAF and RN, once their engines had been up rated and a new avionics suite had been fitted.  The task was to stand on the door of these two enormous concrete upside down dustbin lid type hangers with a loaded rifle and 20 rounds of ammunition and defend these aero planes to the last man and the last round.  The highlight of this was one unfortunate soul, being new and young and inexperienced, managing to put 3 rounds through a bank of self flushing public urinals located behind the open door where he had been sheltering from the wind off Lough Neagh. He told me later, once the shock of his two weeks wages fine for discharging his weapon in a dangerous manner had worn off ( how can you not discharge a weapon dangerously, they are supposed to be dangerous, otherwise why have them), that all the while he was pulling the trigger his brain was saying to him “No don’t do this you should not be doing this” but his trigger finger just kept working.  He could have made some form of case for demonic  possession but in truth he was a bit overly blessed in the stupid department. 

We returned to the Province some two and a half months later after completing that four months there.  This time it was to be the good stuff, the first time a complete wing of the RAF Regiment had deployed as a wing since the big 6 year exercise in 1939.  Because we were Strategic Reserve we would deploy onto the border between The Irish republic (The 26 Counties) and Ulster (The 6 Counties). We would have squadrons at Enniskillen, Armagh,Tyrone and Londonderry, with our HQ in Omagh in one of the few existing army bases.  I suppose in need to put in some explanations here about the organisation and it’s structures.  So for all of you who know what the RAF Regiment is, tune out for a paragraph or two while I fill in some blanks.

The RAF Regiment is a separate corps within the RAF, created in 1942 to seize and defend RAF assets.  Wel,l we didn’t get much seizing these days so we get to defend lots.  We have also acted as infantry in support of the Army or the Local Government wherever we happen to be.  This means we tend to get around a lot more than your average pongo or to some extent marine.  We seldom operate in groupings of bigger than squadron size (about 160 strong).  These are slightly larger than your average army or marine company and much more heavily armed and equipped. Additionally, the longer than usual infantry training means that the skill levels of the individual tends to be higher than the basic level grunt

It also meant that we could cover more ground than the average infantry unit and so, faced with a huge manpower deficit, the Army asked for and got the Wing to seal the border.

Early October saw us sailing into Belfast Lough and splitting up our various sub units from there. Our squadron,16 deployed to Fermanagh based at Enniskillen, 37, went to Tyrone, the Iron Triangle, based at Dungannon and Pomeroy and our attached army unit deployed to Armagh based in Armagh itself.  The wing was based in Omagh with the HQ squadron, 48 minus it’s SAM launchers.  They were linked with the resident army unit  17/21st Lancers the death or glory boys giving us some armoured car support.  This mixed bunch looked after County Londonderry right up to the outskirts of Derry itself.  Also at Omagh we had the Wing reserve, composed of one flight (about 30 guys) from each of the forward squadrons.  This was done on a rotational basis 2 weeks at Omagh and 6 weeks on the Border.  It was supposed to be Rest and Recuperation for the tempo we were working at 24 hours on camp guard, 36 hours on patrol duties and 12 hours off then start again was killing.

Things did not get off to an auspicious start.  On each of the squadrons there was always a pecking order of flights.  We were organized into HQ, 3 rifle or field flights and a support weapons flight.  Support Weapons was always the flight to be on as it was composed of the squadrons crème de la crème whether that was as a professional mortar man, heavy machine gunner, all round basic infantryman, criminal or blagger. If you were good then you would be “encouraged” to apply.  I got chosen because I was recognised as a good trooper and bright, as well as being a fairly useful centre half.  The first unit from 16 to go into reserve was SW Flt.  The fly in the ointment was I did not travel with the rest of the flight directly to Omagh as I had to drop some clerk off at Enniskillen.  The drop off was of no moment and I needed an escort to take me back to Omagh.  This was organised because a junior officer was detached to the Wing as a watch keeper and he would travel in a separate vehicle with his driver.  Problem was they didn’t have a map, I did and, trusting soul, handed it over to them.  It took all of 2 miles for them to lose me as we exited the county town of Enniskillen.  So I was lost with only the vaguest idea of direction of travel.  Why don’t you come across signposts that say if you go here you will be on your way to Omagh?  As I plodded on, ricocheting across the map of Ulster like a demented pinball, it grew darker and the petrol gauge of the land rover began to slip towards the empty.  This would be a problem, I could always stop at a local police station except that a) there were none and b) we had been warned that on no account were we trust the locals as we, as a Regiment, had a stigma attached from the previous troubles in the fifties.  All this was a problem but not show-stopper for a man of my calibre.  What was show stopping was the 4 x 81mm mortars I was carrying in the back of long wheelbases land rover.  And if that was a problem it was nothing compared to the 164 rounds of high explosive ammunition for those mortars in the trailer. considering that a medium mortar like the 81mm can lob a round with very credible accuracy for some 4 and a half miles.  They would have been Christmas come early to those republican groups on the border.  Well as you guessed, because I am writing about this, I survived and eventually rolled into the main gate at Lisanelly Barracks in Omagh at around 7:30 PM that night , having been missing for some 6 hours to find that the entire Province searching for me, and of course my mortar cargo. All I was interested was if any of my gang had thought to order me a late dinner as I was starving not having eaten for some 13 hours.  Instead I got the grand inquisition in a process that would have done Torquemada proud.  All sizes and manner of loonies went as far as to personally accuse me of trying to bring down the government because of my thoughtless actions.  The young officer who was going there as well had not told anyone he had lost me and disappeared into his room at the mess.  When he was rootled out and grilled he stuck to his story like a good patsy completely unknowing that his driver was one of my best mates, hated the little turd and could not wait to tell the truth and show them my map with my name plastered all over it.  Ah my another fine military career nipped in the bud – off he went the next day with a little sticker on his forehead – ” send back to civvie street not wanted on this or any other voyage”

There were more adventures in Omagh; the great flood where we assisted the population and brought food and drink to them whilst they blithely urinated on us from top floor windows – “Nothing personal you see lads but you’re  British Soldiers” called one especially productive dwarf.  I learned a valuable lesson that day and that was if you go fast enough down a street flooded up to waist level in a land rover the bow wave then created was strong enough to smash in said dwarfs front door and on the second pass liberate his colour TV, last seen surfing the wave into the river.  The next day was clean up and we got assigned to cleaning up a pair of apartments, personal friends of the Mayor we were told so “Do a good job lads and it will be good for the squadron”. We were nothing If not dutiful and diligent, armed with brooms and shovels we set to to clean up these very smart flats.  Well all except Denis, the squadron perv.  Everywhere has one and Dennis was ours.  I suppose he just had an overly imaginative mind coupled with a hypersonic sex drive but Dennis could be relied upon to see the hidden perversion in any situation.  It, therefore, came as no surprise when he came out of one of the flats bedrooms twirling a leather harness around his head for all the world, the image of one of Ghengis Khans Golden Horde after the sack of Samarkand. The sound that accompanied it was, however, pure Northumberland triumph.  Having told us all that he had known all along we were mere pawns in some capitalist game and that we were clearing up a knocking shop so the Mayor could………well you catch my drift.  

There was also the minor frisson when the aforesaid donkey wallopers (Cavalry) 17 / 21st lost their prized battle flag.  Some evil git had misappropriated this in the dead of night.  I am sure it was pure circumstances that it went missing the day we deployed back to Enniskillen.  As our counterpart Support Weapons flight from 37 San were also off to Dungannon that day, I remain convinced that it went with them – evils swine to man best suited to a Caribbean privateer of the 15th Century.  However, I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, but cannot for the life of me understand why OC 37 should have given it to our CO to hang in his office, I sometimes wondered about our officers!

Well Enniskillen was crowded and uncomfortable and fun.  We did lots of patrols of which one day I shall write more.  It was also tiring and mind-numbingly boring – a state of affairs I was, in later years, to appreciate as the norm and the safest.  The weeks rolled by with little respite.  We went to the furthest reaches of County Fermanagh even to the edges of the Atlantic, well almost map reading being what it was then.  Before one knew it we were into December and watched in silent glowering jealousy as the inhabitants of Fermanagh, never ones to shirk a party,  began getting down and dirty and enjoy themselves. The last few days in the run up to the big day were spent on patrols for us but with a small deviation from the norm.  A squadron Christmas party had been organised at a hotel just outside the town.  A posh hotel but no one had told the Sqn officers that as well as booze and a good dinner what the troops needed at a party like this was women.  Sadly, none were provided and of course the inevitable happened, they had no where to let off steam and tried to agitate the locals into a punch up.  Not even Enniskillen’s locals were that daft and so it degenerated into amass brawl the likes I have not seen since and which would have been entirely in place in a John Wayne western.  Trouble was, as we were on patrol duties on Christmas Eve, the next night, I along with the Wolf had been nominated as bouncers or security in today’s parlance.  We had completed the most of the night with nothing untoward at all.  The manager of the hotel invited us into the staff pantry just before midnight and had some cakes and sandwiches and coffee there.  Barely had we got in then one of the staff came in and said there was some trouble in the hallway.  Up we went and opened the door into the main corridor through the hotel and it was absolute carnage people were thumping people for fun, for revenge, to prove they weren’t that drunk yet and a million other reasons.  The manager had called the riot squad from our stand ins for the evening 37 Sqn and the boys managed to divest them of shields rifles helmets and flak jackets in a shorter time than it has taken me to type this.  

Most of the rest of the morning was spent conveying slightly and in one or two cases moderately battered bodies to the local infirmary.  if the IRA had wanted to attack that would have been the day and the time……to be continued