The Worst Year of the Conflict

In terms of people killed during the north of Ireland conflict, 1972 was the worst year for fatalities. There were 497 people killed over half of which were what is termed as civilians, people who were not part of the security forces or proscribed armed groups.

I was 18 years old for the most of 1972 and one of those people, as yet, living in an area relatively untouched by the troubles. The first casualty of that year (I refer to Lost Lives) was an 18-year-old English soldier. No doubt his death was announced on the evening news. I don't recall. The news on the 30th of January, exactly fifty years ago was much more dramatic. Thirteen men and boys were shot dead on the streets of Derry by British soldiers. This atrocity came to be known as Bloody Sunday. I remember it but, to be honest, at the time it didn't sink in. 

I had a friend from Derry, her name was Marian, a student nurse at Musgrave Park Hospital. Marian was a goth before goths were even a thing. My Daddy used to call her the wee black crow. She was always staying at our house and this one time she invited me to come to her house in Derry. She lived in Irish Street which I found odd as it was a loyalist area. But Marian was no loyalist. She socialised across the bridge and on that particular night she took me to a republican club. Marian told me that it was a 'Stickies' club and I had not a clue what that meant. Later on, I came to realise that the Stickies were the Official IRA which would be superseded by the Provisional IRA. It was all a mystery to me.

Back then I didn't even know that fifty years earlier my own Granda had been in the IRA. For some reason, it was not something openly discussed in our family. I knew my Granny was always ranting talking about the Easter Rising, the perfidy of the British and the tragedy of the Irish martyrs. I remember her shaking her stick at me in a rage because I didn't know who James Connolly was. So, suffice to say, I was a total ignoramus when it came to Irish history - even though I was living through it.

The day we took the bus to her city Marian brought home to me what Bloody Sunday meant to the people of Derry. She opened her bag and took out a handful of Mass cards. Showed them to me, pictures of wee fellows, some of them younger than me. she'd say about one, I went out with his brother. About another, I was at school with his sister. Another, my ma was friends with his ma. These were her people.

Years later and not long after the findings of the Savile enquiry, Bert and I went to the Museum of Free Derry. It was heart-rending. The man at the desk was one of the relatives and he told us that to hear that the enquiry had found all 14 victims innocent of all accusations originally used against them was a wonderful moment. I saw him on the news this evening. He is still fighting for justice.