I did a first pass on the Battle of Bogside as well. This starts as the Protestant Marchers are contemptuously parading through Derry on August 14th, 1969 to commemorate their victory over the Catholics...and Brendan winds up caught in the back and forth on Waterloo Place, by the Derry Walls.
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So the jeers began, from both sides, and I felt the hair on my neck rise because I could sense the fury building around me. It fed into me, and you could see the constables who were there sensed it, as well. Scuffles broke out as the black uniformed bastards jolted over to beat any Catholic who dared use too forceful of language to breach this public insult against human order. And some swung their batons for no reason than to hit other lads, and the crowd surged and swore horrible things at them and stones flew across at their ranks, and I’m not ashamed to say that some of them came from my hand.
And I mean it as truth -- I’d never thought to join in truly striking back against the bloody Proddies before this; but suddenly I was grabbing for bricks like it’s a part of my nature. This one fat bastard struck a older man across the back a few times with his baton so I lugged half a brick at him. Hit him in his fat arse, meaning for sure I didn’t hurt him, but he swung around and roared like a bull that’s about to have a run at you and I danced back. Others in the crowd backed up, too. And that’s when I looked about and saw the RUC was charging the crowd, sticks waving in the air, and I was reminded of when they crashed into our old home on Nailors.
It’s like we flowed up Waterloo back to the Bogside, grabbing stones and anything else we could find to toss. The so-called redevelopment left us plenty to work with and we made full use of it. Older lads raced to the front of me and let fly with a thunderstorm of stones, and I caught a glimpse of Eamonn with them. I called out to him but the clattering of the bricks and rocks and clumps of metal raining down drowned out my voice.
Another lad grabbed me and said, “Stay to the back of us. Build up piles of stones for us to use.”
I roared back, “I can throw as well as -- ”
“You can’t throw as far as us. You’re too small! But we need ammunition to help us keep ‘em out of the Bogside! And we’re bloody keeping them out, this time!”
He was right, so I yanked off my coat and ran to a nearby lot and piled as many stones and bricks and bits of metal as I could carry in it then ran it back to where other lads were making piles, and saw Eammon and Paidrig running up from another direction with more.
“Hey, me Chinas!” I cried to them. They looked around, grinning like madmen. “Are Danny and Colm about?”
“Tossing stones off William Street,” Paidrig yelled back.
That was perfect. Both had the best arm of anyone in the Bogside and it was good the anger in Danny was being put to use.
People were running about, now. Some came to help. Some scurried home. Some dragged off their young wains to be out of harm’s way. I thought about our flat, but if we could keep the bloody RUC out, there was no need for special protection of it. And I knew Ma and Mairead were with Rhuari, Maeve and Kieran so had no fear of that for them. So I stayed where I was and kept piling up anything I could find to shie at the constables.
But the rushing about seemed like chaos -- or it must have seemed so to the constables since they came roaring in, again, arrogant in the certainty they were dealing with cowards and fools simply because they were chasing a few lads...only to find themselves met by yet another hail of stones and bricks from some of our side. The bastards finally realized they’d been led into an ambush.
During this phase, I tossed a few, myself, and we were answered with constables suddenly scurrying back and helping mates away who’d been hurt and acting like sheep caught in a storm even as they began tossing some of the stones right back at us, calling all of God’s curses down on us as they did.
Then whispering over my head from behind me came a firebomb blazing in a milk bottle. It smashed to the ground a few feet from the nearest constable and he scrambled back with a scream and I noticed his pants leg was ablaze. His mates quickly put it out and he ran back down William, his burned trousers flapping about his ankles.
More firebombs flew from our side and I laughed at the sight of it, because it meant for once the bloody bastards were outgunned! They were bloody outgunned! And a thrill ran down me from head to toe and every moving part of my body as I screamed to heaven with joy. We were making them run! For the first time, we were making them run and not the other way around.
It went like this for hours -- back and forth and back and forth. The RUC would flow up and then be forced back out, like waves on the beach. Again and again.
Then came canisters of gas flying over us, trailing their evil smoke behind them. Smoke that set your eyes to screaming and tore into your lungs and made your stomach heave. They thought this would show us, and it did take us by surprise...but some of the lads wrapped handkerchiefs over their nose and mouth and grabbed the spitting canisters and slung them back! And on top the Rossville Flats came more firebombs and stones and various other objects to crash down on the black-suited bastards, and try as they might their smoke bombs couldn’t be shot that high.
But it could waft into homes and choke people on the ground, whether they were part of the fray or not. The sounds of coughing and crying mingled in with our shouts of fury as those at home closed their windows and stuffed rags under their doors to keep the smoke out. The air filled with it, like a vile fog drifting past, trails of more canisters coming at us and more canisters being slung back so the trails criss-crossed and smoke from our firebombs combined in it all to make it denser and more hideous.
I put a wet cloth over my nose and that helped my lungs and belly, but Eammon was caught up in a sharp asthma attack so I shoved him away from it to be held by some women wetting more rags and raced up the Flats for his inhaler. Why he never had it on him made no sense. His mother was in hysterics asking where he was but I had no time for that; I bolted into his room, grabbed it and raced back down to him just as he was beginning to turn a soft shade of blue and the women around him were beginning to panic. He shot in a puff and began to grow better, so when he had some color back I guided him away from the worst of it, back into the clear clean air.
I had to get him all the way to Demesne to do that, but I saw Mairead waving to me from Terry’s folks' place, Maeve and Rhuari with her, so up we went and I left him with them. He was doing better but not by much, and Maeve was not looking well, either. Ma was at an upstairs window watching it all, Kieran in her arms. I looked around and could see down the hill to where the smoke was rising from the Rossville Flats and drifting this way.
Mairead saw it, too. “There’s a report on the radio the Irish Army’s setting up a hospital camp across the border. If it comes to be, Ma and I’ll take all of the wains over to be checked. Does Eammon’s mother know where he is?”
I shook my head.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
I huffed. “I’m well enough. I’ll put a mask on when I’m back. I heard one soaked in vinegar is good against it.”
“It’s CS gas; that won’t work.”
“Better’n nothing.” Then I hurried down the hill back into the fray.
It kept on like this for days. More CS gas. Rubber bullets fired. Charges by the RUC, who were looking more and more ragged and weary. Into the night and into the day. Again and again. There was talk of reinforcements coming for the RUC from Antrim and Belfast. B Specials were thought to be massing down by Guildhall. One set of constables thought to use the walls to get better leverage at firing onto the roof of the Flats and found that only opened them to greater attack. Same for Protestants thinking they could score some fun craic off us by slinging stones at us from the walls only to find the roofs of Nailors Row were taller and had lads atop them to fire back. That sent them scampering. It was the chaos of a true battle. Civil war begun in earnest. And while we might not be winning by keeping those bastards out, we sure as hell weren’t losing.
Several people showed up to help strategize the resistance, the only one I recognized being Bernadette Devlin because she was an MP and had been in all the papers. They pulled together proper barricades and spread information about how best to combat the CS gas and saw to it the elderly and young were taken away from it all, to better protect their frail health. By the end of the third day we were better set up than the RUC, who’d taken only to slinging our rocks back at us as if they were out of ammunition and gas canisters.
I’d been able to get home despite the chaos and pull what I had in my stash and give it over to the organizers for more petrol. Then I showed Danny and Paidrig how best to build firebombs as more and more bottles appeared for us to use.
Rumors continued to race about that the B Specials had massed for a full assault with backing from the UVF. I doubted that; there were riots in Belfast that would keep them busier. As for breathless reports of backing from the IRA, no one knew anything about help from them or the Irish Republic. The latter had set up a hospital camp and when I saw Terry he told me Ma, Mairead and the wains were over there with Eammon. I let Eammon’s mother know and she slapped me for keeping it from her then stormed out with her purse, leaving her door open. I shut it for her.
Stories began to circulate that Westminster was sending troops. Sending the bloody army. Soon verified by radio and reports on the telly. None of us liked the sound of that. Not a one. We didn’t really believe they were being sent to keep the peace.
Then on the fourth day, everything went quiet.
Still.
Too much so.
The smoke cleared and I could see all the way to Waterloo, and it looked like a country gravel pit there were so many rocks and stones across it. Stores were ablaze. The air stank from the gas and burning tires. I couldn’t speak and found even the thought of food made my stomach quiver in refusal. My fingers were torn and bloody, and I realized I’d not changed clothes since the beginning so my trousers were rags and my shirt and coat were ruined. And I was bloody exhausted, having got only bits of sleep here and there, between battles. I thought for a moment maybe, just maybe, I could go home and wash and get in clean clothes for the next engagement.
But I dared not leave. It was like the calm before a storm, the sudden terrifying silence. Not a word from the Prods or RUC. Not even calls from lads on our side. Not a whisper.
Until late in the day when we heard the rumble of lorries and marching feet...and the Army strode in, proud and sure...and they set up a perimeter between us and the RUC...and stayed there, keeping us apart.
I couldn’t believe it. Some were howling for joy. Some were weeping from relief. I couldn’t move. I just stood where I was and stared at them for I don’t know how long, letting it settle slowly into my brain that I could finally take a good long wash and have a decent sleep.
For by all the saints that are holy, we had won.
And I mean it as truth -- I’d never thought to join in truly striking back against the bloody Proddies before this; but suddenly I was grabbing for bricks like it’s a part of my nature. This one fat bastard struck a older man across the back a few times with his baton so I lugged half a brick at him. Hit him in his fat arse, meaning for sure I didn’t hurt him, but he swung around and roared like a bull that’s about to have a run at you and I danced back. Others in the crowd backed up, too. And that’s when I looked about and saw the RUC was charging the crowd, sticks waving in the air, and I was reminded of when they crashed into our old home on Nailors.
It’s like we flowed up Waterloo back to the Bogside, grabbing stones and anything else we could find to toss. The so-called redevelopment left us plenty to work with and we made full use of it. Older lads raced to the front of me and let fly with a thunderstorm of stones, and I caught a glimpse of Eamonn with them. I called out to him but the clattering of the bricks and rocks and clumps of metal raining down drowned out my voice.
Another lad grabbed me and said, “Stay to the back of us. Build up piles of stones for us to use.”
I roared back, “I can throw as well as -- ”
“You can’t throw as far as us. You’re too small! But we need ammunition to help us keep ‘em out of the Bogside! And we’re bloody keeping them out, this time!”
He was right, so I yanked off my coat and ran to a nearby lot and piled as many stones and bricks and bits of metal as I could carry in it then ran it back to where other lads were making piles, and saw Eammon and Paidrig running up from another direction with more.
“Hey, me Chinas!” I cried to them. They looked around, grinning like madmen. “Are Danny and Colm about?”
“Tossing stones off William Street,” Paidrig yelled back.
That was perfect. Both had the best arm of anyone in the Bogside and it was good the anger in Danny was being put to use.
People were running about, now. Some came to help. Some scurried home. Some dragged off their young wains to be out of harm’s way. I thought about our flat, but if we could keep the bloody RUC out, there was no need for special protection of it. And I knew Ma and Mairead were with Rhuari, Maeve and Kieran so had no fear of that for them. So I stayed where I was and kept piling up anything I could find to shie at the constables.
But the rushing about seemed like chaos -- or it must have seemed so to the constables since they came roaring in, again, arrogant in the certainty they were dealing with cowards and fools simply because they were chasing a few lads...only to find themselves met by yet another hail of stones and bricks from some of our side. The bastards finally realized they’d been led into an ambush.
During this phase, I tossed a few, myself, and we were answered with constables suddenly scurrying back and helping mates away who’d been hurt and acting like sheep caught in a storm even as they began tossing some of the stones right back at us, calling all of God’s curses down on us as they did.
Then whispering over my head from behind me came a firebomb blazing in a milk bottle. It smashed to the ground a few feet from the nearest constable and he scrambled back with a scream and I noticed his pants leg was ablaze. His mates quickly put it out and he ran back down William, his burned trousers flapping about his ankles.
More firebombs flew from our side and I laughed at the sight of it, because it meant for once the bloody bastards were outgunned! They were bloody outgunned! And a thrill ran down me from head to toe and every moving part of my body as I screamed to heaven with joy. We were making them run! For the first time, we were making them run and not the other way around.
It went like this for hours -- back and forth and back and forth. The RUC would flow up and then be forced back out, like waves on the beach. Again and again.
Then came canisters of gas flying over us, trailing their evil smoke behind them. Smoke that set your eyes to screaming and tore into your lungs and made your stomach heave. They thought this would show us, and it did take us by surprise...but some of the lads wrapped handkerchiefs over their nose and mouth and grabbed the spitting canisters and slung them back! And on top the Rossville Flats came more firebombs and stones and various other objects to crash down on the black-suited bastards, and try as they might their smoke bombs couldn’t be shot that high.
But it could waft into homes and choke people on the ground, whether they were part of the fray or not. The sounds of coughing and crying mingled in with our shouts of fury as those at home closed their windows and stuffed rags under their doors to keep the smoke out. The air filled with it, like a vile fog drifting past, trails of more canisters coming at us and more canisters being slung back so the trails criss-crossed and smoke from our firebombs combined in it all to make it denser and more hideous.
I put a wet cloth over my nose and that helped my lungs and belly, but Eammon was caught up in a sharp asthma attack so I shoved him away from it to be held by some women wetting more rags and raced up the Flats for his inhaler. Why he never had it on him made no sense. His mother was in hysterics asking where he was but I had no time for that; I bolted into his room, grabbed it and raced back down to him just as he was beginning to turn a soft shade of blue and the women around him were beginning to panic. He shot in a puff and began to grow better, so when he had some color back I guided him away from the worst of it, back into the clear clean air.
I had to get him all the way to Demesne to do that, but I saw Mairead waving to me from Terry’s folks' place, Maeve and Rhuari with her, so up we went and I left him with them. He was doing better but not by much, and Maeve was not looking well, either. Ma was at an upstairs window watching it all, Kieran in her arms. I looked around and could see down the hill to where the smoke was rising from the Rossville Flats and drifting this way.
Mairead saw it, too. “There’s a report on the radio the Irish Army’s setting up a hospital camp across the border. If it comes to be, Ma and I’ll take all of the wains over to be checked. Does Eammon’s mother know where he is?”
I shook my head.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
I huffed. “I’m well enough. I’ll put a mask on when I’m back. I heard one soaked in vinegar is good against it.”
“It’s CS gas; that won’t work.”
“Better’n nothing.” Then I hurried down the hill back into the fray.
It kept on like this for days. More CS gas. Rubber bullets fired. Charges by the RUC, who were looking more and more ragged and weary. Into the night and into the day. Again and again. There was talk of reinforcements coming for the RUC from Antrim and Belfast. B Specials were thought to be massing down by Guildhall. One set of constables thought to use the walls to get better leverage at firing onto the roof of the Flats and found that only opened them to greater attack. Same for Protestants thinking they could score some fun craic off us by slinging stones at us from the walls only to find the roofs of Nailors Row were taller and had lads atop them to fire back. That sent them scampering. It was the chaos of a true battle. Civil war begun in earnest. And while we might not be winning by keeping those bastards out, we sure as hell weren’t losing.
Several people showed up to help strategize the resistance, the only one I recognized being Bernadette Devlin because she was an MP and had been in all the papers. They pulled together proper barricades and spread information about how best to combat the CS gas and saw to it the elderly and young were taken away from it all, to better protect their frail health. By the end of the third day we were better set up than the RUC, who’d taken only to slinging our rocks back at us as if they were out of ammunition and gas canisters.
I’d been able to get home despite the chaos and pull what I had in my stash and give it over to the organizers for more petrol. Then I showed Danny and Paidrig how best to build firebombs as more and more bottles appeared for us to use.
Rumors continued to race about that the B Specials had massed for a full assault with backing from the UVF. I doubted that; there were riots in Belfast that would keep them busier. As for breathless reports of backing from the IRA, no one knew anything about help from them or the Irish Republic. The latter had set up a hospital camp and when I saw Terry he told me Ma, Mairead and the wains were over there with Eammon. I let Eammon’s mother know and she slapped me for keeping it from her then stormed out with her purse, leaving her door open. I shut it for her.
Stories began to circulate that Westminster was sending troops. Sending the bloody army. Soon verified by radio and reports on the telly. None of us liked the sound of that. Not a one. We didn’t really believe they were being sent to keep the peace.
Then on the fourth day, everything went quiet.
Still.
Too much so.
The smoke cleared and I could see all the way to Waterloo, and it looked like a country gravel pit there were so many rocks and stones across it. Stores were ablaze. The air stank from the gas and burning tires. I couldn’t speak and found even the thought of food made my stomach quiver in refusal. My fingers were torn and bloody, and I realized I’d not changed clothes since the beginning so my trousers were rags and my shirt and coat were ruined. And I was bloody exhausted, having got only bits of sleep here and there, between battles. I thought for a moment maybe, just maybe, I could go home and wash and get in clean clothes for the next engagement.
But I dared not leave. It was like the calm before a storm, the sudden terrifying silence. Not a word from the Prods or RUC. Not even calls from lads on our side. Not a whisper.
Until late in the day when we heard the rumble of lorries and marching feet...and the Army strode in, proud and sure...and they set up a perimeter between us and the RUC...and stayed there, keeping us apart.
I couldn’t believe it. Some were howling for joy. Some were weeping from relief. I couldn’t move. I just stood where I was and stared at them for I don’t know how long, letting it settle slowly into my brain that I could finally take a good long wash and have a decent sleep.
For by all the saints that are holy, we had won.
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