ANDERSON VALLEY ADVERTISER Breaking Out of the Maze
September 28, 1994
Escape!
by Pol Brennan
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They did a good job of keeping it a secret given the length of time they had been working on it. but I knew something was going on from all the movement between our wing and the other wings. I was second in charge of one of the wings of H-Block 7 within Her Majesty’s Prison Maze. They were called H-Blocks due to their design: four wings with an adjoining central administration are called the “circle,” a carry over from the old Victorian gaol model: that of cell wings radiated out from a central hub, also called a circle.
There were eight H-Blocks in all and as fate would have it, I was in H-7 in September of 1983, about two years after the awful hunger strikes of ‘80 and 81, when we lost ten of our numbers to Margaret Thatcher’s desire to break us. (She didn’t, she just made us stronger.) After asking some pointed questions about the movements between wings, I was pulled aside by the block Officer in Command, the 0/C, and told to mind my own business. I countered that as #2 man on the wing, it was my business. My friend Sean “Chinky” McGlinchy, had been itching to tell me for weeks but was under strict instructions (as were all the small cabal who knew) to keep security tight. Sean was there for my conversation with the block 0/C, since he finally convinced him that I should be let in on what was coming down. It astonished me when I was then offered the option to go or to stay, as I was one of the few non-lifers given such a choice.
I was told five days before the escape was to happen. so I had plenty of time to weigh the consequences of joining the escape. Or of staying. It was only about two days before that fateful Sunday that I finally decided to go. II I’d stayed I would have assisted in the operation, as many others did.
The basic plan was to take over all four wings of H-Block 7 simultaneously, overpowering the 25 guards who were on duty, hold it for a few hours until a large food truck arrived, commandeer it load it up with 38 prisoners, a number of whom would be wearing prison guard uniforms and drive out through several security gates to the main gate house. The men disguised as guards were to get out of the truck, and take over the tally lodge. They would then open up the main gate to let us through and out onto the road outside the prison. A few miles away, a large, heavily armed IRA back-up operation lay in wait to provide cover, should any be required. It was an awful bold and ambitious plan, every detail meticulously thought out. It required precise timing, daring and a large measure of luck. It was, in fact, the largest Irish Republican operation mounted since the 1917 War of Independence.
Sunday 12:30pm: Things that Sunday seemed normal for all who had no idea of the impending action, so when the signal was given, there were lots of surprised faces on the wing. It was only the guys who were to leave on the escape who tackled the guards and subdued them using guns that had been smuggled in arid chisels and screwdrivers borrowed from the hobby room. Once this was accomplished, those prisoners who were to assist the operation appeared wearing hoods fashioned from of pillowcases. They also wore ponchos made by slitting a bole in the middle of their bed blankets. It looked like a KKK convention. This was to prevent any identification of those who would be helping by remaining to hold the block in the hour or so after we had all left. They were taking as much of a risk as we were. Later they would be subjected to very harsh treatment not seen since the days of the blanket protest, and would endure severe interrogations by guards and Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) police in an effort to discover who did what to assist the escape.
A short statement was read to those involved in the day’s happenings, that an escape was in progress and they should follow any instruction given to them. Those prisoners not involved in any aspect of the escape were then directed to their cells and told to lock down (or lock up as they say in Ireland) for their own safety. They all did so without question, bewildered to a man that this was happening.
While the officers were being bound and gagged in our wing, one or two shots from a small caliber pistol were heard coming from the circle and we knew immediately that a prison guard had probably been shot. Gaolers in Long Kesh arc unarmed.. Now it really was a new ballgame. Up until that moment everything had art air of unreality. This ended with the crack of those shots. Each block is a prison unto itself, a prison within a bigger prison, so the shots never carried outside the walls to any unsuspecting ears. It was my task to secure our personal files from the central control room. They were to be taken with us or destroyed in order to delay identification of those who’d left. Unfortunately, this was also the room in which the panic button was located, and the same room where the guard had been shot when he made a move to hit the button and raise the alarm.
Luckily enough for the guard, the wound wasn’t fatal, just enough to reduce him to a bloody mess on the floor. First aid was administered to him as soon as possible by those who knew a little and later, when it was discovered there was a prison medic in the block, he was made as comfortable as circumstances allowed. He survived. It was this incident that set the tone for the rest of the day’s events. Its immediate effect was to instill a healthy respect of our intentions among the guards unfortunate enough to be on duty that day. From then on they obeyed all directions given them. No harm came to any of them. Those guards who were injured in the initial takeover were also given first aid treatment for the superficial cuts and bruises incurred in the first few minutes. All in all, they were treated humanely. Except for the man shot, their worst casualty was their individual and collective, wounded egos at being trussed, gagged and stripped to their underwear by those they were supposed to be guarding.
Because the control room was now being used to administer first aid so the injured officer, it was decided to abandon the collecting of files and I found myself with some free time on my hands. This gave me a chance to roam around a bit and fully rake in the enormity of it all, The sense of the approaching unknown was rife among us. My mind was racing a thousand thoughts per minute, wondering how this day would end, still, there was no denying the feeling of destiny that enveloped the entire day. There was no going back now.
Scenes in the circle were very liquid with with a lot of movement by people in hoods and ponchos interspersed with those who were changing into guard's uniforms and those guarding the guards. The officers had been herded into the circle canteen classrooms where they sat silent, hound and pitiful in their shorts and Undershirts, disbelief and fear ingrained on their faces. I had to look twice at the lads who had donned the guard’s uniforms, it was hard ever’, for me to recognize most of those wearing these disguises those of us allotted to go on she escape were without disguises, except for the men wearing prison officers uniforms.
It’s amazing the differences uniforms, hair cuts, shaved mustaches and officers caps snake in changing someone’s appearance, especially when not expecting anything untoward. These uniform disguises were ultimately to cause enough confusion to save some of us from being shot, One lasting impression that I have of the circle scene that day was of Bobby Storey (one of the brains behind the plan), tall and authoritative, standing 6ft 4” with clipboard in hand, barking out orders, directing-the men to various tasks. I didn’t know Storey that well, more by reputation than any contact I ever had with him, but it was clear he was in charge, The escape was plotted by a very small group, especially one Larry Marley. Ironically, he was to stay since he was in another block and only had a abort while before he completed his sentence. Marley was known as a persistent escape artist with six or more attempts to his name. 1-Its nickname, Papillion, was more than apt. I had the pleasure of sharing a cell with him for some months whilst on the blanket protest in the late 70s. so I heard first hand of all his exploits. He was very witty and a funny guy with a penchant for ghost stories, hence he was also known as “the Devil” amongst some prisoners.
While everyone was in a serious mode, it was not without moments of levity. Upon seeing the guards huddled in the canteen, one guy laughingly remarked, “The lunatics have taken over the asylum.” The song of the same name started running through my head and I thought of the movie, “Queen of 1-learts,” starring Alan Rates where the residents of the local asylum in France take over a small town nearby. But lunatics we were not. Our discipline that day was admirable as was our function and ultimate goal: freedom.
Approximately 2:30pm: As I recall, we had a wait of over an hour before the food truck arrived. Although my impression up until then was that things were going well, in an escape situation the wait seemed like an eternity. After the food vehicle arrived, I thought we would soon be gone but by the time we eventually climbed into the back of the truck and said our farewells to those who would stay and hold the block, we were running about 20 minutes late. Sitting in the back of that truck, jammed together and looking at each other, we were admonished to be silent under severe threat of punishment should a sound emanating from us expose our presence as we passed through the inner security gates. There was a man hidden in the cab of the truck with a gun at the crotch of the driver, a young prison guard who understood the consequences of trying to be a John Wayne. He wisely decided not be to hero.
Sunday approximately 3:40pm: We successfully passed the two inner gates and reached the tally lodge where the truck was parked nearby. Those in guard’s uniforms then climbed out to take the lodge and open the main gate. The remainder of us (25 or more) were still in the truck, our’ eyes doing most of the talking. These are the longest moments I can ever remember, The looks on everyone’s faces were full of hope and anticipation as well as apprehension. This turned to an awful dread when a siren was heard and we all knew the escape was blown.
The last time i saw such despondency on men’s faces was at the end of the ‘first hunger’ strike of December 1980, when it was realized we had been, out-maneuvered by the British and had gained nothing. Every face I glanced at mirrored the sickening feeling I had in the pit of my stomach, That awful siren sounded the death knell of all our hopes. Those terrible little moments forever frozen in my mind were quickly shattered when one of our men appeared at the back of the truck to order us all out. Things inside the tally lodge had not gone well. The lost time had cost us dearly. There were more than the expected number of guards in the gate house plus still more were returning for a change of shift, Our lads, armed with only a few small caliber pistols and some chisels were unable so secure them all.
Fights broke out and everything became unglued. More fights spilled to the outside of the gatehouse as even more guards arrived. When we all piled out of the truck this evened up the numbers and the fighting intensified. But the ball was busted. We feigned submission for a few moments as chaos was not helping. Somehow the main gate had been opened during the commotion and the green hills lay just beyond the barbed wire on the other side of the road.
Someone yelled. “Run for it!” which broke the ice of our seeming submission and we moved en masse through the thin line of guards that had stretched across the open gate. Somehow I made my way through the clash of bodies and running across the road. took a headlong dive over the roll of barbed wire, and the bodies already tangled there. Now that our plan had gone hopelessly awry, it was every man for himself. I found myself running up that hill for all I was worth, other prisoners to my left and right. some in uniform. This confused the British soldiers in the perimeter guard towers so that they couldn’t distinguish friend from foe, Still. I was thinking at any moment a bullet was going to rip through my back, as it never felt so broad, Is was about 100.200 yards before I reached the crest of the hill and then down the other side, out of aim’s reach. Others were beside me, panic on all our faces, We’d reached a small road and further on a smaller lane leading to a farm. I ran panting up the lane to the farm house to find some of our guys already there, Brendan “Bic” McFarLane. who was one of the planners as well as the former prisoner Commanding Officer during the second hunger strike of March 1981. had already reached the small farmhouse.
Gerry “B lute” McDonnell was also there and had the keys to a green four-door Mercedes that was parked outside the house. I made my way into the car, scrambling for a place. Soon Bic was behind the wheel with seven of us. myself included, crammed into the large sedan. We had to prevent others from overcrowding the car as more prisoners were arriving and commandeering anything that remotely resembled a motor vehicle.Driving nervously because he hadn’t driven in years. Bic headed East towards Belfast, but I and others argued that if we hit a roadblock, it would be all over: so we did a 180 and headed West then due South into more rural areas, After what seemed like a reasonable amount of time, it was suggested that we dump the car and take over a house to get out of harm’s way.
We reached consensus on this as we had no idea of how good the security response would be and a car full of men would surely attract too much attention, We decided so pick a house. After passing a number of places along the country mad we were now traveling, we settled on what looked like an isolated cottage, Inside the car were Seamus McElwaine, Terry Kirby.Tony “Tank” McAllister, Jim Clarke, Dermot “Oda” McNally. Gerry “Blute” McDonnell. Brendan “Bic” McFarland and myself. Either Bic or Blute had managed to salvage one of the six small caliber pistols smuggled into the jail for the escape. Two of us took the pistol and were dispatched to take over the house, going around the back way hoping for an open or unlocked door. The back door was ajar and it was discovered that the occupants of the cottage were a small family; a husband and wife, two boys and a small child, all of whom were very frightened by seeing two strange men with a gun walk into their home, They feared the worst, that they were going to be harmed. Ii took a little while to calm their nerves, but they were even more apprehensive when, after the all clear was given, the rest of us teemed in.
Once inside the house, we began so organize ourselves to secure the place. We quickly hid the car in the cluttered garage that we’d hastily cleared. Suggestions were flying fast and furious amongst us. Even though Bic was officially in charge, he listened when anyone made good or logical suggestions. Different tasks were assigned. Three were sent upstairs as lookouts, two to search and collect food and provisions that might be needed later and someone to talk with the parents to reassure them that they were in no danger from us. This was my task. Finally, someone was needed later to play with the kids so as not so frighten them. God knows what was going through their minds at the sight of us all.
When we had established that no visitors were immediately expected, we settled down a bit and turned on the radio and TV to find out what had happened since we’d left the prison. Sure enough, around 5:30pm it started to trickle in and soon became the main story, with bulletins every half-hour. When one station’s coverage was finished, we’d switch channels to catch more news. This way we kept abreast of the latest press and security releases,
We quickly determined our location and if the family expected anyone to visit later that day. The man of the house was a lay preacher who was to give a sermon as a local church hall around 6pm that evening. We had him cancel this. citing a child’s illness as a reason, One person actually did call at the front door, but the lady was able so send her away without amusing suspicion. News broadcasts were now primarily focusing on the Maze escape and it was clearly becoming a major embarrassment to the authorities inside and, more importantly, outside the prison.
Camera crews had already converted part of the parking lot within the prison grounds into a media camp. waiting for interviews from prison officials and tidbits from any guards willing to offer them, Newspapers in the days following would be full of diagrams and aerial shots of the prison showing the escape route. Doctored mug shots of us were broadcast, I looked like one of the Ayatollah’; henchmen in the photo they released of true. This would he a help later in that it meant that it wouldn’t take much so change my appearance.
We now had some hours to kill before it would be safe enough for us so be able to think of leaving. We used this time well, gathering enough provisions and information from the parents arid boys for a couple of days journey. Seamus McElwaine was a country boy with extensive background in going across country. It made him the logical choice to find out about the surrounding geography. Seamus and Bic talked with the wife while Blute and myself concentrated on the husband. Sometimes we switched. Our task was to convince these good people of our benign intentions towards them, that we were not the maniacal monsters of the news reports and Unionist myth. This family, was, after all. Protestant and probably Unionist themselves, so we had an uphill battle, but I believe our actions toward them, while probably initially frightening because of the circumstances, helped as this was more than likely their first encounter with Irish Republicans.
Still, we had no way of gauging what would happen once we left the cottage. We needed to be sure that we put enough miles between us and them before they raised the alarm. Expecting them to hold back was just not realistic and was not even considered by us. We had so develop a ploy that would serve to keep the family silent long enough to allow us to get away. A ruse was created by the four of us wherein we would tell the parents that in order so keep our whereabouts safe, we would take one of the boys (the oldest was perhaps eleven years old) along with us as a guarantee that they wouldn’t alert the cops or the Brita. Of course, we had no intention of ever doing so. A child would have only caused complications and slowed us down Our real hope was that upon hearing this, the parents would immediately promise their silence to keep their boy.
This little bit of reverse psychology only half worked. Unfortunately, they believed we were actually going to take their son, and while protesting, seemed resigned. So we put it to them that while we really didn't want so drag the little boy along with us, we had no choice, except for one possible alternative. Since the family was a very religious one, we would allow them all to swear under oath on their family bible that They would keep their story quiet for 72 hours. We concocted art oath for them to this effect which I helped administer to both the adults and the boys. This was a long shot and we Weren’t sure it would work either. We decided to gamble and hope that the family would not break their word, though truth to tell, none among us would have blamed them.
Soon it would be dark and we had decided so leave that night. At around 10pm we put the family to bed in the main bedroom upstairs telling them we had decided us stay until morning and while some of us would be in the field outside as scouts, the remainder would be downstairs. We also told them that we would be heading the direction opposite from our intended route, in this way we would have at least eight hours start should the alarm be raised. As we left the cottage. we had a pretty good idea of where we were headed thanks to the good debriefing by Seamus arid Bic of the woman of the house who had also drawn a crude map of the surroundings for us’.
Before leaving and while. the family were all upstairs in the bedroom, we cut the phone lines. No sense tempting fate. We also took art inventory of all we had taken:
food, rucksacks, flashlights, a radio, compass. maps and clothes. The inventory was signed by Bic on our behalf so they could reclaim everything or its worth from the Republican movement. We were, after all, not thieves. The family accepted this list as more proof of our sincerity. Entering the bedroom where they were huddled up in the big bed together, I had a terrible sympathy for them and felt the weight of the ordeal we had visited upon them. Before I left, as I was the last one to see them. I once again apologized for the trouble we caused them this day. I ended by telling them not to be frightened. that ii would all be over soon. Then I turned and left. Once downstairs, we all departed silently.
Soon we were making our way along the small cows-try roads flanked by the hedgerows so familiar in the Irish countryside. These may make for pretty postcards. hut for us that night, leaping over those hedgerows every time we heard a vehicle or saw headlights, it was a nightmare. Eventually one of our number, Tony “Tank” McAllister, sprained his ankle severely by going through such gymnastics and landing badly.
Finally, we decided so stick to the fields with Seamus leading and Blute bringing up the rear. Those in between took turns helping Tank, the biggest and heaviest of us all (hence hit nickname), hobble along. We barely missed a number of security forces’ jeeps traveling those roads and could hear the crackle of their radios as they passed while we hid behind the hedges. As luck would have it, a thick, heavy fog descended over the county-side. Is shielded us from the probing glare of army helicopter search lights that were sweeping overhead periodically. Everywhere the farm dogs were barking furiously. probably because they sensed us, but this did not soon to stir anyone as we surely expected it would. I thought if we got through this night, it would be a miracle.
Among the provisions we took from the cottage were a compass and a map. After walking for quite some time, the fog lifted arid revealed a beautiful dark sky full of stars. Having been always interested in the night sky, 1 was able so discern from the pole star and the asterism, the Starry Plough (as it’s known in Ireland) or the Big Dipper (in the US), that we were headed in the right direction. The compass concurred and we were on our way again. We would use this method of direction-finding over the upcoming nights.
Early the next morning saw us come upon a large country estate that was surrounded by a long high wall which we scaled. We passed partially through the grounds and decided to bed down in thick shrubs and bushes not far from some large greenhouses in the middle of the estate.
That afternoon a gent came along the small road leading up so the greenhouses accompanied by two dogs on leashes. Big black dogs. From his accent. heard as he called to his clogs, be was English and probably the owner of the estate. His dogs sensed us and began barking in our direction though he seemingly took no notice, thinking perhaps that they were barking at some small animal. He soon left with his hounds We sighed relief. About fifteen minutes later, to our utter dismay, an RUC vehicle appeared and stopped within a stone’s throw of our position.
Two RUC meet stepped out brandishing 9mm Sterling machine guns. I glanced at Blute who had readied the little .25 and thought sarcastically. “Great!” We were frozen and ready to dash should we need so. I had that awful feeling in the pit of my stomach again. Adrenalin raced through my veins and I’m sure everyone else’s. But the RUC men looked more bored than concerned, as if they’d been here before on false alarms. After an interminably long two or three minutes. one cop stubbed the butt of his cigarette under foot and climbed back into the car. The other followed as they drove off. As soon as they were out of sight. we were out of there. Scrambling on our bellies through our cover of thick foliage, we were soon sliding down a sleep embankment Into the waters of the Basin river which ran through the estate. We passed a few boys fishing a little upstream. They looked at us as if we were nuts when we waded across the river which was up to our necks in places. We were eager so put distance between us and our close encounter with the law.
We traveled as quickly as Tank’s ankle would allow for the remaining daylight hours and were thankful when sundown and finally darkness arrived. This would be the only time that we moved in the daylight before reaching safer environs. Our collective self-consciousness would have been obvious to any observant farmer or farmhand who paid close attention to strangers as rural folk are known so do. So we kept to the fields and hills as much as possible checking the roads and skies with a small pair of cheap binoculars taken from the cottage. Seamua was particularly skilled at showing us how to move through the fields and hedgerows, over gates and stiles without leaving art obvious trail or disturbing the cattle or sheep too much.
While traveling we passed the hours nervously cracking jokes and witty exchanges to ward off the despair of knowing we could be on borrowed time. That night we played with the idea of taking over another house in order to replenish our already diminishing supplies. I guess we were hungrier than normal as we ate and stated every hour to relieve the nervous exhaustion that the constant rush of adrenalin was causing. Trying to snatch some rest earlier on the estate had not been successful for most of us. As this was a rural area, the homes and cottages were far apart which suited our purpose, so we decided to scout out one cottage with white pebbled. dashed walls, a one-story bungalow affair.
Seamus. arid either Bic or Blute, went up to scope it out while the rest of us waited a field away. After art hour or so, they came back with the opinion (formed by listening through the windows) that the house was probably that of a UDR man (local British Army regiment) or perhaps RUC reserve, and that it wouldn’t be wise to chance it. We were still in an iffy area as far as Republicans go, so we hit the fields again and gained some more miles.
Tuesday morning: We journeyed all night and just after dawn bedded down on a hillside under a clump of bushes thick enough to give us serial cover. We were ever mindful of the British choppers that crisscross the Ulster skies as a matter of course even out in the country. Each of us took turns as watch as the others slept their first real sleep since the previous Saturday night, That afternoon was spent scanning the radio stations for any news of the escape. One report told of graffiti already plastered on a Belfast gable: “3 dozen and 2 all out for for stew!” Ah, those Irish bards!
The political fallout was heavy enough to permit calls for the resignation of she NIO’ (Northern Irish Office) top ministers and the highest ranking prison officials. an inquiry had already been announced. Heads would roll over this one.
Bobby Storey and many of the others had unfortunately been recaptured, some of them caught hiding underwater in a river breathing through reeds. Others had been recaptured as a road block taken from the same firm house where we’d commandeered the green Mercedes. Our decision to take over a house had proved prudent. Not much news came out from the Kesh itself (the Maze was formerly called Long Kesh) about the returned prisoners or those we’d left behind. The place was under complete lock up and all visiting had been canceled until further notice. Details of the plan of escape were now beginning to be reported. The magnitude of the entire operation, while not yet fully known, was becoming apparent. In West Belfast and other Nationalist strongholds. street and block parties had been reported. The morale was high amongst us with the knowledge that 26 of our numbers had gotten clean away from the prison. Long Kesh was deemed to be the most secure prison in Western Europe.
But over the next two days the number of escapees would drop to the low 20s. We also wondered what treatment was being meted out to those recaptured and to the lads back at the block. We knew things would be rough for them all especially since a guard had died during the fight as the gate house, where he had suffered a stab wound, albeit a non-fatal one. He died of heart failure, Is was determined later that he had a weak heart. Others had also been stabbed and injured besides the first officer in the block itself.
While the escape plan had gone awry and most clearly was not the success it might have been, the psychological effect was nonetheless enormous. The British government and the Northern Ireland Office were acutely embarrassed. In contrast, the boost so morale it gave to the Nationalist and Republican communities North and South of the border was much needed. They had been under tremendous strain due to the number of Super Grasses (snitches) who had emerged over the past months. These Super Grasses had put scores of men behind bars with their testimony in exchange for pledges of immunity from their own charges. This system was the latest weapon in the legal arsenal of she security forces against the Republican arid Nationalist population.
But the Super Grass system was still in its infancy and on shaky legal ground. The news of the breakout reached the biggest Super Grass to that date, one they were touting would wreck the Belfast IRA structure, Bobby “Beano” Lean was encouraged by the escape so slip out of his “protective custody” and citing threats and mistreatment by the RUC Special Branch as reason for his behavior, retract all that he had said. His retraction and the adverse publicity dealt a mortal blow to the Super Grass system and its use thereafter was greatly diminished.
Tuesday evening: By Tuesday night our food had run out and the only eats left were some small crabapples gathered at the estate, so we had to pull together and make do with what little we had. By now, Tank’s ankle had eased up a bit and he was able so move a little better, so we made faster time that night. The skies remained clear and the stars once again were our companions and directional aide. We were all pretty grungy by morning. not having washed since crawling on our bellies through thick underbrush in our getaway at the estate, so a cattle trough full of water was a welcome sight where we freshened up. Seamus warned us riot to drink from it because of bacteria present in tough water. We fillet] our plastic bottles only from faucets at the homes or farms that we searched.
Wednesday was again spent hiding all day, catching rest and monitoring the radio for the ongoing security situation and news from the Maze. My cousin. Gary Roberts, had been recaptured, which was a personal disappointment for me as he was family. I had seen his youthful face in the back of the truck and was surprised and delighted that he’d been given the opportunity to take part in the escape. He was serving an indeterminate sentence for a pistol found at his home when he was only 17 years old. This sentence was particularly harsh on his widowed mother and younger siblings.
Wednesday a: dusk: That evening we started out again heading due South towards the border with the Irish Republic. Border areas would be safer arid we could make connections if we were lucky enough to approach the right household. our average speed was still slow but sure. When we happened upon some railroad tracks running North and South, is seemed logical to follows these for a distance.
We started on the tracks to pick up some speed. Strung out along the trucks about 20 to 25 yards. we followed them South. Again we kept to our formation, Seamus leading and Blute bringing up the rear. Bic would move up and down the line checking on us all every so often to keep up morale or just to crack a joke or two. When anyone slopped so relieve themselves, we all slopped as we couldn’t afford any stragglers. Sometimes the whole caper seemed like a comedy of errors that we had so far survived. As we moved along, we talked in pairs about our still fresh recollections of the parts we and others played in the escape from the blocks. “Oda” McNally was a small wiry fellow with a mean wit that could at times be laced with sarcasm and cynicism He was especially funny now. Jim Clarke, a tall, skinny southerner had a perennially nervous disposition that was often masked with humor, but we all were nervous walking along those tracks. Kirby was constantly checking on Tank and along with Clarke had been Tank’s main support since he’d sprained his ankle on the first night. Blute would come up from behind to investigate whatever was happening, whenever we stoppe. He was a heavy-set bald-headed bloke, sometimes over-serious, but I couldn’t think of anyone betier to be looking after our backs, even with just a .25. I felt very vulnerable walking those tracks as we could have been easily spotted had anyone been along the route. But walking for a number of hours gave me time so reflect on how the events oft-be last few days would probably change all our lives in different ways, as they surely did.
Our luck was holding, with no voices calling out, “Who goes there?!” We eventually saw the lights of a of a big town, which we deduced must have been Newry. The small map confirmed this. After crossing the Egyptian railroad arches on the outside of the town, we decided to get off the tracks and head West into the bandit country of’ South Armagh, as it was known by the British squaddies. Thursday at dawn: We felt safe enough to risk movement during the early morning hours. I remember stopping at a small stone bridge where we once again discussed the option of approaching a farmhouse in the hope of making friendly contact by this time we were in the town land of Camlough where Raymond McCreesh (one of the martyred hunger strikers) had hailed from, so our hopes were higher. We spotted a nearby barn where we thought we could bed down if we weren’t successful in our search for a safe house. Inside the barn were large cans of fresh milk collected just that morning. Our hunger exaggerated the creaminess, and as we filled our bellies with chat cold, wet delight, the consensus was that it was the best milk we’d ever tasted. The bales of hay were stacked to the roof but were just low enough in places to allow us to climb up and construct a hide out arid resting place.
Seamus was once again dispatched to check out the nearby farmhouses while one of us kept watch as the others rested. Bic stayed alert for Seamus return an hour or so later with the good news that he’d happened upon a Catholic farmhouse up the road. The barn we were in, as it turned out, belonged to a Protestant and probably Unionist farmer, Seamus told us he had appeared at the open back door of the other farmhouse and surprised the woman inside when he asked her if she’d have a cup of tea for an escaped prisoner “Sure, and why wouldn’t I?” came the reply. Bingo! We’d reached safety!
We made a quick beeline for the friendly farm making sure no one saw us now at this crucial moment, arid soon we were inside enjoying the smell of bacon and eggs. potato bread and pots of steaming hot tea is she made us a traditional Ulster fry breakfast. We were ravenous, When I asked Seamus how he knew it was safe to assume she would be friendly, he replied, “I just knew by looking at her. A sixth sense, you might say.”she was a widower whose son had left for town that morning alter finishing his farm chores and would be back around noon. When he did arrive. tie was shocked to see his house full of strangers, but delighted when he found out who we were, He agreed in make contact with the local Republicans of the South Armagh Crossmaglen area — the most notorious IRA unit in Northern Ireland. They didn’t call it bandit country for nothing. They had been part of the massive, heavily armed back up outside the prison that past Sunday. but since the plan had gone sour, no contact was made with them. They waited as lung as was securely feasible before withdrawing.
We spent the rest of the afternoon freshening up, washing clothes, taking showers arid eating a grand dinner that evening with the woman and her son. We Were a lot more relaxed and a little less apprehensive about our immediate futures. Shortly alter dart a convoy of cars pulled into the farmhouse courtyard and three or four men appeared, introducing themselves to Bic. Leading them, and now present before us, was Brendan Moley and Brendan Burns, two of the men responsible for coordinating the escape from the outside. They greeted us warmly with handshakes and backslapping gratitude and relief that we’d finally surfaced safely. By Monday or Tuesday all escapees, but the eight of us, had been spoken for, whether in safe houses or recaptured. No one knew of our whereabouts or what had actually happened to us, arid some feared the worst, so is was a double relief for them that we were still alive and well and finally had fallen into the right hands,20 minutes after their arrival we bade our farewells, thanks and gratitude to the woman and her son, arid we climbed into the waiting four-door sedans in the courtyard. The crackle of two-way radios in contact with the lead scout car suggested a professionalism earned the hard way. Even though we would be moving through the countryside at night, in the midst of a heavy dragnet, we all felt safe with these men.
Brendan Moley later recounted the extent of the back up operation that lay in wait to rendezvous with us once we had cleared the prison. A large blue and red Ford box truck had been commandeered weeks earlier and modified to accept * couple of welded tripod mounts for two 50-caliber Browning machine guns. Also along was an M-60 l,62mm light machine gun as used by the US military and an array of assault rifles. All of this was in the hands of the IRA’s most experienced guerillas. This was the rear guard that would hold off any pursuing army or police vehicles following close behind the food truck had it made it our of the compound. They had been monitoring the RUC and Army radio frequencies. listening for any mention of “Operation Vesper,” the prearranged police code name fort a prison break. Along the intended escape route to South Armagh, there were planted three 1.000-pound land mines that were to be detonated (once we’d passed through) to cut off the route to following police arid Army. Also at various points, we were to be transferred to waiting cars and driven to safe areas. Moley and his team were fully confident of their ability to carry off their end of the operation. Unfortunately, they never got the chance to do so. At 4:12pm, almost 1 hours alter they’d taken up position the radio scanner picked up the alarm from the RUC transmissions that Operation Vesper was in motion. They waited as long as their own security allowed before retreating along pre-arranged escape routes back to South Armagh. But all was not lost, the plan the two Brendan's had put into action was able to fall back on contingencies and in the following weeks 18 of the 19 who evaded recapture in the massive manhunt that followed, eventually made their way to freedom through the network of safe houses and escape routes put in place by Brenda, Moley and Brendan Burns.
Whilst driving to our next destination it was revealed by Brendan Moley that they had just gotten word that day about the family in the cottage who had finally told of their ordeal, 72 hours after we’d left their home, They had kept their promise, our gamble had paid off.it was now becoming one of the move bizarre anecdotes of the entire escape, But perhaps it wasn’t so bizarre as it seemed to those news hounds reporting on it with rancored airs of disbelief. I still hope that it was in pan the discipline we showed amongst ourselves and the respect we showed toward the family under those extraordinary circumstances, as well as the hours Seamus. Bic. Blute and myself spent talking with them that day. that helped shape their reluctance to tell immediately. as could be expected. Of course, the final deciding factor was the oath they had sworn.
Our assumptions that these people were good religious folks who believed in their God and their word to Him was dead on. StilL they had not been without their crisis of conscience, because they had approached their pastor the day after we left, to confide in him what had happened. He advised that they should follow their own consciences and promised that he would stand by them, Perhaps one day I’ll have a chance to thank them personally. Who knows? For now. I do so from these pages. as 1 do all others who subsequently helped us (and continue to do so) in the years since then. Go raibh mile maith agaibh. beir bua.
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