Not the worst Christmas ever

By John Nixon

InOctober 1974 when Long Kesh went up in flames nobody seemed too concerned as to what would happen once the brouhaha was over and reality kicked in. The timing couldn’t have been worse and if anything underlined the all too salient fact that the event was not pre-planned or orchestrated.

Winter was in and Christmas was knocking on the door. Many prisoners were still reeling from the effects of CS and CR gas, hand to hand fighting with army riot squads, humiliation and physical abuse.
The army maintained overall control of the camp while the prison staff carried on despite the fact that the place looked like a scene from the Apocalypse. Things looked really bad. All rubbish was utilised for shelter. Army field kitchens supplied food to all prisoners, republicans and loyalists. Rumours were rife and made up the daily diet that fed the imagination for there was a naive belief that the burning of Long Kesh was the beginning of the end.

Just another milestone someone said, but in reality it was to be another millstone and it hung heaviest around the necks of the older prisoners who found the CS and CR gas, and terrible conditions, deeply traumatic. Caught up in the whole furore were the loyalists (who did not burn their compounds). They had observed the events as they unfolded. Giving priority to their own safety they had drawn up their own contingency plans. Meetings between loyalist and republican leaders were regular. The Official IRA compound was razed to the ground. The Provos told their volunteers that freedom ’74 was on the way.

As Christmas approached things could only get wetter. It rained incessantly and the freezing cold permeated every living and inanimate thing. Purgatory had domiciled itself in the cages of Long Kesh where misery marked time. Personal belongings were lost or expropriated. Clothing, personal paraphernalia, handicrafts, study materials, musical instruments and even a few pet budgies. The burning of the camp was big news and there were many visits from big wigs. Delegations came and went daily. All privileges were suspended for republicans who were now pre-occupied with survival and had utilised any materials for makeshift dwellings.

The Kesh resembled a post war battlefield. Many were just thankful they had survived the cluster bombs of CR gas thrown from low flying helicopters that exploded on the all-weather pitches. Amidst all this chaos and uncertainty came acts of humanity, small acts but notable given the circumstances. Like the Official IRA man who asked if Gusty Spence could oblige a spare cut of pipe tobacco. The request was relayed from cage to cage. It took time but it got there. Before long it became a priority. It meant co-operation between all groups but by evening time an ounce of the highly desired object was winging its way over numerous wire fences, from one compound to another, safely wrapped in a tin. It lasted a long time that tobacco. Well into the New Year.

By contrast there was inhumanity. Hugh Gerard Coney from Tyrone was amongst a small group of internees who attempted to escape by tunnel. He had been imprisoned without charge or trial. They managed to get beyond the perimeter wall but were spotted by armed sentries who opened up at close range. Hugh Coney was shot to death. The rest were captured. The British Tommy in the tower post who shot him cared little whether he was loyalist or republican.

Christmas ’74 passed over and there was no freedom. New cages were being built by army sappers. Visits were restored, mail delivered, conditions gradually improved. Yet another inquiry headed by Lord Gardiner was set up. It advocated the end of the compound arcade system and Special Category Status. Dark clouds were forming on the horizon. Meanwhile on the other side of the dividing wall preparation would soon be underway to construct new H type buildings. The rest (as usual) is history.

The views expressed by our contributors are their own and do not necessarily reflect that of the editorial committee.

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