Soldier B’s interview
Philip: You did tours in Northern Ireland – can you describe the very first time you arrived there?
B: I was only a young soldier – I pretty much left school to join the Army. I was based in Chester, just up the road from Manchester where I lived which was great. I could go home of a night. Four months into being in my regiment, my battalion, we got a formal posting to Northern Ireland. We went to a place called “Hyde and Lid” (Lytham Hyde). Down south near Dover, that neck of the woods. The Army, they’ve got kind of a big plot of land, like an estate fenced off and when you kind of walk through those gates, officially or as far as you’re concerned, you’re now in Ireland even though you’re not. So this whole estate is just… for a month, we was just shot at, blown up, petrol-bombed… everything that could possibly go wrong in Ireland was just pumped onto you in a 4-week period. So by the time I got to Northern Ireland you’re in this heightened state of awareness expecting as, using that language, I’m “defcon 5” walking out on the street, thinkin’ where we’re gonna get shot from, who’s going to blow us up, who’s gonna throw a petrol-bomb? Who’s going to spit at us, who’s gonna throw bricks at us, who’s gonna attack us? So, that was the same for everybody, we were just primed, waiting for something to go wrong.
And Ireland’s not like that. There’s a lull, they call it a lull in the battle, there’s big lulls between incidents, like an IED, a bomb going off or a riot starting or being shot at or being mortared. You’ll go weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks and nothing’ll happen so when I first arrived at Ireland I was just expecting everything to go wrong, based on the training that we’d just had. So, after a couple of weeks, it was, I wouldn’t say battle-hardened but you’re kind of, you know, eased into your role as a soldier on patrol on the streets of Ireland. It becomes more…subtle. You’re switched on but you’re not at that heightened state of anxiety, or it’s not constant. When I first arrived I was in a constant state of anxiety, when I first went out on the streets, I was only 18.
P: Were you there in the 1990s?
B: No it was the ‘80s – ‘87 I think. We went to Ireland not long after the SAS had assassinated nine active service units at Loughall. It was an operation set up by the SAS, it was an ambush. They knew these IRA, “players” they call them. It was our BAOR (Battalion’s Area Responsibility). Just before we went to Ireland, they got intelligence about an active service unit, consisting of four IRA players, there was two active service units and the idea was that they got themselves a JCB with a bucket, and they had a bomb in the bucket and they’d drive it to this police station, put the bucket against the wall, detonate the bomb, then go in and assassinate the RUC.
There was eight or nine of them but the SAS had got wind of it so they had a lot of SAS waiting in the police station, it was like one long road. It was one of those places where there’s one road in, one road out. SAS up this end of the woods, SAS up this end of the road and they comes driving up in this JCB and the rest of them was in vans, they had blue overalls on, balaclavas, M16s and obviously the driver of the JCB. The minute they drove past the first Cutoff, once you’re in that area that’s it, they’re dead and should anyone escape from that ambush zone then you’ve got your Cutoff A, your Cutoff B, so once they drove past A, they’re on the radio with the ambush set. That’s it they’re now in a kill-zone – they’re not getting out – and with regard to Ireland, it was pretty much a shoot-to-kill policy.
Anyway the minute they pulled up outside the police station, the SAS just let rip. I mean they had like GPMGs, SMGs, small arms… they just let rip. And two of them managed to get out and make their way down but the Cutoff jumps out and says, “Hey lads where you going?” And cut one of them in half with a GPMG. Just literally cut him in half with it. It’ll pulverise you, so they made sure they were all dead. None of them was going to trial.
We went not long after that. To take out nine IRA players, it’s a big kill, you know for them to reorganise and get another active service unit up and running, it takes a long time to recruit, train and the nine killed were experienced terrorists, well-trained, they’d been responsible for a lot of other terrorist acts over the years.
We found a 1500 pound bomb under a bridge which was fortunate. And we only stopped, literally, because we had 10 minutes on patrol left to kill. You’d go out on 14-hour patrols, 15-hour patrols. If you were on a 2-year tour you had more time to play with but cos you’re on a 4-month tour, you’re just rinsed, you get 5 days leave in 4 months and it’s just full on. You can’t knock them in 10 minutes early – you go out at 8 o’clock you don’t get back till 10 o’clock, you’re not a minute early. And there’s loads of culverts and low bridges, there’s just hundreds and hundreds of them, you know, rural. And you can’t possibly stop and check every one. And I’m not joking we literally had 20 minutes tops end of a patrol to kill. Corporal Singh, he was in the front Land Rover – we travel at a bit of a distance so that if one blows the other’s safe – he just stopped before this humpback bridge, not that he felt suspicious or his spider sense kicked in, none of that. We just literally had 20 minutes to kill and he said, “Come on let’s check this bridge.”
You go down and look up the stream – we looked up and it was stacks and stacks and stacks of these aluminium beer cans that had been sliced down the side and packed with explosive – 1500 pounds of explosive. They’d been there a few days and the IRA’d literally be sat waiting somewhere nearby to get one of those Land Rovers but fortunately we found it.
P: My god … Do you think it changes you?
B: You can’t go in the Army and not come back changed. It certainly matures you. I ended up in Berlin. I was there in 1989 the year the wall came down. But when I got home, back to Manchester after all that, your mates are like kids, still drinking bottles of cider and cans of Heineken, going to pubs, girlfriends, all that. But they’re… kids.
P: As a soldier you’re around violence and death all the time, so it must change your view of the world?
B: Looking back now it’s hard to see. I didn’t feel anything after the first week. It just becomes second nature, it’s your job. I wasn’t thinking or scared or frightened. I’m alert to dangers but I’m not… you know, that bomb? We was laughing and joking about it that night. It wasn’t sombre, it’s not like that in a platoon, it was often quite funny, quite entertaining, it’s a gallows sense of humour. You need one in the Army.
P: Yes there was a lot of that in that session this morning, but there was that little kind of sparkle…
B: And that’s constant here. But underneath that we’re here to do a job. We as individuals exorcise our own demons.
P: This place is about veterans recovering from addiction and abuse, do you think that being in the Army has got a relationship to those addictions?
B: I don’t know anyone else’s story so I don’t know. Lots of alcoholics never joined the Army. Being an addict, and alcoholic, it’s not something anyone plans to be. That’s their own personal stories. The Army’s a massive drinking culture. It’s just ale, ale, ale, ale. Everyone’s getting drunk, officers, everyone. It’s a way of escaping. Drink as much as you want but you’ll be up dressed and pressed first thing in the morning. But in regards to my own personal … I took my addiction into the Army not realising that I was an addict. I started abusing substances when I was 9 years old. I was sniffing glue at 9. There was a lot going on at home, it was violent where I lived. A substance called PR, it’s like a cheap version of Ralgex, pain relief. You used to spray it on your sleeve and suck it through, you got a real buzz off it. But by the time I went into the Army I’d had gas, glue, PR, cannabis, I was drunk, LSD, amphetamine. Then after I got out I got introduced to Ecstasy and went onto crack and heroin. I got caught smoking cannabis when I was in Berlin and I got locked up in a guard room for 181 days, 6 months, then I got my Court Martial and sent to Colchester MP for 8 month.
For smoking a spliff I got 14 months prison. If I’d got pissed and gone to the Ku’damm and beat up a German to within an inch of his life cos I was drunk, I’d have been a week, maybe 10 days locked up in the guard room but because I’d had a spliff, a DRUG… And then I was discharged from the Army. My Sergeant Major when he come to me, he said, “I’m gutted.” Because he knew I hit the ground running in the Army, I hit it RUNNING, I excelled. There was about 6 of us that got caught and he said, “I’m not bothered about them, but I’m gutted for you. Gutted.”
P: It was great when we were kids there and we loved it. Bombs and soldiers everywhere. Really exciting. But it was only 2-3 months after we left in ‘73 that I felt this incredible tension disappearing that I didn’t even know was there, so yeah when you’re in it you can’t see it. So I’m interested in trying to get into that mindset so I’m going to ask you some questions almost from that kid’s POV. Did you find yourself getting noticeably tense?
B: I had feelings of anger and frustration, I’m here for the greater good, to help people – we were there to protect people, especially the catholics but they’re the ones blowing us up and shooting us and killing us and saying Get Out. Every time you stopped someone in the street, being polite just checking what they’re up to, you just got all this backchat, this abuse and you wanted to throttle them – I’m sure there’s many soldiers over the years who did take a crack at them – but me personally, I had to remain professional.
Now, I can see from this side of the fence, being a civilian being stopped by the police… I can put myself in their shoes now which I couldn’t have at the time. I stopped these three kids, teenagers, I think it was in Cookstown, and I asked one of them a question and he just punched me. And they ran in a pub and we had an RUC officer with us so we went in the pub to get him and drag him out but this RUC officer wouldn’t let us – “Let it go,” he said. I was fuming. I wanted blood. I’d just been disempowered. Not just me, the whole platoon. So we wanted to go in – show ‘em who’s in charge. I suppose with hindsight it was best that we didn’t but I’m not thinking that at 17, 18, years old so that’s where I felt frustrated. There were lots of things like that – the knock-on effect would be too much if we got even.
P: I’ve been allowed into the Fusiliers Museum in Bury to look at stuff there. The Commanding Officer had a stack of papers – magazines from the IRA, things about the civil rights march, the UDA, all sorts. He was trying to get into their heads, to engage with what the other side were thinking. I wonder what sense did you have when you were meeting people?
B: There’s a book called 10 Men Dead and it’s about the hunger strikers, the reasons they went on hunger strike. They had five demands didn’t they? One: not to wear a uniform. I forget the others but it’s about recognition of their status – they didn’t want to be seen as criminals. And Margaret Thatcher, she’s saying we don’t talk to terrorists but behind the scenes she’s negotiating with them, the IRA. Bobby Sands is the first one to die so his name’ll be there for as long as, but there were nine more of them and Sinn Fein were worried that once they got really bad, their families would intervene and say, “Right take them off the hunger strike now.” Which would then disempower their propaganda drive. And it was about the playful side of it. How they got messages into the prison and out again, so you’re kind of getting angry for them as well. We’re on opposite sides but I’m reading this book and feeling empathic for them as well. And also getting angry at Margaret Thatcher. I’m in two places at once. I’m there as a British soldier, defender of the realm, but I’m also empathic with what they’re fighting for. But I’ve also got an understanding of the Protestant position, it’s a minefield isn’t it? Your emotions are just bouncing, who’s right, who’s wrong? There’s just no solution.
P: One of the things they talk about at the Fusiliers, the language they use is that they’re there to dominate the situation. Now you’re a very analytical person, we were talking about how groups work earlier on and how this place works. How do you think soldiers in a space in Ireland in 1987 would deal with a street situation for instance? Is dominate the right word?
B: Your basic training is 6 months, and you learn it’s about winning the firefight. Keep their heads in the trenches, rather than they’ve got yours in your trench. You’ve got to get control, once you’ve got control you can deal with it, so it is about total domination. It’s about us taking control. We do that with numbers, sheer presence, literally. And sometimes forcefully – there’s a riot, the plastic bullets come back and you push them back. You’ve got control of the chaos. They can throw petrol bombs all day long – we’re trained just to walk through them. If it looks like they’re gonna breach the frontline, you let them go for a bit but the ones at the back are ready with the shot.
P: Certain things I remember a lot. One of them is fire – smoke, burning buildings. What do you think of when you think of fire in NI?
B: Burning cars. One place – it was a bit of a croft, couple of burnt out cars and one corner of the house was burnt out. And there was UDA slogans, you know the red hand, on the end of it. I live in Mcr – burnt out buildings and cars are nothing new to me, I lived on an estate where it happened and it was just anti-social behaviour. Yeah but there were guns and bombs in Ireland but as a visual environment it’s kind of the same. Rough estate. Rough estate. Poverty driven. Poverty driven. Socially excluded. Socially excluded. But they were fighting for a political cause too, ours was drug dealers fighting for turf, fighting the police. We weren’t trying to blow the police up but it’s not that much different. They’ll turn round and say there’s no such thing as a no-go areas in Mcr but there is. The police’ll only chase you so far but they won’t come in unless they’re firm-handed and know they’ve got control. It’s like that guy that ran in the pub but we’ll lose control very quickly unless we get another 30 men. In the Army, to take out a section of 4 men you need 10 men, to take out 10 you need 30 men, for 30 you need a company of 70. It works like that. A brick is 4 men, a section is 10 men, a platoon is 30 men. A company’s 3 platoons. To take out a company, you need a battalion, then a brigade. A brigade is 3 companies. Its mathematics. And it’s about power.
P: Why do people want power?
B: (Exasperated) It’s like addicts. We always want control. But we’re not very good with it – once we’ve got it we make a mess of it. While they’re in here, they feel disempowered. The minute they’re outside, they try to get it back, so back at the house it’s, I’ve got an element of power, I feel safe. But really it’s about surrendering, you’ve got far more control. Because you’re that busy trying to get control you’re missing the point of life, that inner serenity.
P: Good point to end… but one more question. Dropping more chaos back in… can you tell me if you remember that sense of total chaos. A sense that it’s really just slipping away, like riots?
B: Yeah it’s like the ebb and flow. There’s a flow to it. You call it spider sense. Like Spiderman when he gets that sense of danger. I remember watching a documentary about your brain and it unconsciously knows, we’re losing here. And the other side’s got the sense, we’re gaining here. In riots loads of time it happens. You’re being overpowered. Petrol bombs look terrifying on the telly but they actually burn out really quickly they’re not that bad. I mean if it hits you bang on the leg, you’re in trouble then, but nine times out of ten its fine. But there’s a sense. There’s more bricks coming in and you’ve got to hold your nerve and rely on sheer force of numbers, you’ve got a line of shields and they might breach it and sometimes you’ve got to back off. Because if you lose it you’re dead, they’ll just kill you.
But in the next breath, I’ve been in a prison riot and in that experience I’ve been over the party line and the buzz from that, the adrenaline from that, its empowering. So I’ve been on that side, throwing the bricks and that. It’s a powder keg. If you want to know what society would be like with no laws no judges no police no courts no parliament. Lawless. That’s a prison riot. Anarchy. No respect for any law. No respect for nothing. We’re just going to smash, kick, scream, kick back at the Establishment. They’ve got the whole prison surrounded with police officers, prison officers but they’re not coming in, they can’t stop it, quell it, they don’t need to – (it’ll) burn out eventually. They’re in control of the chaos. They just retreat to a place of safety. Once the panic button’s been pressed they’ll just wait. For us, it’s actually frightening but exhilarating at the same time.
P: And when it burnt out?
B: There’s a natural comedown. For every high there has to be a low. We’ve just burnt your prison to the ground and once there’s nothing left to burn and there’s no more bricks to be thrown and no more swearing to be had, there’s no more food to eat, no more water to drink, you’re – right, where do we go from here? And then you just sit down and relinquish control back to the authorities. And they sense the lull in the battle. And we’re like, you can have it. And they come in and put us all on coaches – 800 men – I ended up in Whitemoor maximum security prison … with some IRA terrorists.
P: Did you talk?
B: Yeah, Mad Dog Magee. And right opposite me was the bloke who did the Iranian embassy, the only one to survive, called Fozzi, doing a 35-year sentence. He said he ran in the room with his mate and the SAS is coming and threw him out onto the lawn and one of the hostages started shouting: “He’s a terrorist and he’s a terrorist!” So the SAS took a step back and emptied 20 rounds into him and Fozzi looking in. And they tried to drag him back in but the eyes of the world are on Fozzi now so they can’t. Someone shouts: “No leave him we can’t assassinate him now.” He was only 20. He kind of knew what he went for, but they thought Margaret Thatcher would let them go because that’s what she did the time before. They struck a deal – hostages for them. This time the order was: “Fuck this, just kill them all.” So below Fozzi was Mad Dog Magee, an IRA terrorist doing 20 years I think. We talked about his political belief and the way they went about business but I tried not to fall into too much debate. It was surreal.
P: This has been about controlling a riot but you’ve experienced it from both sides and right at the end you’re chatting with an IRA guy.
B: Yeah, I should write a book me. They kicked me out of the Army 1989. I got met at the gates by the mates that I grew up in Manchester with, Noel Gallagher being one of them. They weren’t in Oasis then and they took me to see the Stone Roses in Blackpool. That was then I first got introduced to Ecstasy and then the Hacienda, the Man Alive, the Blackburn Raves, Quadrant Park over here. I’ve smoked crack with… I have lived a very interesting life to say the least.
(ENDS)
Soldier B was interviewed by Philip Davenport, Liverpool 2018