Behind the Wire

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INTRODUCTION

Both these articles are about life in British prisons in the North of Ireland.

They are not essays in political theory but attempts to convey a little of the human misery suffered by the opponents of British rule in Ireland.

Ironically enough I first met Phil McCullough when we were both interned in Crumlin Road Jail in August 1971. F was lucky I was released. Phil is still there three years later. He is one of less than 20 men who have been interned from the very beginning. He has already served the equivalent of a 5 year jail sentence without being convicted of any ‘crime’. Worse still he, like the others, has no idea when, if ever, he will be released.

A sentenced prisoner has a card outside his cell-door giving the earliest and latest dates he can be released. No matter how long his sentence he can settle down to serve it. But the internee lives in a state of constant uncertainty. He could be released at any time with only an hour or two’s notice. He can never give up hoping. It is a form of mental torture. And it is worst of all for the internee’s wife and children, always hoping he’ll be home for Christmas, for the summer . . . and always disappointed.

Phil McCullough hasn’t wasted his time in Long Kesh. He has been reading — and studying politics. He has joined the Peoples Democracy. He has played a leading part in political education in the camp. He is a fine example of a self-taught socialist revolutionary. It is he and his kind who will bring socialism to this country.

No-one who reads Phil's account of life in Long Kesh could fail to hate the system that put him and 600 others there. Equally no-one could doubt that the spirit that keeps them defiant will destroy that system.

The hunger strike by Tony Canavan and I was another part of the struggle against that system. We won a small victory. It has helped to boost the morale of others. All three of us and the Peoples Democracy will keep up the struggle until the final victory is achieved — the Socialist Republic.

MICHAEL FARRELL

“4 Prison Wardens, or Screws as we call them, are allocated to each Cage. Two patrol round the Cage...”

COVER PICTURE: I[nternees stand to attention in the rain as a black flag is erected on a nissen hut when the news of the Bloody Sunday murders was heard.

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THREE YEARS

IN LONG KESH By Phil MCCullagh Once Stirling Bombers left the runways of Longkesh laden with their deadly cargo of high explosives to devastate military and civilian targets during that famous war tn defence of smali Nations. Today 30 years after that grand imperialist victory, those very same runways and tarmacadam dispersal! points have been adopted to incarcarate without trial, a substantial portion of a small Nations population. Long Kesh is reputedly stated to be the most heavily protected and armed establishment of its kind in Western Europe.

To deny this or to state the contrary, one would have to be totally blind, or in the pay of the British Government. It has been said that this internment camp is a camp within a camp, within a camp, and within another camp. This is so true, as one has an inner fence an outer fence, two inbetween fences, plus the wire enclosures of ones own Cage. Masses of rusting barbed wire are piled seven feet high between each fence. Every 70 yards is a 50 ft. high camouflaged machine gun implacement which is permanently manned, plus a roving foot patrol of heavily armed Militia continuously patrolling the inner fence accompanied by their snariing War dogs.

Indeed this place is very much an armed Camp. The Establishment prefers to call our Cages ‘’compounds”. | suppose it sounds nicer, but we reject their “compounds” and are very adamant that we live in Cages. Each Cage has a no mans land between them for Security reasons, but one can still shout across this to communicate with comrades.

Understandably the conversation is very impersonal. For appearances sake, 4 Prison Wardens, or Screws as we call them, are allocated to each Cage. Two patrol round the Cage, one sits reading the newspaper in a sentry box at the Cage gate and one is a “float” or to be more precise, a message boy. A washroom, three nissen living huts and ane nissen hut used as a canteen cum church cum everything else, are the main buildings contained within each Cage, that is if corrugated iron huts constitute ‘buildings’. When each new Cage is opened for its sordid business, a staff is immediately elected by the interned men.

The Staff’s function is to organise the cage, discipline men and to represent the men’s interests on the Camp Council whose task !s to work out in turn the strategy and rules of living and existing for a period of 6 months.

To attempt to describe what it is like to actually live in Britain’s Concentration Camp would be near impossible, or at the very teast would require the able assistance of a psychologist who maybe would be capable of registering the deep emotion and frustration felt by all held without trial. Internment is mind destroying — it has been in the past, and is even more so today. Perhaps the thing that keeps men sane within the Camp, is the knowledge that pecple care outside and the magnivicent resistance shown by the oppressed minority towards int2rnment. The environment one exists in is totally hastile from dawn to dusk, the only escape being in sleep, but even this has its own hidden dangers.

A typical days routine would begin at 7.30 a.m. Lying on ones bunk the rattle of keys are heard outside the hut doors and those awake, check with their watches and with a sigh of relief find that it is 7.30 and not 5.30 as this would mean a dose of harrasment by the British Raiding Party who call at that time. A few stir at the familiar metalic nojse grinding as the duty screw makes a racket opening the badly fitted doors and rusting padlocks. One, two, three, four all the way up the hut stomp the four duty screws pulling a” blanket from a covered face here and there,.to reassure himself that the bulk in the bunk is actually a body and not just pillows. He thert assures the chief screw that everyone is accounted for. Out they march with a slamp of the door and back to sleep for us until rising time, usually for most men about 10 a.m. ‘Is the boiler full’’? soméone would shout in between a puff of a Park Drive. If the answer is in the affirmative, a sweet tone and friendly air is put on as a mug of tea ts requested. Lying there mug in hand and Army blankets pulled well aver our bodies our eyes zero onto that all too familiar hut and its inhabitants. They were newly built by the British Army when we first arrived at Long Kesh but now signs of wear and rust are appearing. The constant stripping of the huts by the Raiding Parties have left thern just a bundle of tatty corrugated scrap iron. A wet day tike today is hated by ali here, as this means constant dripping of rain and Jarge puddles of water on the floor. The rainy days also mean confinement indoors because the cage is usually under water.

Gulping the tea down the day really beings in earnest. Into the wooden locker, soap and towel over the arm, out the door for a wash, but back again to put on a pair of boots and an anorak because of the rain. Out. the door again, hopping and dodging the puddies right up to the washroom 50 yards away. The place as expected, is crammed tight with bodies queuing for a sink. As the toilets are also contained within the washroam complex, the odour.of excrement and Patmolive soap make an extremely unpleasant smelt. Blocked drains mean that the washroom is under several inches of soapy water so we have to stand on duckboards to keep our feet dry. Someone down the Jine breaks into the well worn strains of ‘The Boys of the Old Brigade’’, but is told from ail directions just how much his singing is appreciated at that time in the morning. But the guy continues admist the insults. He has a visit today and nothing, just nothing in the world could annoy him.

Lucky him, as he carefully shaves and preens himself to perfection. Someone swears and utters threats to an unknown previous sink user for leaving “‘an F’n razor blade” in the sink, The good news Back in the hut finds everyone up making their beds. A map, mop-bucket and brush are produced and the Internee on duty fatigues starts his daily task of cleaning out the hut. No one bothers going round for breakfast we we know for sure that will be the usual trash. On the hour every hour, just as the news-caster says, a little group huddles round the radio listering with anticipation for last nights incidents or “sceat"’ as it is commonly called in Long Kesh. A cheer goes up as the newscaster in the solemn tone usually reserved for deaths and disasters, announces the death of a British soldier killed by a “terrorists’’ booby trap bomb. The good news is rapidly transmitted from bedspace to bedspace. | suppose it is morally wrong to cheer such an incident as a death, but It is understandable. Plastic buckets and containers are strategically placed under the leaking holes and beds are re-positioned to avoid the rain pouring in through the badly fitted corrugated sheets. This makes the hut look extremely untidy, but it is necessary.

How to get the day in, is a problem faced by all. There is absolutely nothing to do except a bit of woodwork or read a book but after a year or two, this gets extremely boring. Boredom can be very dangerous and same men have ended up as vegetables because they were unable to combat it. These guys usually took to their beds as an easy eer

Typical crarnped conditions in a hut means of escape, but this was too easy a way out for the next day and the next. Soon one is seen to deteriorate and to be existing day to day with the aid of sleeping drugs which are freely administered by the Camp Doctor. After a very short period a person becomes a complete mental wreck. To keep sane we must always keep busy pottering around doing something to pass away the hours. To attempt any serious study is impossible because neither the facilities or the privacy are available to do so. Privacy | believe is very important and the lack of such slowly whittles away at ones nerves. !t is impossible to get away from it all even for a few minutes. If only there was a sound-proof room, or someplace with a door to lock behind you to escape from it all for a few minutes.

Even the toilet door is a half one, Everyone highly strung { find that everyone is highly strung, nervous and wound up like a tense spring.

Hardly anyone talks anymore, but shouts, even in normal conversation. With the immense frustrations and emotions at such a level, it is surprising that the men have not had more fiareups. There is the occasional fisticuffs, but thankfully no grudge is ever held, and the

incident is soon forgotten. Twice a week two cage teams are permitted the use of the heavily guarded football field, but | would not term this as sport or as a means to work out frustrations, as the two teams concerns have been playing against each other for two years now and no matter how much we rearrange, chop or change the teams’every move is predictable as well as the score. Inter-cage matches are not permitted on security grounds.

Some guys pass away an hour or two walking round and round the small Cage, but this is sometimes like walkiig down Royal Avenue on a Saturday, before the bombing of course. . | When talking about frustrations it would be wrong not to include sex or should | correctly say, the lack of sex. The absence of this very vital function adds to the frustration of healthy men, but it is an angle never talked about. Unfortunately some of the Catholic population and even some Republicans, term sex as porn and a thing not to be talked about but the lack of it plays a significant role, not only with tnternees but with every man political and non-political. To mention conjugal rights for prisoners is looked on with disgust by most. Surprisingly, homosexuality is non-existent within Long Kesh.

Food is rubbish | At mid-day the cry “grub up” is shouted in through the door by an Internee, but as usual during grub call, there ts no clamour. Our plastic plate, plastic knife, plastic fork and plastic spoon are not the best to eat grub. with anyway..Fifteen or sixteen guys go round anyway and queue before the aluminium containers containing a hash the : establishment call stew. It is again dumped into the dustbin and men filter away uttering threats regarding the tyrant Commandant Truesdale. Even the cooks parenthood comes into question again, for the millionth time. Our Camp representative has just arrived back from Commandant Truesdale’s Office. He goes almost daily with the usual list of grievances looking for a change of attitude from the Commandant, but today just like the past has been in vain. | Promises, promises and more promises is all we receive from him. The list of grievances is the same today as it was last year and the year before i.e. draughty huts, leaky huts, vermin ridden huts, flooded cages, blocked drains, lack of recreational facilities, lack of educational facilities, military harrasment, etc. etc. etc. The list is enormous.

The middle of the day | would guess to be the ‘‘five to one” Ulster news. Everyone and everything stops. The usual post mortem is in progress after the news. By early afternoon news begins to filter through from guys just back from their visits and fram this news ts pieced together and an accurate “State of the Nation” report for the day is built up. One ts always “keyed” up during visiting days and the half hour with ones loved ones is cherished more than gald. Fo hear the screw read ones name from the pink coloured permit card is like music to your ears. The screw picks up the Internees Identity card which contains a photo, description and security classification of the Internee i.e.

high security risk, low security risk etc. The screw accompanies the Internee to the visits precinct. Here we take off our boots in the search area provided and are intimiately searched before being given box numbers. Seeing our children, wife and family walking towards the box dawn the corridor is a real deep and heart-warming feeling, but the miserable 30 minutes passes very very quickly. Goodbyes are made and children weep, but we have to go just the same sometimes with a lump in our throat as we watch a weeping child being ted away by its mother sobbing ‘’why can’t my daddy come too”’.

On the way back to the Cage it is noticed that the inhabitants of the cage are standing outside the huts in the rain. It (5 discovered that it is our weekly screws raid. As well as the frequent British Army raid, the screws come into the cages every week, tapping every single inch of the floor with a hammer, checking for that hotlow note which would mean a tunnel and ultimately promotion for the lucky screw. Nothing found they tramp out and everyone goes back into the huts again. Four thirty brings what the cook calls supper, but once again our stomachs go empty because supper consists of what is known —_

as “riot roll”. “Riot roll” is a round piece of vegetabie roll, approx. three inches in circumference and is usually either badly burned or uncooked. It received its strange nar in October 1971 when a full scale and bloody riot developed because of the cook and Truesdales refusal to meet a cage deputation to discuss grievances regarding bad food and other matters of dissatisfaction. The vegetable roll was flung over the wire in the direction of the cookhouse and eventually the military riot.squad arrived in force quelling the riot after bloody distrubances. Hence the name “‘riot roll’ which has stuck ever since. Tragic news is shared by all Bad news occasionally brings its gloom to the cage such as the death of a toved one or a close relation. One very sad case in particular | recali was concerning a new internee.

Two weeks after his arrest and internment he received the joyous news of the birth of a baby son to his wife. Parole was refused when requested because of a sudden illness of the chifd. Fhree weeks later a priest came into the cage and informed him of the tragic death of his young new born son whom he had never seen. The only time he saw the chik was when he was released for four hours to attend its funeral. A tragic case. Another Internee whilst fistening to the RTE news, heard of the shooting to death of his young son one hour before in the Ardoyne area. Tragic news and grief is shared by one and all here at Long Kesh camp. Every Sunday at 2 p.m. all cages form up in military fashion facing each other for a two minutes silence which is observed in respect for ali who have died during the previous week in the struggle for Liberation. During this parade, the screw discretely hide themselves. tt was after one of these parades that the body of young Pat Crawford was found hanging from one of the huts. The emotion felt by one and all was undescribable. The tension was so thick one could almost see it. As Pats body was carried out on a stretcher and placed into the grey prison wagon we all once more formed up and came to attention as a final mark of respect for a comrade.

Political prisons, camps and places of detention during an upheaval are sometimes regarded as Universities of Revolutionary thought. | would not exactly call Long Kesh a University, but it most certainly is a schoo] of political thought and a school of human experience. Political activities shared between two groups Sinn Fein (Proves) and a group known as the Political Debating Group which is of a pretty leftish type but this activity is not always consistent and fluctuates up and down, dies and revives, but patitical consciousness has been raised if only slightiy. Debate and discussions around individuals bed space areas are very common during evening time and the Ulster situation has been solved many times over by our budding politicians. | find this informal approach to political discussion more rewarding than the organised debates. Nine-thirty has everyone outdoors walking in Jittle groups round and round the small Cage. This is pretty monotonous because of the size of the cage. Every one walks in the same direction because of the lack of space. Just 12 miles away, one can spot the red warning light on top of the 1.T.V. aerial on the Black Mountain and Colin Glen mountain silhouetted against the fading daylight brings a sting of nostalgic memories of bygane days. At night even the barbed wire and guard towers adopt a strange picturesque beauty outlined against the deep flaming Grange and gald sunset.

Goodnights are exchange and ail retire to their respective huts. The screws padlock the doors quickly in an attempt to catch a quick pint in the NAAFI canteen within the army camp, Some men indulge in a quiet game of chess whilst others are content to read.

There is a laziness hanging over the camp at this time of night. Not a physical tiredness but more of a mental one. Soon all turn into bed, tut not to sleep, na, not just yet until the late night news has spewed out its final propaganda for the night. One by one sleep overtakes the hut and men escape for the night into wild fantastic dreams. One or two guys are still awake writing a few words to their loved ones. | bet everyone writes — ———— ws

almost identical letters, as only certain things are permitted to be written by the establishment. But all is just not quite over for the night. A mouse has been observed by the men trying to gain entrance to an Internees food supply in his locker. All hell breaks loose and the whole hut is soon awake once more, armed to the teeth with both offensive and defensive weaponry. The unfortunate mouse is soon cornered and beaten to death.

Debate rages over whether it was a rat or just a large mouse. It is dispased of down the joo and peace reigns once more. Lights aut tell us that it is 1.30 a.m. The quietness ts overpowering. Not a noise. Well almost. Somewhere mice can be heard scraping at the corrugated tron and a war dog howls eerily somewhere. The stillness is wonderful and it is the only time of day that is relatively noiseless. The red glow of the cigarettes are extinguished one by one and minds stray to better days The raid The jangling of keys stir men fram their slumber. A lock at the watch tells us that it is only 5.30 a.m. which means only one thing, a Military Raiding Party. “Quick waken up", the ward is passed around the hut. It takes several minutes for the screw to find the correct key to the doar and sometimes we wonder if this ts meant to be a friendly warning to us by the screws as they are more noisy than usual. The minutes help us to hide away some precious belongings that otherwise would be destroyed by the Military.

The doors burst open and everyone sits up pretending to be startled. Dozens of heavily armed and riot clad toops with all the paraphernalia of war charge up our hut swinging clubs fixe madmen. The invaders position themselves strategically in two neat lines up the middle of the floor, standing at the end of our bunks. A burly sergeant attired in the uniform of the Military Police, produces a piece of paper and in a loud authoritive voice declares “This is a raid. Lie on your bed and do not move. When told to do so, take your knife, fork and spoon and you will be escarted to the canteen’’. Everyone knows that piece of paper off by heart as we have heard it so many times before. The bed beside me shaking as the guy in the bunk is a nervous wreck and the presence of these thugs do not help him. An inquisitive Internee sits up but is ordered to “fecking lie dawn ye Fenian bastard” by a skinny tance corporal who is attempting to show how brave he is in front of his subordinates. He carries a permanent grin an his face. One solider has his arm in pilaster and we wonder hoe he received his injury secretly haping that the pain is enormous. One guy asks the Military Policeman to close the door because of the draught. Again the english vocabulary repeats itself, “feck off Fenian face’’.

If only these foreigners would swear properly. On our hut door, written purposely for the benefit of the British Soldier is an appeal written in coloured ink, asking the soldier why he is serving here. It says, “Why die? Why serve? Neither the protestant nor catholic Ulsterman nor even your own countrymen and families want to have you here. Think about it.’ Beside this statement is the address of several British Withdrawal Groups.

One Brit squints at it and smiles. He cafls over his corporal who laughs, but not very convincingly. | wonder if he wrote. The War dogs are howling and barkling like wolves at the door and their handlers are obviously pleased with the terror that they have control of and show it occasionally by urging it at the nearest internee. A group of four military policemen arrive two to each bed and beginning at the end of the hut, start the search. “Get out of bed’’ we are commanded.

Standing there with nothing but underwear on, one is searched intimately and the clothing he is proposing to wear, is carefully scrutinised right down to the little pieces of dust that lie in the corners of ones pocket. The soldiers in the hut smile at our nakedness and at their attempts to humiliate us. One soldier irritably taps and taps the end of a metal bed with his club, which is very annoying. Blinding flashes startle us as an army a

fet ag Raid in progress ina hut — §.30a.n photographer snaps photos of us lying in bed and standing in our underwear. The reason for this is still a mystery.

One by one we are permitted to dress and are taken outside the hut by a Brit. Outside looks very strange and menacing with hundreds of troops in occupation of the Internment Camp and military equipment strewn everywhere. Armoured vehicles and military wagons of all shapes arid sizes are parked at the cage gate. A soldier about five feet two in height but feeling nine foot tall, throws us against the wall and spreadcagles us with the help of his club. We remain tike this for approximately 30 minutes until tapped on the shoufder and moved to a table positioned outside the canteen nissen hut.

On this table is stacked our identity cards. These are checked to see if the likness of the photos on them are a true likeness since the last raid three weeks ago. If not the Army polaroid camer comes into action once again and a new photo is inserted into the |.D.

card. A soldier looking and feeling very impressive with his earphones and electric flex danging from them, runs a gelly sniffer over every inch of our bodies. Many a panic an Internee has been in when this instrument ha. registered wrongly in the pasitive. When ordered into the Canteen, we find the place just as we expected to find it, one heli

of a mess. Corrugated iron pulled off everywhere and even the priests vestments which are stored in a wooden Jocker, are strewn all over the floor, One by one the canteen fiils up, until the nissen huts which we tive in are emptied. The door is then locked.

During the coming six hours that we know we have to spend here locked up, we all know that the military are on the rampage through our personal belongings but we are powerless The harrassment is piled on as childish soldiers beat the sides of the corrugated iron hut with their clubs and the noise inside is almost unbearable. They are hoping for a reaction but we are too wise and ignore them. This annoys England’s finest sons, who then proceed to smash the windows, especially when they know that there is someone standing behind the other side. The glass splinters and cascades around everyone. One Internee who has received a cut fram this tactic shouts out the window for medical attention.

“Feck off” is the expected answer which he receives in due course. He has to bleed unti!

the raid is finished states the officer in charge.

Some guys lie on the floor and try ta sleep. There are no chairs in our canteen. A guitar and banjo are produced by two men and soon a sing song is in progress. Songs of liberation are sung loudly and with spirit much to the annoyance of the English soldiery — after all we are supposed to act harrassed and this is not playing the game. Through a broken window we watch a continuous stream of Military Policemen carry personal belongings, hobby tools, harps, pictures and odds and ends away, most never to be seen again and if by luck someone does get his property back again it is usually destroyed.

The hours tick away and someone spots the military raiding party forming into ranks, a gauntlet which stretches all the way up the cage yard. “Right form up into a single line and file out one at a time says the officer in charge’’. Out we file one at a time just as requested. All the Brits are grinning. We know why. Commotion at the back of the line causes us all to stop and turn round to spot a War dog gripping the arm of a young lad.

“Fecking keep moving yet bastards’’. Into the huts and boy, what a state they have been left in although we have seen them in a worse state after araid. Sheets and bedding are strewn over the floor and have been walked on. One sheet is covered in dog shit.

Where do we start? It is so bloody hopeless.

Meanwhile, the Brits retire from the cage, handing it back to the screws. One guy in a rage runs out of the hut screaming and shouting verbal abuse at the retiring military, holding in one hand the torn photo of his wife and child, but the only reply from the Brits is a burst of cheering and the fingers up sign. We discover that whilst the Brits were in the Hut they caught a mouse and have nailed it to a locker with two four inch nails. Clothing is destroyed and mattresses are covered in urine. Some are slashed. The side of the hut is missing, pulled apart by the military. After an hour or two order is partly restored to the hut and a missing articles list is compiled and given to the screw in charge of the cage.

But this is just a formality as no compensation has been forthcoming from the establishment after previous raids.

Most head for bed to make up for the lost six hours, Some decide to write letters describing what has just happened, but these Jetters shall invariably be returned that afternoon with an enclosed typewritten note, “rewrite making no mention of Army activity’. Yes they must be very proud of England’s best. The British raids make a difficult job even more difficult when attempting to describe to the lads that the Brits are not to blame but are just tools in the hands of the Imperialists. The usual answer to that after these raids is “‘Fuck the bastards | wish | was burying a tool in their heads”’.

CONCLUSION

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THIRTY FOUR DAYS

HUNGER STRIKE | oy sive Farr On Saturday February 10th 1973 the Peoples Democracy held a demonstration against the anti-Catholic murder campaign raging in Belfast. Three marches were to converge on the City Hall from 3 different ghetto areas. The Whitelaw administration banned all marches and meetings within a half mile of the City Centre. It was the 6th such ban on a P.D. demonstration in Belfast within 9 months. The sectarian Orange Order and the semi-fascist UDA had held about 30 demonstrations through the city centre in the same period — tolerated, protected, cossetted by the RUC and British Army.

The parades were small. Peopie were frightened. Loyalist gun men had fired on a republican funeral procession 3 days before. There were only about 50 peopte on the Falls Road march and a couple of hundred waiting near the city centre.

The route was blocked by a ludicrously disproportionate military blockade of Saracens, Pigs and armoured tractors mounted with huge metal crowd-pushers.

Behind was a water-cannon and everywhere were hundreds of troops armed to the teeth. it was the same for the other two marches. Mast of the city centre was sealed off. Tony Canavan was organising the Falls Road march. | was to speak at it. We climbed on a convenient Pig to hatd our meeting. | had hardly got a couple of sentences out when we were thrown off by 4 baton-wielding soidiers. | hit the ground with a thud and found a British sofdier jying half on tap of me. | made an undignified but successfui run for it but the soldier managed to smash the laud hailer. Rioting erupted immediatety but we moved 30 or 40 yards up the road ar.c tried to start the meeting again from a low brick wall. The rnijitary bro .e it up and grabbed Tony. Then the huge crowd-pushers adva:c?ai up the raad puch g everyone back. Tony was shunted from Bar acks to Barracks, quest ore. ty « few Branchmen and thn released. It was a airly routine days protest roo: fst

Routine delivery of a summons We thought no more about it unti! suddenly, 10 weeks later, at one in the morning, the military surrounded my house. They banged on the door and | was bracing myself for a raid. But outside was a solitary RUC-man, surrounded by military. He handed me a summons — normal policing in Andersonstown!

A tew days later they got Tony as weil.

We were charged with ‘conduct whereby a breach of the peace was liable to be occasioned. The ‘trial’ was on May 25th. The Government were going to extraordinary lengths to get a conviction. They flew 7 soldiers back from Germany as witnesses together with 4 RUC-men. The Crown Prosecutor, Robert McCartney, gave up 3 other cases and a few hundred pounds to take this one and had another Barrister to back him up, Tony gave evidence and was viciously cross-examined by McCartney. | made a statement attacking the Government's blatantly partisan banning of our marches and toleration of Orange and UDA parades. | said the whole case was simply an attempt to silence the P.D.’s vociferous opposition to British imperialism and the new Assembly, its latest strategy for ruling Ireland, Any court which refused to consider the political motivation of these charges was only a contemptible farce, The Magistrate Fox got quite agitated. He quoted Lord Denning and Edmund Burke to show he wasn’t a farce. We were convicted. Tony got a mandatory 6-month sentence. Then the RUC handed Fox a bit of paper. He announed that | would get an extra 2 months on account of my record. The ‘record’ consisted of a string of political convictions all of which had been covered by 2 Government Amnesties.

We were each bound over for 2 years or, in defauit, another 2 months in jail.

We appealed. The case was heard on June 26th. The ‘Judge’ was W. W. B. Topping, Unionist M.P. for Larne for 15 years, Chief Whip of the Unionist Party for 3 years, Minister of Home Affairs for 3 years — the man who introduced internment in 1956 and curfewed Newry in 1957 — a notorious bigot. It was the same dreary charade, the same soldiers, the same police, the same iies. Both of us made statements, repeating the political points. | said that Topping as a leading Orangeman: and ex-Unionist Cabinet Minister wasn't competent to hear our case. He was a political enemy hearing a highly political case. He spluttered with rage and threatened to give us longer for contempt of court Summing up Topping said that it was clear that if we had been allowed to hold a meeting what we would have said would have been seditious. Therefore we were quilty.

He confirmed the sentences. When challenged on my ‘record’, that all the convictions had been amnestied he said amnesties didn’t matter.

They took us down to the cells, When we were presented for locking up a senile RUC-man asked if we were detectives. The familiar Police Office cell — narrow, windowless, bare — except for the solid wooden structure that served for a bed.

When they opened the door to give us the two indigestible sausages and 10 chips that passed for dinner we could look about. The cell-doors had grilles about a foot high at the bottom. Across the way two giris — only children — lay on the floor tn their print dresses trying to look out the grille and calling to the RUC-man “Hey, Mister, give US a cigarette’. They were just 17 and were charged with the “attempted murder’ of a whole foot patrol! of British soldiers. After a while they started singing

“We are the Provos from the ‘Strand” and then a mixture of pop songs.

After a couple of hours we were taken out into a corridor, frisked up against a wall and hand-cutfed to other prisoners. They were all Republicans on remand and the fellow on the other end of Tony’‘s hand-cuff turned out to be an old friend of mine, He lent us a cigarette lighter — worth its weight in gold in jail. We were hustled into a huge armoured wagon — a converted water cannon. { was ail the time expecting a kick or a thump from the heavily-armed RUC-men all around but it never came.

They must have been on their best behaviour.

We set off through the town. In front was a van-load of ioyatists, singing the Sash and shouting “Fuck the Pope’’ at the top of their voices, The RUC just grinned. Even in jail the Loyalists could get their own way. In our van we talked eagerly. The remand prisoners would pass on word about us to the Republicans in A Wing.

The great gates clanged shut. We were in Crumlin Road again — | had been interned there in 1971 and Tony was there on remand the same year. We were separated from the others and taken to the reception area — glad to see the end of the RUC — almost pleased to see the screws. Name, address, age, sentence, release date — with maximum remission it would be October 25th for Tony, December &th for me; with no remission Id be in until February 25th.

Political status for a political offence Then came the crunch point. We demanded political status since we had been convicted of a political offence. The P.D. Central Committee had agreed on this course the week before. We knew that this was when the trouble would start. When political status had been won the year before after a long hunger strike by Billy McKee, the authorities had restricted it to prisoners serving 9 months or more — that was, we reckoned, why | had been given the most unusual figure of 8 months.

We demand political status for a number of reasons. The main one was that by granting us political status the government would be admitting that we had been jailed for our political opposition to the regime. We also wanted to spend our time in prison wrth the republican prisoners in Long Kesh. And finally the breaking of the 9 month !imit would mean better conditions for a large number of other prisoners and would make the mandatory G-month sentences handed out for tliegal demonstrations and rioting much less of a deterrent.

There was no dramatic confrontation. It was quite an anti-climax. The clerks said little. Normally you didn’t get political status unless you were daing 9 months but we could ask the Governor and we could send a Board-paper {an official request) to the Ministry. ‘Then into the baths area to be weighed, have our height taken and be issued with prison clothes. We refused to undress and told the elderly screw that we wouldn't wear prison clothes. He was half-apologetic — so long as he got weighing us, to keep his books right, he didn’t care. We sat around while they brought anotter prisoner in, He had just time to tell us he'd got 3 months for not paying maintenance money to his wife when they came in to tell him that it h.d been paid and he could go home. That must have bee> the sh~: test ser .2nce ev~~* in tre Crumli: Roa.

We were marched off to the ‘Base’ — the basement of D wing where all prisoners spend their first night in the jail. The usual prison cell, 13 ft. by 7. The window 3 ft. wide by 1 ft. high, was double barred and level with the ground outside.

A table, chair, 2 dirty chamber pots and the beds, 2 ft. apart, completed the furniture. These were originally single cells when Crumlin Road was built in 1846.

Conditions hadn’t improved much.

We read the scribblings on the walls. If Whitelaw still believed the UDA was a peaceful non-violent organisation he should visit Crumlin Road, With engaging frankness our predecessors had written down their names, companies, their unit’s arms and their own exploits. We were taken out for the traditional prison photographs with name and number underneath and for finger-printing.

To-morrow we would see the Governor.

We settled down for the night. | read a novel | had smuggled in. Tony flicked through the assorted rubbish from the prison library. Then the threats began.

“Farrell, you Fenian bastard, you're a hood job’, ‘We'll get you like we got Paddy Wilson — the human watering-can”, “You'll get your hole, you Fenian fucker — between the eyes with 4.45”. “Wait ‘til we get you in the wood-yard tomorrow”.

Some of the shouts came from above us in D Wing, some from across the corridor in the Base, We later found that the gang who murdered Benny Moane, a catholic whiskey traveller, were in the Base that night awaiting transfer to Long Kesh — and political status. Loyalists on their way to the Baths kicked and banged on the cell-door, shouting ““Up the UFF”. The screws did nothing. The shouting went on all night. in the morning we had a medical inspection — if you couid call it that — and our first encounter with the Prison doctor Girvan. in the afternoon we were taken to see the Governor. We lined up with other prisoners outside an office and a screw tald us to say ‘Yes, Sir’ or “‘No, Sir’ * to everything the Governor said.

There were more shouts of “Farrell, the UFF will get you” from the landings, The screws just laughed. Tony was lucky, they didn’t seem to know about him yet.

Our demand is refused The “Governor”, whom the screws called ’Sir’ at every opportunity, turned out to be anly one of several Assistant Governors. This one was called McConnell, ex-Campbell College, supercilious and in his early 30's. “I hear you are refusing to wear prison clothes”, | told him i was claiming political status as | had been convicted of a political offence and given a mandatory sentence which was reserved for political offenders. | didn’t say Sir.

“Political status is not given to persons with sentences of less than 9 months.

Refusai to wear prison clothes is an offence against prison regulations for which you can lose your remission. You have quite a lot of remission to lose, nearly 3 months. If you persist in this we will have to take other disciplinary action as well.

When that happens ! don't want you complaining that you didn’t know the position.

You’re not interned now you know, you're a sentenced prisoner”, : | said | wanted to put in a formal application to the Ministry ‘Very well, if yau 3 want to waste other people’s time as well as mine. But you won’t get anywhere.

: In the meantime you will be returned to the Base. You will not be allowed to : associate with other prisoners, share in recreational facilities, television or enjoy

any privileges while you persist in this. You will get one hour’s exercise per day and be locked up for the rest of the time”.

Tony got the same treatment. An arrogant, sneering nasty piece of work. | had a visit shortly after — from Orla, my wife. | was a bit depressed after the previous night's threats and McConnell’s arrogance. | told her gloomily that we were insisting on political status but it might be a long tough struggle.

Orla gave me cigarettes. | was smoking a few to pass the time and Tony was devouring them. A lumpy, sullen-faced screw searched me on the way back and remembered | didn't have the packet on the way out. Triumphantly he took them to the P.O. who told him to give them back. Apparently the suilen-faced screw was s0 obnoxious that even his mates detested him.

Back in the cell we talked about McConneil and had visions of a military riot squad forcing us into prison clothes or of us in the punishment cells. But suddenly we realised McConnel! was bluffing. He had blustered and threatened but backed down when it came to the bit. He made no effort to force us. There we were still wearing our own clothes and doing no work. We had won the first round. We cheered up and ate our tea. That night we wrote defiant /etters to the Ministry demanding political status. They were sent off on June 28th. We never got a reply.

We had our first hour’s exercise. Just the two of us walking round and round an empty terraced yard between two wings of the prison — one of them E Wing where the Loyatist prisoners were kept. It took them a while to realise who we were but then they started: the same monotonous sadistic sectarian abuse. ’’Vote for Paddy Wilson, the human watering can", A gruesome song about 2 catholic postmen grunned down on the Falls Road. Boasts about the people they'd murdered and authentic-sounding detai!s of their last moments. We began to understand what the butchers of Auschwitz were like. The screw chuckled to himsetf and the Loyalists crowed ’’The screw’s a Prod’. He laughed even louder.

It turned out he was a well-known bigot who'd been paut out of A wing by the Republicans. There was a parting shout ‘’Farreil, you’re a Communist bastard”, At least they were getting nearer the truth.

6 SSI YR, SS A i Re — LS EY.

We'd got a few hooks in now and were quite content. We even began to look forward to meal-times and the prisan food, It broke up the day a big. If the “Governor” thought his 23-hours-a-day confinement was going to worry us he was badly mistaken, We settied down to read some of the books we’d been meaning to read for years. And we met Fr. Martin, the catholic chaplain, who was to be a good friend to us in the days to came, The next day we were let exercise with 3 men from Newry — Officials — who were in the same pasition. They’d got 5 years for armed robbery but the authorities wouldn‘t accept them as political and send them te Long Kesh. The company was very welcome and we didn’t dwell on our political differences. We looked forward to the hon haur’s exercise — and fresh air — though we still had to put up with the Loyalists’ taunts and jeers.

First round won Outside things were jooking up a bit. Our comrades had got a bit of publicity for our case, making the telling peint tat the UDA-m>n who had murdered a De ee

mentally retarded boy and rabbed and raped his mother, had got political status while we hadn't. There was a P.D. protest meeting in Castle Street on the Saturday (June 30th) with Gerry Ruddy and Maire Drumm speaking. The next week the London P.D. and the Anti-Internment League got to work and got Stanley Orme M.P. to raise the case with Whitelaw.

Word of the threats had got out as well. One morning we were startled by a ferocious hammering and banging just outside our cell. The screws were putting up a massive floor-to-ceiling rille of iron bars to seal off our section of the Base — about 12 cells in all. We were quite flattered. Between the grille and the extra screws needed when we went on exercise we reckoned we were causing them a lot of inconvenience. The grille looked pretty permanent. We suddenly thought: maybe they're going to leave us here to serve our sentences. They had still made no effort whatsoever to force us to work or wear prison clothes. It looked as if we’d won round two as well, Things were going weil. The publicity outside had been good. It was time to escalate. We discussed it with the men from Newry at exercise and they were keen. It was Thursday July 5th, We decided to go on hunger strike on Monday.

Tony would have a visit on Saturday and would get word out to our comrades.

That night we heard that the 3 Officials had got orders to go on hunger strike immediately. It was after lock-up for the night so we couldn’t get out to see them again. They were about 3 cells away and we could shout to each other out the windows but we didn’t want the screws — or the loyalists — to know, | tried my halting Irish ““An mbeidh ocras mor oraibh maidin i marach’’? No good. They didn’t know any Irish, We had to make a snap decision. We would go ahead in the morning.

ee he se eB oe Fe rem. ose Hunger strike starts Friday July 6th. We told the screw we didn’t want any breakfast; we were an hunger strike.

He insisted on putting it in the cel! but we wouldn’t touch the stuff and the orderlies had to carry in the trays. We dumped them on the floor. It wasn’t very appetising anyway —a fistful of dry cornflakes, a grease-soaked bit of potato bread and a hard rubbery fried egg, a couple of slices of bread and the awfui train oil prison margarine. We congratulated ourselves on our determination and went back to our books. Then they took us out for a medical examination. It was Girvan again but this time he was more meticulous sounding our chest and hearts. He asked Tony what the hunger strike was for and then said there was far too much talk about political status and political prisoners, He didn’t say much to me, just asked me if | was in the Peaples Democracy tao and claimed he'd never heard of P.D. before. Where had he been for the last 4% years?

Later on the screw opened the cell-door with a bang: “On your feet, the Governor’. We sat on. It was McConnell again. Stilt supercilious but less bluster this time; no more threats “So you haven't changed your attitude. That’s up to you but you won't get anywhere by this, you know’ ‘. No talk of puntshment cells or disciplinary action now.

Then he went on to the others. He was a bit more forthcoming with them telling them to write their wills now as they’d never get political status. He said he hoped we'd al!

die on the same day so that the one ’carry-out’ would do for us all.

At exercise we compared nates. The dinner was fish, fried in deep batter — the best meal in the jail. It was tantalising. We were just beginning to fee! really hungry. But we kept off it. We were very proud of ourselves, That night we felt the hunger sharply but it was stiJ/l a novelty and our spirits were high.

The next day Tony had a vist from his girl-friend and got a sharp ticking off. She didn’t want to lose him so soon. Fr. Martin had contacted Orla and tcld her. She said “Oh no!" and then “Don’t let him do anything worse’. Fr. Martin chuckled and said — “Sure what worse could you do?" and offered us a cigarette. He told us a bit about the marathon hunger strike by Billy McKee the year before wh:ch ended with McKee at death's door after 35 days. But he got what he wanted.

Sunday is a dull day in prison. There’s no prison work and the prisoners are locked up most of the day. it shouldn’t have made any difference to us but somehow we shared in the general gloom. Dinner was the one bright spot on a Sunday. it was usually a leg of chicken and that Sunday it smelled delicious. We didn’t know it but we were becoming absessed with food. We read the recipes in the women’s pages of the Sunday papers and then talked eagerly about meals we'd had. Orla and | had been in Rome the summer before and stayed in a friend’s flat above a Pizzeria, i could amast see the cooks making the pungent garjic-flavoured pizzas, | could even remember the strange unaccustomed food — black bread and beetroot soup — I‘d got at a student work-camp in Poland 10 years ago, We were supposed to drink 2 or 3 pints of water a day to keep our body mechan'sms functioning. We asked the screws to feave aur mugs empty so we could use them to drink, but they insisted on filling them with tea at every meal and we couldn’t empty them out for fear they’d say we were drinking the tea. So we were lett with a gal’o -can and had to slug the watery out of it. It was a fortnight before we could get them to give us extra mugs and by then we could scarcely !:ft the can.

Our stomachs felt empty all the time and at night we got constant wind, We couldn’t sleep for hours. | tried counting slowly to try to put myself to sleep and | usually reached the second thousand before | fell asleep. Then | went minutely over the details of every holiday Orla and | had had together. | remembered tiny details forgotten for years, And always food. 1] remembered nearly ever meal we'd had, | even remember my mother’s home-made bread and scanes and jam at home in Magherafelt over 15 years ago. The others were the same. One of the Newry lads said it wasn’t girls’ legs but legs of chicken he dreamt about now.

One night, just as | thought 1 was about to go to sleep, | heard a terribte banging just above us. It woke Tony too. Above us were isolation cells where they kept informers who had to be segregated fram al! the other prisoners. One of them had cracked up. He seemed to be throwing his bed-frame at the metal door and he was screaming at the tap of his voice. It was like a horror film. | had heard something similar before, When | was interned there was a fellow in charged with raping and murdering an old woman. He cracked up fairly often and screamed and cried all night. The screws paid no attention.

But he had been a wing away. This fellow was just overhead. It was very unnerving.

Later we heard that 3 men had swallowed razor blades in the prison that week-end.

By Monday {July 9) the hunger strike was in the papers, Bernadette McAtiskey had made atrenchant statement. Last year the politicians of the SDLP had claimed the credit when Billy McKee had won political status. Bernadette commented that, if the SDLP really believed that it was their intervention which had done the job, then they should intervene in our case now before we had to go 35 days without food as well. We discussed it in the yard. We were all laughing. It was a good point but Bernadette was over-dramatising things a bit. It would never last 35 days. After ail VicKee had been fighting for the principle of political status. We were only demanding the extension of that principle, Loyalist frenzy for ‘twelfth’ The same day there was a letter in the Jrish News from a Loyalist prisoner denying that we had been threatened and justifying the 9 month Jimit for political status and the decision to hold us in isolation. It was typical of the servile mentality of the Loyalists that, even in jail, they were defending the Establishment. Yet we knew that when we got political status they would immediately demand — and get — it too, just as they had done with McKee.

The 12th was coming. Every night the “Bongo drums”, as the Newry lads called them, were working the Loyalists into a frenzy. The day itself was a nightmare, It was a holiday in the prison — so the screws could march with their lodges? The drums and bands beat themselves into a stupor outside the jail and the Mater hospital. The Loyalists went berserk. They got out onto the roof of D wing to wave and shout to the Orangemen. Eventually the military were brought into the jail and fired rubber bullets at them. That evening the Paras were brought to the Base though they weren’t used. That whole day we were never so glad to be safely locked in our prison cell.

We were surprised that we weren't weaker by now. We could stifl walk round the yeard at exercise time though we sat down most of the time to conserve our energy.

We were getting cold though, We had got extra clothes at last and were wearing heavy sweaters under our jackets. We got extra blankets and lay on our beds most of the day with a blanket over us. Even to get up for a drink we had to move slowly and

carefully or we got dizzy spells. | had a visit on the 13th — Orla and Fergus O'Hare, | feft a bit of a fraud because they kept telling me now well | looked. They had some weird idea that we'd have collapsed or gone insane on something. | found it hard to talk however — my mouth was very dry and they couldn't hear me very well. By the end of the visit | was quite tired and had to lie down and rest.

The Newry lads canted a book to read. We sent them up “The Great Hunger’. They were at the window immediately calling us brutes, sadists and everything else they could think of. On Friday it was fish again. We could smell it hours before dinner-time.

It was sheer torture. When we came in fram exercise at 4.00 p.m. the tea was up. It Was Sausages, beans and chips. it looked and smelled delicious.

Half an hour later we heard the others at the window. “Mike, Tony, we‘re going to the Kesh ta-night! What about you, have you heard anything?”

“Congratulations! We’ve heard nothing yet but good luck to you anyway”, An hour later we heard bagning on our cell door. It was the boys. “Did you eat the tea?’’ We asked ‘‘what was it like?”’ “It was stone cold but bloody marvetious all the same. Goodbye fellows keep it up.

_ We'll see you in the Kesh.”

We were delighted the lads had won. And we reckoned it must be a good sign for us as well. We couldn’t be too long after them. But still it was a bit depressing when we reatised we were on our own again. We passed a lanely night. The next day there was just the two of us in the yard again. And the Loyalists seemed to have realised at last that we were on hunger strike, They threw us crusts of bread and described the dinner to us in graphic detail. We were more than glad when they were taken off for their tea. We hoped they‘d choke on it.

We were a bit depressed when we went back to the cell. We were positively angry when we read the Irish News. It had an advertisement by the 6-County Executive of Republican Clubs saying ‘“ Fhe Hunger Strike by our members in Crumlin Road Prison has ended” and thanking all those wha had supported them. No mention of us.

Obviously we didn’t exist as far as they were concerned. [t was ambiguous too. People outside knew we had all gone on hunger strike together and for the same thing. If the Officials had ended the strike probably we had too. Orla didn't know for sure ‘til that evening. The public weren’t certain until Monday. We were sure hawever that the Newry lads had nothing to do with it. They had assured us of their full support — they wrote to the paper later on supporting us, The old hands had toid us that the first 3 or 4 days were the worst. After that you didn’t feel hungry or want food at all. They couldn't have been more wrong. That week-end was very bad. When the orderlies left in the food we fay on our beds and showed no !nterest. But once the door was locked we rushed over to see what it was.

Aimost everything looked delicious now. One tea had chips with it. Large crips, golden, succulent-looking chips. When | went to get a drink it was almost irresistible.

The screws would never notice a few chips mor or less. It would be so easy. Why not?

About the only thing that stapped me was knowing that Tony would see and tell me off. He probably felt the same. | could see why the screws insisted on leaving the food in the cells. — In fact the trays were normalfy taken out of the cells shortly after every meal but our trays stayed there fram meal to meal and ali night from tea

to breakfast. We had to put them on the floor so we couldn’t see the food from where we lay. | lay down and thought about the chips. A few chips would make no difference in themselves. We had no obligation to be honest with a Government which treated us and hundreds of others, with brutality, deceit and contempt. But if | gave in once I‘d give in again and when it got worse | wouldn't be able to stick it. And if | gave in i'd dishearten Tony — and vice versa. After al! | was a Socialist anda Republican, Connolly wasn't afraid ta suffer and die for the cause. Why should | be.

And anyway there was no question of dying for a long time yet.

It was a long week-end. | could hardly steep at all; | just lay awake almost crying with hunger and frustration. When I lay on my left side — even during the day | got a dull pain around my heart and had to tie on my back again. The whole thing was one long agony — a living hell. We both agreed we’d never gone through as tough an ordeal before. How much longer could it go on? | was sure we'd win in the end.

The Whitelaw regime was just intent on making us suffer as much as possible beforehand. — They were certainly succeeding, First publicity cheered us up The start of the week brought the first letters and cards of solidarity with us and the ads began appearing tn the Irish News. They cheered us up a tot, Our own organisation was doing Trojan work, the Provos were solidly supporting us — the Provos in A wing had backed us all along — and we were getting !etters and cards from people we didn’t even know: I’d become very emotional. | got weepy at the sad parts of novels, | was easily depressed but equally | was easily elated. The letters, cards, newspaper ads and later, telegrams were vital to our struggle, They kept us going when nothing else could.

We were now on the 10th/11th day and getting weaker. We could still walk but one morning | washed my hair. | nearly collapsed and staggered back to the cell with heart palpitations, { had to lie down unable even to read for a couple of hours until the palpitations went away. That was the end of hair washing, baths or showers for us. From then on we cauild stay dirty. Now even washing your face ttred us out and we had to lie down afterwards to recover. Soon we gave up going out on exercise even just to sit in the yard. Fhe walk was too much for us, we found it cold even on a hot day, One morning we were washing — there were basins in an alcove outside the cells — when a new prisoner came over to talk to Tony. They chatted casually for a minute or two and then he moved off again. Back in the cell | asked Tony who it was and he replied matter-of-factly that it was his brother, Liam. The screw let him have his breakfast in aur cell and we watched with open mouths while he tafd his story. It was a common enough one in the catholic ghettos. He was lifted by the military, beaten up, interrogated for hours, threatened with a ioaded revolver, and finally agreed to sign a statement confessing to shooting at a foot patrol. He was then charged with attempted murder and because of the seriousness of the charge refused bail. The charge was preposterous and he’d been at work at the time but he’d probably spend about 6 months in jai! on remand and then the charge wauld be dropped. Anyway he went to A wing that day leaving Mrs, Canavan with 2 sons in the Crumlin and ore in Long Kesh.

On Thursday {July 78th) an awestruck screw came in to tell us that THE Governor was coming to see us. He sent in 2 orderlies to clean our cell but then had second thoughts and had us moved lock, stock and barrel to another cell which had just been cleaned and the most offensive slogans removed. It was the Deput Governor, Gibson — we never saw the actual governor Hilditch, while we were in the jail. He appeared to be in hiding. Gibson was civil enough — a big improvement on McConnell. He asked us were we thinking of giving up and admitted that he didn’t think we would, He noticed we had just been moved and said he would have us transferred to their new reception area in B wing where the cells were cleaner and a little better.

We were moved that afternoon. The new cell was a light improvement. It was a little bigger, was on the ground floor and even had {ino on the floor. The only disadvantage was that the toilet was at the other end of the wing and we could barely walk that far any more.

The next day we knew the reason for Gibson’s sudden vist and the move. Stanley Orme, Jock Stallard and Bernadette McAliskey had raised the issue at Westminster.

Whitelaw’s reply, like everything he says, was ambiguous. He didn’t flatly refuse, just argued that if we got political status they’d have to grant it to 100 others in the same position — which was the general idea. He also said that we had asked to see the Governor — which we hadn’t — and that he would be seeing us that day. He ended up saying he would “look carefully at the full implications of this situation’’. Bernadette stormed out and she and the ALJ made the point that political status appeared to have nothing to do with the nature of the offence, only the length of sentence.

The Unionists said nothing. It was left to Stratton Mills of the AHiance Party to urge Whitelaw to refuse, One of the prison visitors came to see me. A decent soul, an SDLP Councillor, but he spent half his time trying to persuade me to come off the hunger strike for my wife’s sake or for the sake of my health. | had to repeat over and over again that we would never give in until our dernands were met. If people were worried about Orla or me they should be agitating for political status or for our release. The interview was tiring. | found it hard to sit upright on a straight chair for any length of time and mouth and throat kept drying up. | was glad to get back to the cell and lie down and rest.

The letters and cards were still coming in and the ads and statements in the papers.

There was an ad from the Provo sentenced prisoners in Long Kesh and later from the internees. We were touched that these men who were so much worse off than us could still think about us and give us their support, We were a bit embarrassed by a few statements though which went on about the injustice of putting us in with ‘common criminals’, As socialists we both believed that ‘criminals’ are victims of the unjust society in which they five and we had no wish to set ourselves above them. ![n fact we got on quite well with the few so-called “‘criminals’’ we came in contact with.

They were a distinct improvement on the real criminals fike Craig, Faulkner and Heath On Saturday the P.D. held two marches, one from Andersonstown, the other from the lower Falls, converging on Beechmount, They got a good crowd, about 1,000.

It boosted our morale and kept us going through another dismal Sunday. We lived now for the morning papers. A few ads and letters gave us courage for the day.

af. Confrontation with the British Army as marchers are prevented getting to the City Centre On Monday Gibson sent for me. He sat me down in the plush mock-Georgian Governor's office — {‘'d been there befor with the Prisoners’ Committee when | was interned — and offered me tea. He had a strange notion of hunger strikes that allowed you to drink tea. He talked of compromise. | refused the tea and fistened.

He said he had known Billy McKee and knew he would never give in. He reckoned we were the same. He didn't like hunger strikes in the prison, The temperature of the other prisoners rose as the strike went on and already A wing was getting tense.

He accepted that we were political prisoners and that the &-month sentence was abitrary and illogical. He didn‘t think even the Ministry of Home Affairs would attempt to deny that we were political. However when political status was introduced the Ministry had insisted on some timit and 9 months had been agreed to by both Republicans and Loyalists. Several men, including a leading members of the UDA had been refused political status because of the 9-month Jimit and had already served their sentences. The ministry would be very unwilling to give in to us when they hadn’t to the UDA man — though he had done nothing about it. — And they would be particularly reluctant while we held a gun to their heads.

It was an unequal argument: Gibson comfortable, full of tea, and free; me weak, hungry, a prisoner and hoarse for jack of water. | replied that the Republicans had accepted the 9months limit anly under duress and fully backed us in our demand.

That we felt very strongly that sectarian murderers and rapists had been given political staut when we hadn’t. That the case of the UDA-man was irrelevant because dozens, maybe hundreds, of men had served sentences for political offences before McKee’s hunger strike and that hadn’t stopped them from granting political status.

That the Ministry had given in when McKee held a gun to their head — or rather to his own — so why not in our case,

Gibson suggested a compromise. He could transfer us as orderlies to A wing — where there were no orderlies. We would then have virtually the same conditions as the remand prisoners: free association, more visits, parcels etc. We would do no prison work other than share in the cleaning of the wing which the remand prisoners did.

That’s what he’d done with the UDA-man; he’d been put in E wing. We would have to wear prison clothes. He also said he would personally recommend the abolition of any time limit on political status and he thought the Ministry would quietly concede this after a few weeks. | said i’d consider it on two canditions (1} no prison clothes (2) a quarantee from the Ministry that this arrangement would be purely temporary while the time-limit was reviewed and that we would eventually be transferred to Long Kesh.

| make clear that | couldn’t speak for Tony, he would make up his own mind.

Gibson had no power to grant either of these conditions, they were Ministry matters. He said he’d contact them immediately and fet me know the outcorme.

He seemed anxious enough for agreement. | suppose he didn't want 2 corpses on his hands. When ! got back the cell was in commotion. Tony was sitting on the bed with his head on his knees and several scared-looking screws were hanging about. He'd been on a visit and had coflapsed quite spectacularly. He looked ghastly. The fat surly screw had forced him to waik back and the Ciass Officer — the screw in charge of the wing — was livid. He’d get the blame if anything serious happened.

They went away and Tony recovered scon enough. It was a dizzy spell, frightening, but no too serious.

1 told him about Gibson's offer. He brightened up. At least things were beginning to move again. But | was worried. | felt acutely it had been an unfair contest.

| was in no condition to argue firmly. | felt I’d given too much away by even considering Gibson's offer. It should be all or nothing. And if the authorities were making offers they must be getting worrtes. Now was the time to dig in our heels. | began to hope the Ministry would turn down Gibson’s compromise. They must have done. We heard no more about it.

The agony of sleeplessness We were a good deal weaker now. Up to this we had made a point of getting up before they brought round the breakfast at 8.00 and stripping and making the beds every morning. Now we didn't get up til 9.00 or 10.00 and the beds stayed unmade, We didn’t even tidy the cell and a pile of newspapers built up in the corner. We'd got a radio now and it helped to pass the day. The cold was getting worse and we took to wearing sweaters in bed. We even, luxury of luxuries, got hot water bottles which kept us warm and telieved the awful wind in our stomachs.

But hot water bottles or not, the nights were still the worst, aggravated by a horrible machine just outside the window which thumped and groaned, stopped and started, all night. We read as late as possible every night to tire ourselves out but still we couldn’t sleep. We always seemed to drop off at 6.00 or 7.00 in the morning, just in time to be woken by the cook house staff get“ing «ip to make the breakfast.

When we were moved to B-wing we had demanded to be examined by our own doctors. We had no confidence in Girvan anyway and we were fed up with being taken out of our cell every morning and lined up with our shirts off and freezing cold to wait for him. As usual we got no replay — and never did — so we decided to hurry things up by refusing to let Girvan examine us. Tony’s collapse gave us an excellent excuse. The papers had reported it the next day with a statement by Girvan that ‘‘our blood pressure and pulse were norma! and there was no cause for alarm”.

When he came in we complained about the staternent and refused to let him examine us on the grounds that it would only be used as propaganda for the Govt.

He was livid with rage. He said he wouldn't force his attention on us — he couldn't anyway — but went an to shout and herangue us for half an hour. Finally he left saying if we wanted to commit suicide he couldn’t care less. That afternoon a medical consultant from the City Hospital arrived to see us, He was polite enough but we still refused to be examined. He chatted for a while about how we felt and went away. The next day we read that we had been “seen” by an outside consultant who said that we were satisfactory. From then on we decided to talk to no-one but our own family doctors. | SDLP force to bow to peoples’ pressure On the Tuesday (July 24th) when we'd been 19 days on hunger strike 3 SDLP Assemblymen came to see us. They were all new and inexperienced. We explained the position, the privileges that went with political status; more important the principle involve — and admission by the regime that we had been jailed for our opposition to it, The fact that victory for us would mean political status for many others and would break the back of the Criminal Justice (Temporary Provisions) Act with its mandatory sentences. The anomalies — political status for sectarian .

murderers, no political recognition for thase who protested at the murders.

They were shocked by Tony who was always thin and now looked gaunt and haggard like a human scarecrow and croaked impressively and quite genuinely.

Some SDLP men had seen David Howell, one of Whitelaw’s flunkeys, a day or two before and got nothing out of him — not even a straight refusal. They thought we were bound to win in the end but Whitelaw and Co. would just drag it out. They were to see Van Straubenzee afterwards, The 3 fellows were genuine enough but we couldn't help a few cynical thoughts back in our celt. Public feeling must be really building up when the SDLP were getting involved officially. It was a good sign though because we knew that when we eventually got our demands they would be conveyed through the SDLP.

Whitelaw would never made concessions to a ‘rabble in the streets’. If he had to grant something he would use it to boost the parliamentary politicians.

{ had a visit shortly after. They took me to the caravan used for 4-wing prisoners in the front yard. It wasn’t so far away, just across the circle — the area where the 4 wings converged — through the front hali, down the steps and out into the open. It was the first fresh air I’d had for over a week. It was a lovely day and off-duty screws were sitting sunning themselves on the steps. | felt freer, there was only the massive gate between me and the outside world — though there was no prospect of getting out — and it seemed a world away from the bare exercise yeards with its 20 ft. high wire fences making us feel Jike monkeys in a zoa.

| had to walk very slowly and carefully now and lean on the rails to get up and down. There was a sort of imbalance between my mind and body. Mentally | was bright, alert and energetic. | felt perfectly able to walk, to run, to jump about, but my limbs wouldn't respond, they moved stowly and weakly Jike an old man, The screws and soidiers gaped at this weird human freak. Orla was great. She was in good form, cheerful, full of news, well in control of the situation, She had colour photographs of herself, me and our dog, Che, taken just before we were jailed, She was a bit suspicious though. | think she still thought we might suddenly go on thirst strike too or something. We both thought it might be over by early the next week, | hoped so for her sake. It was probably worse for her, being pregnaht, worrying etc.

On the way back a woman darted across, grabbed my hand and said ‘Good luck, san. God bless you’’. The fat sullen screw (again!) chased her away before | could say a thing but it gave me courage, She was visiting someone, probably her son, and probably on a much more serious charge, How could the British ever break the spirit of people tike that.

When | got back we were on the move again — this time to the prison “‘hospital’’.

The government statement said ‘‘It is emphasised that there is no cause for alarm, the move will simply enable the prison doctor to give personal attention to the 2 prisoners whenever necessary’’. But of course we were still refusing his attentions.

It was our last walk, The “‘haspital” turned out to be another cell, bigger, cleaner, brighter, with a real window and counter panes on the beds. But it was stil!

a cell, with an iron door an an outer iron gate. They insisted on locking both. We were still to be isolated from ali other prisoners. Outside was a sort of small canteen with a T.V. in the corner but we never got to see it. We managed to talk to some of the inmates but it was a bit depressing. One young lad — quite non-political had been pulled in by the Paras on a trumped-up arms charge. He couldn't get bail and was desperate to get out to get married because his girl-friend was pregnant. Eventually he swallowed a razor-blade in the hope that they’d release him. They didn’t: they cut him open, took out the blade, sewed him up and dumped him in the prison hospital.

That Sunday there was another P.D. march. This one was scheduled to go to the jail. As usual it was stopped in Castle St. The day before the RUC had cleared all traffic from the Crumlin Rd. so the Orangemen could march past the jail.

The usual Whitelaw tmpartiality. The march was big, the biggest for many months, even the news reports said several thousand, and the atmosphere seemed tense.

There was a huge concentration of troops and armour and some vigorous rioting.

We felt that, if nothing else, at least Whitelaw might be moved by the fear that the hunger strike would put bigger and bigger crowds on the streets.

That evening the men in A wing held an impromptu concert for us in the yard of their wing which was near the hospital. We were very moved and were delighted to hear the ‘Boys of the Old Brigade’ again. At the end they shouted “Up the P,.D.”’ A day or two later on their way back from football Geordie Bunt, the O.C.

- Managed to get up on the windowsill and shout in to us. It was great to hear a friendly voice in the heart of the prison.

It was a bad trme though. We were weakening fast. It was all we could do to

British Troops apen fire on the July 29th march with rubber bullets.C.S. gas and water cannon totter across the corridor to the toilet. Washing took a long time. | had to sit down and rest before | couid dry my face. Soon | gave up and only splashed a drop of water on my face. Tony could barely read now and spent most of the time listening to the radio. | could read weil enough and finished The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists but the hunger was terrible. Even the workmen’s unappetising cold tea and jam sandwiches in the book made my mouth water.

Our sense of smell was acute. One day there were rissoles for dinner and the savoury smell tormented us for hours. We slept even less. The beds seemed harder and even more uncomfortable. | supposed our bones stuck out more, We still had the awtul prison mattresses though we discovered the orderlies had foam rubber ones — probably meant for the “‘patients’’. Qur circulation was getting bad. | found my hands and feet wehtn numb at night and took a while to come back to life again, My skin was getting dry and flaky and | had a constant urge to scratch, tearing long red marks across my chest and stomach. | used to get a sharp tearing pain across my knee if | curled up my legs at night. It was as if the skin was breaking. We were both pretty low. Things looked bleak to us. There was no sign of further movement. Maybe they wouldn’t give in after ali. We had no illusions about the British sense of justice and fair play. Maybe they reckoned it was a good chance of getting rid of a couple of annoying trouble-makers, Physically | felt bad — very weak and sick. 1 began to think seriously of death.

There was no way out. We couldn't give in now, To do so would dishearten and

demoralise the thousands of people who had supported us. Gerry Ruddy had quoted the words of the German Bolshevick, Eugen Levrue at his trial; ““We Communists are all dead men on leave... 1 don’t know whether you will extend my leave or whether | shall have to join Karl Liebkrecht and Rosa Luxemburg’’. It was true enough. Whether our ‘‘leave’’ was extended or not was out of our hands, | saw all sorts of little incidents from childhood, happy moments with Oria, insigntvicent things, very clearly. | regretted jeaving them. Most of afl | feared for Orla and | would miss seeing my unborn child. But once decided | was oddly calm.

1 felt a sort of strange detachment, a complete uninterest in petty squabbles, money worries etc, an almost pleasant tranquility.

| remembered a story by John Steinbeck called The Raid — written when he was young and still a Marxist. Two socialist agitators are badly beaten by a mob of hired thugs in a small American town, The older man tells the novice that they must stand and take it because the party members need an example of courage and steadfastness, the people as a whole an exampie of injustice and brutatity, Our demand was simple and just. {f we were to die now it would expose the meanness and vindictiveness of the Whitelaw regime. There would be an upsurge of popular anger that would shatter the careful schemes of the British to win the confidence of the anti-unionist people. The British solution would be gravely endangered.

The morning brought calmer thoughts and my brave resolutions seemed a bit meiodramatic in the light of day. We both felt a little better though Tony was nervy and living from cigarette to cigarette, We seemed to get these really bad patches about once a week, in between it wasn’t pleasant but at least it wasn’t a living heil like the bad times. | got a visit. By now | really couldn't walk more than a step or two and couldn't go.

Eventually they brought round a car and drove me to the caravan. | hobbled in. It was good to be in a car again. It cheered me up for the rest of the day.

It was now 3% weeks. We were eating up our body fat and consuming our reserves of energy, vitamins etc. We knew we'd have to take it very easy from naw on. We gave up getting up and dressing and just stayed in bed all day. We didn’t even go across to the toilet any more, we got urine bottles from the screws. It was quite irontc because we had the screws dancing attendance on us — much against their will I’m sure. Our mouths and throats kept drying up and we had to drinkconstantly.

to keep back a choking sensation. Jn the mornings, when | woke up my mouth was so dry | couldn’t talk until f’d drunk a couple of mugfuls.

Tuesday July 31st provided a bit of light relief. The new Assembly met and broke up in chaos. We laughed and jaughed. The inherent instability of the State was asserting itself again. So much for the British solution. There was only one salution to the Northern problem — British withdrawal, and self-determination for the whole country. The failure of each succeeding package made it clearer and clearer.

Tony got a vist on the Wednesday. He was too weak to get up and refused to go.

They gave him the visit in the cell. The next day | had a vist too — they were obviously getting worried, giving us extra visits. | demanded in the cell as well but they refused, | pointed out that Tony had got one yesterday but they brought in the P.O. who biustered and tried te bully me saying | was quite able to go out.

CAR —_7':/c™"'r°(irSGV"____— ee OP TE et ee eee So | was but | said | would refuse to go. Orla nearly had a fit when she heard, and demanded to see the Governor, We got the visit in the cell.

It was the 28th day. That must have been the turning point. Shortly after a specialist from the Royal came in — Tony was out of the cell, | had just started the routine refusal to be examined when he said would | agree to be moved to the Royal under his care, There would be no security, no guards, | would be treated like an ordinary patient. My family doctor would be able to see me as soon as | was moved. | hummed and hawed a fittle but was secretly delighted. We'd be out of prison, away from surly screws and supercilious Asst. Governors, We could get visits every day. It would be handy for Orta and for Tony’s mother who lived nearby. And above all it meant the Government must be getting worried.

Tony was delighted too — he‘d seen the specialist as well. The prison atmosphere was getting him down, the change would do him good. And then we discovered the cruel trick. It was a different specialist he’d seen. We were talking about different hospitals. They wanted to move him to the City. They were trying to separate us, We called in the screw and told him to contact the doctors and say we’d only go together. it was too late — or so they told us, An ambulance arrived. We argued.

They told us there was only ane bed available in each hospital — it wasn’t true we found out later. We had to make a snap decision. We'd had no medical examination for over a weak. Physically and emotionally we were very low.

Hospital offered decent surroundings, proper medical care, visitors to keep our spirits up. | thought we'd better take the chance, We agreed to to. But i had nothing but contempt for the mean minds that played this cruel trick on us.

Obviously they thought that by separating us one of us would break. They were wrong.

It was great to hear the prison gates clang behind us once again and see people, ordinary people, free, walk up and down the streets. It was exhilirating going through the bustle of the city centre but very tiring. We dropped Tony at the City Hospital. Then | discovered how parengid | was. The ambulance took the shortest possible route to the Royal, down Tate’s Avenue and through the Village — intensely Loyalist areas. It was broad daylight but | was frightened. | began to wonder was it all a plot | was even giad to see the Broadway military post.

Obviously the physica! weakness had made me a prey to irrational fears as well.

Subtle pressures from doctors In hospital at last — I’d never been in hospital before and was always scared of them.

leven hated visiting in hospitals. | was tired but happy. | didn’t even bother reading. | just lay and watched the bustle all about me with childish wonder. Orla came that evening. She looked immensely relieved. She had been getting very worried about our health, Things were looking up, | could get plenty of visitors, see my P.D. comrades and old friends, get political papers. | realised | had become very dependent. | needed to see people every day to keep me going. But it was going grand. The move to hospital looked well, dramatic serious. Again 1 felt an awful fraud in the midst of all these people who were really sick.

The atmosphere was pleasant, friendly. The nurses were cheerful, kind and some of them knew me. The doctors were solicitous. Maybe now I[‘d even get some sleep.

| didn't know much about hospitals. The ward was busy alf night with new arrivals, patients taken ill etc. | dozed occassionally, still no real sleep. They began taking temperatures and pulses at 6.00 a.m. | was wide awake. But it was well worth waking early. Through the roof-tight | could see the early morning sun on the root of the adjoining ward. !t was magnificent and golden, it cheered me up at once.

In the morning the doctors conducted a thorough examination, blood and urine tests etc. They outlined the position. | was rapidly using up my body’s supply of vitamins, hormones and other vital elements. It was an accelerating process, Once one element went the others would run out more quickly. Then the interna!

organs would be seriously damaged, again with a snowbailing effect. The kidneys would be the first to go. it was essential to keep drinking as much as possible to stave off kidney damage. It was getting fairly serious. It was the 29th day.

Sean McCaughey had died after 31 — though he’d been on thirst strike as well at the end. Billy McKee had been at death’s door after 35 days. But then others, like Terence Mc Swiney had lasted a lot longer.

The doctors reported back, So far there were no great abnormalities tn the blood-stream or the system. | was sticking it better than they expected, but they would take blood samples every day and monitor my condition. Various experts came to see me. One of them had studied the effects of malnutrition in prisoners of war. He questioned me at length about my feelings, emotions, concentration, reading ability. Some suggested taking vitamins telling me you could live for months on them alone. Others suggested replacing minerals which were running iow. [t was hard to explain to these non-political men that the risk of death or serious injury was the whole point of a hunger strike. However it was obvious that | was something of a medical freak and every expert in the hospital wanted to have a look at me — and use me as a guinea pig. | politely declined to have a little device dropped into my stamach which would cut lumpts out of my insides for examination — in the interests of science. However, experiments aside, the experts passed the time and kept me occupied, { had other visitors too, A steady stream of domestics, cleaners and floor staff sneaked in to wish me well. It seemed there was the usual preponderance of Catholics among the unskilled workers. 1 needed all their good wishes. | couldn't walk at all now. It was all | could do to stand at the bed side for a minute or two in the morning and wash myself. After a few days even that was impossible and | had to let the nurses do it for me. Even sitting on the bedside was painful.

My stomach seemed to have caved in and the skin around it was dry and brittle.

Any upright position seemed to put a strain on it. | could only lie or sit in bed.

Orla’s hopes were high. Feeling outside was very strong. Even the SDLP were getting quite disturbed and were having frequent meetings with the Whitelaw crew — though they were horrified at the mention of the one effective sanction that they had: withdrawal from the Assembly. The hunger strike had done a lot to mabilise opinion coming up to the 2nd anniversary of internment. Surely if there were thousands on the streets already Whitelaw couldn’t Jet us die.

It seemed only a matter of days. Our comrades seemed to think there'd be word on Saturday. | half hoped there wouldn’t. The Political Hostages Release Committee was to nn

stage a mass march on Sunday. The mounting tension over us would swell the numbers. | wanted it to be a big success.

That was a wish | bitterly regretted. | still couldn’t sleep and by Saturday | just felt sick all night. | wanted to vomit all the time but choked it back, knowing there was nothing there to vomit and I’d just retch until internal bleeding started. To even doze | had to lie on my side and that only made the nausea worse. The nurses chatted to me when they could but | felt very low. Once again | was nearly crying with vexation and the pain. Death seemed a good deal nearer and | wasn't as highminded about it as before. All | could do was grit my teeth and stick it out til morning.

Sunday was wet and dull and brought no relief. | bought the Sunday papers and glanced at them. For the first time | had no interest in the news. ! read an article about us in the Sunday Times and glanced at the colour supplements and that was all.

The nausea lasted through the day. Orla and Paddy Brown were in to see me. They were very worried about my condition. Everything pointed to a Government move yet it didn't come. But my mood was such that | would sooner have died than sink back, defeated, to a prison ceil.

Raily in Dunville Park | spoke with more conviction than | felt. There was a new problem. | had to keep drinking all the time to keep down the choking sensation but it was getting harder and harder to drink the water. From being merely tasteless it had become nauseating and repulsive. | had ta force myself to take it. They put ice in it thinking it would help, It only chilled my stomach and gave me another awfu! night. Finally | got the nurses to heat it slightly and it became more tolerable.

Sunday’s march went past the hospital and the rally was just across the road in Dunville Park. They gave 3 cheers for us. | couldn’t hear it but | heard the radio report and it brightened the depression. The march was very big. The public weren’t disheartened anway. That night was pretty bad. The doctors gave me a tablet for the nausea, it didn’t work but the second one about 4.00 a.m. did some good. The early morning light was beautiful again and cheered me up. Frank McManus got in to see me when the Sister’s back was turned and took the right tone. He said we were bound to win, they were just dragging it out as Jong as possible. We had been a thorn in the flesh to the British for so long that they relished the opportunity to make us suffer. He reckoned they might give in just before August 9th in an effort to defuse the massive protest for the 2nd anniversary of internment. He put it well in the papers the next day. | could only speak in a whisper and couldn't summon enough saliva to talk for jong. Good melodramatic stuff. Unfortunately it was true.

The water was still hard to drink and contrary to all the myths about losing your appetite | was tormented by the food. In the prison at least there was no-one eating in the cell, now there were people munching and chewing all around. Surreptiousty | watched every bit the man in the next bed took, The food looked delicious, the soup smelled tantalising, And I couldn’t help comparing the thought of hot sweet tea with the fou! insipid water.

Part of the massive turnout for the Anti-internment Rally which fotiowed the march organised by the P/H.FLC.

a ll

By now the letters and telegrams were flooding in and the ads were constant in the papers. Phil McCullough who'd been interned for 2 years now, Brendan Holtand jailed for 8 years, Dolores and Marion Price in Brixton Jail, facing the prospect of long prison sentences in England. {| felt quite ashamed. What had ! to worry about?

The day wasn’t bad on Monday but the night was agony. They gave me stronger tablets for the nausea but they had no effect. My back was getting sore from constant lying on it but when | turned on my side the nausea was unbearable. They offered me sleeping pills but | was suspicious of all drugs and only took the Nausea tablets out of desperation. | lived just for the morning when { knew I'd be a little better, | was never so glad to see day-light.

Escape pian faiis | Tuesday brought an amusing incident. At visiting time we saw two women who go to all the demonstrations going up the ward. They looked at me but showed no sign of recognition. On the way out they slipped over, shook hands and wished me well.

After visiting time a very puzzled patient from up the ward came over to me. He had just been visited by two total strangers who toid him they had only come in to get seeing me, It seemed they had half a notion to take me with them for they kept asking him were there any guards and where did the french windows at the end of the ward lead to, The doctors seemed more concerned today. They gave me a very detailed examination. Already they were taking massive doses of blood for complex analysis and tests.

My arms were getting badly bruised. Now one of them tested my nervous reflexes sense of balance and direction. My mental facilities seemed okay, my arms and hands were very weak but fairly normal, but he seemed most interested in my legs, bending them up and down and tapping them with a hammer.

In the afternoon the Professor had a lengthy talk with me. He asked me if i deteriorated any further would | be prepared to take doses of vitamins or minerals.

| refused. | even refused to take a liquid medicine which he thought might cure the awful nausea. It wasn’t very sensible but 1 could feel my facilities declining and | knew I had to hold fast to a simple principle — no food, no medicine ‘til 1 got political status. Maybe he sensed the same for he asked what he was to do if | went unconscious or if, in his opinion, | wasn't fit to make rational decisions. | said my wishes would be to go on with the hunger strike but that if | was unconscious Orla would make any decisions necessary. He seemed a bit disturbed by the whole affair and said he couldn't understand the Government’s attitude.

Orla was up on Tuesday evening, She was in good form and confident we would get word to-morrow, | told her about the conversation with the Professor and she arranged to see him in the morning. | stressed that if | did pass out and woke to find myself on an intravenous drip I’d pull it out immediately, Whitelaw wouldn't get off the hook like that. l read as late as possible to postpone the awful hours of darkness. The night passed much as before. In the morning | didn’t feel so bad. My aunt appeared with fresh-cut flowers. She made only a nominal attempt to persuade me to give up and the flowers smelt marvellous beside me. | could also see some trees through the french windows at the end of the ward, | felt quite happy and knew | could last another day at any rate.

Oria saw the Professor and told him that she would refuse permission for any feeding if | went unconscious. She also warned him of what i'd do if | woke and found a drip. He said he would respect our wishes and that if the Government wanted to try forcible feeding — as they‘d hinted to some journalists — they’d have to remove me from his care. She was worried that he must have thought her very hard but it had to be done. Later he examined me very carefully and told me the results of yesterday’s tests.

Most af the nervous reflexes in my legs were missing. That was due to vitamin deficiency. There were traces of white spots on my skin — another sign of vitamin deficiency, The blood tests showed | was very low in certain vital elements. He ~ thought he could see the first signs of Jaundice showing my liver was overworked and starting to malfunction. Up to this he had felt there was no immediate danger, Now it was getting serious. | wasn't going toe die overnight but a few more days would produce irreversible effects on my system. He felt he should cantact the Government and warn them haw serious it was. He added that he was amazed that they were letting it drag on so fong.

Orla and Fergus O'Hare were in. Orla told me the SDLP had been going to see Whitelaw the night before. They had seemed very confident before the meeting but they hadn't got in touch with her. She feared a flat refusal. Tany had had a bad night too. — Up to this, hospital had cheered him up and he had been in better shape than | was; able to walk about a bit and sit up and watch T.V.

They were almost desperate. They had felt success within their grasp so often only to be disappointed that they could no longer hope. They thought it might go on another week, that the protests would run out of steam, that we would be chronic invalids for life. | think for the first time they were beginning to face the possibility that Whitelaw would not give in. Orla had said dramatically to the press that | might not live to see my unborn child, We all realised that it was only too likely now.

But | was confident enough. Day after day the conviction crept into my head that we would be released. I'd tried ta shove it out agatn so | wouldn't be too disappointed when | had.to go to Long Kesh, but it crept back, § was convinced adout it now.

We'd win and be released. It was only a matter of endurance, And I’d sooner die than give in now. | hadn’t put in 34 days of hell on earth for nothing. If McSwiney and Sean McCaughey had lasted til death | could stick another week. And, besides, it was the day-time. | could last til night and then | could somehow struggle through to morning and so on every day. Dublin P.D, were to have a rally at the GPO on Saturday. | could stick it out til then at least.

| think they thought | was delirious | was so insistent, so fanatical, so confident — and so angry at their depression. That afternoon Orla was in again with a journalist who had been at a press briefing at Stormont the day before, For the first time the cynical civil servants had shown some concern — not about us of course, but about the consequences if we died on their hands. Perhaps they'd even looked up their history books and discovered who Terence McSwiney was.

Orla left about 4.15 p.m. in a little better form. | settled down to try io finish the Year of Liberty. Just after 5.00 p.m. the ward Sister came over to my bed.

There was a phone call. Would { take it myself? She thought it was my wife but I'd

better make sure, It seemed important. She seemed to be suppressing her excitement.

The nurses put me in a chair and wheeled me to the office.

It was Orla. The BBC had rung to say that we and 100 other short-term prisoners were to be released. So I'd been right. She could barely believe it. i wouldn’t take it in. Could she check it with the SDLP. Finally | settled for the N.|. News at 16 to 6.00 p.m. If it was on the news I’d accept it and eat.

It was nearly tea-time and the nurses were all busy. | was left sitting in my chair for 10 minutes not knowing what to do with myself. Finally they came and put me back in bed. The Professor came in beaming and congratulated me. | was stiil suspicious.

| told him he could work out what he gave me but | wouldn’t eat tii | heard the news.

| just lay there in a daze, Sure enough there it was. The Govt. had concocted some complicated formula to prove they weren't giving in but we were free alright. Where | had expected at the very best to be in Long Kesh until December 6th | was a free man on August 8th. | could get up and walk away — except that | couldn't walk.

The hunger strike seemed nothing. The horrors, the depression, the desperation were all forgotten. | had my first glass of milk and water at 6.15. It tasted heavenly. Then they gave me Orange Juice with glucose in it and | got violently sick, When Orla came back again | was as bad as during the worst night-time fits of nausea, but we were supremely happy. Then they put me back on milk and water and | was alright.

1 had a statement written when Orla came, To-morrow was August 9th and it was vital that there be a massive turn-out for the protests at the 2nd anniversary of internment.

Our release was obviously aimed at defusing them, The statement read: “This is an epic victory and a total vindication of our stand from the beginning.

We are delighted that many others are to benefit from our victory as well. We never intended our protest to be limited to our position alone’”’.

We would like to thank again all those who supported and helped us in so many ways and without whom victory would not have been possible. We would urge again all those who supported us to remember the hundreds of men and women still interned and serving long prison sentences. There will be no lasting peace in Ireland until there is an amnesty for all political prisoners. We cal! for massive support for the internment protests to-morrow and Sunday”.

At about 9.00 on Wednesday night the ward sister drew the curtains round my bed and a small man with a brief-case and the air of a startled rabbit appeared. He introduced himself as Hilditch the Prison Governor and hurriedly read an official sounding document. He then opened his briefcase, handed me my watch and carefully counted out 96p the amount of money | had when | went into jail.

After this ludicrous little ceremony | was officially free.

All night | sipped the milk and water. | barely slept at all but it didn’t matter, | was free, — In the morning | had a saucerful of scrambled egg — my first, and last, solid food for several days. It was delicious. In the afternoon the doctors came and congraulated me. They also told me that the vitamin deficiency had seriously affected the nerves in my fegs. Another day or two and they’d have been gone for good.

i eee!

Nine days fater | left the hospital, weighing 10% stone — | had been done to 8 stone 9 from about 12 stone 10 — a bit shaky on my legs; a free man; and imbued with a deeper and more lasting hatred of British rule in Ireland than ever before.

CONCLUSION

PD. BOOKS

“Songs from the Barricades” published by People; Democracy, has a selection of 26 of the most popular street ballads based on the Irish struggte up to the present day.

Included are such songs as ‘Jack Lynch’s Army’, “Bogside Man’’, “Broad Black Brimmer", “Tom Williams”, “Over the Wall’, etc. ete.

Price 25p; or 31p post paid from Connolly Bookshop “Blood in the Street”’ There are onty a few copies of this book left. Fhis is an account of the events of Bloody Sunday by two eye witnesses Fulvio Grimaidi and Susan Narth.

Price 40p; or 48p post paid from Connolly Bookshop pamphlet which deals with the personal accounts of life in British prison and concentration camps in Northern Ireland Fy two members of Peoples Democracy. Phit Mc Cutlagh describes the mind-wrecking boredom and terror of the daily routine in Long Kesh where he has been interned without trail since August 1971. Michaei Farretl describes the course of his and Tony Canavan's hunger strike ordeal in Crumtin Road Jail while sentenced on a trumped up charge af breaking a taw that only Orange and UDA men are altowed to break.

Order now from Unfree Citizen sellers or from Connally Bookshop.

“Battle for Algeria’ The story of the Algerian fight for independence, how the Algerian people wan political freedom from the French Colonialists after a long and bitter struggle very smmilar to that whichis being waged in dreland against Britain to-day.

The book, written by P.D. member Michael Farrell, concludes with a chapter on the similarities between the Algerian and Irish situatians., Price 15p; or 21p post paid from Connolly Bookshop, “Struggle in the North” The first edition of this pamphlet produced and published by P.D.

was issued in 1969, the second in 1972. It covers the background to the present conflict in freland and deals with the various stages of the struggle from 1969-1972.

It is essentral reading to anyone wishing to understand the present situation, Price 15p; or 21p post paid from Connolly Bookshop

UNFREE CITIZEN

“Unfree Citizen” £3 per year £1.50 per B mts. Starry Plough Flags FLAGS. Full size ‘Starry Ploughs’ 5° x 3’ — £1.00 “This is Free Belfast’ ’ This lang playing reca-2 2° "7 songs of the barricaces i -ous available. Price £2 or £2.18 post paid from Connally Bookshop.

PLEASE CROSS ALL CHEQUES

OR POSTAL ORDERS

‘CONNOLLY BOOK SHOP Avoca Park, An ersonstown, Belfast 11.

Phil MC Cullough PHIL MC CULLOUGH has been a member of the Peoples Democracy for nearly two years. He was interned on August 9th 1971 and since that day he has never been outside of Long Kesh. He is one of the few men who has never been allowed out on parole. However he has not allowed the mental torture of a concentration camp stop him from being invelved in the struggle and has continued to agitate against the system which put him in Long Kesh through his writings and discussions with his comrades inside. He has contributed regular articles to ‘Unfree Citizen’ exposing the mental and physica! harassment suffered by the men behind the wire. Phil's betief that the struggle for freedom in Ireland can only be achieved through the overthrowing of the whole system North and South and the building of a Socialist Workers’ Republic, led him to study Socialism and to encourage debate and discussion among the Internees.

His great spirit, courage and political conviction has not only hetped to keep up the spirits of his fellow internees but has aiso encouraged those outside to fight harder than ever for the release of all political prisoners in Ireland and England and bringing Phil's aim closer to being a reality — the ridding of British imperialism from this country and the overthrowing of their puppet regimes North and South. Mike Farrell MICHAEL FARRELL has been a member of the Peoples Democracy since he helped found the movement in 1968. Before and since 1968 he has been convicted many times by the courts of Northern Ireland for his activities in support of the struggle for national liberation and struggies against capitalist exploitation as in the case of the Lough Neagh fishermen’s protest. His tireless work and devotion to the struggle against imperialism in Ireland as a member of P.D. led to him being jailed for & months by a biased Unionist judge in 1973. in Crumlin Road jail Michael and Tony Canavan who was also jailed for demonstrating against sectarian assassinations, underwent a marathon hunger strike for political status. Their courage and determination along with the massive support of the anti-Untonist people who demonstrated in thousands for their demands, forced the British government to release them after 35 days, along with 700 other short term prisoners. Since then they have continued to struggle more determinedly than ever with the Peoples Democracy both North and South. Like Phil McCullough they believe that the Southern state will have to be overthrown the same as Stormont was before a Socialist Workers’ Republic can be won. in order to do this Michael believes that the Peoples Democracy must be built into a strong revolutionary 32 county party which will lead the the struggle of Irish workers to that goal.

To this he has dedicated himself, A People’s Democracy oublication